So! I've always wanted to write in this universe cause I love it! I have been working on several different stories following several different ocs; some are set in the Hobbit, some in LotR, and some are my own timeline after the events of LotR. Some are 10th walker or 14th company member and some do their own thing. I will post chapters of each when I finish them but I bounce between them, so there will be no schedule.

If you're here from my other stories: they are not abandoned! The brain works in mysterious ways and mine likes to hop about. I'm still very into those stories!


The Shire was a wonderfully quaint and quiet place. It was all rolling hills and picturesque forests and lakes. Bright days, soft sunsets, and clear nights were the norm in the Shire; why even its rains were gentle and brought new life to the pastures. Those rolling hills were full of more life and warmth than dirt, for the most part, and the occupants of them were full of peace and no small amount of food. Laughter and joy and just general contentedness filled the air throughout the land.

But in one particular Hobbit hole under a rather nice rolling hill —the view from the window alone was worth a pretty penny— the air was tense, an argument already brewing as was generally the case in this home.

"What about Fredegar Bolger? The Bolgers are quite a good family, very well off."

Petunia Sackville-Baggins was bustling around the hobbit hole, straightening already straight pictures on the walls and dusting immaculate book shelves, just being busy for busy's sake. Her daughter, Sorrel Sackville-Baggins sat in front of the fire, embroidering an explosion of color; flowers Petunia had never seen before —nor ever wanted to have the chance to see— in silky blues and purples and pinks. It was all rather too much in Petunia's opinion, but it kept her daughter at home, under her supervision, so she could ignore the frivolity of it all…for now.

"I'm not marrying Freddy, mother," Sorrel said. This being an old argument, she did not even look up from her embroidery hoop. She did, however, roll her eyes at her mother, "he's a friend and nothing more."

Petunia waved her objections away like flies, "Oh well that's good enough for a marriage; at least you would get along."

"It's not good enough for me," was the mumbled reply she got, low enough that she probably wasn't supposed to hear. But she did hear and she wasn't about to let her daughter out of this conversation.

Hands on her hips, Petunia finally fully faced her daughter, giving up the illusion of bustle, "Well you must marry someone."

"Do I?" Now she had Sorrel's full attention. With her hoop and needles on her lap, her angry eyes meeting her mother's.

Petunia didn't like that look, "Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I don't want to. Have you ever thought about that? No, because we've discussed this and yet you never listen," Sorrel's voice rose as she rose to her feet, setting her hopp on her seat. She knew her parents never used that chair —its arms were too close together for her father and the seat was too firm for her mother— so she never put her work in the basket, something that ruffled Petunia's feathers to no end, "besides, you're assuming anyone would want me. You know most avoid me and those I associate with."

"I don't think that Took would let anyone avoid him."

"Mother…"

"Well you will have to make some sacrifices."

"To be able to marry?" Sorrel began to gather her coat, "I think not!"

"You will have to leave behind all your larking about someday;" Petunia stood in the middle of their living room, as her daughter huffed around her, "better sooner than later."

"Larking–" Sorrel rounded on her mother, "you mean my job?"

Petunia scoffed, "It's hardly a job that needs doing. You could settle down and work on your embroidery. I know Miss Daisy Chubb has been rather taken by the work you did on her sister's wedding shawl."

"I can do both," Sorrel bit out between clenched teeth before spinning on her heel and stomping to the door, coat and bag in hand.

"Where are you going? I'm not done talking!"

"Well I am!" Sorrel yelled from the doorway, her mother not even leaving her spot on the rug, "I'm going somewhere I'm wanted, larking about or not."

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the dishes in the cabinet and, with that, Petunia Sackville-Baggins watched her daughter walk out of their family home for the last time.


first of all, I know Fredegar is called Fatty in LotR but I felt weird typing it...So he is Freddy now. Maybe Sorrel gave him another nickname.

Secondly, Sorrel is accidentally based off of a dnd character of mine, Hazel Homebody. This was not my intention but I realized they look and act very similar and I ask myself "What would Hazel do?" if I get stuck and it helps a lot. They are also both long range fighters (for the most part) Sorrel uses a bow and Hazel is an artificer and has a gun that's twice her height. They are not the same in every way, I just thought this was pretty funny.