When she began to come to, it was dark, and a fire crackled softly nearby. There was a dull ache across her head and she didn't want to open her eyes. She turned slightly, shuffling whatever she was laying on, and cracked her eyes open just a bit. It seemed she was in her room. She'd recognize that door any day, but it was open. She slowly sat up, brow furrowing. Was she dreaming, then? All that nonsense with the other dwarves and all the damage they'd done to her home? Mizimel swung her legs around, and stretched, reaching a hand up to scratch at her hair. She froze.

Her hair had dried bits of stuff in it. She looked down and saw that she was wearing her work dress, which had stains from…creamed spinach. She wanted to throw up, as she ran to the bathroom directly across the hall to avoid causing a mess all over her room. Not a dream, then. It was all so wrong. What business did they have that had them come to her house? It couldn't have been good, and Bilbo looked so horribly flustered. She sat on the floor, head against the tub as she stared at the wall. She should probably clean up. She was a complete mess, and even though Bilbo had been raised with her he was still a gentleman and hadn't dared touch her more than put her back in her room…which he couldn't have done by himself. She shuddered, and began to fill the tub with hot water so she could – at the very least – wash her hair.

The water felt divine. It soothed her muscles and it felt good to wash all the dried, disgusting gunk out of her hair. It took a long time, but she managed to comb and pick all of it out, and then began the tedious task of washing all of it. Mizimel had a great amount of hair, especially compared to the curly haired hobbits, but she didn't mind. She was proud of it. Dark brown, and simple in its waves, but it was thick and strong, healthy hair. It felt right to have it that way.

She exited the tub, squeezing the water from her hair as best she could, before selecting a towel, a night gown, and a robe from the cupboard near the sink. She was glad Bilbo had filled it while she was gone, because it had been empty before she had left for work earlier. She dried herself quickly, donning the night gown and the robe, before brushing her hair. She looked in the mirror, and her brow furrowed. She had strong features. Thick brown brows set over dark green eyes and wide cheek bones, full lips and a nose that seemed like a tower in comparison to the button noses that hobbits it. But…she remembered the dwarves from before, and their noses were a lot larger than hers. Was hers normal, then? She scrunched her eyes together.

It hurt her head to think. At least they were gone. She let her hair hang down undone as she left the bathroom, stalking quietly to the kitchen. She hadn't eaten during or after work, thinking that supper would be ready for her when she got home (Bilbo had the habit of leaving some for her even if he was deep asleep by the time she got back from her job), but instead was mobbed by a hoard of dwarves.

Are you not one yourself?

She sighed and went to the pantry…it was completely, utterly empty. She grunted, finding herself extremely annoyed as she had to go to the second, and then the third pantry because even the second pantry had been raided. How rude. She got out some supplies for a soup, and then, looking outside, saw that the sun was about to rise. She groaned. She'd been asleep for that long? Well, Bilbo would like his breakfast nice and hot when he woke up. She'd better get supplies for it. She got a large slab of ham out, and some bacon. Mizimel pursed her lips. Some scones and potatoes would go nicely with the meat, and perhaps some fruit as well. She'd make him a nice, big breakfast after that fiasco the night before. She set to work slicing the ham and the bacon, then setting up the scones and dicing up the potatoes and throwing some herbs in to flavor them. She went to her garden, and picked some fresh cherry-tomatoes before stalking back inside, trying to be as quiet as possible. Mizimel had learned to cook from her mother, and then her sister. And she would occasionally help the cook at the tavern where she worked. She considered herself quite good, as it seemed to satisfy even Bilbo's selective palette.

Mizimel set the scones in the oven, humming softly as she began to slice up some fruits for the morning meal. It was peaceful. The sun was not yet up, the world was just beginning to wake up. She felt refreshed and clean, and very, very glad that no more dwarves would be around to bother her or her nephew. She was just setting the fruits aside, and putting the meat on the griddle when she heard someone walk into the kitchen.

"Good morning, B-"

"Oh!" The voice was familiar, but wasn't at the same time. She jumped in surprise, eyes wide and heart racing as she whirled around to see who had spoken. A young dwarf was staring at her in shock, mouth open slightly as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He had blond hair, and blue eyes. A handsome face with a strong nose…and that was when she realized that she was in nothing but a night gown and a robe. She blushed hard, as did he, and he averted his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I did not know-"

"My apologies! I did not know you were…"

"Here." They finished at the same time, and she felt her face burning profusely. How indecent! How embarrassing! She mumbled a hurried excuse and practically ran from the kitchen to her room. The dwarf didn't try to stop her, probably relieved that she left. As soon as she shut her bedroom door, she basically collapsed to the ground. Oh, was there no end to her torment? She felt like crying. So much had happened and she didn't know where to start putting everything back together…

Some clothes might help, Miz. Her sister's voice hummed merrily in her mind, and she sighed. She was always the voice of reason in her life, even when she was gone. She went to her closet, only to stop and think again. What was considered decent to them? What was not? She remembered the dark haired dwarf from the night before, and the blond one from a few minutes ago, and her cheeks reddened. Should she dress in one of her nicer gowns? She shook her head; that was ridiculous. She donned a simple, but flattering, purple and green dress, then fled back to the kitchen. Her food must be burning! Dash what that dwarf must think, she had food she needed to prepare!

To her surprise, her food was not - in fact - burning and was instead being made by a…rather rotund dwarf with bright orange hair, and an impressive beard that was woven into one large braid that looped around like a rope. She found it fascinating, stopping to stare for a bit, before she shook herself and timidly walked into the kitchen.

"T…thank you." She said, just loudly enough to be heard. The large dwarf seemed to jump a bit in surprise, before he turned to look at her. He gave her a genuine grin, and bobbed a short bow to her.

"The pleasure is mine, miss. I'm Bombur, at your service." His voice was soft but pleasant, but he seemed to only be comfortable with these words as he turned back around and flipped a few more pieces of bacon. She walked over to him, tilting her head.

"I'm Mizimel Took." She gave a small curtsey. "At you and yours." He gave her another smile, his wide cheeks flushing a bit. Although they were perpetually flushed so she couldn't tell if it was because of her or not. She didn't say much to him as she went to the oven and peeped inside to see if the scones were ready. Almost. But now she wasn't sure if she had made enough. The dwarves obviously hadn't left yet, much to her chagrin, but that meant she had to feed them.

"There's enough." Bombur seemed to read what she was worrying about. "I cut the rest of the ham and bacon, if you don't mind."

"Not at all!" And she found that she meant it. It was hard to stay mad at such a polite and kind dwarf. She found she quite liked him. "I'm glad you did. I thought that I wasn't making enough. It would be terribly rude of me, as a hostess, if I didn't feed my guests until they were content."

"We were quite content last night, Miss Mizimel."

"Please, just Mizimel." She fell silent again, moving to chop up more potatoes and throwing in more spices once she'd chopped up what she felt might be enough.

"Good morning, my lady." That deep voice again. She looked up, alarmed. The dark haired dwarf from last night, the one with the icy blue eyes, stood at the doorway of the kitchen. He looked as regal and intimidating as last night. She gave him a curtsey.

"Good morning." She blushed slightly and turned her eyes down. Those eyes were indeed very hard to meet. "Breakfast should be ready shortly. I'm sorry, I did not know you were still here. I would've had breakfast ready sooner."

"We are very grateful you made it at all, after last night. I am sorry for scaring you, my lady."

"Pray, call me Mizimel." She fidgeted slightly at her skirts, brow furrowed. Was that appropriate to say, to dwarves? She didn't know. He was obviously in charge, too, so was it alright if she requested to be called by her first name?

"Very well." His reply was short, and he nodded to her, before turning to leave. He seemed to pause, however, and turned back around. She straightened her back and looked up again. He seemed to be examining her, as if he didn't quite believe was he was seeing. She knew she was an odd sight, a tall dwarf woman in hobbit garb…not that she felt very tall as this dwarf towered over her. "I am Thorin Oakenshield." There was no 'at your service,' but she got the feeling that was alright. She nodded to him.

"A pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm Mizimel Took." He then left, and she whirled back around to finish cooking her potatoes, face burning. She was a clumsy lout, she knew it. And awkward besides. She just had to be in these dwarves' minds. Mizimel bit her lip against the burning in her eyes, forcing herself not to cry. She'd always dreamed of meeting other dwarves, other people like her. This was not as she imagined it. Not how she imagined it at all.

She was introduced to the rest of the dwarves as she laid out the dishes before them on the table. A heaping pile of cooked ham, bacon, steaming potatoes and a mound of fresh scones with jam and whatever else they felt like putting on them, accompanied with bowls of fresh fruit. She curtsied to them, tucking some hair behind her ear as she managed a shy smile at them.

"Good morning, sirs. I'm Mizimel Took," she nodded, "at your service."

Thorin nodded at them, and they seemed to take the cue to not just lob their names at her, as they went slowly around the table, one by one.

"Ori." He was timid, with a wool scarf and mittens.

"Dori." His brother, maybe? He had silver hair that was braided in an impressive style.

"Nori." A star! She smiled at him, knowing she'd remember his name, if only because of his hair.

"Oin!" He was obviously deaf, with the trumpet in his ear and the loud voice almost screaming.

"Gloin." What a beard. It was astoundingly thick and red. She had to try hard not to stare.

"I'm Bofur!" He had a cheerful face and she found herself smiling back at him.

"Bombur."

A dwarf with an axe in his head practically growled out what had to be his name, but she couldn't understand him. They didn't seem to notice, however, and continued on.

"Balin." The old dwarf from before, the one who had introduced himself when she was angry.

"Dwalin." He was also intimidating, but in a different way from Thorin. Dwalin seemed…deadly, because you could take one look at him and know he'd maim you if it came to it. But Thorin was…important, and you knew you could not cross him.

"Kili." Another handsome face, with dark hair and nothing more than a stubble across his cheeks. He was young, probably around her age. Mizimel glanced at the next dwarf and had to try hard not to blush as red as the tomatoes which she had set down next to the meat. It was the blond dwarf from earlier that morning, who had seen in her such a frightful state. He gave her a wry smile, his own cheeks taking on a pinkish hue.

"Fili."

"Thorin."

She knew it wasn't likely that she'd remember all of their names. After all, there were so many of them and she still wasn't so comfortable with them yet. She told them to eat as much as they wanted, before stalking back into the kitchen to catch her breath. So many names, so many faces, she shut her eyes and took deep breaths. It was disorienting, to be sure. And Bilbo wasn't here to talk her down…or to stay with the dwarves while they ate. She bit her lip. She'd have to go and eat with them. It was only polite, as she was the hostess and cook. Mizimel took up as much courage as possible, taking a deep breath and reminding herself that she was a Took, daughter of Gerontius Took, sister to the great Belladonna Took, and aunt to the respectable Bilbo Baggins. She could do this. She took a deep breath, before she put on a smile and walked back into the dining room.

One foot in front of the other, one step at a time. Belladonna's voice chimed in her head again, and Mizimel nodded. She could do this.

Hello! Sorry, this is a bit of filler, as you could probably tell. I'll get to the good stuff, such as Mizimel's explanation of her upbringing and such, next time. I promise! As for updates, I'll do it when I'm able, but it should be about once a week. Usually on the weekends as I'm a student and have many assignments and such. Thanks again so much for reading! And leave a review if you've got any advice for me.

Shout out to those who followed, favorited, or reviewed! MissKim2b, alexma, readergirl4985, miss-beauty-world, and Rileykinsx. You guys rock. It means so much. I will probably not post again within the next few days (I've got a busy schedule), but I promise to update as soon as possible! :] Mephistominion, over and out.