Hello! Just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who reviewed, liked, read, followed and favourited the story. I really enjoy reading your reviews, they mean so much. Again, the line breaks are in place of asterisks to indicate time passing or a jump from dream to waking up.
Hope you enjoy the chapter!
SPOILER: The next chapter will see the Dwarves arrive!

Updated and edited: 3/6/2021

Chapter 4

I heard noise before I saw anything. Shouting, screaming, curse words that were cut off mid syllable. I felt as something fell at my feet, the dull thump shaking through the ground and up my legs. When I could see, I couldn't digest what I was watching.

I was standing on rock that was slick with what I instinctively knew to be blood, but I didn't know how I knew that. A pale giant, of a species I did not know, stood roaring on a high mound, holding aloft the head of a Dwarf. Above the battle cries, shoutings of pain and anger, I heard a roar of grief.

Turning, I saw another Dwarf, black hair falling past his shoulders, a shield in one hand, a sword in his other, and he was watching this giant with eyes as wide as the full moon. Then, in the blink of my eyes, I was on the outskirts of a battle between the two. I could feel the disruption in the air as they jabbed at each other. The shield was torn from the Dwarf's grip by a swing of the beast's bladed club. Though he battled against the brute's sheer size and strength well, the Dwarf was pushed back until he slid on the wet ground and his sword was ripped from his hand. With a roar, the pale giant swung his axe, and then—

I woke in a cold sweat, the blanket tangled around my legs and my pillow crushed in my clammy hands. The clang of blade hitting armour reverberated in my ears even as I became aware of the window creaking as it swung in a lazy wind. The air tasted cleaner than it had before I fell asleep, but with a tang of smoke that bit at my tongue; the memory of the scene lingering. Swallowing roughly, my cramped hands relaxed and the pillow dropped to the floor.

Shaking, my head fell into my hands and I pulled my knees up to cradle my elbows. Breathing was difficult, but closing my eyes, I focused on the thud-thud thud-thud of my heart and forced myself to breathe in and out, counting each breath as I went. I was in Bilbo's home. Safe, in the spare bedroom he'd given me three nights ago. Not in the battleground with blood so thick on the ground, it looked as black as the night sky. My stomach lurched with the memory of the smell, the pure stink of iron rich blood, fouled britches, and burnt hair.

I took a deep breath and began to count aloud.

The dream, for I knew it to be one, had felt awfully real. I touched my cheek, half expecting my fingertips to come away red with blood, but found nothing but the tears I'd shed whilst asleep.

What was happening to me?

The following morning, I felt more at ease in Bilbo's home, though my head hurt and the stitches in my scalp ached. But the pain convinced me that I was awake, not trapped in a realistic dream. With the sun shining, the darkness of my nightmares felt further away. The dream still lingered with haunting unease, but I rationalised that as it was a dream, it could not hurt me. The sounds of Bilbo making tea in the kitchen were a further comfort, familiar sounds that told me I was not alone. But I now had a sense of understanding. I knew I was not wholly a Hobbit. Ashpodel's stare and Aldagrim's shrewd looks were enough to show me just how different I was. As much as Bilbo's statement yesterday had warmed my heart, I knew this was not my home, but it was kind of him to say so.

Bilbo's kindness took a sharp turn when I appeared in the kitchen doorway and he gasped at the sight of me, frozen with the teapot in his hands.

Nervous, I pulled at the skirt of the new green dress he'd bought me.

"Does it look that bad?" I asked, unease sinking my heart. The petticoat had been difficult to work out, particularly as when I bent over or reached up, my back twinged with a sharp pain. The tie to fasten the petticoat was a cord within the waistline. It tangled easily and I'd knotted it three times before I put it on, finally working out that it was supposed to tie at the small of my back only once I had the garment on.

Bilbo was silent, gaping at me with wide eyes. Wavering with indecision, I swayed on the threshold, hands fisting in the skirt of the dress. Had I screamed in the night? Had I put the dress on backwards?

Finally, I stepped into the room and took the teapot from him before he either dropped it or inadvertently poured our tea onto the flagstones.

"Bilbo?" I inquired quietly.

His cheeks were pale. "Your—your face."

"What about it?" I enquired, placing the teapot on the table with our breakfast.

"Oh, my dear," he lamented, voice breaking. "You're—you're all mottled red, purple and blue!"

That, I was not expecting. "I am?"

I looked down as if I could see it for myself. My legs were bruised, it was true. I'd seen as much while I got dressed. But I didn't think it was all that bad. The binding around my chest had been difficult to put on, painful even when I tightened it. And Hilda had told me that the scratches on my legs and hands indicated I'd fallen, so I was bound to bruise eventually. But I wasn't sure it was enough to warrant Bilbo's aghast expression.

He held up a polished copper dish, so I could see a wobbly version myself in the reflection.

"So I am."

The bruising was around my hairline in patches. As if there had been great strain on my hair. It was violent against the freckles on my skin. Another injury to add to my list. What hell had I endured before waking in that field?

"What will Hilda think?" Bilbo lamented, dropping the pan onto the table and shaking his head.

I pressed one of the larger marks at the side of my face gently, the flesh was somewhat swollen and tender to the touch. It didn't seem very serious, and I was sure Hilda would prescribe the appropriate method of healing when I saw her. Perhaps it was a result of my head trauma? At the very least, I was dressed appropriately.

"I don't understand."

Rationally, I knew my state might be upsetting, but we also knew I had been through the wringer, as Hilda had put it yesterday. But there also was this fear in me that didn't want to keep coming back to what might have happened to me. It felt safer not knowing.

Bilbo was still occupied by his thoughts, and unaware of mine. "She'll see you in such a state and blame me again." His hands twisted around themselves and his thumbs worked the space between his knuckles.

"Bilbo," I sighed, finally realising the core of his worries. "Hilda heals people, I'm sure she's seen bruising before."

"But—"

"Yes?"

He sighed gustily and his hands stopped their fidgeting. "Yes, my dear, however—no don't interrupt—it is the matter of your being bruised in the first place. It should never have…whatever befell you to cause this…"

"But it has," I insisted, my tone just this side of sharp. "It has happened, and I don't see the point in dwelling on that which we can't change."

"I suppose," he replied, watching me closely. "If you insist."

"I do."

"Well then, in that case, shall we eat?"

I smiled and nodded, eager to tuck in and change the subject of our conversation. Food was a very agreeable distraction. This morning, the table was once again laden with food. I idly wondered if it would begin to creak, even break, beneath the weight of our feasts if this carried on.

Again, we had sausages for breakfast. As well as the rest of the home-cured ham, small brown shelled boiled eggs, the pot of tea, new-baked bread that was still warm, a small pot of light gold honey, butter, and frothy milk. Maybe Bilbo was making up for missing second breakfast yesterday? Or was our second breakfast the treats we snacked on at the market? I wasn't sure how much food yet constituted as a meal to hobbits.

I bit into a slice of buttered bread spread with honey with relish. "So what are we doing today?" I asked Bilbo, catching a dribble of honey with my thumb as it slid down my chin.

He smiled at me as I licked the smear off of my thumb. "You remind me of Daisy," he chuckled, his earlier fears banished. "Well, I need to go into the market and run a few errands. Would you like to accompany me?"

I considered his invitation, but decided that I should spend time with other Hobbits if I were to ever learnt to leave him to his life.

"I was actually going to ask if you could take me back to Hilda's?"

Bilbo didn't seem offended, in fact, he was concerned. "Of course, but is something the matter? Are you feeling all right?" I knew the bruising on my face was a clear indicator that I had been through some sort of trauma, but without my memories, it felt wrong to feel out of sorts. Without any reasonable evidence, any ill feeling could be chalked up to other events, including paranoia, or my anxieties.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine Bilbo," reassuring him while pouring another cup of tea for myself. Could he sense I felt guilty for not saying yes? "I was going to ask if she would help me hem my red dress. I'd like to preserve it if I can."

"That sounds very reasonable," Bilbo agreed readily. "I'm sure she'll be able to help you."

"Would you mind walking me back to Hilda's? I'm afraid I don't remember the way."

"Of course, of course." He nodded, tucking into another boiled egg. "I'll accompany you to Hilda's and then be on my way." There was a pause as he thought and peeled the shell. "What do you say I pick us up some fish for our lunch? We'll ask if Hilda minds you staying for second breakfast, as I have a feeling I'll be eating at the market today."

"How do you mean?"

He laughed to himself, cheeks ruddy with warmth and food. He looked bright and cheery and I found myself smiling at his jovial attitude. A sharp change from moments earlier.

"You got only a small taste of what goes on at market yesterday," he informed me, smiling. "Some days I can't cross the bridge without being rolled, I've eaten so many free samples! Makes up for any forgotten meal!"

Dinodas met us at the door of his house, shrugging into a brown jacket as he stepped outside. The nosy neighbours from yesterday were absent, but I could have sworn seeing the curtain of one window twitch as we walked up the lane.

"Bilbo, Miss Flower, nice to see you," Dinodas greeted with a quick nod, but was preoccupied with buttoning the garment up. "Are you back for another game of Gin, Bilbo?"

"Afraid not," Bilbo was quick to deflect with a smile. I would have teased him for his avoidance of a repeat game with Daisy, but I had a feeling she would tease him mercilessly when she had the chance. "Miss Flower wanted to see Hilda about her dress."

"Right, of course, come on in. I was just about to leave, myself. Hilda!" He called into the home, pushing the door further ajar. "You'll have to excuse me."

I nodded. "Of course."

Then, Dinodas caught sight of my face.

"Oh!" He gasped, eyes wide with shock. "Miss Flower!"

I was quick to cut off anything else he might say. I'd had enough of pity and placeless sorrow. "I'm all right," I assured him. "The bruising came out over night, but I'm in no pain."

Dinodas wasn't set at ease by my little lie. His eyes traced over my hairline, and a frown creased his forehead. Bilbo cleared his throat when the silence lengthened too long, and his relative jumped, apologising.

"I understand," I reassured him, guessing that his wife would be just as, if not more, concerned. "After spending time with Bilbo and meeting other Hobbits, I've come to understand that violence is very uncommon in Hobbiton."

"That it is," Dinodas muttered, clearly still concerned. "That it is."

"I'm not staying, Dinodas," Bilbo cut in, breaking the somber air that had gathered around us. "Got a few errands to run. Where are you off to?"

"To see Mister Worrywart," the darker haired Hobbit explained, feeling in his coat pockets for something. "He's expecting a delivery of tubers any day now, and I want him to put a few aside for us."

"In that case I'll walk with you, if you don't mind the company. It will be nice to have a third party present if I were to be accosted by a certain Sackville-Baggins." He paused, considering. "And I think I'll ask Mister Worrywart to put some tubers aside for us as well."

"I'd be grateful for the company," Dinodas agreed, still rummaging in his pockets. "Maybe you could help me locate my pipeweed on the way?"

Bilbo laughed. "Are you sure it's in your pockets and not by your chair?"

"Quite! I didn't take it out last night after being in The Green Dragon." Dinodas shook his head, clearly growing frustrated with his futile search. "Go on in, Miss Flower," he directed, jerking his chin towards the door. "Hilda will be out soon, I'm sure. She and Daisy are…well I'm not sure what they're doing."

He was suspiciously edging away from the front door as he gestured for me to enter. Bilbo saw his slow retreat as well, and narrowed his eyes, a slow smirk beginning to blossom on his lips.

"Eager to leave, Dinodas?" He questioned.

I took pity on Dinodas and walked into the doorway. His eyes flickered over my shoulder, looking into the depths of his home.

"Too right," he agreed under his breath. "Hilda questioned me all night about that money."

Bilbo's mouth puckered and his smirk died in a cruel twist. "Ah." He then began to follow Dinodas, taking small steps backwards, nodding as he did so. "Perhaps it might be best if we left before she came out?"

The two were side by side and backing away to an increasing distance, much to my amusement. But I kept quiet; I feared if I were to stop biting my inner cheek I would burst into laughter.

"I agree! Good day, Miss Flower." Dinodas tipped his head to me.

"I'll see you when we return," Bilbo called to me, keeping his voice low while casting fervent glances at the door. "Err, if the subject should come up, could you possibly throw Hilda off it? Distract her, I mean?"

Finally unable to stop smiling at the two, I nodded.

"I'll try my best."

"That's all I can ask. Thank you! And be sure to let her know we'll be gone a while, most likely until luncheon."

With that, the two left around the corner with such haste I felt offended on Hilda's behalf. Shaking my head, I shut the door behind me and walked into the kitchen, looking for the women of the house.

"Daisy? Hilda?" I called into the halls, entering the kitchen to see the fire burning cheerfully.

Daisy was the first to spot me as she and her mother came into the kitchen.

"Miss Flower!" She crowed, skipping over to me, hair bouncing over her shoulders. Just as I had anticipated, she didn't make a fuss of my bruising. Hilda, however, narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips at the sight of me.

"Good morning, Daisy," I greeted her. "How are you?"

"I'm well," she answered, beaming with such force her cheeks were practically circular. "Mama made scones for breakfast. Would you like one? I ate three!"

"Did you? You have a healthy appetite." She swayed with clear excitement at the praise. "I would love to try one of your mother's scones, if she doesn't mind."

Daisy quickly shook her head, eyes wide. "She won't."

I begged to differ given the wry smile Hilda was giving her daughter behind her back.

"Still, we should ask," I said, trying not to smile along with her.

"Okay." Daisy span on her heels to face her mother, face cleared into the epitome of innocence. "Mama?"

Hilda, having clearly had years of practise to school her features, smiled benevolently at her daughter. I would have to ask her how long it took to perfect such an expression. I had the feeling she used it on Dinodas too. "Yes, dear?"

"Can Miss Flower have one of your lovely scones?"

Hilda laughed at the buttering up. "She can."

Daisy paused, on the verge of running off to their pantry, before she pursed her lips.

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Can I have one too?"

"Of course, but that's it. No more until elevenses."

Daisy was already running to the pantry. "Yes, Mama!" She cried over her shoulder.

"She is remarkably calm," I told Hilda who shook her head after her daughter who disappeared around the corner. "Dinodas nearly swooned at the sight of me."

Hilda laughed. "She's made of sterner stuff. Now, let's have a look at you."

She lead me to the kitchen table and directed me to sit. Daisy ran back in with the scones along with butter and plum jam and set about making us up a plate for us to share from. When Hilda began to inspect the bruising on my face, she was careful after prodding a tender part by my left ear.

"It looks like someone took handfuls of your hair and pulled," she observed. "Whoever did this had a strong grip. Some of your hair has come out."

Mouth full of scone, her cheek smeared with jam, Daisy leant forward to peer at my face from beside me.

"Do you remember anything, Miss Flower?" She asked quite innocently.

"I'm afraid not," I admitted, wincing as her mother prodded my scalp. "I wouldn't have noticed the bruising on my face if Bilbo hadn't gone into shock at seeing me this morning."

"He did?" Daisy pressed, eyes wide at the prospect of her cousin being in shock. Though, I wasn't sure if she knew what it meant.

I nodded. "He almost dropped the teapot onto the kitchen floor."

She giggled, some crumbs spraying out of her mouth. Slyly, she wet her forefinger and picked all the crumbs up before popping finger into her mouth and getting rid of the evidence. I shared a smile with her when she saw her mishap had gone unnoticed by her mother.

"I'm sure the shock did him good," Hilda commented, voice wry. "Now, I'm afraid I haven't anything but salve for the bruising, we'll have to let it heal on it's own time."

Nodding, I accepted the offer and she left to retrieve a bottle. Daisy, in the meantime, nudged my ribs with her sharp elbow. The prod wasn't painful, just uncomfortable. She was watching the hallway carefully, but spoke to me without breaking her gaze.

"Miss Flower? Are you going to eat your scone?"

I smiled. "Yes, Daisy."

"Oh."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Just wondering."

I tucked into the scone, thanking Daisy for preparing it for me, though I wagered she'd hoped I'd forfeit my scone for her while her mother's back was turned. Hilda returned and applied a light layer of beam onto my skin. It smelt of beeswax and something medicinal.

"Tea tree," she supplied when I asked. "It will sooth the bruise. I didn't ask, but was there something I could help you with, beside the bruising? I see you've brought your dress with you."

She handed me the bottle of slave which I placed into the basket containing the dress and nodded.

"I wondered if I could take you up on your offer of help to fix my dress?" Daisy, having seen the dress for the first time since I'd arrived, reached in and began to stroke the fabric, her eyes wide.

"Of course," Hilda replied, eyeing her daughter. "Daisy, we mustn't touch what isn't ours, remember?"

Her daughter dropped the dress as if it were a hot coal.

"Yes, mama," she answered, chastised. "Sorry, Miss Flower."

"That's all right Daisy," I assured her and handed her the dress. "Would you help me and your mother fix it?"

She beamed, nodding enthusiastically, clutching the garment to her chest with both fists. "Yes! Yes, please!"

Sat by the hearth, I could feel the heat of the fire against my bare skin. The scones, of which Daisy had insisted I eat three so she could have half of my third, sat comfortably in my stomach as I rested. She'd also insisted that I distract her mother while she ate her extra half scone. I'd asked Hilda about some family portraits in the hallway, but I wondered if she only went along with it for her own amusement. Daisy had declared that I was her best friend once our clandestine operation as complete, not Dora. Though who Dora was, I was never told.

Along with the tea, hazelnuts and candied orange peel Hilda had brought out from the pantry, our elevenses turned into a rather lovely picnic. Daisy curled up on the rug at our feet and began to play with dolls made from scraps of fabric once she was full. I was introduced to Holly, a doll with red thread for hair, and Ivy, who wore a dress made from the same green checkered cloth as Hilda's apron. We played together for a little while, I even made Holly talk, though Daisy corrected me several times about the pitch and tone of Holly's voice. Eventually, Daisy commandeered the dolls and set them to bed on the woven rug beneath a kerchief.

Hilda sat in the other chair by the fire across from me. She'd shown me a couple of easy stitches and my memories of sewing came back like trickling water. The only thing missing was my speed. Hilda had taken over when I'd stuck myself with the needle for the fifth time. The sound of the needle and thread pulling through the fabric reminded me of the stitches in my own scalp. Daisy had looked with morbid wonder when I'd lent forward to allow her mother to check on them after we'd eaten and settled. I wagered she was the sort of child to pick at her own scabs just to see if the wound would bleed again.

Now, the warmth and sated feeling of a full stomach pulled at my eyelids, and I found myself sinking back in the chair. Promising myself to shut my eyes only for a moment. Just a short while. Just to rest.

Instead of the blackness tinged with indescribable colours, my minds eye took me to the image of a night's sky. I couldn't mistake the starry roof of the world that shone brightly down at me. Where was I? I wasn't safe in Bilbo's guest room, but in the middle of dirt track on a softly banking hill and among a small coppice of trees.

The next thing I noticed was that I was on the back of a pony. Bound. My wrists tied in front of me with a length of rope held by a hooded figure who was riding beside me. The pony I was on being led by another robed, mounted figure ahead of me. I began to panic. What kind of dream was this? Where was I? Was this another memory? If it was, then I was sure I didn't want to have this memory. I wasn't sure I would want to know my past if it included this.

The figures exchanged gruff words in a language that was gravelly and deep. They offered no translation for me, but our pace quickened. Ahead, I could just make out the crest of the hill through the trees and against the lightening sky. The sun was rising and that seemed to worry the figures, because they spurred the ponies to quicken again.

The next day amounted to my third day of knowing Bilbo. It also brought my total up to three nights of sleeping restlessly, my kip peppered with dreams of shaky understanding and varying content. I was desperate for answers. So, when we had returned home after a day of gardening, I plucked up the courage to speak to Bilbo about my dreams as we were settling down to read in the evening.

"Bilbo?"

"Hmm?" He hummed, turning a page in his copy of the accounts of a war years ago by some Elf. I hadn't been paying much attention as we chose our books and sat down, in fact the thin book I'd chosen was one I had already read the previous evening.

"Do you dream? No, I'm sorry. Do you…well, I mean…when—when you dream," I began, stuttering, my tone of voice half questioning and half pleading for an answer already.

He watched me now, peering at me from above his book, the firelight casting half his face in shadow.

"Yes?" he asked, patiently putting his book down onto his lap, a finger keeping his place.

I sighed, closing my eyes to steady myself.

"I had a dream yesterday…and well, I've had dreams like this since I woke up in that field. They're different…real. Well, I—I don't know if they are real, but it…they feel real. So real that it's scary." I watched for his reaction, but he didn't react beyond pursing his lips slightly. "How can I tell if it's my dream?" I continued in one quick breath. "A work of my own imagination, or, or if it's something more?"

"More how?" He inquired, tone measured and thoughtful.

"I mean…they will happen…sometimes are happening as I'm dreaming," I explained. "I don't know how I know that, I just—I just…do."

Book completely forgotten, Bilbo now stared at me with wide eyes.

"Are," he cleared his throat when his voice came out at a slightly higher pitch that normal. "Are you telling me that you're having…prophetic dreams?"

"I don't know. What are those?"

"Dreams of the future, of events that will one day come to pass," he explained.

"Not quite," I admitted slowly, biting my lip. "I—I have had dreams of the past too."

Bilbo dropped his book, it slipped from his hands to the floor with a thud. I watched it fall and stared at it's shambled landing.

"The past?" He croaked, looking winded.

I nodded, concerned. "Yes," I admitted. "Years in the past, sometimes hundreds, or thousands of years. I cannot actually recall knowing the events before my memory loss, but I just know that they have occurred."

"Events?" He pressed. "Such as?"

I thought for a moment, recalling one in particular that had woken me last night in a fit of near hysteria. "The most vivid, which I had last night, was of a battle. There was a terrible mountain spewing fire and ash that loomed over us all…and the Elves were fighting alongside Men against someone called Sauron."

He gaped at me. "You dreamt about the battle of Dagorlad…that was nearly four hundred years ago! Are you sure you haven't read it somewhere, and then dreamt about it? I have a few books on it, maybe you saw those?"

I shook my head. "No, no I—I haven't read about it, I…" Swallowing, I closed my eyes and tried to remember the dream. "It was like I was in the centre of the battle, right in the midst of it. I could feel the heat of bodies pressed against mine, the smell of sweat and blood…see so much death…feel it almost. A solider called out for reinforcements, then, then I could see a fight between a Man and a creature of," I shivered. "Pure evil, he stank of it. He had a helm on, it was frightful…"

Bilbo went very, very quiet. When I opened my eyes, he was a shade or two paler than he had been before.

"Is, is that abnormal?" I tentatively asked.

He let out what I can only describe as a shocked bark of laughter, which he immediately quelled and wriggled his nose in that funny little way of his.

"Sorry, sorry that was rude of me," he apologised.

"It's all right."

He shook his head. "No, no, it isn't. You just shocked me."

"So, it's not normal?"

He slowly shook his head. "No, no my dear it is not normal."

We sat for a moment, each of us staring into the fire as it popped and cracked. It felt like I'd both learnt, and lost something. A feeling of emptiness sat in my breast, and I wasn't sure where it came from or how to fix it.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"No!" He was quick to shout, making me jump. "No, please don't think that," Bilbo continued in a more sedate tone. "There is nothing wrong with you."

"But then why am I seeing these things?"

"That I don't know," he admitted. "But what I do know is that not every question has an answer. At least, no answer right now."

"But when?"

He shrugged, helpless. "I don't know, I'm afraid. But, I am sure that we will find out. In the mean time, would you like to talk more about these dreams?"

"I think I would, thank you."

I proceeded to tell him everything. From my first dream to the nightmare that had gripped me in terror only this morning. Throughout it all Bilbo tried to maintain a steady act of nonchalance, but occasionally he would twitch, sigh or cringe at my words. Once he even gasped in shock, causing me to halt speaking until he ushered me on. And while he couldn't shed much light on the content or context of all of my dreams, he lent a sympathetic ear for which I was most grateful.

On my fourth day in Hobbiton, breakfast was yet another grand affair. I'd come to the conclusion that Bilbo had never eaten this extravagantly whilst alone, given the sheer volume of food and how little he ate in comparison at mealtimes. It had also occurred to me that he was most certainly trying to make sure I never went with too little food.

He'd gone to the bakery (Mrs Proudfoot operated one from her front garden during spring and summer, retreating back into her own kitchen in fall and winter) early, I knew this because the small buns he'd purchased were still warm. He had obviously paid attention to my love of warm bread and melting butter for the butter dish had been placed nearer to my side of the table than his, rather conveniently near to my plate. There was also a pot of cream with a thick yellow top on it, blackberry jam, honey, and a pitcher of strongly scented coffee. Which, Bilbo informed me, was an acquired taste. I found I didn't like the bitterness, but once I'd added some of the runny cream and a teaspoon of honey, I liked this new drink. Spread out on the table there was also fresh baked scones, again from Mrs Proudfoot, along with baked apples, fried eggs, and crisp bacon.

We settled into easy conversation about Bilbo's plans with the garden as we served ourselves. Both agreeing, nonverbally, to leave the topic of last night's conversation in the past. He planned to move some fledgling flowers into his flower beds, but was having an ongoing debate with Hamfast about how best to accomplish this. While I didn't know much about gardening, I had to admit that, with Hamfast's profession being solely to the wellbeing of plants, I had to concede that he would know more than Bilbo.

"But he transplants them too quickly!" Bilbo argued, gesturing with his fork in a vague direction down the road to Hamfast's home.

"I'm sure Hamfast knows what he is doing," I countered, pouring myself a second cup of coffee and adjusting it to my tastes. "I highly doubt he would suggest something that would damage your flowers, Bilbo."

I'd learnt yesterday while we were tending to his herb row, that Hamfast had begun gardening after tiring of working alongside his father and brothers as Ropers. As Bilbo tells it, Hamfast was wandering down towards The Green Dragon when he spotted Bell, who up until then he had only known in passing, potting poppies. Hamfast was, as Bilbo put it: "A goner," after that and had pursued Bell for all he was worth. He took up gardening as a way to spend more time with her, and the two have been together ever since.

Bilbo made a grumbling answer, too quiet for me to hear. He made quick work of his last piece of bacon before taking a scone and smearing it with cream and blackberry jam.

"You know, Bilbo," I began, eyeing his plate as the apple quickly disappeared. "When we're gardening, why don't you ask Hamfast if we could only move half of the plants? That way you can see if potting them works?"

Clearly more interested in finishing his scone, Bilbo hummed in answer, before beginning to serve himself a baked apple and another mug of coffee. Obviously hunger had won over our conversation this morning. I sighed and returned to my own cup, deciding I liked the slightly bitter flavour when paired with honey and cream. Over the last day or two, I'd started to use the same mug, rather than whatever was easiest to grab from the shelf. Bilbo too, had a preferred mug, but was content to use different ones should his favourite be out of reach or in need of washing up.

I'd first spied my favourite in the cabinet, sitting on the middle shelf at the back, a short, stout mug, of deep green flecked with brown and black. The colour of imperfections in the baking of the clay, Bilbo told me when I inquired. Yet, to me, they weren't imperfect discolourations, but marks of character that made the mug whole.

Bilbo cleared his throat and tried to speak around a mouthful of apple: "We should think about getting to Bree sometime next week."

All the walking we were doing had given me sore, cracked skin on my feet. Hilda had seen yesterday when we passed her in the market and given me a topical ointment for them, but it was a patch up job, she'd said.

"What you really need are shoes," she'd informed me, motherly.

Bilbo had been quick to reassure her he could see to my needs just fine, but Hilda hadn't been impressed. Bilbo told me there was a cobblers in Bree, the town upriver. But it was far to travel by foot and he reminded Hilda that I was recovering, and to travel so far would go against her wishes for me to be cautious. She'd agreed.

"You think I'll be up to the walk?"

He nodded. "Oh yes, we won't make a day of it. I can procure us a couple of rooms at The Prancing Pony so we can rest."

Gardening at Bag End was something of a novelty as while Bilbo had hired Hamfast as his gardener, Bilbo still had trouble agreeing with every suggestion Hamfast had. They discussed, at length, the usefulness of potting the heather to move it to another flower bed rather than just moving it straight over. My suggestion of moving half of the plants, forgotten.

While Hamfast explained, again, the usefulness of potting, allowing time to ready the flower bed for planting, Bilbo was steadfast in transferring the plants directly. Adamant he knew what he wanted, but would proceed to change his mind time and again whenever they began planting anything into the ground and not a pot.

We ended the day with potted plants all over the garden, much to mine and Hamfast's shared amusement. After a glass of fresh lemonade and bread with the apple jam Bilbo and I had made the day before, Bilbo had invited Hamfast to join us for dinner, and he was more than happy to accept. Though, we had to remind him to go back to Bell and that it would still be a few hours until dinner was ready to be eaten. I extended the invite to his wife as well, knowing she would appreciate the break from cooking, and I was eager to meet her. I knew many Hobbits now, but was only regularly in contact with Hilda, Daisy, Dinodas and Hamfast outside of Bilbo.

Hamfast left with a wide grin and a fist full of yellow daisies, Bell's favourite flower.

I was in the process of making a pot of tea when Bilbo finally came in for the day, also with a bunch of flowers in hand. He'd fussed with the pots after Hamfast had left, so I'd gone back into the house and left him to it. He knew was he was trying to accomplish, and I would only get in the way.

"Here, what do you think?" he asked, laying the flowers on the table. "Thought we could use some colour in the parlour."

He fetched a clay vase from the cupboard next to the sink, but I couldn't stop looking at the flowers. Roses, bright sunset orange and fragrant. Beautiful and oh so familiar, like that creeping sense of knowing a persons face but not knowing where from.

"Roses," I whispered, searching in my weakened memory for the recognition. What was the significance of them?

"Yes, they are, well remembered," Bilbo praised, filling the vase with water, not noticing my struggle to grasp at something I couldn't quite remember. "Beautiful aren't they? One of my favourite flowers actually, but they have to be a particular colour and variety."

Hamfast and Bilbo were very thorough in their teaching of me. I knew near enough all the names of the flowers, plants and vegetables in Bilbo's garden. But these roses, they stuck with me for a reason that caused my heart to beat erratically.

"Here," a jolly, gruff voice called. "A rose for my Rosalyn!"

"Rosalyn," I gasped in shock. My head hurt as voices I didn't know or recognise started calling, shouting, laughing the name in memories that appeared and vanished too quickly for me to grab onto them. But the first stuck with me. Male, older sounding, cheerful, maybe a relative?

But it couldn't be that easy, could it? I'd waited so long, and now to know my name because of something so trivial, so run-of-the-mill, felt anticlimactic.

But, it felt right. Like coming back to the hearth after a long day spent out in the bitter cold.

"My name is Rosalyn," my words came in a rushed whisper.

Bilbo almost dropped the vase.

"What?" He croaked, eyes wide with panic.

I stood and rushed to him, frantic with happiness. "My name is Rosalyn!" I cried, jumping, unable to contain my glee. "Bilbo! I remember my name! Rosalyn! Rosalyn! I am Rosalyn!"

He was flabbergasted, scrambling to put the vase on the table before he dropped it or I knocked it from his hands.

"What? But…how?"

"I don't know! But that's my name!"

He frowned. "Are you sure?"

I stopped jumping, put out that he wasn't as happy as I was. "Of course I'm sure!" I rebuked him.

"Well, pardon me, but you could have just remembered anyone's name!" He argued.

I stamped my foot, upset he'd write off my epiphany so easily, rather than believe me. He believed me when I told him I had dreams of the future and past, why was this so hard to believe. "It's mine!" I declared. "I know my name!"

He waved his hands at me, trying to deflect my anger. "All right, all right!"

My name. I knew my name! I wasn't this nameless thing anymore, I had a name. Surely now more would come back to me?

"Do you think this could help me find my family?" I eagerly asked Bilbo and he sat me down and began to place the roses into the vase. He was frowning so deep, I wondered if he would contradict me again.

"Do you remember your family name?" He asked. "Or a Dwarven clan?"

I thought hard for a moment, then crumpled back into my chair, my excitement gone in an instant.

"No," I admitted, realising that I was no nearer finding my family than I had been before remembering. "No, just Rosalyn, nothing else."

Instantly, my discovery was overshadowed. I was no closer to finding my family. I was no nearer to knowing what had happened to me. Bilbo came over to sit beside me, sighing.

"Do you want to rescind our dinner invitation to Hamfast and Bell until you've recovered?" He asked quietly, placing a hand over my own where they were clasped in my lap.

"Recovered?" I repeated, then, realising what he meant I immediately shook my head and rose to my feet. "No, no, I'm fine. I'm fine, Bilbo. There's nothing to recover from."

He remained seated. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," I retorted, adamant, pushing away the empty feeling and trying to smile as I had been before. "We invited our friends and we'll see it through. But first, I want to go and tell Daisy."

Bilbo smiled and nodded. "Go on, I'll begin preparations. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear."

I ran the whole way there, ignoring any aches and pains, and when Hilda greeted me at the door, I blurted the news out to her. She'd beamed and embraced me, laughing and smiling. When I was in the kitchen with them all, I repeated my news. Daisy was thrilled, so much so, she hugged and held onto me while her mother and father congratulated me. There with them, I'd finally felt right. Not entirely whole, but as if there were less cracks in my skin than there had been before. As if I were mending.

Later, when Bilbo opened the door for Hamfast and Bell, I was sure I was seeing things. Hamfast was no different than he'd been hours before in the garden, but Bell. She was a stunning beauty of warm grace. With large, soulful brown eyes and dimpled cheeks, her entire face showed her emotions as if painted upon her skin. How one being could possibly encapsulate the meaning of the word 'cosy', I did not know, but Bell did.

"Bell, Hamfast," Bilbo began after inviting them in and taking their coats. Had I been standing around staring at Bell all this time? If I had been, that was very embarrassing. "May I introduce, Rosalyn."

Hamfast beamed at me. "You remembered your name, miss?"

I nodded, finally taking my eyes off of his wife. Feeling again that whole sensation when I'd told Daisy, Hilda and Dinodas. "Yes, at long last."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Bell enthused, cheeks lifting as she smiled wide enough to show off her straight teeth and pale rose fleshed lips. "Hamfast has told me so much about you, my dear! I'm so happy for you!"

She scooped me into a tight embrace.

"Oh!"

I was squashed into her chestnut curls and the smell of rosemary. Not something I would ever need to complain about. It felt like Hilda's hug, warm and comforting.

"You might want to let her take a breath there, my love," Hamfast chortled.

Bell released me from her embrace but she kept a friendly arm around my back. She pursed her lips at her husband and his laughter came to a swift halt.

"Now," Bell said, turning back to me. "I can't wait to hear about what you've been getting up to. Hamfast tells me you've taken to gardening like a flower to root!"

"Oh, well, I wouldn't say that," flustered, I tried to duck from the compliment as my cheeks heated.

"Nonsense!" Crowed Bilbo. "Hamfast's right, and he'd be the one Hobbit to know."

We moved into the parlour and nibbled on salted crackers whilst the stew bubbled in the kitchen. Bilbo would scurry off to tend to the food at irregular intervals whilst we talked to our guests. But I kept sniffing for signs of burning. The first time he'd left, I'd felt out of place all of a sudden. As if time had rewound and I was once again sat in his parlour for the first time, waiting to see if his wife would shoo me back out into the cold.

But Bell and Hamfast kept my attentions diverted with well-developed skill. They asked about my time with Hilda and Daisy. The latter apparently had developed a renown around the Shire for betting large amounts of sweets in card games. No one knew where she had gotten this talent, but Bell suspected Hilda had been secretly improving her own ability in games and teaching her daughter at the same time.

"Hilda was never one for card games as children," she informed me. "So for Daisy to suddenly be a protégé is confusing to say the least."

Hamfast had chuckled. "Maybe the talent just skipped a generation?"

Bilbo reentered the parlour at that point and began to laugh. He explained that he wouldn't be surprised if that were the case, as many other things had skipped a generation in Dinodas' line. When Hamfast and Bell laughed, I had the feeling I was missing a previous joke they had all shared, but I didn't ask about it.

Dinner was an entire feast. If we had a couple more meals like this, I'm sure my figure would be forever as round as Aladgrim Took's. Bilbo had prepared a rich rabbit stew with crusty bread, and braised red cabbage. When it came to cooking on the fire and with the griddle pan, I was still a novice. My contributions were the mounds of buttery mashed potatoes, with honey sweetened roasted carrots and parsnips.

Bilbo unearthed a jug of decadent red wine and a sweeter, elderflower wine which he placed beside me at the beginning of the night and after I sampled the red wine, the other did not move from its place. By the time desert was served, my head felt full of fabric stuffing and my extremities were warm and tingling. Desert was bread and butter pudding, which was creamy, nutmeg and cinnamon scented goodness, dotted with plump currents. Served with a healthy glug of sweetened cream.

We all sat down in the parlour with mugs of mint tea afterwards and I could hardly bare the thought of moving, I was so full and sleepy. But it was a good full, a healthy full. It made me feel loved, and at home. Food has a wonderful way of comforting a person, I was finding.

No wonder Hobbits ate so much of it.