Author's Note: Those who read my 12 Days of Darcy story from this past Christmas season will already know this story. I have some plot bunnies for some one-shots playing in the back of my head, so I decided to go ahead and get this set up on its own as the start of a new series. I look forward to exploring them as they come into clearer focus.

What Makes A Family

"In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit," Darcy muttered, shading her eyes with a hand as she watched the ravens fly past overhead. "If you can call a hollowed out mountain a hole in the ground. Oddest place for an average Hobbit to be living."

Not that Darcy could ever be called an average Hobbit, of course. A member of the Took family had been enough of an issue with the more insular of her people – what with the Tooks being the sort to travel and seek out adventures. Most Hobbits shuddered at the mere word. After all, adventures were nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things that would make a Hobbit late for dinner.

But then came her name!

Whoever heard of a Hobbit named Darcy?

Her name came about due to an argument between her parents. Everything started when her mother wanted to name her Daisy, but her father insisted on Rosemary. Neither of them wanted to compromise. They continued arguing from the day of her birth clear up to her naming ceremony. According to family legend, her ceremony lasted longer than any other in family history as her parents refused to settle on a name. The guest ate their dinner, drank their ale, and smoked their pipe weed as they watched the two Hobbits bicker over her name. Everyone enjoyed the show.

Finally, after too many mugs of ale, her grandfather Geronitus Took – generally known as Old Took – stood up and smacked the table with one hand as he pointed at his son with the other. "The girl's name is Darcy!" he thundered, his words slurring a bit. Then he turned to the guests. "And now it's time for bed. Shoo, the lot of you."

To this day her mother insisted Old Took meant to say Daisy, but his inebriated state made him slur the name. No one cared – Old Took said Darcy, and so Darcy she became.

Darcy inherited the full Took package, including the desire to travel. She explored every corner of the Shire as an inquisitive tween and even talked her father into taking her with him on his journeys to Bree. Her adventures might have ended there, as they did with most Tooks, and she would have settled down sooner or later to start her own household.

But then something unexpected happened.

Her cousin, Bilbo Baggins, disappeared into the east with a passel of Dwarves. He returned, settled his affairs, and disappeared yet again, but this time letting all and sundry know he intended to live in that far off Dwarf kingdom. The Shire rang from one end to another with talk of the very oddity of the Baggins of Bag End up and giving his home to his young cousin Drogo Baggins before running off to live with Dwarves. (Few if any pretended to have any sympathies for the complaints of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, but everyone had to listen to her grumbling for years afterwards.)

This alone might not have altered Darcy's future, but then letters came to the Shire asking for Hobbits who might be willing to move and join Bilbo in his new home. They needed gardeners, and no better gardeners could be found in all of Middle Earth than those living in the Shire. Most of the families scoffed and shook their heads at the audacity of the request before writing polite and verbose responses that boiled down to "No, thank you." They then planned to forget the whole affair except as a footnote to the history of the Shire.

And so it would have been…except for the Tooks.

Several members of the Took clan wrote quite different letters, packed up their belongings, and headed east. Their procession would be joined by an amused Gandalf the Gray who kept the children entertained with his fireworks while several Ranger and Elf guards rode along to protect the caravan. The journey became the first time since the Wandering Years that such a large number of Hobbits could be seen crossing the landscape of Middle Earth. They arrived at Erebor and began to settle in, creating smials, plowing fields, and planting gardens. A smaller version of Hobbiton popped up between Erebor and Dale, much to the amusement of the Dwarves and Men, though all grew to enjoy the ale and happy company to be found at the Red Dragon. (Some had argued for calling it the Second Green Dragon, but Bilbo offered to be a silent partner in the place if they would call it the Red Dragon. No one knew why, but such an offer from the Hobbit who brought the best Dwarf customers could not be refused.)

Among those Tooks who journeyed east came Darcy Took.

She might not have come, but she still felt the stirring for adventure in her heart, and when she heard her dearest cousin Anise intended to go, then there was no stopping her. While most of the Hobbits had lived in Dale until their own homes had been finished, Darcy chose Erebor. Something about the mountain tickled her fancy and she would often be seen exploring during her free time. Eventually she gave up any thought of creating a smial of her own and instead chose a small house near the main entrance of the mountain kingdom. It meant a brisk walk each day to reach her garden plot, but she never minded. A small stall attached to her house became a small shop where she could sell her homemade concoctions – jams, jellies, preserves, spreads, and all matter of breads, pastries, and sandwiches. Word began to spread and she could count on a decent number of customers anytime she opened – including many of her cousin's famous Companions if she had cared about such things.

Her days took on a nice set schedule, one she could feel comfortable with while still having enough surprises to satisfy her Tookish side. She would open early in the morning to sell hot breakfast pastries to Dwarves headed for their daily work in mine or smithy. An hour or two after sunrise she would head out of the mountain to check on her garden and to visit the marketplaces in Dale and New Hobbiton. Lunchtime would find her back in her stall selling cold sandwiches and desserts to Dwarves and Men alike. In the afternoon she would bake while keeping her shop open for those who wished to stop in to pick up some of her other products, things they could use in their own meal preparation. By evening, just in time for the evening meal (as taken by Dwarves and Men), people would arrive to purchase fresh breads and various pastries, both sweet and savory. Then she would close up, clean up, and set up before settling to enjoy a quiet supper and evening to herself.

She grew comfortable in her new surroundings.

And so, naturally, that's when everything changed.

The morning began just like any other, with a couple of hours in her shop followed by a visit to New Hobbiton. Then she made her way to the city of Dale. She exchanged greetings with various people she knew, including Stígr and Wissian, two of the royal guardsmen. Her footsteps took her to the marketplace where she poked and prodded and bargained like an expert, even managing to impress Marí, one of the Dwarf females who came down from the mountain to sell her crafted tools.

It happened after she arranged for her purchases to be delivered. She turned to make her way back towards the gate when her ears pricked up at the sound of crying. No Hobbit can ignore the sound of a child's tears. (Well, there should not be, but all races have 'those' types of bad apples.)

The crying drew her to a small courtyard where she found a child of the race of Men. He appeared ragged and bruised, not at all like most of the children of the city. If everything she had heard were true, then King Bard would be furious at this child's state. "Well, youngling, you look a bit misplaced," she announced herself with a soft, but cheery voice.

"Go 'way!"

"I most certainly will not," she retorted, voice still soft, but now with a thread of steel. "A bit ill-mannered to send me off without so much as a hello or an introduction."

Now he finally looked up at her, only to blink in surprise. "You're a Halfling!"

"Hobbit," she corrected. "Darcy Took, at your service. And who are you, youngling?"

"Lindion of…" His voice shook and trailed off. Then he shrugged. "Just Lindion."

"Let me see," she mused. "If I remember my readings correctly, your name relates to singing in some way… So, little singer, how did you end up here?"

He stared at her for a long moment before he spoke once more. "My brother left me here."

"And when will he be back for you?" she asked, trying her best to keep suspicion out of her voice. His gaze fell and she nodded to herself. "Well, then, up you get. You might as well come home with me for now. We'll get you a bath and some food and then we'll have a talk, yes?"

The young lad might have tried to argue, but he was only a child and Darcy argued with full grown Hobbits, Dwarves, and Men on a regular basis. No one could claim to have a real argument unless they had tried arguing with a Dwarf miner over the cost of pork sandwich while haggling with a Hobbit matron over the cost of three jars of jam. In little to no time at all, Darcy had the young fellow up to the mountain and into a bath. A couple of free turnovers to enterprising young Dwarves soon netted her a change of clothes for the boy.

"Now then," she muttered, "what to feed the lad?"

She decided to make him some sandwiches which she left him to eat as she went to mind the luncheon crowd. Returning after the lunch hour, she found her table and kitchen spotless, but the boy nowhere to be seen.

"Lindion?"

"Yes?"

She jumped at the voice which seemed to come from above her. Her eyes turned upwards and found him perched on top of a large hutch. "Oh my…" Then she shook her head. "You come down from there, youngling," she ordered. "My furniture is not for climbing."

"They called me Climber sometimes," he told her as he jumped down.

"Did they now?" she replied, hiding a wince as she worried about the landing. "Who did?"

"Or they called me Flint," he continued, ignoring the question. "They hadn't decided what outside name to give me."

"And who are they?"

He scuffed one foot against the wood floor, not meeting her eyes. "Just…people."

"Anyone going to come looking for you?"

"No."

The terrible finality of that answer made her heart clench. Darcy pushed her anger down and forced a smile on her face. "Well then, my lad, if an outside name is what you need, then we'll follow my grandfather's tradition. He combined names to get mine, so we shall do the same. 'Climber' and 'Flint' hmm? Flimber sounds silly, though I have heard worse, so…how about we call you Clint?"

"What does it mean?" he frowned.

"No idea," she laughed, waving a hand. "Darcy doesn't mean anything either – just my grandfather's way of combining Daisy and Rosemary."

"That's…odd."

"It is indeed," she nodded. "So, want to be Clint? You can stay here tonight and in the morning we'll go talk to whoever about having you stay with me." Then she shrugged. "Or about where you might want to stay."

"You'd let me stay?"

"Of course I would!" Darcy reached out and gave the young lad a hug. Young in age, though he already stood taller than her. "I'm certainly not going to leave you out on your own."

"Then I'll be Clint." Her newly, and as yet unofficially, adopted boy gave her a bright smile.

A year passed and soon Darcy did not want to remember a time before the mischievous Clint brought his own brand of merry madness into her home. The youngster enjoyed exploring as much as she did, but he would often go poking his nose into places it should not be. More than once someone had walked him home – to make sure he did not get 'lost' again. Mine overseers Bofur and Bifur, Companions to her cousin, returned him a time or two. So did the captain of the guard, Dwalin, as well as the Dwarf Nori…

She had yet to determine exactly what that one did for the royal family.

A free pastry or three and they would let the lad off with a cheerful warning before making their way back into the central part of the mountain. Of course, that free food also meant they became regular, paying customers, so she felt bad about scolding Clint too much.

Then he changed her world a second time.

"Aunt Darcy!"

She looked towards the main part of the house, a smile on her face at her boy's call. "In the kitchen!"

Clint bounced into the room. "Do we have any salad or vegetable pastries?"

"I'm sorry?" Darcy blinked at him in surprise. He usually went out of his way to avoid anything resembling green food, much like most younglings among the Men and Dwarves from what she had been able to gather. "You want a salad?"

"No!" He wrinkled his nose. "But she's hungry."

"Who's hungry?" Darcy demanded, drying her hands on a nearby towel.

"Nat!"

"And who is Nat?" Her footsteps took her into the dining area and she came to a stop, eyes growing wide as she spotted the tall, willowy figure standing just inside her front door. Nat, as this must be, was an Elf. A young Elf, she could not yet have reached her first hundred years, but still an Elf. She held herself in a serene, collected fashion, but Darcy could still spot the light of curiosity in her eyes…and the shadow of loss. The redheaded Elf somehow managed to look graceful despite her head almost reaching the ceiling of the room.

"Thank goodness for Dwarves and their tendency to build larger than necessary," she muttered. A smile, fleeting and small but real, touched the pale face and Darcy returned it with a brighter one. "Good afternoon, then," she stepped forward, holding out a hand. "Welcome to our home. My name is Darcy Took."

"I am called Nathiel," the Elf replied, her voice soft and smooth.

"Ah, thus the 'Nat' my youngling was talking about." Darcy nodded. "Have a seat, child. No reason to risk bumping your head. We shall have a spot of tea and then we can determine what you two have been up to, hmm?"

"She's teaching me to use the bow," Clint grinned.

"Is she now?" Darcy considered it and then shrugged. One way or another the boy would learn to use a weapon. "Better a bow than an ax."

She put together a quick tea, including a bit more food than normal, but watching Nat tuck it away, she felt justified in having done so. Her eyes caught the easy relationship between the two children – and how odd it was to see an Elf child here.

"Tell me, young Nat, what brings you here?"

Nat's eyes scanned Darcy's face and a struggle seemed to go on behind those deep green eyes of hers. After a moment she tilted her head. "My parents were killed by the spiders of Dol Guldur," she replied. "I refused to go into my king's halls, hiding when they came to take me. I've been…wandering ever since."

"Teaching yourself how to use a bow?"

She shook her head. "My father taught me," she explained. "And my mother showed me how to use knives."

Darcy frowned. "How old are you?"

"I believe I am eighty six."

Clint's jaw dropped. "That's old!"

A light flush rose in Nat's cheeks, but Darcy shook her head. "Not for an Elf, dear," she informed him. "She'll not come of age for another fourteen years or so." Her gaze turned back to the young Elf. "And I suppose you're still not wanting to dwell in Thranduil's halls."

"I'll not hide away, out of the light." Her hands clenched where they rested in her lap. "That is not living."

"No, no it is not," the Hobbit agreed. Clint turned a wide eyed gaze on Darcy who reached over and flicked his nose. "None of your looks now, youngling." She sighed. "Well, I've been wanting to expand to a larger house and stall anyway." Cheerful eyes focused on Nat. "If you've no problem spending your evenings under the mountain, I'll have you stay with Clint and I, shall I? He has lessons in the afternoon – and I would prefer you sit in on some of those if I can make the arrangements. The mornings are free time, though I always welcome help in the garden or the markets, but evenings are in the house."

"I…I would like that." Nat's smile deepened, though it held a hint of shyness. "I can handle being underground. I just…I don't want to be trapped."

"You won't be trapped here," Darcy assured her. "That's settled then." A frown flickered over her face and she lifted an eyebrow at Clint. "And why aren't you in lessons?"

"I had to bring Nat to you," he replied, giving her his most winning smile.

"Hmm…" She huffed out a sigh. "And you've done just that. Now run along to lessons and apologize to Master Ori for being late."

"But Nat-!"

"I can take care of Nat for the afternoon. We'll need to see who to speak with about her staying with me anyway." She began to steer him towards the door. "Off you go." He left with a final wave and a last attempt at pouting his way out of the lesson. "Hopefully I can get you into some of those lessons," Darcy told the Elf lass with a smile. "At least then I can be sure he'll go."

Nat laughed, her hands coming up to cover her mouth in surprise.

"That's better," Darcy nodded. "Now, come along. Let's see what we can do about getting things started."

The arrangements took a little more time than Clint's, mostly because King Thorin viewed most Elves with suspicion, but as Bilbo's cousin and a well-known shopkeeper to most of the Companions, Darcy rated a little more leeway than most. Soon enough Nat became a fixture in Darcy's household and, although it took a few months, she became one of the few Elves who received a true acceptance within the mountain.

Lady Tauriel being the other, of course. Once Darcy thought on it, she might have known another Elf teaching Clint to use a bow would draw the attention of both Lady Tauriel and Prince Kíli. The prince took an interest in the boy, introducing him to the King and Prince of Dale. Between them, they seemed to make it a new goal to teach Clint everything they knew about archery. Lady Tauriel took Nat under her wing, helping her to improve upon her fighting skills. Darcy was not sure how she felt about her household growing closer to such important people, but as the children seemed to enjoy themselves, she supposed it would not hurt.

The deepening involvement did net her a meeting with the royal cook, Bombur, and she spent an enjoyable hour in the stands above the training hall, trading recipes and cooking tips while trying not to watch her children become ever more lethal.

That meeting became the first of many.

Her cousin joined them after they became a regular part of her weekly schedule and the three friends began trying to create new recipes. Although they did start a fire or two (or ten, but honestly experimentation would do that!), in general they managed to create marvelous dinners that would have the entire Company and their families gathering as eager taste-testers.

Two years flew by – two years in which she watched her children growing strong and happy and healthy.

Clint began to blossom into himself, strong and resilient. He found his place with the men of Dale as well as the archers of Erebor under the prince. They accepted him and took his desire to be the best archer in the world as a challenge. Having positive and nurturing attention brought him out of his shell. He drew people to him and Darcy would have to hide her laughter as he played pranks on anyone who drew his attention. Proper? No, but as long as no one got hurt and nothing got damaged, she would overlook it.

Nat learned to smile. She never lost her solemnity, but she relearned an enjoyment in life. Her curiosity came back, fired by Clint's, and now Darcy had two children being brought back by various Dwarves, Men, and Hobbits from wherever their explorations had taken them. The Hobbits, once they understood the age differences, showed an amused tolerance as they did for most generally well-behaved children. The Men tended to be a bit more irritable, but the Dwarves thought it downright hysterical. They aided and abetted until Darcy would have to start issuing threats about cutting them off from her shop.

That much she had learned – Dwarves enjoyed a good meal almost as much as a Hobbit.

Despite their earlier misgivings, the Dwarves took to Nat, allowing her, as a child, a great deal of leeway. She would sit and listen to the stories told by Balin and Dís, asking them questions and showing a desire to learn that both of them encouraged. Attitudes towards Elves in general might still remain suspicious, but Darcy could detect a distinct softening after Nat came to live in the mountain.

Then came a disaster in the mines.

Everyone knew something had gone wrong. The mountain groaned and gave a loud rumble before the sound of a snapping crack echoed through Thorin's halls. People held their breaths, waiting to see what might be happening. When miners and guards began rushing towards the far northern mines, a sense of sorrow began to swirl through the various levels of Erebor. Mine collapses happened, even in the best, most prepared communities, and tragedies were not unknown among the Dwarves. Now they waited to determine how bad it would be.

Darcy kept her children close for the remainder of the afternoon, closing her shop and focusing on baking and making food for the guards and miners trying to rescue their fellow Dwarves. She and Bombur worked together in the main kitchens to create broth and nourishing soups for survivors.

"Should we make some rolls or something?" she mused out loud to herself. She turned to ask a healer only to start back when she found Nat standing right behind her. "Nat?"

"There is a young Dwarf sitting in the alley." The Elf tilted her head. "His breathing is catching like he needs to let himself cry."

"Oh, dear…" Darcy rushed outside, her eyes tracking straight to the young Dwarf in question. Small tremors ran down his frame, giving away his emotional distress no matter how stoic and still he tried to hold his expression. His eyes rose to meet hers as she hurried over to his side. She knelt down beside him, one hand going to his arm. "Why don't you come into the kitchen?"

He shook his head, lips pressing together. She could see him trying to hold himself together, not wanting to let go. Her hand lifted to brush back his hair from his eyes. "Come inside, youngling," she encouraged. "Come sit by the fire."

"I-." His voice broke and he dropped his head, ducking his eyes away from her.

"Come along, lovey." Now her voice took on a much more maternal tone. The lad seemed lost and drifting. "You can get warm and we'll get you some soup."

"Leave me alone."

The low growling voice only prompted her to continue urging him along. At least now he seemed to be responding. "My name is Darcy," she introduced herself. "You come with me now. Perhaps your family-."

"My parents are dead!"

His shout echoed down the alley and silence fell around them. The Dwarf lad froze, his eyes going wide as if he just now realized what he had admitted, perhaps acknowledging it to himself for the first time. For a moment everyone seemed to still, waiting as his breath grew fast and panicked. Then his expression just…shattered. He lifted his hands to his eyes, shoulders hunching over and shaking. Small gasping sounds of grief escaped him.

"Oh, my poor lad." Darcy rose up enough to put her arms around his shoulders, pulling him to her and letting him cry into her shoulder. She glanced up, catching sight of Nat and Clint nearby. Her voice fell to a whisper. "Go let Dwalin know." The children ran off and she ran her hand down the lad's hair. "Let it out, youngling. You're safe here."

They sat there for a quite a long time and Darcy could feel her legs growing numb, but she was determined not to move until the young Dwarf was ready. Once he finished crying, he stayed curled into her side, doing his best to get his breath under control. She watched as Dwalin and Nori blocked off the alley, keeping people from interfering, though Darcy thought she caught the Dwarf captain shaking his head and muttering about Hobbits adopting strays.

She gave him a sharp glare and it must have worked considering how he sped up to get out of her sight.

"Come along, lovey," she murmured, standing and pulling at his arm. He allowed her to draw him up and guide him into the kitchen. He shied away from the light, but took a seat in the shadow by the hearth fire. "Now let me get you some soup. It will help your throat." Darcy turned and found Nat holding a bowl out to her. "Thank you, my dear."

The Dwarf lad accepted the bowl, staring down at it.

"Go on, lad," Darcy encouraged. "Just take a spoonful or two. If you can't eat, that's fine. I just want you to try. It'll help your throat." He nodded, still silent, as he brought the bowl up and sipped directly from the edge. "That works as well," she accepted. Her eyes moved to meet Clint's. "A cup of tea, please?"

"Yes, Aunt Darcy."

Their new guest flinched at the words, but remained steady. Darcy moved over to sit beside him. "Would you tell me your name?"

"Búgvi."

She blinked a bit as his deep accent, her lips pursing as she thought on trying to pronounce that. "Bucky?"

"Búgvi," he corrected, meeting her gaze with his deep shadowed eyes.

"I'm sorry, lad," she sighed, a wry sort of look crossing her face. "I don't think I'm going to be able to get my tongue to twist around that one. Maybe after a bit of practice."

"Why would you need practice?" he muttered, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

Her lips pursed and she touched his arm. "Do you have somewhere to go?" One of his shoulders rose, a half shrug that expressed his lack of an answer. She nodded at that. "Exactly. So when you're ready, you'll come home with me. We have an extra bedroom and you can stay with us for as long as you like."

"You're not a Dwarf."

"No, I certainly am not. I'm a Hobbit." Then she lifted her brows and pointed across the room. His eyes followed her direction, widening a bit as he took in the other two children. "These are my young ones," she explained. "Neither Dwarf nor Hobbit, but both mine." Darcy stood up and brushed a kiss over his temple. "Have some tea. Rest. And let me know when you're ready."

Búgvi, or Bucky as she would forever call him, went through a long period of mourning, and they did their best to respect that. Then came the day when he smiled at one of Clint's antics. A month later he chuckled at a prank Nat pulled on Fíli. Darcy knew the corner had been turned when he began assisting the other two with some of their plans, using his crafting talents to help them with more elaborate set ups. The first prank pulled by her trio of troublemakers brought a warm smile to her lips and she quit worrying about the future.

Three children sounded just right…no matter how crazy Anise might think her.

Sometimes Darcy would look back over the past eight years and shake her head at how time could change a life. Eight years ago she left the Shire, a single Took female on one of the greatest adventures her people had seen since their Wandering Years. Now…now she held a trusted position in a Dwarf kingdom, a respected shopkeeper and the mother of three unique children who seemed set to change the very fabric of the cultures around them. Add in an unexpected Dwarf suitor and her life filled to overflowing.

Now if she could keep the princes and their friend Gimli from encouraging her children on their path to mischief.

"Good thing I'm not an average Hobbit," she muttered, lowering her hand as the ravens settled on the battlements. What a boring life I would have lived!"

Author's Note 2: This sort of took over my brain for two days. I found myself trying to decide which of the Company might make a good pairing for Darcy! I still haven't made up my mind.

Anyhow, I figured out the following in case I needed any extras – a few of which were used:

Hobbits

Darcy

Jane - Anise

Betty - Bell

Rhodey - Isembold

Jemma - Jemima

Erik - Erling

Dwarves

Bucky - Búgvi

Thor - Thorar

Tony - Tonni

Jarvis - Jarvari

Maria - Marí

Bruce - Brúsi

Fitz - Liti

Men

Clint - Lindion

Steve – Stígr

Sharon – Sunn

Fury – Frej

Sam – Wissian

Ward – Rand

Skye – Cwen

Elves

Natasha – Nathiel

Pepper - Ereiniel

Coulson – Feldîr

May – Melien