There are reasons to hide from the world; pain, loss, and grief are powerful motivators. However, not everything can be kept hidden indefinitely. Sooner or later, time catches up with us. It is through friendship, love, and a bit of laughter that isolation is lost. Bofur/OC (friendship for now).

This story follows the company of Thorin Oakenshield as they enter the wilds beyond the gentle, rolling hills of the Shire and meet a companion as stubborn and suspicious of strangers as they are. She's too stubborn to assume that her meeting with Gandalf and eventually the dwarves would lead to another path to traverse in Middle Earth. However, regardless of fate or destiny, she'll find that hiding is not a solution, but a placeholder for some greater adventure (or misadventure, depending on your mindset).

I've been working on this for several months and have most of it written, but I'll keep to a weekly posting schedule (time permitting).

Enjoy!

As the rolling pin made contact with the ball of dough, Eywn let loose a breath. It was a habit she picked up from all her years under her mom's tutelage. The same thing occurred when she watched a wave of water rush towards the river's edge. That moment before the break and crash; no breath could be drawn during that moment of tension. Only once the water ebbed and flown away, waiting for the next wave to arrive, a breath was permissible. The same was true for when she dove into a new creation. Her mother always said it was the crucial moment in the entire experience. Once out of the fire, the process would be complete, but it was that moment as the process began that was crucial, regardless of the prep work to make the dough, kindle the flames, or set out the remainder materials. As the dough rolled out, she smiled. It would be a fantastic blueberry pie. The summer sun had been kind to her garden and the blueberries were plump and ripe.

She had a week before the caravan would come by her home in the wilderness and take her stored goods to market. Eywn rarely left her home. There was no need. A bargain had been struck years ago that left any need to leave unnecessary. She didn't want to leave. Her history had made her wary of even the smallest of villages. As per her arrangement with the caravan, Ewyn would be replenished with supplies and would in turn make some of the best foodstuffs and crafts this side of the Misty Mountains. This had been going on for about four years and so far she's resided in her cottage, safe and contentf.

There were only several instances of danger, when a roaming bear found his way onto her verandah and into the living room, when a thief disguised as a beggar entered her home, and one particularly nasty storm nearly took her house and the surrounding trees. She hid in the underground cellar for almost two days until she was certain that the bear had left, she took the thief out with the combined effort of her rolling pin and skillet, and she withstood the storm, clearing the broken mess from her garden after it had passed. Eywn did not fear death. That fear had been driven from her; she was only afraid of being confined in the constraints that had taken her family away from her. Her trust in others was few and far between; while the only thing that diminished her adversity to human interaction was the fact that her avoidance of such things was only possible by the trust she had in the members of the caravan, she felt such interaction was the only one permissible due to the longstanding friendship that had been affirmed between her family and the caravan long before she went into hiding.

A loud crash caused Eywn to jump. Turning, she saw a bowl of apples, which had been perched precariously on a chair in her rush to start the pie, now scattered across the floor. A tail was wagging incessantly, as if pleased by the accomplishment of adding to chaos.

"Avel, you are impossible," Eywn muttered, leaving the apples to roll. She also found a companion in her golden retriever, Avel, or Avalanche, as he was called in moments of trouble. The dog was a walking avalanche. He caused things to fall over that didn't seem likely to fall under normal circumstances, but she loved the dog. His loyalty was comforting to her and the two spent hours in the sun, playing, hunting, and any other activity they saw fit. Now, the dog moved to his small cushion near a window that let the sun shine brightly through.

Eywn molded the now flattened pie crust into a round pan, raising the edges along the sides of the pan. She smoothed out any bumps and pinched regions where the crust was weakened by her ministrations. Once the dough was smoothed over the entire circumference of the pie pan, she checked the fire and knew it to be the right temperature. Her oven was prepared to start baking. Guiding the pan into the oven, she closed the door and set the water timer to twenty minutes. She didn't want the crust to be too doughy, nor too crunchy. She would give it longer than that in the long run, but twenty minutes was her go-to time for crusts.

Even though her crust would have to cool completely before the interior could be added and returned to the oven, she wanted to give the berries a decent amount of time to mingle; flavor was key and the longer the berries had time to work their magic, the better and longer the flavor would hold out. Once the berries, sugar, and a series of special ingredients were added, she let it rest on the counter. Although she had it memorized, the self-made checklist constantly drew her attention. She wanted to be ready when Ros and his caravan arrived. The pies would hold their own in the cold part of the cellar, a design that made their arrangement work best. All the wives of the far off towns would need to do is rest the pie over the fire to thaw and rewarm the pie, revitalizing the sweetness of taste. No one knew it was Eywn who made the pies, but the caravan was well known for their provider of these incredible delicacies. It filled Eywn with a sense of pride to see the storage bins in the caravan left for her creations empty upon arrival. Either the caravan group had eaten all of them, or they were making their way into the homes of families and in the halls of local magistrates. It didn't bother her that she was rewarding establishments not unlike the one that had torn her entire world apart.

The caravan didn't go there anymore; the money wasn't worth the anger Ros and his companions held for the heartlessness of those people. Since those days, Eywn heard of how her hometown had fallen apart with the absence of the caravan. They were isolated enough to rely on the caravan for supplies and goods from the main towns and cities and were being punished for their rash choices. The coldness in Eywn's heart left little pity, but there was still a flicker of sadness. She grew up loving the people around her, she played with the children, laughed with the adults when she was old enough, became an apprentice with the combined mothers and grandmothers who taught her everything about baking. To hear of their failing community was only met with pity to know that they brought their suffering upon themselves. Eywn never asked Ros to forsake them. She didn't care what he did away from her home, but they chose to ignore the needs of a town that caused a friend of theirs so much pain. Sooner or later another group of traders would go by that dwindling place. They would survive…unlike her family and exactly like she.

As the water timer dwindled, she opened the door to the oven and took in the scent of cooking crust. It was going well so far. She knew it would take another ten minutes for the crust to solidify. Avel began to whine; he had grown accustomed to the scent of cooking pie crust, but it still made his mouth water. She chuckled and patted his golden head. Settling herself down in a chair at the kitchen table, she took in the sound of the family of birds nestled in a crook on the outside window ledge. The baby birds were chirping for their mother to return. Hungry mouths peered over the edges of the nests. Eywn felt a soft smile tug at her lips. They were always hungry. Avel rested his head on her lap and sat, tail wagging eagerly. It was in these moments of stillness that Eywn became conscious of how alone she truly was. Books could only hold her attention so long before she remembered no one was there to talk about them with. She had no skill in singing, though it didn't stop her from trying, and she would dance to music that played in her head-Silly diddies that the caravan members would play on their carved instruments. Ros would dance with her occasionally before returning to his wife. Several of the younger male members of the caravan would ask her to dance, but none of them were her type. She enjoyed dancing with the small children. They were learning the complicated steps of popular campfire dances and she willingly obliged to teach them. The memory of their squeals and giggles made Eywn laugh, not to mention the sight of their attempts to be coordinated in dancing.

She began stroking Avel's head lovingly. In these moments of silence, she allowed her mind to travel to happier times. Memories around the campfire with the caravan were plenty and all happy to remember; however, her mind preferred to return to the days when she was a small child, dancing with her father, stirring the dough with her mother, playing games out in the yard with her sisters and brother. Her favorite memory was the day her father taught her to use a sword. He hadn't expected her to be able to handle the weight, but years of lifting the heavy water-laden bin made her muscles accustomed to such weight. He taught her blocking techniques, much to the displeasure of her mother. Once she could block almost anything, he taught her to transition from defensive techniques to the offensive. How to position the sword, transfer it from hands and grip-types, how to engage an enemy with more than her sword, her father taught everything she ever needed to know about keeping safe from unfriendly beings. If she were disarmed, she knew how to use her body to defend against an attacker. Leg sweeps and punches to the specific weak spots on a larger opponent became second nature in addition to her sword ability. Her older sisters mocked her affinity for such male hobbies, but she didn't care. She was by far the best baker among them, and could manage both the hobbies of a man and a woman whereas they struggled with the womanly hobbies. Fortunately for them, they were beautiful and it didn't matter.

Eywn was by no means ugly or overweight, but she wasn't the slim, tall, beauty that her older sisters were. Taking after her father and brother, she was of a more sturdy build. She didn't mind that her body had more meat and muscles, much like a boy her age, but it didn't mean that she longed for that natural beauty her sisters had. They were always being beckoned by the young men on the streets when they ran errands. Rings of flowers were given, innocent tokens of affection, proclamations of beauty were called, kisses given under the willow tree near town square; none of these were offered to Eywn, always to her sisters. Lywn and Maywn took these gestures with minimal protest. Her father's hair turned grey quickly with worry that his daughters would run off with the idiot son of the tanner or the oaf of the butcher. He never worried about Eywn though. He didn't want her to resign to an unwanted life, and he knew she had no desire for the same things that his older daughters sought. Although, he knew her sadness at every advance made towards Lywn and Maywn and not her; she knew he wanted her to be happy, but he also wanted to instill in her a strength he knew could never be given to the older girls. If their fate hadn't been to suffer the flames of the pyre, they would've lived a long happy child-bearing-filled life with husbands who doted on their beauty as they served meals and did the washing. Eywn, on the other hand, would not have chosen that and allowed her heart to remain closed.

Remembering the days where her sisters would be given tokens of affection by boys and how none would find their way into her waiting hands, Eywn smiled grimly. She spent most of her time during those days of sadness with her brother, Ronin. He was the sibling she enjoyed the company of the most. Although it was her mother's wish to spend time with her sisters, in effort to spread the feminine tendencies onto a child who would much rather not be swayed by such, Eywn enjoyed the adventures she and Ronin had. They would play wargs and warriors. She would always end up being the warg, because of Ronin's dream to be a swordsman. As she feigned death by a wood stick, Eywn would laugh and kick her brother's legs out from under him so they tumbled in the tall grass together. Those early summer days were filled with bliss. As her sisters would giggle at the dirt and twigs embedded in her un-brushed hair, she would laugh at Ronin's tongue pointing in their direction. Her big brother always defended her. Always.

As the water timer dwindled to mere seconds before her crust would be ready, Eywn heard the wind chime ring by the front door. The only reason that wind chime would sound was the presence of someone at her front door. It was the best doorbell she had that served as a warning before the visitor reached the actual bell. The creaking wood of the verandah would send a shockwave through the wood that lead up to the wind chime's perch, jostling it enough to sound. Eywn stood and brushed the flour and sugar granules from her apron and skirting. Avel became alert at the sudden move. His head turned to follow her as she headed towards the oven. As the bell rang, she pulled the pie from the oven, fearful that she would miss her window of opportunity to remove it, thus browning it too far. Placing it on the window sill near the oven, she grabbed her father's sword, an inheritance that she received on the day of the funeral.

It was broad daylight, but that didn't mean raiders would try to break into her home; she was too far isolated to be free from attack. Avel joined her, a low growl growing in his throat. He always was one to look after his mistress. Looking through the small peep hole at the door, she spied a tall figure swathed in all grey, from his beard to his cloak. The grey-beard signified great age, but that didn't mean the figure was not hostile._

Thank you for reading. Many blessings! ~Eylanan