Chapter Text
Chapter 1. Prologue
50 years old.... You were a big girl. You were tough. You were trained to use axes, sword and knives, Olaila Blacklock... Daughter of Olar and Morai.
And yet... You were running away, from your caravan, from the fight- with your Amad in tow.
Your Adad was fighting orcs, which had ambushed you on your journey to the blue mountains to visit your Kin. You had begun to fight, grabbing your trusty extendable axes Shatter and Earth and cut down a few orcs. But your Adad ordered you to run.
"Olaila! Take your Amad! Run, don't look back!"
"But Adad, what will-"
"You listen here, you take your Amad and you run, and you keep going until you find help. We will find you! Wherever you go we will get you! Run!" One life lesson ladies and gentlemen, NEVER disobey a Blacklock.
Turning, you see your Amad, trying to fend off an orc with an arrow in her leg. Swinging Shatter in her direction you decapitate the orc and yank her off the ground running, ignoring her protests and you don't look back... Lucky for you none of the orcs saw you two leave, making escape easy.
You see it, a small pass where you can run through. Salvation! And then you hear it....
"Vicavory! kulknej pi vok gijak avonighav!" *
The world stops.... They lost... you and your mother are the last of the Blacklock family. Your Adad.... Gone... Uncle Obar.... Gone.... You pressed forward, through the little civilisation. The Shire.
Seeing a round Green door in the distance on a raised hill, you drag your weakening mother as best as you can to it and knock, hard and fast. Heart thrumming in your ears, tears falling down your face.
"Who could be knocking at this hour, I swear where are the manners in this Shi- Oh my. " Bungo Baggins blanched at the door. Seeing a pair of drarrowdams on his very own doorstep, crying, breathless... and wounded. That blood will stain that dress- Bungo thought .
"Please..." replying in hurried Westron.
"Our caravan was attacked, all dead, my ama- I mean my mother and I are all that's left, no followers I assure you. We need shelter, medicine. Please sir help us!"
Breathless was not a good sound for your young voice. Bungo had his wife and newborn Son- Bilbo to think of. Could he bring these strangers in to his home? He was a Baggins- no need for adventure and bloody legs. He sighed.... Supper be damned, he was nothing if he wasn't an accommodating host!
"Belladonna my love! Get the tea ready, four... no ten! Ten honey cakes and some lavender poultice! I'm going to get the healers! We have guests!"
If not for the generosity of Bungo, you and your Amad would have surely perished.
The hobbits didn't trust you straight away. But with your natural motherly ways as a babysitter for Bilbo and the other little ones and your knowledge of jewellery making you became a staple in the community of the Shire. Hobbits did like a simple amber wedding ring or a wooden bangle with silver inlay now and again.
Bilbo became your baby brother, as thick as thieves in all endeavours. You grew up at Bag End with the Baggins family. Your Amad taught you how to be the perfect dam, gave you training in the ways of the axe and jewelry making to a Dwarven Kings standard. She gave you your tattoos at every milestone in your life. When you were 88 she started to wither, your name day had passed and she saw you as a perfect Dam. With Belladonna and Bungo teaching you how to be the perfect Hobbit, she knew you would do special things. She blessed you with your name day beads, 16 including hers and your Adads betrothal breads- all that was found after the destruction of that night at the caravan. You hung 15 of them on a necklace and kept your namesake bead in your hair, hidden behind a chunky braid. She returned to the stone. With Mahal. With Obar and his sons. With Adad. It wasn't long after you and Bilbo lost Bungo and Belladonna. Bilbo inherited everything and you both lived in Bag End, that was home.
You were Olaila Blacklock. You were strong, you were a grown Dwarrowdam. Your hair long in a chestnut braid, your eyes green like emeralds caught in the midsummer sun, your body curvy but capable, skin pale and marked with the tattoos of your people. No beard though, shame but it made you appear more.... Hobbitish. You would do wondrous things- Starting on the day you turned 100. The day Gandalf came with a good morning and an adventure.
Translation and notes-
*Victory! We drink Dwarf blood tonight! *
Thank you for taking the time to read this fanfiction! It's my first one and I hope you all enjoy!