Here's chap 1, since i had it ready!

It was near closing time at the Green Dragon tavern in Hobbiton and yet it was still full to the brim with happy and wonderfully drunk Hobbits. The fire was high and warm and, with the help of several well crafted lanterns, it kept the interior of this hub of night activity in town well lit and cozy. The air was filled with song and laughter and the smell of food and ale.

Sorrel had hoped to find solace, a place to forget her mother and her expectations, and yet she found something that broke her heart.

"What do you mean you're thinking of selling Bag end?!"

Two Hobbits sat at a table in the corner. Sorrel knew she would find friends at the tavern but was surprised to find Frodo Baggins sitting at a table. The older Hobbits sitting with him had left earlier, leaving him alone. He hadn't been surprised when she settled into the seat across from him, mug of ale in hand. She had a habit of finding him wherever he was, which was more than fine; they got along swimmingly and seemed to understand each other more than most.

Waiting for an answer, Sorrel eyed her second favorite cousin as if he was mad, which much of the Shire would agree was the case but for different reasons. Her question was very angrily said by the Hobbit woman, but quietly so as to not travel in the small tavern they sat in; for all Hobbits wanted to be left alone by the outside world, in the borders of their own lands, Hobbits were gossips and loved each other's business.

When he said nothing, she continued, "Please tell me you're not finally listening to my grandmother. You know she's a right witch and deserves no consideration when it comes to living one's life." Sorrel frowned deeply, an expression that made her look entirely too much like said grandmother, though nobody would ever tell her that for fear of the consequences, "I thought you were above listening to her machinations."

Frodo, for his part, looked thoroughly chastised but deflated as he sat there, looking into an empty mug of what used to be ale he was holding, "Bagend is just too empty now."

Her frown softening, something that erased all mirroring of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins from her face, Sorrel reached a hand across the table to squeeze his arm, "I know, Frodo, I miss him too…"

Frodo placed a hand on hers before accepting a new mug of ale from Samwise Gamgee, his gardener and friend, and Sorrel had to yank her arm back to avoid being stomped on by her cousin Peregrine, or Pippin, Took as he jigged across the table with his —as well as Sorrel and Frodo's— cousin Meriadoc Brandybuck. Merry grinned an apology for their collective cousin, barely breaking stride as they sang and kicked their feet to their tune, jumping to another table.

Sorrel accepted the apology with a fond shake of her head before taking a sip of her own ale, thinking. She missed Bilbo so very much —he Was her favorite cousin after all, much to her mother's disdain— but she was nowhere near as close to him as Frodo was to his adopted uncle. Which was to be expected; the hobbit, who was actually another of their cousins, had raised Frodo from before Sorrel was truely old enough to remember much. She barely remembered his parents, something she never brought up to him. It had always been Bilbo and Frodo in Bagend, always, and it felt wrong for Frodo to be alone for any period of time. And it had been a few years now since Bilbo left the place to him.

"You okay there, Miss Sorrel?" Came a concerned voice at her elbow and a blonde head swam into view with a kind, furrowed brow.

Well, maybe not alone. Samwise had forever kept Frodo company, helping his father with the gardening at Bagend; he had made it his duty to accompany Frodo wherever he went in solidarity since Bilbo's disappearance. Sorrel was grateful to the kind hobbit for keeping her cousin out of his grief as well as he could and put on a small smile so as to not worry him too much.

"Yes, Sam," she nodded her head towards the loud pair on the table next to them, "just bothered by a pair of bothersome bothers."

She said that loud enough for others to hear and a chuckle rippled through the tavern; Sorrel was glad to see it pulled a soft smile from Frodo as well.

"Oh don't be like that, Rellie," Pippin called, "such consternation is bad for digestion!"

Sorrel snorted and said, "come now, Pip, if that were the case, my father would never eat," which pulled another, louder laugh; her father, Sigefroy Sackville-Baggins, was known throughout the Shire for his well stocked larder, his lavish meals throughout all times of the day, his proper rotundly hobbitish form, and his complete and utter dismay at anything out of the mundane. It was something that had pulled prim, proper, and perpetual peeved Petunia Took, Sorrel's decidedly untookish mother, to be his wife; they could judge the world together from their oh so high and mighty lifestyle.

They were so very much the opposite of their wild, if rather grumpy, daughter.

They were the most unimaginative and least romantic pair; It was said that the most poetic thing they ever did in their life was, after a decade of trying for a child, naming their daughter good luck. Pippin liked to say she was named for sour grass because her mother always looked like she bit into a lemon, to which Sorrel would reply, "only when she looks at you, Pip."

Unlike her mother, Sorrel quite liked her younger cousins. They were energetic and always ready to cause trouble and, if that trouble wasn't pointed at her, Sorrel was glad for the opportunity to watch the fun. If the trouble was pointed at her…well Merry and Pippin had learned early on that she was not to be a target. Quips were one thing, trouble was another and she had shown them that she was much better and much meaner at trouble than they ever were; revenge was swift and terrible.

While Sorrel liked her cousins, she did not spend much time with them; only here, in the tavern or sometimes at family dinners, would she see her youngest cousins and their variable horde of siblings. Sorrel was an only child and lived far from the warrens of Tucksborough and Buckland with her parents, who wanted to disavow any relations to the so called feytouched Tooks and their close relatives, the Brandybucks. Frodo and Bilbo, both Tooks by lineage but Baggins by name like her, were her closest relatives that she got along with and they were a peculiar pair; alone but not lonely in their solitude, striking out on small adventures to the far countryside.

As her parents feared, Sorrel eventually began to take after them, traveling farther than her mother would ever like and her father thought possible; farther, even, than Frodo and Bilbo dared…after the incident with the mountain, of course, and Bilbo's visits with the elves. There she met Men of the north; Dunedain, they were called, and they taught her some of their ways, to her parents' dismay. She disappeared for months and came home not with a husband as they hoped but a bow and a love for the wilds. She traveled with the Dunedain many times since, learning to track and hunt, but only around the borders of the Shire, for they would take her no further; even if they were charmed by the small woman who demanded to know everything there was to know, the world was still very dangerous and they had sworn to protect the Shire and its inhabitants. She would join them on hunts and they would help her bring meat that she caught to the butcher in town. Though Hobbits did not trust tall folk, the meat Sorrel brought in was excellent and if there's anything a Hobbit will do anything for, its quality ingredients.

However, she would not stay out long; while she loved the wilds, she loved her home more. It was the smothering of spirit that home caused that drove her to those that protected it but home was what brought her back each time and, though weary of the quiet and missing the forests, Sorrel always found her way to the chair in front of the hearth of her parents home, embroidering her adventures to remember them.

Even this absurdly hobbitish act wasn't up to her parents' liking; they were rather utilitarian in their tastes and turned up their nose at any foolish filigree, as they would call it. They did not like her golden threads and bright colors; her hems of mountain silhouettes and buttons carved like arrows pointing north. Even the detailed acorns Sorrel had perfected because Bilbo loved them were too much for them, but that may have been their dislike of the oak tree he grew after his infamous adventure to the east.

"Why ruin a perfectly good hobbit hill with that foreign monstrosity," they would whisper whenever they invited themselves over, always in that tone that told you they meant to be overheard. This, of course, ignored that there were many oak trees in the Shire; they just wished for reasons to complain and let people know they did not care that they would not be inheriting Bagend. No siree, not at all. Frodo could have that mess, they didn't care a bit, but for what it's worth, they, the Sackville-Baggins, had the better claim and don't you forget it. Sorrel, Frodo, and Bilbo forgot it constantly when they visited each other, never letting her parents and grandparents disdain get between them when they had time between their separate small adventures.

Indeed, Sorrel took after Bilbo and Frodo in many ways; more prone to silent contemplation and solitude and less prone to dismiss the world around them. It even seemed like she was to follow them into the bachelor's life, for she had shown no interest in any Hobbits who had come asking for her attention. Oh sure, she had some dalliances of hand holding, dancing at harvest parties and birthdays, and kissing but none held her attention beyond that. Every Hobbit boy and girl she spent her time with saw her adventurous spirit as something they must overcome to be with her, a challenge, when, for her, that was her life they were ignoring; they didn't understand what she had seen and why she would love it. Her parents chalked up her disinterest with romance to her association with Bilbo and Frodo and that was another mark against them.

It didn't help her parents' disdain that she resembled Frodo in many ways. If it were not for her olive skin and brown eyes, they could have been siblings; both with black curls and thin, straight noses, instead of the golden hues of her mother or the button nose of her father. They were both on the thinner side despite observing the traditional full seven hobbit meals and had some of the Tookish height; nothing compared to Ol' Bullroarer but Sorrel had a few inches on both her parents.

But, of course, Sorrel and her closest cousin weren't the same person. In fact, they were as different as night and day. Where Frodo was cordial and personable, if quiet, she was irritable, blunt, and not afraid to state her opinion. He loved his books and, while Sorrel was educated, she loved her bow more. She could sew, embroider, and draw and his greatest creative achievement was his cooking and baking skills. What united them was their love of stories and adventure and, of course, their love of Bilbo Baggins.

Which made him leaving hurt more.

She honestly didn't think he would do it. Oh sure, he had been talking about leaving for months and Sorrel figured he would bluster about it before forgetting when some interesting tale filters into the Shire, as was his way. But on the night of his 111 birthday, he vanished without a trace. Quite literally in fact; right into thin air after insulting most of the party, a Bilbo speech tradition. Frodo ran to Bagend to find him but Sorrel's parents dragged her home, complaining about lack of decorum from their host.

She didn't even get to say goodbye.

Frodo didn't either.

After escaping her parents' clutches, Sorrel didn't leave Bagend for a week after, afraid to leave Frodo alone with the melancholy that overtook him at that fact. Sam was ever present as well, working in the garden and poking his head in the window to check in on them. He refused whenever they told him he could come sit with them; too much work to do, he would say, no need for them to worry about it all, just leave it to good ol' Samwise.

Sorrel knew he felt it was improper to impose upon them but neither she nor Frodo cared much for such separation. Sam was a dear friend and, though Sorrel's parents turned up their nose at the dirt under his nails and his twice patched shirts, the two Tookish Bagginses —three, when Bilbo was there— didn't care one bit. Sorrel even suspected there was more to Frodo's perpetually single status than a disinterest in marriage; she would catch him watching Sam work in the garden with such a fond look in his eye she felt like she was intruding on a moment. She never said anything to Frodo —it was his secret to tell— but, for his sake, Sam was as good as family to her. She began sewing and embroidering gifts and clothes for him and his younger siblings, something she only did for close friends and family; that night in the Green Dragon, Sam was wearing a lovely waistcoat that she had made for him a few months before.

And with a glance at the bar, Sorrel knew why. Sam had always been sweet on Rosie Cotton, the barmaid here. She was sweet, charming, and very pretty, so Sorrel couldn't blame Sam, but she knew it hurt Frodo, though he pretended not to care. In fact, he seemed to do everything in his power to help his friend woo the lovely Rosie. Sam had yet to say anything to her about his feelings and it seemed that would continue that night as the three of them filtered out the door after the call to leave was given.

Rosie stood at the door to say goodbye to her patrons. "Goodnight lads," she said with a smile, "night Miss Sorrel."

"Night, Rosie," Sorrel said as Sam nodded shyly and Frodo returned her polite smile.

The crowd lingered behind them as one of the drunkest of the lot dropped to his knees to dramatically say goodbye. It got a chuckle from his companions and Rosie but Sam muttered some threats under his breath.

"Don't worry, Sam," Frodo nudged his friend, "Rosie knows a fool when she sees one."

"...she does?"

Sorrel snorted, "I don't think you're helping."

She waved goodbye to Pippin and Merry as she, Frodo, and Sam made their way towards Bagend and they went off to get into more trouble, no doubt. Eventually, Sam peeled off to trudge towards his family's home, just down the road from Frodo, and the two of them were left to walk in a companionable silence towards the soon to be sold Hobbit hole. It was silently known between them that she would be sleeping at Bagend that night. Sorrel didnt even need to tell Frodo that she had fought with her mother again. She stayed the night often, usually because she had had a fight with one or both of her parents. It was to the point that she had moved some of her things into the guest room of Bagend, just in case. Bagend had become more of a home than her parents' house and she knew it well.

So when they stepped through the gate, she felt something was off; the air was eerily still, the windows dark like the beady eyes of an animal watching its prey, and the door hung partially cracked. The world seemed to hold its breath as the two Hobbits stood there. They shared a glance and Sorrel drew a knife she kept on her belt. She never expected danger in the Shire but Pippin was known to forget his during picnics and would ask around for one; Sorrel had gotten into the habit of having one on hand at all time for food purposes.

Now she held it before her like a sword, feeling quite silly about being so unarmed as she stepped in front of Frodo and pushed through the door.

They kept their steps light, not wanting to startle whoever had broken in. As she was somewhat armed, Sorrel went first, Frodo padding silently behind her. She saw nothing in the darkness, her eyes straining in the slivers of moonlight that came in through the open window.

At her back, Frodo gasped and they spun together to come face to face with a very haggard and hunched Gandalf.

Gandalf was an old looking man —nobody could agree how old and he seemed to encourage the confusion— who told everyone he was a wizard. Not many really believed him —Sorrel was on the fence about the whole thing— but they all agreed he knew many tricks and had the best fireworks. He also knew how to party and had last been seen helping Bilbo throw the best one possible at his 111th birthday party; it had also been Frodo's 33rd birthday, a momentous age, so all stops were pulled out to make it amazing. Sorrel was 37 at the time, her coming of age, a few years before Frodo's, was much smaller but much more to her tastes. Gandalf hadn't been seen in the three years since Bilbo's party; many speculated that the tall wizard had stolen the old hobbit away for nefarious purposes. Most agreed he brought trouble wherever he went and that it was good that he hadn't appeared again so soon.

Yet here he was, scaring the living daylights out of Frodo and Sorrel, after breaking into Bagend, Sorrel's knife a few inches from his neck.

"Is it secret?!" Gandalf asked, eyes wild, not seeming to notice the knife, "Is it safe?!"

Glad to see some people have read this so far! I would love to hear your thoughts!