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Bando Stoors could have been considered an entirely respectable hobbit, if it were not for his extended houseguest. After all, a respectable inhabitant of Hobbiton would not allow a dwarf to linger upon their hospitality as this one had, no matter what the rules of politeness demanded.
Then again, Stoors was rather odd ever since that tall fellow moved in with him. He abandoned the cozy home left to him by his parents to build a smial practically at the edge of the Shire. His behavior was unheard of! Everyone knew only granite bedrock grew there; it was not a place to dig a proper hobbit hole!
Bando's later acquisition of a gold wedding band with no hobbit lass in sight cinched some people's concerns. Others who practiced the long appreciated art of 'don't ask, don't tell' merely nodded sagely.
"So that's how it is," they would mutter, before returning to their gardens or tea.
Needless to say, the appearance of a child baffled several individuals.
As it turned out dwarf women grew fine beards like men, and 'Master Kayli of the Blue Mountains' was actually 'Mistress Kayli.' The discovery eased some minds, but the scandal lasted for much longer than nine days, and most refused to believe the strange rumor until they saw it for themselves.
The Stoors family, kitchen bound hobbit father, ax wielding dwarf mother, and three hairy faced and footed sons, tended to ignore the chatter, and laugh uproariously from behind the door of their stone carved home.
Alas, the family would have continued in such bliss, were it not for the price of mortality. Hobbits, as the couple discovered, lived much shorter lifespans than dwarves. When her husband died at ninety-seven, Kayli was considered barely into the prime of her life.
Her eldest son decided he would not find his heart's desire in the Shire, and set out to find his Mother's relatives in the Blue Mountains. Rumors of a strange wandering dwarf with large hairy feet and pointed ears like an elf circulated traveler's campfires for a good while before dying out.
Her middle son, who took more after his placid father, shaved his beard (to the horror of his mother) and married an adventurous lass from Buckland. He had one daughter, named Adamanta, before retiring to a cozy dirt dug hole in Tuckenborough. There he lived happily until his wife's death, when he faded away to follow his love.
The youngest remained by his mother's side, occasionally straying to patrol with the local Bounders around the boarder, until his death. The Fell Winter was not kind, even to hardier folk of darrow stock.
The winter also took her granddaughter, Adamanta Chubb. The lass had taken her mother's maiden name for political reasons, which could be summed up as the desire to avoid scandal. Fortunately at that point the quarter dwarf had been married to one Geronitus Took for some time, and left behind no less than twelve great-great-grandchildren for Kayli to wonder at.
Not that the old dwarf was allowed anywhere near her extended family since the wedding. She had never quite been the same since the old Stoor's death. Besides, what would the neighbors say if she taught the children such un-hobbit like behavior as wielding a sword? (Not to mention the fact that all her children had died so untimely...hobbits were not an unsuspitious people.)
One, a certain Belladonna Baggins nee Took, had inherited more than her ancestor's height, and stubbornly marched to the lonely stone smial. Knocking smartly on the traditional round wooden door, she barely waited till it opened before shoving the baby balanced on her hip into the greying darrowdam's arms.
"This is your granddaughter, as am I. May we come in for tea?"
Kayli blinked bemusedly behind her bushy brows at the tiny fauntling cradled between her work beaten hands. The baby giggled and pulled at her beard. She smiled, and invited them in.
They say it was Belladonna's marriage to Bungo which curbed her wild nature, but those who knew her (including her husband) attributed the change to the birth of her daughter and her friendship with the well traveled old dwarf at the edge of civilization.
In any case, no one stopped the stubborn Took from visiting her great-grandmother twice a week, baby slung over one arm, basket on the other.
The baby was an odd little thing. Her feet were, if not entirely undersized, definitely a size or two smaller than the average hobbit. She also stood a head above her peers, and most agreed she would even outstrip her mother in height. Belladonna was already quite taller than anyone else in the Shire, save her great-grandmother.
The real scandal came when Bungo Baggins fell ill with the cough that struck so many after the Fell Winter. Belladonna, instead of doing the sensible thing of leaving her daughter with her hobbit relatives while she cared for her ailing husband, chose to leave the girl in that horrid stone house with that dwarf.
"Aren't you worried about her picking up bad habits?" the polite Shirefolk asked.
"She already forgets to wipe her feet after playing in the mud, I don't see how it could get much worse," Belladonna would reply, before continuing with her shopping.
Others, namely one Lobella Sackville-Baggins, were not so soft spoken. "That child will be running around waving about swords and bows in no time, mark my words!" she sneered. "I bet she might even start to wear shoes!"
All hobbits within hearing distance properly gasped, and one even fainted. Belladonna frowned.
"I suppose if my daughter insists on running over those jagged rocks in your walkway all the time, that might be best. Your path is not as fine as the one in Bag End. Thank you for your input," she said thoughtfully, before returning home.
Lobella fumed, and refused to invite herself for tea over her least favorite cousin's house for nearly a week.
Bilbo Chrysanthemum Baggins, called Bilba in an attempt to correct a clerical error on her birth certificate, knew nothing of the small war being waged over her upbringing.
She knew of it, much like how she knew of the funny story where daddy was so happy the day she was born that he accidentally told her name backwards to the midwife leaving her with a respectably male first name. Momma thought it funny, but daddy insisted on changing the 'o' to an 'a', lest their daughter feel less feminine due to his mistake. She knew of it, but did not particularly care to understand it.
All little Bilba knew was that when daddy started coughing, momma got that look in here eyes which meant that she was worried, and asked if her brave little girl would like to sleep over a relative's house for a few days.
That was how the lass found herself tucked into one of the granite cut guest rooms of her amadel.
Amadel was not like other hobbits, Bilba decided. For one, she asked Bilba to call her amadel instead of great-great-grandmother. No one else in the shire had a grandmother with that many greats wither. For another, she had a beard.
"I thought only men in Bree had beards," she said with a pout one day as amadel braided her wavy hair by the fire.
"They do," the old woman agreed, "but not as fine as mine or the ones your grandfather and uncles could grow."
"Will I grow one?" the lass asked, rubbing her cheeks as if tiny golden hairs were already sprouting.
Amadel laughed like and earthquake, and Bilba felt compelled to join her, despite not knowing what the joke was. "No, khajimel, I think you are too much of a proper hobbit for that."
Bilba nodded with a shrug, and tried not to feel disappointed as great-grandmother continued to braid. That was another odd thing about amadel, she loved to braid Bilba's hair.
"Golden like your mother's," she would croon, "but thick like mine. You are blessed to be able to weave so much into your braids."
She also knew practically everything, especially about braids. Bilba never knew that braids could mean so many different things, ranging from 'I'm a warrior and brave' to 'I'm in love, please notice me.'
"So braids are like flowers," the hobbit girl said one day as epiphany struck her.
Amadel blinked at her. "How so, khajimel?"
Instead of answering, Bilba raced into a field overflowing with spring flowers and gathered up a bouquet to show off.
"See?" the lass grinned, as her amadel delicately held the plants. "The yellow ones mean happiness, and the red ones mean love!"
"Ah," said amadel. "And which ones are the red ones?"
"The tulips?" Bilba pointed out. Amadel plucked at a daffodil uncertainly. Bilba furrowed her brow. "I thought every hobbit knew about flowers."
"Well," said amadel, gently setting down the bouquet, "I am not a hobbit. I am a dwarf."
"Oh," said Bilba, who absorbed the information like any other child with blank acceptance.
Dwarves did not see the same way hobbits did, amadel explained. Color, as described to her by her husband, did not have a direct translation in Khuzdul, the language of dwarfs. The closest they had was urjukhudh, luster, or, literally, that which is seen when light flows.
"We don't need to see color underground," amadel said. "Metal and stones can be found by their urjukhudh, even in the dimmest light. If one has a good stone sense, even that is not needed."
"What's stone sense?"
The darrowdam looked thoughtful. "Hm, I'll tell you if you promise to keep it a secret."
Bilba nodded vigorously, excitement flowing off her in waves.
So Kayli explained about Mahal's gift to his children, and the secret rivers of raw gem studded metal and starlight mithril flowing through the earth.
"I could smell out even the deepest veins, when I was a lass. They called me Orefinder, until I settled here," she sighed. "I still sometimes find a small catch here and there in the Shire to keep my trade sharp, but it is of no matter."
"That's like how mommy can always find her sword!" Her granddaughter looked star struck. "I want to do that!" she squeaked. "Please amadel, will you teach me? Then I'll go have real treasure hunts, without a map or anything!"
"Oh?"
The tiny girl nodded, her braids bouncing. "I'll find the biggest hoard ever, and slay the monsters guarding it to hang their pelts like rainbow banners in my hall!"
"Big words for such a small hobbit! Your grandfather once mentioned that, in the dark, colors are somewhat difficult to see, so perhaps you might wish to hang them elsewhere," the dwarf said, trying to dissuade her granddaughter's enthusiasm. It would be cruel to tell her the skill was not one a person could learn.
The hobbit switched tracks easily, forgetting her oaths to discover hidden veins of treasure. "Is that why your smial is always so dark?"
The old woman looked about the cold stone room lit by a single candle just visible in the hall. The flame refracted in her worn eyes like a cat's might. "To me there is light enough. I forget you are not the same, my khajimel."
"It's all right," Bilba chirped, giving the tall figure a hug. "I keep extra candles in my pocket when I go exploring!"
For there was much to explore in the smial, which was so unlike any other home Bilba had ever been in. It was not just because the ceilings were higher than Bilba could see in some places, nor was it because the hole was dug from living granite instead of soft dirt lined with wood. No, what attracted little Bilba to explore each forgotten corner of her grandmother's house was the sheer grandeur of the architecture. Every pillar and doorway was deliberately carved and constructed with care born of ancient tradition. Only the kitchen felt properly hobbit-ish, and Bilba was certain that was because amadel made it that way for her great-great-grandfather.
The great halls echoed like thundering horses when Bilba ran down them, trailing a stick behind her. She could always hear amadel walking, no matter how far away she was. The girl often used this skill to creep out from behind corners and tackle the old darrow with a hug.
"You must have inherited my hearing, my little quiet thief," she said teasingly when Bilba announced this skill. "We darrow can hear a man speaking from a whole mountain range away, if the tunnels are constructed correctly. 'Tis why our folk love singing; it helps to carry our voices."
"Could you teach me?" the hobbit lass begged.
Amadel looked at her appraisingly. "You are part darrow. I think it is not forbidden."
She taught Bilba lyrics to chant and words to speak, till the little girl practically refused to talk in anything save the secret language of her great-grandmother. The child thought it a fine trick to speak perfectly polite sentences to the other hobbit children who thought her too odd to play with, and have them run weeping to their mothers, sure she had cursed them.
The ones who did allow her to join their games, usually her Took cousins, found themselves falling into step behind her battle cry as they raided farmer Maggot's mushroom stores.
"Baruk Khazad!" she shouted, waving about her tiny wooden sword as her troops scattered when faced with the guard dog. "We shall not lose this battle today!" The little boys roused themselves to her cry, and managed to sneak a few extra ears of corn while their fearless leader held off the beast.
They, at least, managed to get away.
Later, after a stern lecture from the Sheriff of Hobbiton and a tearful apology never to steal again, Kayli held her granddaughter in her lap by the fire and stroked her hair as she wept.
"I wouldn't have gotten caught if Fortinbras just listened to me and didn't run off," she seethed, eyes burning with tearful fury.
Amadel chuckled. "One must be able to trust ones troops when waging war. To be picked for such a guard is a great honor among darrows."
Bilba looked seriously into her amadel's face. "Will I ever be picked to go on an adventure like that?"
The old woman smiled. "Perhaps. However you would need to gain more skill with your sword."
The next day found Bilba slashing at weeds in the back garden with her brand new dagger, which given her size might as well have been a hefty blade.
Life could not have been better for little Bilba Baggins.
Then her mother unexpectedly visited.
When Bilba first began her stay with her grandmother, Belladonna would go to the granite smial every other day and twice on weekends for lunch and to hear her daughter's latest adventures. However, Bungo's health had taken a turn for the worst, and the mother was separated from her child for an uncomfortable amount of time.
His health had not improved with time.
He passed before winter set in heavily.
The hobbits cried together in the relative privacy of Kayli's living room, before the old dwarf returned baring a tray of tea things.
Bilba pressed against her mother as the adults spoke about things she didn't really understand, but knew was important. Her hands twined into the soft cloth of her mother's blouse, so different from amadal's coarse furs.
"Dwarves love only once," the older woman said soothingly. "Some say it is due to our stubbornness and not knowing when to quit. I tend to agree."
Belladonna laughed brokenly. "When that happens to hobbits, we consider it a mixed blessing. There are stories of widows and widowers simply fading away soon after..." Her breath caught.
A new wave of tears washed her cheeks. "Great-grandmother, I feel as though my heart has left my breast."
The old woman laid a hand across her palm, eyes understanding. "I know."
Bilba is taken back to live at Bag End with her mother, though with how much they visit the granite smial it is almost like she never left.
Everyone always said that Bilba took after her mother in everything from temperament to looks, but there was still enough of her father in her to prompt a smile from Belladonna. Bilba set aside her sword in favor of tending to her father's books and hoped the similarities would be enough to keep her mother with her.
They weren't.
The eave of her coming of age birthday found Bilba curled in her mother's armchair, eyes vacant. When well wishers knocked on the door, she did not find the energy to answer.
She probably would have stayed that way past sunset, if not for the stubbornness of dwarves who ignore closed doors.
"Amadel," she said, surprise breaking through her numb heart. She had never seen the dwarf outside of her own home. To have walked this far in her old age must have been a trial.
Remembering her manners, Bilba wiped her face clean of tear tracks and offered her grandmother a chair by the fire.
The old dwarf eased into a seat and motioned for the young adult to sit before her. Bilba did, and felt familiar fingers begin to comb through her hair.
"I will show you a new braid tonight," she rumbled. "Then I will show you how to carve a bead with which to fasten it. Hobbit names are a bit tricky to put into ruins, but I am sure the Valar won't mind using westron in this case to write your parent's names."
She tugged at the plait going behind Bilba's pointed ear. "When you have no more tears to cry and your mourning time is done, only then may you clip the braid from your hair."
"But amadel," she whispered hoarsely. "I thought dwarves did not cut their hair."
Two strong arms held her comfortingly. "In times of sorrow we may."
The bead is cut from polished oak, which once was apart of her father's old broken pipe. Bilba wore the ornament boldly at her left temple, heedless of the whispers from her fellow hobbits at her exotic hair style.
Eventually, when tears no longer prick her heart when the bead catches her eye and the pain in her mind loses its bite (but is never, never gone) she takes up her mother's sewing scissors and tucks the braid in her father's old tobacco box. She buries her sorrows in the back garden under a carnation plant.
When suitors begin knocking at her door in an attempt to comfort the poor disheartened rich lone daughter to the fortune of Bag End, Kayli rouses herself one last time from her granite home to teach Bilba one more type of braid.
These thick braids tuck behind both ears and are held with two heavy silver clasps.
"Perseverance, cleverness, loyalty, and light-footedness." Amadel read the ruins carved onto the matching ornaments's side. "I forged them for your coming of age day, but I believe you most need them now."
Bilba fingered her hair, not mentioning that by hobbit standards, she was already well into adulthood, despite looking barely out of her tweens. She memorized the braided pattern to practice later. "What do they mean?"
"They mark you as queen of your domain," the old dwarf chuckled. "A queen does not need a beardless little boy to rule, and neither do you. You are regal and strong, and shall not marry unless you yourself wish it!"
The young woman straightened her spine confidently. "That's right!"
The next unwelcome guest trying to invite themselves over for tea were politely asked to leave. If they refused (or had a name rhyming with Lobella) they were asked again at sword point, with a very sharp smile that glinted like the beads in her hair.
The days spent with her father's books and mother's tenacity, compounded by her own cleverness, allowed Bilba to shrewdly mediate her own business disagreements allowing her to support herself with a sizely income. Were she a man, such activities would not be nearly as frowned upon, but anyone who made the mistake of underestimating her because she was a woman inevitably regretted it later.
Thus time passed in relative peace and contentment for the infamous Mistress of Bag End.
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A/N: will update once a week till what I have written of the story is done.
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Dwarvish translations
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amadel - mother of all mothers. Closest word I could find to grandmother.
khajimel- gift of all gifts. I use it as an endearment, like when people say a child is a 'gift from above.'
urjukhudh - color. Here I'm using it to mean something like luster.
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Elvish Translations
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kalina - light
taurn - high
n'taurn - low
taurn kalina - high light, aka: ultraviolet, ect. I made up this concept based on science.
n'taurn kalina - low light, aka: red light spectrum, radio waves, ect. I made up this concept based on science.