This is the first chapter of my story, UPDATED. Special thanks to Death to elves and Scribe of Erebor for Beta Reading, getting several changes in the story, such as reference to the timeline, extra detail regarding the character, and of course grammar corrections.


1

An introduction to the

Journeyman of the Shire

Third Age, Year 2980 (or 1380 SR),

"Return quickly with it in your hands! And look out for spiders."

It was the last two sentences he read in his mother's letter, as he was sliding his finger through the torn paper. Willie Sackville-Baggins wasn't new to this situation. Ever since he became ten, his mother got use over him for whatever tedious work came into her mind. It seemed normal, for sure. Such a family as the Sackville-Bagginses, needed lots of work, even out of the boarders of Eriador, to live. Even though Willie had so far been the only Sackville-Baggins to travel beyond Bree. Ever since the first time his Ma demanded that he left for work, he had only twice returned to the Shire. It seemed weird, however, for every time he was done with a job, Ma would just pop up another one, right after. Thus, he seldom got the time to return home. However, didn't want to believe that his Ma always came up with a way to get rid of him. Maybe he was the important part of this family and the only one able to do such nasty work! Maybe…

Willie was generally standing out in the crowd, the little time he had spent in the Shire, since he had become an adult himself. Now a 33-year-old hobbit, he could be seen to be taller and stouter than others, pretty much more like a dwarf rather than a hobbit. Other characteristics that made him different were his ears, not being pointy at all, for an accident during his youth had cost him the pointy edges, and his smaller, analogically, feet, which he constantly covered in leather boots. Along with his smooth face characteristics, one could easily mistake him for a very short human or a beardless, thin dwarf. Many times, he would get ridiculed by the other Hobbits for his appearance. Generally, this little fellow had earned two, unfortunately fitting nicknames. 'Willie-Nillie' - for he would do what his mother commanded, with or against his will – and Willie 'The Dwarf', for obvious reasons. The Sackville-Bagginses, not so much his papa Otho rather than his Ma Lobelia, always saw him, for this reason, as a miasma in the family, and even to the Hobbit race, so they sent him away from home as often as they could, to avoid looking at this mess of nature, as they called him. Not that he was ugly at all. A brown-haired, brown-eyed, 140cm tall hobbit, not weighing more than 120 pounds.

The task he had been assigned with this time sounded simple: all he had to do was to pick a few sprouts from a weird kind of grass-like plant. His mother seemed so certain when she named it. "Collect as many seeds and sprouts of the herb that you can find, bring them to us, and our family will soon become famous for our wealth: this plant will make us rich!"

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, Willie's ma, always had 'gaining' in her mind. A purpose in life for her, was to lay hands, someday, on the precious smial 'Bag-End'. Even though her husband, Otho, was the one with direct relation to the owner of this hobbit hole – Bilbo Baggins that is – she had taken it even more personal. Ever since Bilbo returned from the journey to the Lonely Mountain, a nasty idea had got stuck in her mind, that the 'Bilbo' to have returned was a fraud, while the real one had died. In some terms, she herself could sometimes consider it her duty to release the smial from her cousin-in-law's ownership. And that demanded gaining and gaining, through any job, especially through Willie. She was certain that this King's 'something', for the actual name was still stuck at the tip of her tongue, would be the great investment to turn the Sackville-Bagginses into Middle-Earth's mightiest traders and help herself lay hands on the precious Bag-End. At least that was what Willie had been told. And for this job an outcast was required so this herb would get to the family's hands. That scapegoat was Willie.

The letter arrived and got to his hands as he was still sojourning in a small village, east of Rivendell. Willie's business in general involved trading stuff. The last set box he managed to give away in that village, was a set of silver spoons. Lobelia had told him that it was a family antique or souvenir. He didn't mind, he had just had the job done, and that was what mattered. This time, however, his task sounded different than other times. His mother's instructions were defining: he had to move north-east, into the vast forest of Greenwood, to search for the herb. He had an enormous doubt as to why he shouldn't pick some from the woods next to Rivendell. "No, this is low quality. Mirkwood's is the finest, and there you shall go" was the forward reply to his question in Lobelia's letter.

The road was long, but Willie was impetuous to find the precious herb. It cost him nearly two months of his precious time, and a big amount of his precious allowance, as the trip expenses were his own problem to mind, claiming ma. But his real trouble hadn't begun yet, until he reached the boarders of the dark woods.

The forest was eerie. A weird, dark aura seemed to emit from inside its depths. The woodsmen Willie came upon would solely refer to it as 'Mirkwood', the forest of darkness. The hobbit wavered to all the weird rumors folk would often narrate on his trip. But the fearsome welcome Ma would keep for him back home if he disobeyed her orders, made all folklore sound less important and less difficult to deal with.

He went to a shop, hosted close to the entrance, in order to buy some extra supplies. The shopkeeper was really surprised to see a hobbit travel all the way to Mirkwood, almost as much surprised as Willie was to see a shop right outside the forest. The owner convinced Willie to buy food, rope, a cooking pot, even a silly crab hat, which the hobbit adored as soon as it came to his eyes. The food he acquired was more than enough, as he was prepared: one small sandwich per day was fine with him. After all, back home, when Ma prepared breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner and supper for his brother and cousins, he would find himself among them only during dinner time. Perhaps Ma trained him to be ready for hard times, such as this. Because she cared about him, as she claimed.

Soon enough, Willie had started a full conversation about his task with the owner. Of course the shopkeeper couldn't help but comment. Men have always been curious.

"You are going into Mirkwood all alone?" he asked Willie, fully surprised, as he scanned him from top to toes – not a long way to cover.

"Definitely!" Willie replied assured. "My mother told me to collect a specific herb and, in order to find what I seek, I must enter the woods."

"Poor halfling, so young…" the shopkeeper whispered as he once again checked the hobbit.

"Anyway, good day to you, now I must be on my way," Willie said happily and turned to leave.

"Wait! Take this with you, good gracious! A lone hobbit marching into the dark forest alone and unarmed!"

Willie turned again and got startled by something heavy landing on his arms. "Wow, it's a golden sword! Thank you good sir!"

'"It's not a sword, it's just a kitchen knife made of copper…I don't have weapons in stock, but I shall live better with having one kitchen tool less, rather than see you march into such a murky forest. All its residents, including the woodland elves, are dangerous, deadly and lethal to intruders."

"Thanks a lot, even though I shall be just fine with myself," Willie said and put the knife in his bag. "I have got my own ways and I'll get out of there soon. Just please, make sure not to tell anyone about my task, and I shall be grateful."

"Fear not, I'll keep my mouth shut," the owner said and smiled.

"Alright then, wish me luck!" Willie said happily and left the shop. Once he was gone, the shopkeeper's smile had vanished and got replaced by grumpiness.

"You'll need more than mere luck to survive and return from this dreadful place, little one," he thought. "What kind of mother would send her son in such a place for any reason?" He was certain that he wouldn't be seeing the hobbit again.