Chapter Text
Once upon a time
There was a girl who
Lost her
Body, mind, soul and pride.
-
“I don't think you know quite what you're asking, Mr. Gandalf.”
“Oh, I assure you, I very much do.”
It was a nice sunny day. A bright, beautiful, gorgeous and peaceful sunny day. The clouds had disappeared in the afternoon breeze, bringing in the scent of flowers and hay to all corners of Hobbiton. Sun shined down upon leaves to bask the world in light and glory. Cheerful hobbits greeted neighbors, bare feet pitter pattering on the dirt paths.
Well, at any rate, from Freya's hole at Overhill it was at least sunny.
The place itself was nicely settled along the main road in and out of Hobbiton, with plenty of room for gardening and festives. However, as the only inhabiting Took in town, as well as having a father of mysterious origin, Freya was viewed as a less than respectable hobbit. This caused Freya's dwellings to be looked upon with an evil eye, dampening the mood and wilting the flowers.
But, it was to be expected.
As was habit, at noon Freya was watering her failing flowers at the front of her blue painted door. What was unexpected, however, was the grey cloaked and capped wizard wandering up to her door. That was where things became quite odd.
“Well. Then I'm not quite sure what you are asking of me.” Freya leaned against her green fence as she avoided the wizard's eye. She had long since set her water pail down, and was now fiddling with a flower bud, crushing it completely.
“Very simple, my dear Freya Took. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure.”
This was the second time he presented the outrageous statement to the hobbit. But an entity in her gut was trying to tell her something. Perhaps about how she remembered who Gandalf was based off her dear departed mother, Conia Took's stories. Or maybe it was trying to tell her that those mushrooms she had eaten for second breakfast were a few days too old.
“An adventure? Now-” She looked up at the wizard, trying to explain herself.
“Give up this nonsense, Took! I have heard it once before and I shall not hear the same excuse again!” Gandalf bristled up, and his voice deepened. The words were simple enough, but his agitation startled Freya.
“Again? What-”
“Your cousin. Bilbo Baggins-” Gandalf began, tone smoothing out completely, leaving Freya in a bit of a lingering nervousness that she had somehow offended him. “Bilbo?”
“I invited him along-” Gandalf explained, he seemed not want to touch the subject. But alas Freya continued.
“And did he accept?” “Not quite-” the wizard said timidly, before squaring his shoulders and continuing with another resolve. Meanwhile, Freya mumbled to herself, rubbing her chin, only half listening to Gandalf.
“Seems right, he has become too much like Uncle Bungo to go on an adventure-”
“-But I have invited our Company to Bag End this evening, and it is up to Bilbo if he would like to join. Therefore, I would very much enjoy if you would attend dinner, as I would like to extend the same offer to you.”
Freya looked up, paying attention now. “... Dinner?”
“Yes. And there you will find the information of our quest, should you decide to attend.”
“Well, I suppose it would not hurt,” Freya trailed off in thought, looking down the road where Bag End lay.
Gandalf became cheerful and smiled at the female hobbit.“That is the spirit! I shall see you then.”
“But that doesn't mean I accept,” Freya warned, looking up again at the wizard. He tilted his head knowingly. She gave him a meaningful look, “Until then, Mr. Gandalf.”
“Until then.”
Freya picked up her pail and returned inside. Right before she closed the round door she paused and looked back at the retreating grey glob. “It's all because I'm a Took, isn't it,” she muttered, shaking her head and swinging the door closed behind her.
“Everyone thinks Tooks are something special.”
–
It was long since dark before Freya remembered her arrangement for dinner at Bilbo's. Seated at her desk, she was hunched over a parchment notebook she was filling with intricate calligraphy. Once she finished a page, she stood on her chair and placed the fresh writings on top of the tall book stacks that were on her desk. The cluttered surface was stained with wax, ink and other fluids, and was piled high with tomes and trinkets accumulated from Freya's writings. She was filled with imagination but she had either no desire or opportunity to act upon her whimsical fantasies, Freya did not know which. The only source of light came from a thick candle that had spilled its wax upon the book it rested.
She actually only realized the time and plans when her cat, sitting high up on a stack of tomes, lept down onto her desk. With the rush of movements, a mess was made. Parchment slid, the candle toppled onto the floor and the inkwell tipped over, staining her papers. In the center of the disorder the cat sat, pleased at gaining its mistress' attention.
Freya sighed and leaned back, looking at the mess with a blank expression on her face. From her reaction and the state the desk was in, it was obvious that this was not the first time the feline had caused such destruction.
“I didn't like the way that page was turning out, anyway,” she said as she stood up with a scrape of her chair. She patted the cat on the head, leaving a black stain on its short chocolate coat, before turning and getting a cloth to soak up most of the ink.
The cat meowed, eyes trailing her as she relight the candle in her fireplace. “Yes, I do believe it is time for dinner,” Freya replied before she froze. She straightened her back and turned around, wide eyed at her cat.
“Dinner at Bilbo's,” she whispered, mortified at her forgetfulness. She set down the candle and rushed off into her room, leaving her cat sitting in a puddle of ink, looking at the door she just left through curiously.
Freya rushed back through the door, this time wearing her finest blouse and hopping into a soft green skirt, and out the other. She came back in, fixing on a darker green over-skirt before putting on a yellow vest. “I totally forgot! Thank you, Nitwick,” came a muffled shout from beneath the fabric as she pulled it over her head. The cat meowed in reply, still looking intently at her. She tossed on a brown coat and grabbed her boots. “I can't make any dinner for you. You'll just have to get what you want. I don't know how long I'll be, so don't stay up.”
She slipped her home-made boots over her small, soft feet. There were no cobblers in the Shire, and the abnormality of Freya Took's human-like feet were of much gossip to the other hobbits. Her feet were not as smooth as her hands were, but they did not develop the thick, leather soles so common in other hobbits. This required an ever embarrassed Freya to wear boots on outings. She had long since accepted her oddity, but it still hurt that she was different and often met with contempt.
Freya straightened her back and resolve, donned her cloak, and opened her door to wander into the night.
Outside, it was dark. Well, mostly dark. Stars twinkled overhead, and the moon shone at crescent, lighting up Hobbiton. The breeze returned to bring in clouds, along with many dark patches of sky.
But where is was dark, Freya could not see. Which, to the poor girl, meant that she ended up tripping her way through, and even going down the wrong road. Once, only one time.
It was a warm April night, almost the end of the season, and the rain showers have not yet ceased to drop its gold. Dew coated the leaves of each plant, and when Freya had the misfortune of straying slightly off the path, or being under the opportune moment of a tree, she was coated with the wetness. Not that she minded, honestly. However, it was soiling her favorite skirt. But, it was not as though she minded.
She hummed happily as she turned onto the road that lead to Bag End. Clouds began to draw in more, brining in the offering of rain. This caused it to grow darker, and soon Freya was having trouble picking her path in the dark. If only she had remembered and left earlier!
A hobbit hole door was opening, spilling light onto the road and a joyful jig into the air as a group of hobbits walked out onto the porch and bid their hosts goodnight. At seeing Freya, the guests smiled and waved, which she returned. But the host, Mr. Underhill, she could tell, frowned at her appearance. She knew the family for their generosity of food, not their kindness of heart. Freya stopped a moment to speak a quick hello to the kind Lila Bramble and her quiet husband.
“Oh, dear,” the elderly lady-hobbit said, hand at her breast as she looked over Freya's shoulder.
“What?” Freya asked as she turned to look.
“Is that a dwarf?” Lila whispered. But Freya did not know, she squinted her eyes to see in the night. At last she saw a figure walking in the dark, coming down from the path Freya would have gone. Short, but taller than Mr. Bramble, and as wide as the three hobbits together. Definitely a dwarf. But why would one be wandering through Hobbiton?
He walked closer, and it seemed that they would have their answer, but the glaring that Mr. Bramble was giving him seemed to deter him and he turned off the lane before Freya could make more than eye contact with him.
“What a world we're coming to now,” Lila muttered, shaking her head. She kindly touched Freya's shoulder and said a farewell before leaving with her husband.
Freya pursed her lips, conjuring a thought. But before it could form she dispelled it with a shake of her own head, and she continued on in the dark. She traveled up the path the dwarf had taken down, up to where Bag End lay. It would not be a much farther walk, but Freya was hoping that she would make it before dinner had passed. She had no idea who the 'company' contained, or how much of an appetite they had.
A light was shining in the neighborhood circle to her right, a hobbit was poking his head out of his door to look at something. Freya cast her eyes over to figure out what he was looking at, but then she bumped into it.
“Oh! Excuse me!” “My apologies.”
She had bumped into the dwarf that had went down the road earlier. It seemed as though he just walked the loop and came back out the other end.
She backed up and stared at him. He had dark hair and a short beard, and was wearing a cloak over blue traveling garb and furs. He was most definitely a dwarf, and not from around here. “Are you lost?”
He looked exasperated and opened his mouth to retort, but Freya cut him off unintentionally.
“Because, I mean. I saw you were up there,” she pointed, “And you walked down there,” she pointed again, “And now you're here. And, I mean. No one goes down there, because Minto Sandybanks is really. Mean.” She made awkward hand movements, trying to explain herself. She was very intimidated by this man. She had seen dwarves before, but had never talked to one personally.
“So can I,” she waved her hand in thought, “Uh, help you? I mean. If you are lost. Not saying that you are!” She yipped, seeing his offended look. “But. I mean. Ah, never mind,” she turned to go.
“I am searching for 'Bag End'.”
Freya froze and turned. The stranger had spoken. He was going to Bag End? Then he must be one of the 'company' Gandalf spoke of before. Just what was the wizard cooking up for his “adventure”. But this gave Freya more clues on what it entailed. Dwarves? Hobbits?
“Well, you passed his hole earlier,” she smiled at him, he had come down from the road she was planning on taking. His face remained undaunted, but she could tell he was frustrated. “I can bring you there. I'm visiting Bilbo, as well.”
“Are you the burglar?” he asked surprised. “The what?” He shook his head, “Never mind.”
Freya eyeballed him, but remained silent. “I'm Freya Took.”
“Thorin Oakenshield.” She offered a hand, trying to keep confidence in her face, and he gave hers a firm shake. He was interesting, to say the least.
In the darkness they turned to travel up to Bag End. The short journey was quiet, and Freya was proud to say she did not trip off the road or make a fool of herself. Soon they were upon the green door of Bag End, and Freya could hear the sound of merrymaking from within.
She rang the bell and stepped back to wait. A moment passed and she rang again. No change from inside. Freya looked at Thorin, who was examining the flowers.
“Have you seen them before?” she asked quietly, not sure if her question would offend him.
His gaze returned to her and he answered, “I'm sure I've seen them thrice now.” She smiled, amused, and Thorin rolled his eyes, but smiled as well.
Turning back to the door, Freya sighed as it seemed that no one was answering it. What kind of ruckus was going on? She rang again and then knocked as hard as she could, determined.
“Let me,” Thorin stepped beside her, and she gladly moved back. He laid his fist hard against the door three times, and the sound within stopped.
He looked down at Freya as if to say “See?”, and it was her turn to roll her eyes at him. But the door did open, so she was pleased. However, it was not Bilbo that was behind the nob.