A/N: I don't own anything that isn't mine, but I'd like to credit J. R. R. Tolkien and Midori Snyder for inspiring this work.

Cross-Posted from AO3.

Chapter One: An Adventure?!

In a hole, in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. This was not a dirty, nasty hole, but a home, built into the hillside. Under a great hill. And it was known as Bag End, built as a labor of love.

This Hobbit was perfectly respectable. She never went on any adventures or did anything unexpected, though some Hobbits maintain she was rather peculiar all the same.

At least until the wizard came along, meddling old man that he was.

That meddling old wizard had ruined the young Hobbit's respectability and reputation for the rest of her life. It didn't appear to matter much to her, of course, and she went off into the East, never to return. Rumor had it that she had died in the East, the casualty of some great war. Another rumor said she had married a Dwarf, and found a family. Yet another had her helping to slay a dragon.

So the stories all say. But we all know stories can be told and re-told, and are changed each time by their storytellers.

The truth, on the other hand, is often much more complicated.

Bramble Baggins sat in her garden, enjoying the crisp, damp morning air and the breeze ruffling her hair. She'd had quite the slow morning, enjoying the sun at her back as it rose and listening to the song of the dawn.

The Shire had the gentlest morning song that she'd ever heard. Not that she had heard many, since she didn't travel all that much, but compared to the song of Buckland, she much preferred the slow waking harmony of the land she loved.

Taking another slow sip from her cup, she looked over at her garden, taking a short break from her book.

While she was not nearly as talented as her mother had been, she was still a fair hand at coaxing plants to grow. It was this strange skill at gardening that had allowed her to fit in from a young age; after all, she was not quite ordinary, not even if she was Belladonna's daughter. But her singing was quite possibly the only reason she was even passable at it.

As a little girl, she had started by singing to her parents, and then to the garden. While all Hobbits loved to sing to their gardens, it wasn't quite the same when she did it. The Baggins' garden was the envy of all the Shire, even if she had little to no actual skill at gardening.

Still, they could hardly complain when the best apple fritters in the Age and the best of the best foods were prepared from ingredients straight out of her garden. If there were two things Belladonna's daughter could do, it was cook and garden with the best of them.

At everything else, she was not quite so fortunate as to be gifted, but sensible Hobbits never really thought twice about that. Honestly, she was quite a respectable Hobbit, aside from one unfortunate part of her situation, to most of the Shire. She was nearly fifty-one, and had yet to even take an interest in another Hobbit, much less agree to marry. While there were single Hobbits, it was strange to find Hobbit lads and lasses going so long without marrying for comfort and companionship, if not for love.

But Bramble's disinterest was quite apparent. After her parents had passed away, she felt it better to remain, and care for the house they had put so much love into making a home, all by themselves. She didn't need to define her life by what made her comfortable, nor did she want to.

She also didn't smoke, but that was because it reminded her too painfully of her parents, and it had an…interesting effect on her that she was happy to keep hidden. It was not quite as proper for a lady Hobbit to smoke as it was for the lads, so this was not so unusual as it seemed.

Bramble Baggins was already the talk of the Shire, every autumn when wedding season came around, and she was sick of it. Her family defended her reputation in public, but behind closed doors, she was called names. At least one of her cousins had insinuated that she must be barren, too.

For why else would she avoid marriage, to become a spinster, soon to be on the shelf for good?

Bramble had learned to ignore the whispers, and went about her day with a smile on her face. Even if she was considered a little odd, she could live with it, so long as she had a place here. The comforts of a home and hearth were all that she truly needed, and as long as she had her home, she could bear the rumors. Besides, she had promised her mother that she would remain in the Shire, until she had some reason she had to leave, to look after the house.

Or so she told others. It was more due to her duty and because she sought to avoid the road if at all possible, given its dangers.

Still, that was no reason not to enjoy the wonderful tea she was drinking. It was a rather spicy mixture put together by her mother, and just about the only tea Bramble would drink now. It burned rather pleasantly against her tongue, and made her smile at the memories; she never could abide the weaker stuff the Hobbits of the Shire drank.

Besides, the burn woke her up in the mornings.

Bramble was startled out of her thoughts by the sight of someone who was quite clearly not a Hobbit making their way up the path toward her front door.

No, he was clearly the size of a Man, and she could see his gray, pointed hat coming towards her first, and then his gnarled, wooden staff. She could also see an old, wrinkled hand holding that staff, though she couldn't imagine who it could be.

He came to a halt just outside of her garden gate, towering over her. He was of a height with the Elves, she decided, revising her opinion, for he towered over her in a way that not even the Men of the world did. Though he looked like an old man, his eyes told a very different story.

He had a song, and she could hear it. At first, it was faint, but as she started listening for it, it became stronger until it was nearly roaring in her ears, and there was a very different being standing in his place. He still had silver hair, but it was now cleaner-looking and much straighter. His robes were now a shifting silver color and he had the look of an Elf, rather than a Man, with stern, stormy gray eyes and far fewer wrinkles. Power surged through her at the sound of his song, power she'd never felt before.

Yet she felt no fear of him. His song gave her no reason to fear and his eyes were kind, even mysterious as they were.

Then she realized she had let him stand there for at least half a minute without greeting him; blushing, she cleared her throat "G-Good morning," she managed to stammer out.

"Good morning?" demanded the wizard, though she could hear his amusement, "Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or tell me it is a morning to be good on? Or perhaps you mean to tell me that the morning is good?"

Bramble blinked a few times, but the young-faced Elf she could see did not leave his Man-shaped counterpart in its place. Nor did the strange double-timbre in his voice. Did all Elves sound so, or was it just he that did?

"Er, all of them at once, I suppose," Bramble said, frowning.

He made a "hmph" sound, looking at her expectantly.

Almost as if he was waiting for something, like she was supposed to recognize him.

"Can I help you?" she asked politely.

"Yes," said the Elf, but made no move to explain himself.

Bramble blinked up at him, squinting as the sunlight hit her eyes. What could he possibly want from her? His song gave no hint of it, only that he was expecting something. That wasn't good.

"Er, excuse me," said Bramble, after a little while, "I don't believe I know your name."

"Oh, you know my name," said the wizard, "You just don't remember that I belong to it. I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means…well, me!"

Gandalf. Not the one with the amazing fireworks, who had the knives Bramble had loved to fetch for her mother when Belladonna had asked? She hadn't seen him in the Shire since the Old Took had passed away.

"Gandalf?" gasped Bramble "Not the same Gandalf who used to set off such excellent fireworks at Old Took's birthday parties? I had no idea you were still in business."

Gandalf huffed at her. Given what she could remember of the Wizard, and what she saw now the two were nothing alike at all. But then, she'd only been a child, and her gifts hadn't emerged until later in her development. That was why she didn't recognize him; he looked nothing like the old Man she remembered being at her grandfather's parties. And his song had changed a little, since then.

"Well," huffed Gandalf, "Well." There was a pause, and then "I am looking for someone to share in an adventure," he offered.

An adventure?

An adventure. Oh, no, she couldn't do that. Not if she wanted to retain what little respectability she had. Bramble wasn't the type to leave her home, her place where she knew she belonged, for the terrifying outside world her mother had been so fond of. She couldn't understand how someone could do that. She was a Baggins, of Bag End, and that was the end of it. She wasn't supposed to want to go on adventures and she certainly didn't like the idea of leaving the safety and comfort of the Shire. And yet…

Strangely enough, a part of her really, desperately wanted to leave. That Tookish side of her, her less responsible side that usually emerged when she was really tired, or forgot herself while she was alone. That part of her that enjoyed the adventures she wrote about and read about, enjoyed transcribing old maps and learning everything she could of the world. Her far less respectable side, the one that would only see her reputation trashed beyond repair and see her lose her place in the Shire.

Her mother had always told her not to venture outside the Shire, had impressed it on her in fact, despite the fact that Belladonna had been the one to leave the Shire most of all of the Tooks. She was known far and wide for traveling with Gandalf, but she had settled down and become a respectable mother, if a Took. Often, Bramble had wondered what it was about the world that made her mother fear it so, but she trusted in Belladonna's judgment.

She would not be venturing out into the unknown. It was too dangerous.

Her reputation would be in tatters the moment she accepted visitors, much less left on an adventure with them. At least here, she had a place to escape to, with books and all the comforts of home-outside the Shire, she had nothing. Nothing.

"No," said Bramble, shaking her head "No. There'll be no adventures here, thank you very much," she said, standing up to address the wizard at her full height "Try over the hill, and across the water, if you want a Hobbit looking for an adventure. Now, good morning!" she was almost shouting now, and turned to head into the house.

"Yes," she heard him say quietly "it is decided. It will be very good for you, and very amusing for me." Bramble growled quietly under her breath, and said nothing as she stomped toward her house "To think, I would live to see the day I was 'good morning'd' by Belladonna Took's daughter!"

His words struck deep, even if Bramble couldn't bring herself to face him. She stopped, her hand resting on the door, as she felt it again. The full weight of her being a Baggins, of Bag End, and what that meant.

She was Belladonna Took's daughter. When all was said and done, Bramble knew, no matter how many fears she had about the outside world, she wanted an adventure, wanted something to tear her away from her books and maps, but she couldn't. Couldn't he understand that? She couldn't leave.

It was home. Hobbiton had always been home to her, for as long as she could remember, and the familiarity of the Shire was something she loved. She couldn't see herself waking up in the morning without listening to its gentle voice, or going to sleep without it singing her a soft lullaby. The land that loved and adored her even if the people didn't.

The people were another reason she wanted to stay. She loved them, for all they gossiped about her like she was an old, mad spinster and she would only add to that reputation by leaving. Even if they weren't that kind to her, some of her relatives did understand the position she was in, being half a Took and Baggins, and torn between being one or the other. She would never have fit in anywhere if she had chosen to be both at once.

And she would have none of that if she went on an adventure. The Baggins relatives she had who had only begun to accept her just after she'd proven herself an able manager of Bag End and her family estate would shun her. Her Took relatives would make her the talk of the Shire. Didn't he see that she would destroy her entire life if she went with him, no matter how she wanted to?

The wide world wasn't without its dangers. Belladonna knew of Orcs, knew of Goblins and other nasty things that lurked in the dark and she had warned Bramble not to venture outside the Shire. She'd told her stories of adventures, marvelous things that they were, but Bramble never really felt the need to indulge her Took side with more than a ramble about the countryside every now and then. It was the safe option, and really, she needed to be safe.

She needed to be safe and she didn't have that on the road.

Didn't Gandalf see that if she left, she would lose all of that? The land that loved her, the people that were growing to understand her, her family-she gave all that up if she left now. She'd made such progress in the last ten years that she couldn't bear to undo it all.

"I'm sorry," said Bramble, resting her forehead on the door for a moment, "But I can't."

"You cannot tell me," said Gandalf gently, "That you are happy here, in the Shire?"

Bramble sighed. The wizard never stopped poking his nose in, and meddling where he wasn't wanted. Couldn't he see that she didn't think about this for a reason?

"No," said Bramble, turning around to glare at him "Thank you for reminding me, Gandalf. Is there anything else you'd like to pour salt in while you're at it?" Gandalf winced "I am content, and I am comfortable. That is more than many people in this world have and I am willing to be grateful for it."

Gandalf frowned at her "Ten years ago, you would not have said the same," he murmured.

"Ten years ago," bit out Bramble, trying to keep a handle on her Tookish temper and failing "I was a very different Hobbit. Like I said, if you're looking for an adventure, try over the hill and across the water! Good day to you, Gandalf!" she opened her door and slammed it shut, almost immediately sagging in relief.

She hated this. She hated going against everything her mother had ever taught her about being rude, but she couldn't. She could not, did not want to leave this place for a silly thing like an adventure. Her traitorous heart, though, was telling her otherwise. She told that little desire to go to the Halls of Mandos; she would have no adventures here. Not today, not tomorrow, and certainly not because some meddling wizard poked his overly large nose in!

The heavy scent of pine invaded her nostrils, reminding her to calm her feelings, and Bramble did so. She took a few deep breaths, trying to remain calm rather than blowing up about the situation, as she could feel the wizard was still outside. She scurried to the front door and locked it as quickly as she could, pausing when she felt Gandalf stop outside the door.

Then she felt him turn to leave, and almost sagged, sighing with relief. She heard something, like a discordant note, that sent a shiver of warmth through her. Sparks flickered in her palm for a moment before she managed to push the warmth back into her chest, and she pressed her ear against the door to listen.

The sounds of wood being scraped against made her frown. That wizard, that-that-oh, he had better not have been writing on her door!

It was only when he had walked far enough away that he wouldn't notice her opening the door that Bramble opened it wide to look down at it. There was nothing on the front of her door, but she could hear something new anyway. A second glance showed that there was a tiny mark, almost like a blue scuffmark on the front of her door, and she scowled as it hummed and twinkled at her, forming a strange rune before her eyes.

Huffing, she went indoors and brought out a wet rag, dishcloth, and soap. She would also have to repaint the door. Blast that wizard!

Bramble reached out to brush away the last remaining traces of magic on the door with her fingertip. It was glowing a bright, sharp blue, so bright it couldn't be hidden. Probably leading his blasted adventure right to her. Well, she'd certainly show that wizard.

When her fingertip touched it, Bramble froze.

The warmth left behind in this mark was fresh, and so well-hidden, so cleverly squirreled away and quietly controlled that she almost didn't sense it. But as she felt it out, she couldn't help but smile. It was tiny, but gentle and fierce all at once, and it reminded her of her days traipsing through the Shire dressed as a Hobbit lad. Tears welled in her eyes, and her throat seized as she fought not to cry; oh, how she wished she could go back to those days.

Maybe she could leave it, just for tonight. Gandalf wouldn't arrive on anyone's doorstep immediately expecting an adventurer by the next morning, would he?

Bramble slowly lowered her fingertip, swallowing hard. As she stepped away from the door, the concealment occurred again, and this time, she could've sworn it winked at her. But she had to be seeing things.

Didn't she?

It didn't matter all that much, anyway. She had to get to market before the stalls closed, else her pantry would be empty. She would have to grin and bear the gossips' words again.

Scowling at the thought, Bramble stomped away to collect her ledger and baskets with which to carry the food.

Bramble arrived home from the marketplace with a lighter pocket, laden down with the food she'd bought. She could not quite understand what had possessed her to take so much food from the market all at once, and she knew she'd gotten quite a few strange looks for it, too.

All throughout her time in the market, she'd had her mother's voice ringing in her head, admonishing her for not giving Gandalf a chance to explain himself. For not taking him up on his offer. She was half a Took, and it would have been perfectly reasonable for her to leave on an adventure like the Tooks did!

She tried to tell herself, as she unloaded her parcels into the pantry, that she was only doing it for her own good. That the adventure would have been disappointing at best, and at worst, she would have returned in disgrace if she returned at all. She would be a hindrance to those on the road, and she knew it, yet here she stood, regretting it.

Her mother had always told her to follow her heart. Belladonna's dying wish had been for Bramble to find the adventure she'd been waiting for her whole life, and Bramble had just thrown that chance away, to stay a part of the community that she didn't truly belong in, in the first place.

Belladonna had believed her daughter's gifts were exactly that, gifts, rather than unnatural. Bramble had always been her mother's miracle child, the only child she would ever have. Some said that Belladonna's womb was barren, but it was only in the final years of her life that Bramble had learned Belladonna had had children, but only one survived the pregnancy. Bramble.

That was why Belladonna was so protective of her daughter. Bramble was the only child Belladonna and Bungo would ever have.

That didn't make her different, she wanted to shout, just because she had survived. Just because she was the only surviving child of a Baggins and a Took, didn't mean she was different. It just meant Belladonna had had trouble even having children.

It had to.

Bramble swallowed hard as she set down the last of her purchases and put her basket aside to wash. She should have heard him out. Her mother would have. Her mother would have been ashamed that her daughter had kicked out Belladonna's oldest friend without even hearing him out. Belladonna had always encouraged her Tookish side, always tried to tell her that she didn't have to be one or the other. Her father had done the same, in his own way, trying to tell her that just being Bramble was enough.

Oh, why didn't she have any sense when her fool mouth decided to get her into trouble?!

At least she'd left the mark on her door. Tonight, she would be ready for these adventurers, even if they didn't appear on her doorstep. She needed to hear them out, at the very least. If only to honor her mother's last wish.

She would have to thank Gandalf for his meddling later.

Bramble whistled as she started her tea, a melody that had always reminded her of adventure. She hadn't whistled such a tune in years, not since before the Fell Winter, but her heart was light and she almost felt like dancing, which would be improper.

With tea in hand, Bramble went to her study, still whistling.

What sort of adventurers would Gandalf bring to her door, to meet?

That symbol had to mean something. It had looked almost jagged, like it could be cut into stone, as Gandalf had carved it into her door. It certainly didn't resemble any of the Elvish runes she'd ever seen, even those written in stone, so that meant Elves were out. That left her Dwarves and Men.

The Men of the North didn't write with such symbols either. They either chose to write in Elvish lettering, but used Westron, or tended to write in code. Her mother had had some friends in the Dúnedain, and Bramble had been taught several of their codes. That wasn't a symbol she knew in any form of their language; nor was it Rohirric, the language of the Horse-Lords. Certainly Gandalf wouldn't bring Men of the East into the Shire-it was just asking for serious trouble.

That left Dwarves. The children of Aulë, the secret race of craftsmen and miners, who jealously guarded their cultural secrets and never spoke a word of their customs to strangers. They were almost of a height with Hobbits, so at least the furniture would be suitable. Bramble frowned, abandoning her tea as she walked to the library her father had built in the back of Bag End.

She knew nothing about them, but she could at least make a token effort at learning. Though there were several books on the Dwarven race, they were often written by Men or Elves and seemed derogatory, in the same way that Men and Elves regarded Hobbits as cute and childlike.

They most certainly would not be.

There was only one book she owned that detailed Dwarves, and was written by Dwarves. Specifically, it was written by Narvi, who had been a great friend to Celebrimbor, the Ring-Maker. Bramble smiled as her finger brushed along its spine, and she pulled it out carefully.

She was not supposed to have it.

All other copies of this book had all been lost, along with its secrets, but she had kept it. It was hardly simple, but Bramble had only taken a look at it twice in her life. Most of it was written in a dialect of Khuzdûl no longer spoken in any corner of the world.

It had been a gift from the Lady of the Golden Wood to Belladonna, as a wedding present, to be used later in life. Belladonna hadn't ever understood why, but she had still told Bramble about it, and about the Lady. The Elven Lady of Lórien was a Lady of Light, said to be able to see events that would come to pass.

Maybe this had been what the Lady had foreseen.

It was bound, not in leather, but in a peculiar sort of scaly skin that was always warm to the touch. Its pages were still bright, almost silvery in color, and the bright bluish-black of the ink had not faded, but grown sharper over the years that Bramble had handled it.

With the warmth of the book in hand, she returned to her study, and sat down in her armchair. She did not know what the title of the book was, only the opening chapters' titles, as they were written in Sindarin and she was fluent enough to read it.

Yet even that had evolved over the years. Turning to the first chapter, she read Habits and Customs of the Dwarven Race—Celebrimbor.

The children of Aul ë, our sister-race, are quite secretive, but they have always had good reason to be…

Much later that night, Bramble sat down with her dinner, book in hand. She had taken a break from reading while she cooked, whistling to herself all the while, but her curiosity had led to her returning her nose to the book almost immediately after she'd sat down.

She was about to cut into the meat on her plate when the doorbell rang. It rang once, twice, and then several times, as if someone was jamming his or her finger onto the bell. Bramble huffed, and set down her fork and knife, picking up the book.

A refined lady Hobbit, she reminded herself, did not bellow at intruders.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," she muttered under her breath, hurrying to open the door.

Standing on the other side was confirmation of all her suspicions. There was a Dwarf standing there, on the doorstep, wearing armor and furs. The top of his head was bald, with several tattoos across his scalp, and he reminded her of a bear. There was some gray in his hair, but not much, and his black beard was braided, but not intricately enough to mark him as nobility. A massive warhammer was visible over his right shoulder.

Well, then.

"Good evening, Master Dwarf," said Bramble, frowning at him as his song echoed through her.

It was deep, and much more bell-like than she had anticipated-like a great gong resounding through her head. It made her a little dizzy, as it was practically shouting at her that this was not just any warrior Dwarf. Bramble could hear, dimly, that the Shire's song had also changed, softening itself as it brushed against his song.

He grunted at her, clearly not recognizing her as male "The wizard said there'd be food."

The dwarf, still nameless, stomped past her into the house, muddying up her polished wood floors, and of course he hadn't stopped. Bramble started after him with a scowl as she knew what he'd be going for, book still in hand.

Perhaps leaving the mark on her door hadn't been such a good idea after all.