Chapter 3

Understanding

Her scribbling was strange, that much was certain. Gandalf hadn't been entirely sure whether it was her head injury that had erased her memories and knowledge, or perhaps some deeper issue. He had managed to persuade her to leave the guest room and follow him into the living area where Belladonna and Bungo remained. Belladonna had smiled widely at the sight of the young dwarf and Gandalf was pleased to see that it only brought a sense of comfort to the young creature, rather than fear.

He eventually moved her to a desk and gently prodded Bungo to release some of his parchment and a quill. Though not necessarily rare to acquire, the materials were precious commodities that shouldn't be squandered at a whim. Even so, at his request, the hobbit fetched a short piece of parchment and a well-used quill and inkpot for the young dwarf to use. She had stared at him, a singular eyebrow raised in question, and Gandalf gently instructed her to write for him, as best she could.

She was unfamiliar with the use of a quill, he noticed at first glance. Her fingers fumbled with the delicate tool and twice she nearly toppled the inkpot onto her lap or over the desk. Her frustration mounted easily and she had very little patience for the tools given to her, but once more her lips pinched with resolve and she set her hand to work. It was a lengthy half within the hour before she managed to control her fingers and set the quill's tip to the parchment.

Patches of parchment were stained with blots of ink and her writing was shaky. He could not yet tell if it was her hands that she found cumbersome or the parchment, but she marched on and soon her hand unsteadily produced her words. The rest of the hour she spent writing away and he peered over her shoulder once or twice, much to her dismay, and the letters he found quite odd.

"What is that, Gandalf?" Belladonna question as she stood within the archway of her kitchen. She had taken to passing by now and again, leaving a cup of tea for both himself and the young dwarf, and had spied upon the young female's writing. "That language is not familiar to me, and I have read quite a bit!"

The young dwarf's gaze flickered up to Belladonna, curiosity in her eyes, but she continued to write, her hand becoming stronger with every word. Gandalf shook his head, "No, my dear woman, it is not a language that we possess."

"Could it be…" Bungo interrupted, "I do not know… perhaps just gibberish? Perhaps her mind is muddled and she now forgets her words?"

Gandalf shook his head again, "No, Bungo Baggins. I do not believe that she forgets herself. I see a pattern in her strange symbols. They repeat, and consistently. She is writing in a language she knows." Abruptly, the dwarf sighed heavily and set down her quill. Her heavy head turned and she muttered to them, her brow furrowed over her nose and her bottom lip protruding. He could not make her words, but he understood their meaning of must you speak of me as if I am absent?

"I do apologize, my good woman." Gandalf bowed his head and shifted in his chair to be closer to her desk. "I, we, did not mean to offend. Please, do continue." He reached out and tapped at her parchment to try and prompt her into continuing. The dwarf gave him a sour look and huffed, but returned to her writing. Gandalf chuckled and stood from his chair to move toward the kitchen. Hastily, Bungo removed a few of the dishes from the table and made room for the wizard.

"What shall we do, Gandalf?" Belladonna questioned him once he was seated. Her swollen belly gave little in the way of space, but she made due and sat as close to the dining table as she was able. Bungo placed a cup of warm milk next to his wife's elbow and soon took a seat next to her, his eyes sharp with worry.

"I do not rightly know at the moment." Gandalf pondered. "I could, I suppose, take her to Rivendell and ask for any guidance Lord Elrond could spare. Perhaps he would be better equipped to assess her mind and give her some relief."

"Would that be wise, though?" Belladonna pressed on, her lovely expression now coming down stern. "She is a dwarf, she may not remember much, but what if she does remember the bitterness that lies between her kin and the elves?"

"I do not think she does, remember, I mean." The wizard shook his head and tapped the table under his fingers. "Dwarves are a secretive and selective folk. They do not trust easily, nor are they willing to share their weaknesses or shortcomings with the public." He glanced over his shoulder and found that the female dwarf had stopped in her writing, her gaze now to them and her head tilted in her curiosity. "She acts as though she were kindred of Men or Elf, rather than a Dwarf."

"What are you saying, Gandalf?" Bungo drew the wizard's attention back to their bubble in the kitchen. "Are we mistaken? Is she not a dwarf?"

"That I cannot answer, her body is of a dwarf, and that we can all plainly see, but her mind? No. Her mind feels different, it is strange and harrowing. I am beginning to doubt that her blow to the head has caused this." Gandalf quieted as the heavy footsteps of their silent companion approached. A shadow passed over his shoulder and before him the dwarf placed her parchment. The length of it was filled with her words, the beginning looked as if a child had started, but toward the bottom there was only the strength of a steady and intelligent hand, only hindered by her tools.

"Look at this," Gandalf said wondrously, "A full length of a letter, and I believe she may have only stopped due to the length of the parchment."

"But we do not know what is says!" Bungo huffed with some annoyance. "What are we to do with that?"

"Perhaps we can teach her?" Belladonna suggested. She reached over and Gandalf happily allowed her to take the parchment from him. Belladonna's gaze swooped over the writing and she hummed thoughtfully, a curled finger to her chin. "Perhaps we can find some common ground. It is not hard to teach our small ones to speak… what is to say we cannot do so with her?"

The dwarf woman said something in a clipped tone and with a turn of her heel, slipped back into the living area and flopped down into her previous seat, her broad back to them. The chair creaked with worry under her weight and the soft mutterings of anger could be heard from within the room. Gandalf chuckled almost to himself, "That, there, also gives me reason to believe she may not be wholly comfortable in her body. I know dwarves to be powerful and unruly in their actions, but she stumbles about recklessly."

"She's upset. I cannot blame her. You said there have been no calls for missing dwarves from the Blue Mountains?" Belladonna lowered the pitch of her voice. She felt that part of the dwarf's depression had come from their conversation and her inability to participate with them.

"No, none that I have heard." Gandalf answered just as softly. "When I received your letter, I made inquiries, but no caravans have been lost, no travelers or groups have gone missing. I fear she is alone, for now."

Belladonna seemed to rear up like a snake poised to bite, "She is not alone! We are here." Bungo made a strangled noise in his throat and his wife turned to him with a pained look. "My love, please, I know this is not proper or appropriate, especially with our child on the way… but we cannot turn her away. We found her… we must take up our responsibility for her."

Gandalf felt a swell of pride and love for his old friend, "Indeed, you may be right, Belladonna. She has nowhere else to go, and I fear taking her to travel to Imladris would be terribly irresponsible of me. Her anxieties at the moment are too great. She shall remain here, and when she is stable, I shall take her with me to Lord Elrond and his wisdom."

…

'I like how they're treating me like I can't hear them now, either.' Margaret drummed her dense fingers against the desk and sighed. She could still hear their soft conversation, even over the shrill call of the birds outside and the sudden eruption of laughter from passing children. She glanced back toward the kitchen, but the other three were in a deep and hurried conversation. They wouldn't pay her any attention and she stood from the desk with a slight squeak from the chair. A single glance back told her that the others were still in conversation and she moved toward the window.

Her eyes watered as the light became too bright and the colors bled into her vision. Tears collected at the edges of her eyes and she winced with a hand that came up to rub at the soreness that assaulted her eyeballs. 'What's wrong with my eyes? Why does everything look so saturated?' She blinked away some of the water and felt a tear or two go down her cheek, but she wiped it away absently. She leaned her forehead against the window and sighed. 'I want to go home. I don't even know where the hell I am, but I'll walk to the edges of wherever the fuck it is just to… to what?'

A thick swallow lodged in her throat and she glanced down with her gaze and followed the wooden grain of the windowsill. 'Where am I supposed to go? This could be anywhere… and how did I even get here from my home city? There's nothing like this even remotely nearby.' She entertained the vague and thoughtful theory that she may have died and this was a weird sort of heaven (or hell, perhaps?) but her body ached far too frequently and her pain was not torturous, just bothersome and fleetingly.

She brought a hand to rest on the window's ledge and she sighed as she turned the limb over and over. 'And what's wrong with me? Why do I look like this? Couldn't I have at least looked like them?' Her muddy gaze flickered over toward the kitchen, to the small creatures that were her new hosts. 'That would have made this somewhat easier… now I'm just a fuckin' freak of nature. I feel like a beached whale, goddamn.' Her gaze came up again at the sound of shuffled footsteps and the old man was making his way toward her. Hastily, Margaret bumbled about around the edge of her desk and thumped into her desk chair with a creak of wood.

The old man spoke to her once he had taken a seat across from her, the two other pointed-eared creatures just behind him. The man's lips were tight on his face and his chin quivered, but his wife stood with a rod through her spine and a fierce light in her eyes and Margaret feared the determination behind that gaze. The old man handed her letter back to her and Margaret couldn't stop the snort that escaped her, 'go figure he wouldn't be able to read it. There goes that hope.' Listlessly, she tossed the paper onto the desk and watched as it twirled before landing. The old man huffed at her and his voice turned lecturing.

Margaret blinked and shrunk into her shoulders slight before she took up the piece of paper again. 'Alright, that was clearly not what I was supposed to do, shit.' Instead, the woman came around and Margaret instantly felt herself shrink as the orbit of the woman's stomach was within range of her personal bubble. Margaret's gaze found the woman's face and there was a smile that greeted her.

"Bell. A. Dunna." The woman announced with a thumb to her chest. Margaret blinked absently for a few seconds before she flailed in realization. 'She's giving you her name, idiot!'

"Margaret!" She replied stupidly, a few seconds too late and with a frog's yodel for her volume. "Ah, shit that was loud, sorry. Ahem." Margaret coughed and cleared her throat with a swallow before she tried again, this time with her voice much softer and less like a wailing amphibian. "Margaret. Bell… Belladonna?"

The woman beamed and nodded before shooting off into a verbal slur of something or other that was too fast and too much gibberish for Margaret to understand. With a laugh, Margaret held up her hands and waved them frantically, "Woah! Woah, easy, one… one word at a time. Hand gestures, c'mon, woman." She laughed again and flickered her fingers between them, "Cut me some slack here, a'right?"

The man said something from behind Belladonna and it brought a spark of twisted sarcasm to Belladonna's face. It was such an odd expression, a set of exasperation that furrowed her brows and made her lips tick into half a grimace and smile. Margaret could only laugh at the sight. The woman, Belladonna, now muttered something and her gaze was focused on Margaret, an eyebrow raised and a hand on her hip.

'… She's joking with me.' Even though she couldn't possibly know what the woman – Belladonna – had been saying, the fact that she had tried to include Margaret on the joke had been touching enough to spring tears into her eyes. Margaret gave her a watery and shuddering smile and shrugged her shoulders with her hands out, "Sorry, lady friend, I've got nothing for you."

Belladonna rolled her eyes and smacked the side of Margaret's head, laughing.

…

Westron. That's what Belladonna said the language was, or what most called it in their part of the world. It had been a long and grueling month, with Belladonna being an almost unbearably unforgiving teacher. The start had been small, with Belladonna repeating words for things Margaret asked for, looked at, or picked up. The woman absolutely refused to speak to Margaret unless a phrase or a word was repeated first, and only correctly. Multiple times throughout the first month Margaret found their arguments at toe's end with the smaller woman, annoyed and frustrated at the hard pushing and shoving to learn the language.

"You know this is just ridiculous, you hormonal – augh, what!" Margaret growled when she noticed Belladonna had once again gone blank in the face and raised an eyebrow at her. "What now, honestly?" The garden around them seemed to giggle in the summer's breeze and a few leaves fluttered between them, as if to ease the impending spitting match.

"Again." Belladonna repeated in Westron, one of the few words Margaret knew with painful familiarity. Her garden work was left forgotten in her lap and the tomatoes were just about to roll out from her hands. Belladonna's belly took up most of her laugh and the sight of rolling tomatoes would have been comical, if not for Margaret's frustration.

Margaret snorted and repeated through gritted teeth. "What. Is. You. Want."

"No." Belladonna reprimanded. "Yes, what would you like?"

"I don't know any of those words, you crazy lady!" Margaret snapped with a hand to her forehead. "God Almighty, just strike me down, please, for the love of your own son." Belladonna cleared her throat and raised not one, but both of her eyebrows at Margaret. With a heavy sigh and a toss of her head to jab her chin into her collarbone, Margaret replied with a grumble and repeated Belladonna's punctuation and pronouncement.

"Good." Belladonna replied with a smile and her hands reached out for the tomatoes. "Yes, what would you like."

"Yes, Belladonna, what… would you like. Like?" Margaret questioned with a thick voice, tired and frustrated with her lack of any real progress. Belladonna nodded again with her hands cupped around the ripe tomatoes that had made for a quick escape.

"Please," Belladonna continued slowly with a finger pointed at a small shovel next to Margaret, "may you hand me the shovel?" Though to Margaret, the sentence had sounded more along the lines of 'please, may, hand, something-something' but she could understand the general gist of what Belladonna had been asking for and quickly retrieved the small hand-tool for the woman.

They worked peacefully in the garden, side by side and sharing the tools between them. It was the first time in a month and a half since her unexpected arrival into The Shire (Belladonna had struggled to teach her that string of words) that she had been outside for more than an hour or two. Their neighbors were well down the row from them, so it gave Margaret some sense of privacy while outside.

Her lessons weren't easy. Throughout the day Belladonna would drill her on singular words, items around the house and the like. In the evening, Bungo would assist so that his wife could rest with her swollen belly. He had focused more on verbs and adjectives, but Margaret was well past English 101 mentality, and the lessons would leave her with stinging headaches.

"Margaret." Belladonna interrupted her thoughts. Margaret's head shot up at her name and she blinked from the slight blur it caused to her vision. She inclined her head and glanced around Belladonna, but could see nothing to indicate the woman had asked her for something.

"Yes… ma'am?" Margaret replied with the tiniest bit of confusion.

"Gandalf will be visiting again today." Belladonna smiled lightly and sighed. "Today or tomorrow, I believe he wishes to take you to Rivendell."

Margaret blinked again, confused mightily. "To-day or… or after? Is where?" She had only managed a small fraction of Belladonna's words, that the old man (or wizard, the hobbits called him, of all things) was arriving at some point, but the rest of it was lost to the wind. 'He's going where with what? What?'

Belladonna bit her lip, "Gandalf. Will take you. To see the elves."

"Now you're shitting me," Margaret grumbled, "Wizards and hobbits… dwarves, you tell me, and now elves? No. No, fuck that. That shit ends here." Margaret huffed and swiped at the tools that sat in her lap. Angrily, she ripped herself up from the ground and growled as she nearly tripped down as her bare feet snagged on her skirt.

"Margaret," Belladonna tried to soothe her, but Margaret snapped at her before she could continue, a finger held up accusingly and her eyes narrowed on the pregnant woman as she regained her footing and stood like a tower over the smaller female.

"No, Belladonna." Margaret hissed. "Enough. I is enough. No more. No more… not truth!"

"Lies." Belladonna supplied her with a tight voice. The older woman had her lips pressed tightly into a pale line across her face and Margaret was certain the only reason the woman was not up and in her face was because of her stomach that sank her like a stone. "I am not lying to you, child."

"Yes you is!" God, Margaret hissed to herself in the back of her mind, she must have sounded like a damn barbarian with the way her words slurred and crashed together. None of her sentences came with the fluidity and practice that Belladonna spoke with, none of them held the same grace or slender taste on the tongue. It only served to infuriate her.

"Why would you think I'm lying to you?" Belladonna questioned her. All the good it did, Margaret could still only catch every other word, and even then only if it was a simple adjective or verb. 'Why-you-think-lying-you' sounded more accurate to Margaret's muddled brain.

"Elves!" Margaret nearly shouted. She could hear the door as it opened from the front of the house. She was probably loud enough for Bungo to grow concerned. The idea that he was worried for his little wife forced Margaret to wrap up her anger and she hauled it in with a struggle. Why was her temper so volatile? 'I wasn't this aggressive back home, even on the debate team, I still controlled my temper!'

Belladonna was still seated in front of her and the woman held her chin high and her hands folded in her lap. The small creature looked to be fearless, but Margaret knew better. Belladonna had warned her when they first started communicating that Margaret's new body was far stronger than any strength a hobbit could possibly muster.

Margaret felt her gaze shift down to Belladonna's belly, the female had one hand wrapped along the underside of her stomach and never shifted under Margaret's stare. Shame struck her, then, and Margaret could feel icy fingers curl over her neck and she shuddered. She bowed her head and murmured sadly to Belladonna, "I sorry. No pain. No hurt. I is angry, Belladonna."

"I know you are, my dear." Belladonna gave her the smallest of smiles and held up a hand when Bungo stepped in behind Margaret. The hobbit stopped, but his hands were wrapped tightly together and twisted hard enough to turn his palms red. "Help me, Margaret."

Instantly, Margaret held out her hands to take Belladonna's, "Maggie. Mag. Gee."

"Help me, Maggie."

…

"You say she's been temperamental?" Gandalf asked quietly so as not to disturb Bungo in his lesson with their dwarf charge. Belladonna sipped at her drink carefully, her eyes elsewhere in the living area, the only indication he had that his friend was taking consideration with her words.

"Not necessarily. Yes, she has a temper, but she isn't completely… unruly." Belladonna explained politely. She settled her cup of tea on the sauce that rested at the top of her belly and she sighed. "She confused. She's mentioned several times that she's unfamiliar with… things."

"What things, my dear?" Gandalf pressed gently. He had hoped that the young dwarf's strange mannerisms would have made her a unique and palatable house guest to the hobbits. Her qualities appeared nothing like those of her kin, but to listen to his friend now, it seemed the dwarf was, indeed, a dwarf.

Belladonna shrugged lightly. "She's unfamiliar with the races, Gandalf. It was a shock to her to know that there were others who looked like her. She found the concept of hobbits strange, and when I mentioned elves, well, she nearly had a fit right outside in the garden." The mother-to-be had her gaze focused on the glittering light of the fireplace before them and there was a short laugh that came from Bungo in the kitchen as the young dwarf cheered over something.

"But," Belladonna smiled over her shoulder, "for all that bothers her, she has been a most charming and honest companion." Belladonna turned back to Gandalf and worry came over her sweet features. "Must you take her to Rivendell? I am one for adventure and the wild outdoors, my friend, but I fear…"

"You do not think she is ready." Gandalf stated with a nod of his head. Belladonna shook her head in quiet reply and Gandalf sighed with a palm that tapped at the head of his armrest. "Ah, Belladonna Baggins, I see that motherhood is setting upon you. I had hoped that she would travel with me, but I can see by your face that you think it unwise."

"I do, Gandalf. In most matters, I defer to your judgment, but in this, I must protest." Belladonna said firmly with her brow furrowed over her eyes and her mouth in a frown. "Give us a bit more time with her. You can see she is comfortable with us. I do not think it would benefit her to have her… open up to us, only to take her away and place her in another unknown."

Gandalf nodded again with his eyes closed and his lips in a twitch. "I suppose you are right. She is naught more than a child to her kind. Perhaps what you say is our best course of action."

"Thank you, Gandalf." Belladonna relaxed in her chair and then grinned as another cheer of triumph came from the kitchen. The woman giggled into her hand and Gandalf could only shake his head at the antics of the young dwarf.

Notes: One step forward, and another back. Hopefully by next chapter, we'll get our dwarf out of Hobbiton!