Thank you for sticking with me through the prologue!

As with the prologue I obviously do not own the Hobbit, JRR Tolkein and Peter Jackson own the rights to the book and movie. I own nothing except Freya, my OC

~G

Chapter 1: Reflection

The moon was shining brightly over the rolling hills as Freya stopped to catch her breath. Her feet were sore and it had been a long trek from Lothlórien, the place she had called home for the past one hundred and twelve years, but Freya knew that she was nearing the end of her journey. She took a moment to admire the beauty of the place she found herself in.

"The Shire" she said to herself.

Freya had taken too little time to reflect lately, preferring to focus on her journey, keep busy and lately "busy" had meant her own survival in the wilds during her journey. Her mentors would not be happy about that, they always encouraged her to reflect, and to meditate regularly as a method of controlling her emotions. She had been unhappy about leaving the safety of Lothlórien, but she did not once consider refusing to go.

She took a deep breath and looked at the rolling green hills; they appeared to almost glow blue in the dark where she stood under the moonlight of the clear night sky. As Freya continued walking she could see lights shining out of round windows here and there and she noticed a pair of curly haired folk who could only be hobbits standing at a round front door seemingly saying goodnight and shaking hands. She realised that their homes were built into the rolling hills, and what would have been unnoticeable as a home at first may actually be what she was looking for. She sighed; wondering how she would ever find the place she needed to be, let alone find out exactly why she was needed there. She had read much about the Shire, hobbits and their ways, but seeing it was another matter, especially in the dark!

Gandalf had always been so mysterious, never revealing even a hint of his intentions to her, but why break the habit of a lifetime now! The last time she she had seen Gandalf he had all but commanded her to be in the shire and to look for his mark on this exact evening. His tone brooked no argument and he said that she was needed. Having had far too much experience of the wizard when his mind was set and he had that determined look in his eye she decided not to argue, but to just accept that it must be important.

Freya chuckled to herself. She had never thought of herself as the accepting, obedient type before! She thought back to the first time she had met the enigmatic, forthright and often grumpy wizard the night she had fled her former life sitting in the Inn in a village she could not remember, and wondering what was to become of her.

Even though it had been over a century since that night, Freya still wore her dark hair long, so that it fell to her waist when down. Rather than hiding behind it however, she now found that it got in the way, so she usually wore it in a messy bun, a few dark and unruly strands escaping to frame her face. She sometimes wore dresses while at home in Lothlórien, but was still most comfortable in high brown boots, slim fitting breeches or long leggings, with a green tunic. She almost always wore her green hardened leather corset over the top of her tunic, it was structured enough to give her curves support (which had developed more in the last century), while giving her some protection from glancing blows when training, or if it came to it, defending herself in the wilds. Of course she was never comfortable without her favourite long green coat. It had been a present from Lady Galadriel and was embroidered with flowered vines in light blue and silver thread along the seams and cuffs. It was closely fitted to her form and fell almost to her Ankles. It had slits on the sides up to her mid thighs, giving the deceptive appearance of a robe until she moved and it became apparent that this was a garment made for her and her alone, designed to move with her and give her flexibility.

The elves of Lothlórien had jokingly called her "Freya the Green", as a jest at her usual attire and frequent and lengthy visits Gandalf had paid to her, but she took that as a badge of honour. Freya's appearance was now that of a human woman in her late twenties or early thirties, her youthful full cheeks had given way to fine features to match her grey eyes and slender, yet curvy physique.

Besides visibly only ageing about ten years in the past century, Freya herself had changed. She had changed from the frightened runaway fleeing a loveless betrothal to a man her sister adored. Freya had learned much and was proud of her achievements to date. She had learned to survive in the wild by hunting (in her own unique way) and gathering edible leaves, roots and wild berries. She was proud of her self sufficiency wherever she went, and most of all she was proud of her Gift and the look of pride she could invoke in her mentors. She now carried herself with more confidence; the elves had joked about her air of command when she had stopped hiding behind her hair and started standing up straight.

Freya had spent much of her life since her first meeting with Gandalf in Lothlórien where the Lady of Light had become her protector and mentor. Much of what she was today, much of her abilities and powers were thanks to Galadriel, her patience and faith in her to succeed. She had inspired Freya to persevere, to push and challenge herself and Freya had quickly come to love her not only as a mentor, but also as a mother figure.

From Galadriel, and Occasional visits from Gandalf and even from a very secret journey to Radagast the Brown she had learned herb lore, and could cast some minor offensive and defensive spells. She had learned to shoot a bow fairly accurately and fought with a two handed staff similar to Gandalf's. She could use a pair of daggers as well when there was a need. Swords had proved too heavy for her slender arms and the elves that trained her had taught her instead that daggers could be a more deadly ally for her when her staff was not to hand.

Where Freya felt her heart and talent truly lay, was her ability to heal. She had practiced on animals, healing the minor wounds and afflictions of the animals who served the elves of Lothlórien, then moving on to cuts and afflictions of the elves themselves. She had even healed Gandalf of a wound he had acquired defending himself from a lone Warg on his last visit to Lothlórien. She had wondered if the memory of this healing had prompted Gandalf to ask her to meet him in the Shire for whatever it was he was scheming now.

She had friends in Lothlórien amongst the elves. Haldir the Captain of the March Wardens of Lothlórien had overseen her training personally. He had become her friend and if she considered Galadriel the mother figure she never had, then Haldir was definitely like a brother to her. His brothers Rumil and Orpohin were friends, but there had been that initial language barrier when she had arrived as she could not speak Sindarin and they could not speak the common tongue. Freya had built a new life in Lothlórien, a new family that were able to accept her for who she was and nurture her Gifts. Freya was content, happy even in her new life.

One thing however always stayed with Freya, no matter how much her mentors or friends tried to change it. Freya was bitter.

Bitter about how she and her sister were viewed as assets to be forced into arranged marriages by her parents. She was bitter that her old friends had experienced the same fate. Most of all she was bitter that they had come to accept this because they were never taught to think differently. That women were possessions to be traded in marriage was a story repeated over and over in the world of men, one even eventually perpetrated by its victims as mothers sought matches for their daughters.

Men on the other hand had more freedom. They were expected to make a respectable marriage and produce heirs, but they had the freedom to refuse matches. They could even take a mistress if they were dissatisfied with their match, though any women who entered into such arrangements were shunned and spat on if they were found out.

This would have been her fate had it not been for her Gift and her selfish decision to flee; to marry without love and have her life controlled by her husband who would himself have a freedom she would never know.

But even her Gift had not entirely granted her the freedom she sought from the subjugation her gender decreed she would suffer. She had been forced to train in secret, to continue to conceal her Gift. This meant that she rarely ventured from the safety of Lothlórien.

On her few forays away from her home in Lothlórien, like her current journey, she was greeted with suspicion by those in the villages of men as were all women not attached to a respectable man. When she left Lothlórien she was made to feel like a second class citizen unless she had been accompanied by Gandalf or Haldir, at which point people assumed what they would (usually the worst) and simply kept their insults to themselves lest they upset her companion. When she was alone however, the world of man had no such qualms about sneering at and ostracising her.

She was sick of the lack of acceptance and respect the race of men demonstrated towards women, particularly those who were different and wished for more than to simply bear children and attach themselves to a man. She wondered why she ever left the safety of Lothlórien, but she knew she had a responsibility to use her Valar given Gift to help those in need, and at the moment, that was best served training and respecting the wishes of her mentors.

Sighing again and bringing herself out of her bitter reflection, she mentally shook herself. It would not do to let her bitterness get to her, and at this moment, her curiosity was greater than her harboured resentment towards her own race. Besides, thinking about her home was not going to simply get her back there, though she knew she could speak to the Lady of Light in her mind should she wish.

Freya set her thoughts on the mysterious meeting ahead of her and continued on her way, searching for the large tree on the hill, and Gandalf's glowing mark that she knew would be there.