It was a dull, numbing pain. She felt it all over her body, not just in the wound on her stomach. All Evie could do was lay there, trapped in her bed as if she was in a cage, completely immobilized. If she moved at all the gash across her stomach sent knife blades of pain throughout her body, making her double over on instinct, her teeth gnashing and her eyes smarting.

And so she remained, fading in and out of sleep, with nothing else to do but hope her mother could invent a way to heal her. And what if she could not? The hobbit already felt halfway gone. Her body was failing her; she could barely lift her limbs or keep her eyes open…

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Evangeline thought of all the stories her father used to share with her, of his adventures and of the legacy of their family. He had died well, fighting for a cause he believed in. He had been honorable and brave and strong.

What about his daughter? Stabbed in the dark by a goblin, too slow to raise her sword in time to save herself and too weak to fight off the infection which followed, just as deadly as her attacker's blade.

She would not die well. She would die in agony – and when her life had been snuffed out at last and merciful sleep had finally taken her, the only memory of her life would be the rampant gossip which seemed to plague her family without compassion or remorse. Her name would be whispered over hedgerows and dashed across armchairs, never venerated and never valued. They had not spoken of Fellin in such a way because he had been respected in the Shire and because Marigold would not allow it. But now, after the third generation of the Took family had expired as payment for their foolish adventures, there would be no way to quell the uproar which would settle over the Shire like a fog rolling over a moor.

It appeared that even now, Evie had not finished hurting her mother; leaving her alone for so long had not been enough. Her escalating relationship with a dwarf and her increasing involvement in their affairs had not proved sufficient. No, it seemed that even in death Evangeline would be a burden for Marigold. Perhaps that was all she would ever be for anyone. With extreme force of effort, one of Evie's pale, trembling hands latched onto the ring which now hung around her neck.

Her mother had put it on a chain for her, trying to seek a balance between the hesitation and expectant fear she felt for her daughter's future and the maternal joy of seeing her falling in love. There were so many things Marigold wanted for her little Evie, and although she had never anticipated her prospects unfolding in such a way, Mary supposed there were worse dwarves than Thorin Oakenshield to have as a husband. Living in the Shire for so long had made the mother forget that often in life the unexpected things become the most significant.

Marigold came to the ailing hobbit's side, biting her lip as she checked the girl's fever. Evie turned into her hand, whimpering from the constant pain throbbing through her body and muddling her senses. All Mary's thoughts of husbands and mountains and marriage fell away as she looked down at her daughter, her heart sinking. It was a very nice dream, to think that Evangeline might marry this Thorin, son of Thrain. That they might live so close, in the Blue Mountains, and perhaps even have children of their own… But it was just a dream. And it would always remain so unless Marigold Took could somehow summon up a miracle.

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The hobbit crossed her arms, trying desperately to think. No matter how she worked things out in her mind or thought through lists of potions and salves, she knew there was only one solution which would be guaranteed to save her only child. This was a sickness beyond her power, and unless she could bear to watch her daughter die, drastic measures needed to be taken. Drawing in a deep, resigned breath, Mary realized the day had finally come and she needed to call in a favor.

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He came, at last, and he was just as she remembered him.

Marigold was sitting next to her door, waiting. There was nothing else to do – she had tried every cure she knew to heal her daughter, but none had worked. Her only hope was this stranger, this old acquaintance, and although she did not trust him an inch, her personal reservations no longer mattered. The hobbit's only concern was if he could restore Evie's life. If he could, that would be the end of it. She would not think of him again; she would forget their first meeting and the occasion which had earned her the favor she was now claiming… Mary did not like to dwell on such things, even now. The memory stung, as all remembrances did when they surrounded her husband.

Marigold Took was tough; hardened by the world even if it barely ever reached her in the safety of the Shire. She liked living here because it gave her a sense of the routine, of the glorious monotony of daily life. She enjoyed knowing what would happen every day; she took pleasure in the surety that if she planted a seed one week it would start growing the next. Her friends and neighbors rarely did anything fantastic and always kept their word. Everything was simple, and everything was easy. She liked it that way, even if she was the only one in her family who did. Marigold had not been able to stop Evangeline from following in her father's brazen footsteps, and even though it meant Mary had to endure the same heartache she had grown to know well from her husband's absence, a small part of her was fond of her daughter's wild nature. She saw so much of Fellin in Evie. Perhaps that was why it hurt so badly to watch her go, to know that there was a very real possibility the young hobbit would never return. Mary understood that being a mother meant protecting her children, but she also knew that a hobbit who wanted adventure had no place in the Shire. Marigold had married into the Took family, and even then she had known what she was getting into. Fellin had always been an adventurer, and she had loved him profoundly for every aspect of his nature, including his intrepid daring.

She warmly remembered the first time they met – at a wedding. A grand tent stretched over the small plain near Green Hill Country like one great cloud, and a wealth of gifts and food rested under its protection. There were flowers everywhere – Mary had even woven little purple blossoms into her long blonde curls. It was twilight and everything was perfect; the sun set over the rolling hills of East Farthing, puffs of smoke bloomed into the air as many of the older hobbits sat back and smoked their pipes (Longbottom leaf had been provided aplenty for the occasion), and everyone who had a mind to danced together in an array of swishing skirts, nimble feet, and bouncing curls. Marigold, of a respectable sort from Overhill, was surprised when Fellin Took asked her to dance. Everyone had heard the audacious stories of his father's voyages, and so his family had been marked out as the adventuring kind. Her mother had warned her to stay away from him (and from Tookbank in general), which of course made her all the more eager to accept his invitation as soon as it was extended. Her suitor offered Mary a stray flower which had fallen out of her hair. She would never forget how he tucked it behind her ear with the steady magnetism of a true rogue, making her blush the color of a poppy.

Fellin had kind grey eyes and a charming smile, and it did not take long for Mary to forget her mother's words and accept the many invitations which followed his first. They began to walk together along the countless footpaths of the Shire, to talk of fireflies and flowers and all those topics of a poetic nature which young people are fond of discussing on long walks. Eventually, they even began to talk of the future. Marigold had broken her mother's heart on the day she married Fellin Took. So how could she truly be surprised that her daughter had brought home a dwarf, of all possibilities? Evie had followed in her fearless father's footsteps and gone off exploring, and the moment she had stepped out the door of their cozy hobbit hole, Mary had known that she was destined for great things.

But what did all that mean? Now that Evangeline was dying, feverish and weak, lying in the bed she had abandoned long ago to her insatiable sense of adventure and need for travel… Evie had come back, after all this time, but not as the proud hobbit Mary had been expecting. Instead she returned home broken and injured, just as her mother had feared every time the night grew dark and long and she missed her child. All these thoughts of glory and accomplishment, of bravery and courage – they meant nothing if her daughter died as her father and grandfather had. Their sacrifices seemed to mean so much less without Evangeline to carry on their legacy; for as much as Mary mourned for her daughter's spirit, there was also a part of her which was innately proud. Still, she had always anticipated Evie returning home to take a husband, to start a family just as Fellin had. She had never quite given up on having grandchildren, on seeing them make mistakes and leave home just as their mother had… The pain and heartbreak of watching them grow and earn their own reprimands for stumbling recklessly forward into the great expanse of Middle Earth so explored by their forbearers… These were the hopes which gave Mary courage when she felt most alone, and now… It was quite possible now that none of these foolish dreams would ever come to pass.

Marigold thought of Thorin, son of Thrain… He was certainly not what she had visualized in her fantasies for her daughter's future. Yet she should have known that Evie never would have done as her father had and married someone so humble… No, her daughter needed a husband who could challenge her and ground her and offer her more than a life of simple pleasures. The Shire would never be enough for her Evie, and Mary should have guessed it from the start. She was unsure of what Thorin Oakenshield could offer Evangeline, but she knew it was something far greater than anything her mother had ever known. He was poised to be a king… And yet he had experienced great hardship, the agony of loss and the fierce effort of fighting for redemption… As much as the thought of him taking her daughter to the Blue Mountains terrified her, Mary saw something in him which assuaged her fears. He was noble, and not simply of blood. He would care for Evangeline as no one else could, including her pitiable mother. And if it truly was love…

Her anxious musings were ended by the shrill chirping of birds. A small group of finches announced his arrival, their voices forming a chorus of hurried fretfulness. Marigold stood, brushing off her skirt and trying to keep her hands from trembling. She should not be as frightened of him as she was – he had never given her reason to fear him, yet she could not dispel the terrible lump in her throat. He was powerful; stronger than anyone she had ever met, and although he seemed to possess the decency which was so necessary to a man of great power, he also lacked a clear sense of himself. He was dizzyingly uncertain at times and rarely seemed sure of what he said, even as he said it. Fellin had recounted much more about the stranger after their time together, but Mary still never quite trusted him. Hobbits were strong in will but weak in nature, and when one so small is confronted with such great ability it is natural to fight the desire to quake in its stead.

Yet the mother ultimately feared nothing but the loss of her child. The visitor was invited into the house and offered something refreshing to ease the effects of his long journey. He refused it, however, and set himself upon the reason for his arduous expedition. With a whirl of his earthen brown cloak, he fell at Evangeline's side and placed an eager hand on her forehead.

"Yes; I can save her."

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Evangeline woke up feeling like a weight had been lifted from her weary body. She felt altogether stronger and more awake than she had in weeks. The hobbit took a deep breath and sat up, reaching immediately to support her stomach out of what had become a habit – but it was unnecessary. The customary pain did not assault her when she moved. In fact, she did not feel anything at all. Lifting up her shirt, she noticed a thin pink scar trailing across her belly, but nothing more. No open wound, no festering signs of infection… She had healed. She had healed!

The blonde got out of bed, putting her full weight on her feet for the first time in weeks. She stumbled for a moment as she lunged forward, but managed to regain the ability to walk after a few struggling steps. Evie sighed, overwhelmed by the intense gratitude and giddy relief which always strikes those who have narrowly survived death's lure. The hobbit laughed cheerfully, stretching and closing her eyes as she marveled over how she possibly could have healed so quickly. But what did it matter?! She was alive! More alive than ever before. She felt like she was coming out of a dark, foggy night in which the haze hanging around her made it hard to breathe and into a splendid, sunny day with clear air and fresh chances in abundance. Because that was what this was, no matter how she chose to look at it.

This was a new start. And she refused to waste it.

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Author's Note: You are all fabulous, lovely people! :) ! Hopefully you'll like the direction this will be going in for a chapter or two… I won't pretend like I didn't start writing this in part because I wanted to explore a love story for Thorin, but my intention has also always been to try and tell the story of a hobbit. And the more time I spend with these characters the more I want to understand them better and give them time to grow and develop- so Evie's going to do that for a little while! As is Thorin, but we're going to spend a little more time with Evangeline for now. I hope you enjoy her journey!

Also, expect slightly slower updates over the next few weeks. I'll be traveling for half of this week and then working like a madman on my thesis draft for the next two weeks after that… I should still have time to write here and there, but it won't be quite as often as normal. My apologies!