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A/N: Welcome to anyone that might stumble across this story for the first time - I always wonder if there are still many active hobbit (especially Bofur) fans left out there, but I do still seem to get new followers here and there, so there must still be a few of you!

I must ask a very large favour, for those that start reading this anew, can you please leave Reviews as you go along - rather than just binge reading all the way to the end? Please, I just love any, and all, feedback!

This has been my heart project for YEARS now, and I am still working at it (just posted the first new chapter of 2023). I promise I will not abandon it until it is complete, but reviews truly make the process worth the monumental effort. This is a very long story and has taken many hours of my life, and so having reviews come in from my readers really brightens my day, and I love to feel more connected to other fans!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Happy Reading

It had been seven days since I had invested my life savings in a fast horse and travel gear.

Seven days since I had fled the town of Bree.

My careful planning had been for nought, however, as despite my utmost care, rumours of my upcoming departure had reached my employer. I had been forced to leave early, quite unprepared, and unable to take the Great East Road - as there it would be only too easy to be outrun and recovered. Luckily there had been one person, one relatively trustworthy friend to whom I had slipped my coins. He helped me escape in the dead of night, handing me the reins of a packed and saddled horse and urging me to not look back.

I had gone north on the Greenway, at my saviour's urging, in order to evade both the eastern road and the marshes. I travelled tirelessly throughout the night, holding my course until early dawn when I abandoned the easy travel of the road to strike east towards the Weather Hills. Only once I had neared the protection of their northernmost foothills did I allow myself some much needed sleep. My world-wise friend had not let me down; following his directions I had seen no other save for some farmer's sheep, and knowing my lack of experience in the wild he had packed me a thick coat, wool blankets, a sharp knife, and as many dried provisions and other supplies as the horse could efficiently carry.

Once rested, I had made my way eastward, keeping to the safety of the hills for as long as I could, but eventually the Lone Lands stretched out before me and, still far in the distance, the great River Hoarwell. This water was deep and fast flowing, and the Last Bridge was the only crossing I knew of. I felt uneasy about the prospect of being forced onto the road, totally exposed in order to reach the opposite shore, but there was no alternative. Until then, I travelled many leagues in a generally south-east direction, planning to stay off the path until I reached the river's edge.

At the end of the week I began to wear down as both my spirit and body grew exhausted. Besides the odd camping venture my father had taken me on as a child many years prior, I had never spent extended lengths of time in the wilderness. It was late May, and the night's chill sapped what little energy I was able to garner from my fear. I was constantly on edge as I tried to cope and survive in the new and rural surroundings I was pushing myself through. I also wasn't accustomed to riding and my legs and back were sore beyond repair.

If my would-be-captors beat me to the Last Bridge, however, my last chance of escape, of returning home, would be lost, and so I carried onwards with as much speed as I could.

And as I rode, I thought about my past...

I was born in Laketown, and I remember being happy there. I was taught how to sit properly in a boat, and how to catch and clean fish. I remember hounding my father to take me with him on fishing and trading expeditions, and on the rare occasion he would succumb and bring me along. We would take the River Running down to the Sea of Rhûn where we would barter for what goods we could - wine from the human settlements and trinkets from the dwarves of the Iron Hills. As I grew older, Easterlings began to make the route dangerous, and so more often than not I would be left at home, mending the nets with my mother as she told me stories.

As I said, I remember being happy there, once. However, when I was 16, my father departed for a trading venture, but never came home. Word eventually reached my mother that the barge had been raided and my father killed. His body was not found, the river would have carried him to the sea.

After a harrowing two years, my mother arranged to have me sent away with a trader from the west, to bring me to warmer, more fertile lands and the promise of a better life. She had spent the previous months meeting with visitors to Laketown, advertising my abilities - such as they were - but I was hardworking, well-read and quiet, and those traits were ofttimes worth more than skill alone. We both knew that after my father's death, my prospects at marriage had also plummeted, not that Laketown had many eligible suitors at any given time, but anyone of substance would not stoop so low as to take on a wife that had no dowry to offer. Laketown was failing and jobs were scarce, even more so for widows. My mother did not have the means to sufficiently provide for the both of us, and I could not find work steady enough to support us either.

Finally, a friendly, well-dressed young gentleman assured my mother that I could be hired to work full-time at the upper-class inn his father owned, if I were to travel back to Bree with him. He claimed that I would be under tutelage from the other handmaidens, all hand-chosen, of course, my room and board would be provided, and that I would be paid well, if only I agreed to sign a contract of employment for 3 years. It was too good an offer to refuse and so I signed away my life with excited determination, knowing it was the right choice and eager for the opportunity to better my circumstances.

My mother tearfully sent me off, telling me she would write, and that we would see each other again.

That had been just over 5 years ago.

I never told her the truth in my letters.

For instance, she did not know that I had fallen in love (or what I thought was love at my naive young age) with that prim, polite gentleman that escorted me westward to Bree. Along route he had enchanted me with his knowledge of the world, his fancy clean-cut clothing, and his effortless compliments. It had been easy for him to lure me close one night, and so I gave myself over to the wants and urges that can drive all but the most honourable men to dark deeds. Everything was going to change for the better - I had found myself a good man, and was on my way to a good, well paying career. The wages I made could be sent back to my mother, and in time I could return home - or she could move to Bree, where with my new well-to-do suitor, we could make a new life together.

I also never told my mother that I had arrived in Bree to find that the upmarket inn that the man had boasted was simply an old tavern frequented by gruff, unsavoury men. The Innkeeper was hardly better, with stern eyes and a quick temper.

I never saw the 'son' again after he dropped me off and led me inside… So much for love.

I was designated to a tiny, disused room with a little bed shoved against one wall and crates of empty bottles against the other, the only grace was that it had a lockable door, which I never let myself forget before I retired each night.

The contract I had signed had been deviously crafted, and after enquiring about the unexpectedly meagre pay, it was quickly pointed out to me that, yes, the inn would provide me a bed and food, but the value of such would be taken from my wages. So it was that I earned little above that what was used to pay for my keep, plus the stale, cold leftovers from the previous day.

The only other handmaiden working was a foul-tempered old woman, with a permanent slouch and an even more permanent scowl. She had shown me how to clean the rooms and dishes, and I learnt to do everything exactly to her standards, or else she would drag me back to the workspace and berate me so ferociously that I fought back tears.

No. The notes that I wrote to my mother contained idle pieces of pleasant conversation along with some of my earnings. I wrote to her often during the first year, so desperate that I was for any friendly contact, and she wrote back just as diligently. During the next year, however, her letters became less frequent. She wrote telling me she had remarried, and thanked me for my continued support, assuring me that I would have an established home to return to once my contract was complete.

Yet she soon stopped writing altogether, and with a year left on my contract I was beginning to have doubts about the easy new life I had once envisioned after I left my position at the inn.

I was now older than most men would consider for a new wife, I had no womanly trades to fall back on, my savings were meagre at best, and was starting to question whether my mother truly did want me to return home. The only thing I was certain of was my desire to walk out the doors of the inn and never return; and so I counted down the days to the end of my contract, trying to ignore how the Innkeeper's increasingly persistent gaze made my skin crawl.

Finally the day arrived when I awoke to my imminent freedom. I packed and dressed early, my spirits higher then they had been in years, and sought out the Innkeeper before the business even opened. He studied me with raised eyebrows as I reminded him of the date. His growing smirk gave me pause and I watched with growing helplessness as he opened his safe and proceeded to read a clause in the contract I had not been aware of, outlining that, if a suitable replacement had not been found, I was required to stay until such a time that they hired on a new worker. I tried to argue and plead my case, but he assured me of the officiality of the contract to which I had, as he reminded me, willingly signed, and if I were to break it, I would find myself facing the full extent of the law.

Feeling I had no other choices available to me, having no friends in Bree and no one to turn to, I hid my tears and went back to my bleak little room to unpack my few possessions. No one else was hired on, of course, and my life took a turn for the worse when the Innkeeper informed me that I was to start working the rounds on the bar floor - 'additional duties as assigned', as described in the damned contract.

In the past, I had tried to avoid the common room at all costs when the evening crowd arrived. They were always the same, different men perhaps, but always the same sort: the scourge of society, the ones who had already been kicked out of the other taverns. To be required to serve them would be both frightening and humiliating. It was an unpleasant station, but the woman that usually worked that shift was a loud and obnoxious creature herself, so it didn't seem to bother her.

I hated it, hated it more than anything. I would have rather scrubbed chamber pots all night long than face the men. They were vile, even more so after a few rounds. Despite my plain features and unshapely body (especially compared to the other server), the guests would delight in trying to grab, squeeze or pinch me as I set down their orders, spitting out obscene comments and jeers that made me go red in the face and rush off. Then they would guffaw out loud, pointing and shouting, and would try to embarrass me further the next round they ordered.

The only perk was that sometimes I would get tips, and these I usually got to keep - unless I dropped a tray of drinks or a plate of food - in which case I was forced to hand them over to cover the cost of my inadequacy. Gilda, the other wench, tried her best to get me to loosen up. She laughed and said she enjoyed the attention. She played with the men, it was all a game to her, but then she showed me one evening how much she had made, and it was easily triple what I did. So I learnt to tolerate the taunting and sexualized jibes. I grew thicker skin, plastered a smile on my face and tried not to jerk away when they touched me. Two more years dredged by, but I saved everything I made, awaiting the day when I'd have enough to travel home.

I had just turned 24 when the Innkeeper pulled me aside one night after my shift and explained to me that I had nowhere else to go, no prospects, and at my age, I needed a plan as I would soon be too old to work the floor of his, or any other, bar. He then proceeded to state that the only solution would be for him to take me on as his wife - he would do me that favour, he said, and then one day, if I worked hard enough, we might run the inn together.

I suppose he had expected me to jump on his generous offer, as when I tried to politely refuse, he struck out at me. I nursed my bruised cheek and glared at him as I explained, calmly as I could, that I would be more than happy to end my employment at his earliest convenience and I would never be interested in becoming his wife.

Rather than allowing me to leave, he dragged me to my room and locked me in for over a day. I realized then that my situation had become dangerous, and I needed to find a way to leave, contract notwithstanding. When the Innkeeper next came to me, he offered me a small meal and glass of water, and though his voice seemed gentle there was no mistaking the threat his words held. He cautioned me to consider his offer carefully, reminding me that I was alone here. He was all I had. I agreed with a smile and told him I would accept his offer if I could only contact my mother and receive her written consent. He set me back to work that evening and for a few weeks he bothered me no more. That time was a blessing, and during such I was not waiting for a letter from home, but instead formulating my getaway.

During the last cold nights of early spring I artfully gleaned bits of information from guests too drunk to remember I'd even spoken to them. I asked the men about who sold horses and for how much, what lie north and south of the borders of Bree, what the weather would be like later in the season, and how busy the eastern road was. I was even able to charm my way into being given old maps often carried by the traders that stopped in for the night.

It was then I began meeting with a friend, or so he claimed, someone who had guessed my predicament after I had been trying to weasel information from him. He looked quite as gruff as many of the other foul men of the tavern, often hiding most of his face beneath the hood of his cloak, and so I did not trust him at first. Yet his voice was soft and his words clear, and eventually he had convinced me to let him help. Our encounters were always short, subtle, often when the tavern was otherwise full and therefore very loud. He would come for a meal and we would correspond quickly while he gave me his order. For all that, I soon discovered that I had not been secret enough.

Just as I was about to head to my room, after finishing my shift one evening, the Innkeeper cut me off, roughly yanking my arm and pulling me into his office. He had barely slammed the door behind him when I was nearly knocked off my feet from the force of his hand colliding with my face. He shouted and cursed as he beat me, accusing me of making plans to abandon him, saying how ungrateful I was to consider leaving when I owed him so much. He threatened to summon the guards, to have me locked away for breaking a binding legal document. When I begged him not to, he marched me up to my room and made me watch while he searched it, ripping apart my few possessions and taking my hidden stash of maps. To my great dismay he also found my carefully hidden coin purse. Years of saving what little I made, gone in a mere instant. He informed me that I would be locked in when I was not working, and that we would be married within a fortnight. Then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear that he owned me.

Luckily I knew where he kept a stash of coins for market use. The thought of being forced into wedlock emboldened me, and I knew I would rather risk arrest than commit to a lifetime with the foul old man. A few evenings later during my shift, I was able to slip into the shadows as a diversion was created. After quickly pressing some gold into the hand of my secret correspondent in payment for supplies, I left the Inn once and for all, and was soon galloping out of town under the cover of darkness.

I took a deep breath and tried to clear my head. I urged my horse to a canter, paranoia still haunting me. I honestly did not expect that he would take very great lengths to track me down, especially after this long. He was lazy, and cheap, but even though I had no reason to, I still felt as if I were being followed.

Finally I realized I was nearing the Hoarwell, but felt my chest tighten in fear as I knew I would then have to follow its shoreline down to the exposed bridge crossing. I decided to stop and rest for a bit during the warmth of the day, and then carry on later in the afternoon to approach the road sometime during the night. I found a small, low-lying area, sheltered by a few trees and errant stones, to set up a temporary camp. After unpacking and tethering my horse, I pulled out a bit of dried meat to chew on and settled on my blankets, stretching out my tired legs.

I must have eventually and unintentionally dozed off, as without warning I suddenly started awake. The sun was still up, but it was low, casting long shadows. I cursed myself for sleeping too long. I had hours of travel before I even came to the bridge, and once beyond it I would still have to venture away from the road once more before stopping for the night. It was then I noticed my horse: he fretted and sidestepped nervously, ears twitching. I scanned my surroundings and strained to hear anything above the din of the nearby river, but could make out nothing unusual. I should have packed up and left right then, yet I was tired and inexperienced, lulled into a false sense of security. It was, after all, a very nice day out, and nothing bad ever happened when the weather was fair.

They came on me so suddenly that I had no time to do anything except stand up and skirt over to my unsaddled horse, clumsily trying to grab out my one knife. There were so many of them, and when they saw my tiny camp they shouted gruffly, surrounding it in an instant. My chest tightened in fear as their weapons were drawn.

Then they finally seemed to notice me, clinging to my horse and uselessly brandishing a relatively small knife. Nevertheless, I stared at them defiantly, holding my chin up. Working at the tavern, at least, had given me the confidence to hold my own in front of intimidating men, even when I wanted nothing more than to run. It took me a moment to realize that these men were, in fact, dwarves, at least ten of them. There was a tall older man with them as well, who had long grey hair and an even longer beard. He carried a staff and wore a pointed hat, and something ringed in the back of my memory, but I could not focus enough to recall what it was.

"It's just a lone girl." One of them said, pointing his sword in my direction. "There's no one else."

"I've never heard of woman-folk travelling by themselves," another said, "is that typical for humans?"

"It doesn't matter. She's not a threat. We should move on."

"What if she tells someone she saw us? Word travels fast." asked one who had an intricately woven grey beard.

"Aye, maybe we should just do her in and be done with it." replied another somewhat savagely. I looked towards this new speaker with some level of fear as he had a much fiercer countenance than many of the others, with bare forearms knotted with muscle, an intricately tattooed head and a pair of large axes strapped to his back.

Before anyone else could agree with his suggestion, the tall man with the hat tutted and stepped forward. "We will do no such thing." He rebuked sternly, before turning to me with raised brows but an otherwise kind expression.

Finally I found my voice and was pleased that I was able to articulate normally despite being incredibly nervous. "Leave me, and I won't tell anyone I saw you here." I said levelly, making a show of putting my knife away as a sign of goodwill.

"It is unwise for anyone to be travelling alone, especially off the road. May I enquire as to why you are unaccompanied, and to where you might be heading?"

I hesitated. Some instinct told me that I could trust this man at least, but upon glancing at the remainder of the group, their weapons still held aloft, I thought better of it.

"I'm not alone." I replied confidently. "My husband and his brothers are scouting ahead, they will be back anytime now."

"She's lying." one of the dwarves immediately accused.

I bit my lip, trying to quickly think of a convincing retort.

"We will not harm you." the older man told me gently. "Yet deceitful words will not help you here."

"Well," I stammered, beginning to feel somewhat edgy, "...to why I am alone... that is a long story. But I am travelling east."

"Gandalf," one of the dwarves cut in, "we need to move on."

Gandalf. I had heard that name before, maybe only a few times in my life, but suddenly I remembered the title. Gandalf the Grey. Of course, this man standing in front of me was a wizard. I tried not to gape at him.

"There are no human settlements east of here." Gandalf said, looking at me curiously.

"Not nearby." I agreed. I felt my hands might begin shaking if I did not keep them busy so I began stroking my horse's neck. "I'm heading into Rhovanion." I added with a glance up at the wizard.

"Now that's interesting." he said, squinting his eyes slightly.

"Gandalf." The dwarf said again, this time rather threateningly. I looked over at him briefly; he was dressed more finely than the others, and had long dark hair, a short-cut beard and an intense gaze.

Gandalf then clapped his hands together. "Well! I've decided. You must join us, for a few miles at least. I would very much like to hear your story."

Before I could refuse, the black-haired, stern-browed dwarf stepped forward. "No. Gandalf, we have been much too idle on the road as of yet. We do not have the time to pick up strays, least of all human women. I will not allow it."

"Oh nonsense!" Gandalf said lightly, waving him off. "She will be faster than the lot of us; she has a horse, if you hadn't noticed. It will do no harm to travel together for the time." he turned back to me. "Well I'm assuming you've heard my name, I am Gandalf." He then pointed in quick succession to each of the dwarves, listing them off and making my head reel. "There's Dori, Ori, Dwalin, Bofur, Bombur, Nori, Balin, Bifur, Óin, Kili and Fili, Gloin, and this here is Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our company. Oh, and over there is Bilbo Baggins."

"A hobbit!" I said in surprise before I could help myself.

"Yes indeed, and a most respectable one at that." Gandalf responded, his eyes twinkling. "You can introduce yourself later. For now, pack your things."

I wasn't altogether sure I wanted to accompany them, and my better judgement told me that, as a lone woman, joining a strange group of male dwarves was just as risky as continuing to travel the wilds solo. I allowed myself to look at them all more critically, following them a few paces as they fetched the ponies that they had been riding. Some of them didn't appear quite as threatening as the others, and the unarmed hobbit looked almost cordial with his corduroy frock coat and bare feet. He spared me a quick, reassuring grin when he saw me looking at him and that helped me make up my mind.

So it was that I found myself riding at the back of the motley group, still questioning whether or not I could trust them. Gandalf rode at the front on a horse of his own, and we mosied along at a walking pace. It was an odd feeling to not feel so rushed, as I reasoned that in a group this size, at least, I would be hidden. Even if I were, by chance, recognized on the road, they surely would not allow someone to abduct me if I started kicking and screaming - though I couldn't expect them to interfere if the constables from Bree were in pursuit. I could only hope that the Innkeeper's pride would keep him quiet, at least for a little while.

I was perhaps safe for now... well, safer at any rate.

We carried on closer to the river and then headed south for another hour before they decided to stop for the night. I hung back, not wanting to intrude on their space and still feeling somewhat wary of them all, and unpacked my mount once again for the evening. I left sight of the camp and picked my way towards the water's edge to refill my canteen, there I noticed a shallow rocky area nearby and stared at it distractedly for a few moments until I eventually picked up the movement. Dorsal fins, swaying above and below the surface of the water. Fish were spawning here, large ones by the looks of it. I bit my lip and pondered my chances. My rations were running low and I hadn't yet had the opportunity to ply the only useful skill I had: fishing. It had been many years, however, since I'd last caught a fish, and hand-fishing was, by far, the most difficult of techniques. My father often took me to the tributaries along the River Running to try our hand at it, more a means of amusement. We would end up soaked and exhausted, with many funny stories to tell of the ones that got away, but over time we had gotten better, and I wondered if any talent remained with me after so much time had passed.

I grinned as I slouched off my pack. After all, why not? I finally felt I had the time to idle, and had nothing really to lose. I pulled off my boots and slowly inched my way into the water, being careful not to splash. As I approached the spawning grounds I began to see the actual forms of the fish under the surface. They were quite sizeable, though I could not be sure of the species until I could see one of them closer up. I rolled up my sleeves and then bent forward, sliding my arms very slowly into the water. I reached out underneath one of them, and ever so softly let my fingers make contact with its underside. I held my breath when it did not swim away and gently slid my fingers up towards its head, then in one swift movement, I hooked on both sides behind the gills and used all my strength to hoist the fish up as fast as possible. I then threw it as far as I could onto shore. I was panting and smiling to myself like a fool, not quite believing my luck. I carried on, slowly stalking the others, for they had moved off a bit. The next one I accidentally nudged too hard, so it swam away before I could grab it, but I was able to secure four more before it got too dark for me to see. I rushed back to shore and ended their suffering, then rummaged through my small bag for my knife and a loose end of rope. When I finally got them cleaned and strung up to carry, just slightly lamenting how fishy my hands would smell for the night, I remembered to fill my water before I grabbed my bounty and headed back to camp, still smiling.

I picked my way to the edge of camp toward the fire and hesitantly tapped the first dwarf I came to on the shoulder, eager to pass off the heavy load. He had a funny hat and when he turned to look at me, I noticed I was taller than him by a few inches (and he seemed to be among the tallest of their company). It was an odd feeling to look down at a man, but I noticed he had friendly, laughing eyes and so I focused on them.

"Could see to it that that these are cooked? They can be shared with anyone who might want some."

His eyes widened when he saw the fish and he suddenly laughed, a ringing melodious sound that caused me to smile in turn. "Now look at that!" he exclaimed excitedly. "How did you manage that by yourself?"

I continued to grin somewhat proudly but simply handed him the stringer, not wanting to launch into a full explanation.

"Oi, lads! Look here! The little lady has caught us some fresh dinner!" He held up the fish and received some shouts of joy and applause as he brought them over to a rather large dwarf who seemed to be in charge of the cooking. I slipped over to sit down on a vacant stump a bit closer to the fire and tried not to fidget as they all looked at me; some were smiling while others just sported very confused expressions. Soon, however, they all returned to their own business and I was able to relax slightly, enjoying the feeling of safety in numbers and the warmth of the fire as evening's chill set in.

"So how did you catch them?" Someone suddenly asked right beside me, making me jump. I turned to see that a young dark-haired dwarf had sat down, very young it seemed. He did not have a beard at all, just dark stubble. I may not have recognized him as a dwarf at all if his height hadn't given him away.

"With my bare hands." I told him in a hushed, mysterious tone.

He smiled, his handsome face lighting up playfully. "You're not trying to fool me are you?"

I couldn't help but smile back. "Of course not... I grew up by the water, just picked up a few tricks."

He nodded but studied me with interest for a moment before he spoke again. "I'm Kili, by the way. Over there, that's my brother, Fili." he nodded towards another dwarf that looked just as young but sported wavy golden hair. I felt my apprehension towards these strangers ebb away slightly as I told him my name in return.

"That's a strange name." he remarked with another smile.

I laughed unexpectedly. "You think my name is strange?"

He talked with me until he was beckoned to grab food for himself and his brother. After a few moments the dwarf with the floppy hat returned holding two steaming wooden plates. He handed me one, I noticed it had a large filet of fried fish plus an array of boiled vegetables and a small piece of bread and cheese. He sat down where the other had left.

"You didn't have to give me anything extra." I said, looking down at my plate guiltily. I knew how fast travel provisions ran out, and I did not want to be a burden on them.

"Don't be silly!" the dwarf said happily. "None of us would have been able to catch a fish, if we had even thought to try - which is unlikely. This is a rare treat; we are in your debt. How did you get 'em? Did you pack a net?"

I explained again how I learnt to hand fish as a child and saw them spawning at the river. He paused, looking at me incredulously, then smiled and shook his head. "You are full of surprises!"

As we ate he told me his name was Bofur. I said it over a few times in my head, hoping that I'd remember. I made polite small talk, avoiding too many questions as I didn't want many asked in return. But he seemed eager to chat and had no trouble keeping conversation up, mentioning the weather and what their journey had been like thusly, and making friendly jibes at the other dwarves which I didn't quite understand. He had a fair, lilting voice and a pleasing accent, it was a nice change to the slurred, gruff slander that I was used to, and so I was happy simply to listen.

After a while I politely asked if he wouldn't mind telling me the names of everyone once more and he spent the next half hour quietly pointing at each one in turn, patiently repeating himself until I could remember... sort of. By that time it was well past dark so I made to get up.

"Thank you... Bofur, right?" I offered hesitantly with a small smile as he took my plate.

"Aye. That's me." He nodded happily. "Goodnight, lass." he replied, tipping his hat with a grin before leaving me to help pack up the leftovers.

I went to lay out my bedroll on the outskirts of their camp and as I curled up under my blanket I caught myself smiling. My mood was fair, and yet still I waited until I knew everyone else was sound asleep before allowing myself to doze off as well. Trust was in short supply in my books, and I had to be careful after all.