Donnabelle 'Bilbo' Baggins was scared. She didn't recognise anything of her surroundings. Her bright blue eyes looked around the unfamiliar (giant!) furniture of her 'new' home. The wood flooring was foreign to her: she was used to carpets and tiles in her 'real' home; the home that she shared with her mama and papa. The tiny child whimpered slightly as she was dumped in the living area by her new 'master' and was left alone with the instructions not to touch anything. What was she to do next?

Her life had been a series of instructions and orders since first she was snatched after her grandfather's party months earlier. How she'd loved the thought of staying up late at that party! But that seemed a lifetime ago. She barely remembered the wooden sword she'd been playing with as she ran up to the man with the long grey robes.

"Hello little one," a voice broke through her confused state and the tiny faunting did the only thing she remembered to do from the Shire when a stranger talked to her: she hid between a settee and the wall.

"It's okay, little one." Donnabelle shook her head though the man on the other side of the settee couldn't see. It wasn't all right. She wanted her mama and papa. She didn't know this strange place with all the strange smells. Things were musty and it didn't smell of daisies or open meadows. It didn't smell like freshly cut grass. It was wet, damp and oh so unfamiliar. It smelled of rust, dust, and mould.

"I know you're scared, little gem." The little faunting focused on the voice and she frowned slightly. That voice didn't sound like the other angry voices she'd heard on the dusty road. It didn't sound like the loud marketplace where people stamped and trod and yelled and screamed. "I'm not going to hurt you." That voice; it kind of reminded her of her granddaddy. It was deeper, but it still held the same softness her granddaddy had whenever he spoke to her. Her brow wrinkled and she peeked out from behind the settee.

The only person she could see was a man that wasn't a man. He was shorter and wider than the bad men who'd taken her from her Shire, but taller than her papa and granddaddy. And he wore clothes she'd never seen before. His muddy blond hair brushed past his shoulders and was half pulled back to keep the front out of his eyes. His blue eyes were filled with kindness and a hint of sadness too. Donnabelle giggled slightly as she took in his nose – it was even bigger than her granddaddy's one! The man smiled softly and the hobbit decided he had a nice smile. It reminded her of her mama.

"That's it little gem," the man that wasn't a man said softly, in his deep voice that was kind of like thunder. "It's only us here."

Donnabelle shyly made her way into the room and her eyes darted around. She was sure that the man wouldn't blame her if she didn't take him at his word. After all, she'd made the mistake once before and that was something she didn't want to do again. She took another step toward the man that wasn't a man (she wasn't exactly sure what he was, other than he wasn't a hobbit).

"Who're you?" she asked.

The man was kneeling down at her level. "I'm Frérin, son of Thráin," he answered. "And what's your name, little one?"

"Donnabelle 'Bilbo' Baggins," the small child declared proudly. She'd only really learnt her name in the months leading up to her capture. Then her face fell and she ducked her head. She wasn't supposed to do that, she remembered. "Mama told not to say. Just tell 'em name's Bilbo."

Frérin's smile fell, but Donnabelle didn't know why. "Would it be alright if I just call you 'little one'?"

"It's what you been calling me," she said sadly. But she nodded anyway. Something about the name 'little one' made her feel safe. At least safe when he said it. Shyly, she looked up at him and then back down at her feet. "What're you?" she blurted.

He laughed slightly and tapped her on the nose. "I'm a dwarf, little halfling."

The five-year-old faunt scowled and stepped back from the dwarf. She folded her arms across her chest.

"Okay, mim'ibin, I won't call you that again," Frérin said.

Donnabelle nodded slightly, and bit her lower lip. She was trying so hard to be brave. That was something she remembered her papa had told her to be when she wasn't sure what to do. But could she trust this dwarf not to scold her if all she wanted to do was cry?

As if he could read her mind, Frérin's next words broke through the dam she'd built up around her tears. "Oh, mim'ibin, you don't have to be brave right now." She sniffed once and then felt him pull her into his arms. And with that, she buried her face in his shoulder and cried.

She couldn't explain it, but being in the stranger's arms felt like she was coming home. He wasn't her granddaddy or even her papa, but he reminded her so much of them that maybe he was the next best thing. He even smelt like the same pipe weed.

…

Or it could have just been her imagination… but she didn't mind that so much.

AN: mim'ibin is Khuzdul for 'little gem' (by way of Dwarrow Scholar)

A faunt or faunting is a hobbit child.