Chapter Text
Belladonna Took considered herself to be a rather adventurous soul in comparison to the other denizens of the Shire. Even after the tragedies of losing many of her siblings to hard winters and terrible accidents before they could reach adulthood, she had never adopted the wary sort of caution the rest of her family wore when dealing with the outside world. Her mother told her frequently that she would grow out of it once she reached the age of a proper hobbitess. She never did. In fact, Belladonna remained a young soul well into her adulthood. She always had a smile for everyone and never ceased looking for new and interesting things to learn about. Her resilience served her well during her childhood and continued to do so long after she’d reached her maturity.
Belladonna was fond of adventures. There were many-a-night she spent beneath the party tree weaving tales for her younger siblings and other trouble-makers of the Shire. Most were of fanciful retellings of her meagre travels, small though they were. Hobbits were small creatures after all. As her late grandfather had often said, ‘even a short journey is long to one that is short’. She had taken his words to heart and quietly put away dreams of travel and elves and excitement. There was far too much to be done at home to dream about a life she could never have.
But fate chose to intervene. She didn't often venture into big-folk territory. Trips into Bree were few and far between, however, she had jumped at the chance to volunteer herself to go and purchase textiles for her mother. Her heart had been light as she had skipped down the lane before the sun had even made an appearance that morning. A most indecent hour, indeed. Her spirits had not been dampened when she'd arrive late that afternoon. As she’d stated her business at the gate, she’d thought about what new tale she would spin for her siblings when she returned. As she walked into the market, she decided that the fireflies she most assuredly would see on the trek home the next day would become fairies and that the star flowers that they flew around were actually their homes when they were all closed up during the day. A story about fey-folk would make their eyes shine brightly and make them forget the troubles, she was sure. And as she haggled and bartered with a particularly unpleasant merchant for his sub-standard wool, she had the inspired (if not slightly irritated) idea to make him the villain of her harrowing tale.
Belladonna Took was a good sort of girl. She was well-liked among all the hobbit gentry of the Shire and a favourite of all the young lads that had been coming to call of late. She was good with children out of necessity, but she much preferred the company of the elderly, as they had more stories to tell, even if they were about cornfields and gossip-worthy scandals. That is why when she saw an old, old Man in a long grey robe and pointed hat sitting on a set steps with a gaggle of children gathered about him, she decided that she simply must know what he was saying. He held a gnarled walking stick over his knees and leaning close to his audience, long beard moving up and down comically whenever he spoke.
The human children there were about her size so she doubted she would be disturbed or questioned if she were to join their curious ranks. Deciding that the wool would cost more than it was worth even if her mother would be cross with her, she turned back toward the unpleasant Man, withdrew her bartering coin from the table, and left without bothering to stay and listen to his spluttering defence. Her mind was already elsewhere. Wandering closer to the spectacle in front of her, she leaned forward without thinking about it to hear the story he was obviously telling. The old Man was talking rather animatedly, arms waving about, making his sleeves billow every which way. She arrived just in time to watch the children were gasp and turn to hold on to each other tightly.
It must be a good story, Belladonna thought, settling herself on the cobblestone street near the back just in time to catch the rest of his tale.
“….and then we were chased out of the ruins by the hillmen!” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “They led us back to their village and we were imprisoned in their cages for a week!” he told them in a hoarse voice, squinting hard.
One of the children whimpered and clutched tighter at the poor girl sitting next to her. “What happened then, Mister Gandalf?”
“We escaped,” he told her conspiratorially with both his brows arching dramatically.
Obviously not content with the answer, the children launched a group attack, questions and protests pouring from every mouth in quick succession. A few parents stood off to the side, faces showing mixed reactions to this 'Gandalf' person. Some were smiling indulgently, while other’s scowled. Gandalf just laughed at his audience and shooed them away with his long sleeves.
“Go on, go on,” he chuckled. “You’ll hear the rest tomorrow!” he announced magnanimously.
There were disappointed sounds and few pleas, but it was apparent that this wasn’t the first time they had sat with him, and so knew that no amount of begging would get the man to budge. One by one, they scattered, off to play or to find their parents in the busy crowded market square. Belladonna sat there and watched them leave, not certain why she felt so disappointed; she hadn't even heard the first part of his tale. Eventually, she stood and brushed off her skirts.
“You are not one of my regular audience,” the old gentleman looked up at her, as she was the only one who hadn't left yet.
“No,” she agreed affably, pleased he had struck up a conversation with her. “I’m not from here.”
“Are you on a journey?”
Smiling, she nodded. “Yes, an adventure, in fact!”
“Well, I’d love to hear about it, Miss…I don't believe I caught your name.”
“Quite right, how rude of me! My apologies, good sir, I am Belladonna Took.” She curtseyed to him.
“Miss Belladonna Took, an excellent name for an adventurous spirit, and an excellent disposition for a hobbit!” he praised her, nodding his distinct approval even as he stuck the end of a long pipe between his teeth.
She laughed. “No, sir, I’m afraid you’ve got us all wrong! Hobbits are respectable folk who do not seek out adventures.”
“Then what are you?” he squinted as though he couldn't quite see her clearly enough.
“An unrespectable hobbit.” She annunciated, stuffing her hands into her pockets and rocking back and forth on her furry feet.
His bark of laughter made her smile widely. “Well, then, Belladonna Took. Tell me about this adventure you’re on.”
And so Belladonna did. She told him about the fireflies she would see on her way back to the Shire, and about the star flowers that they secretly lived in when the sun had set and all had gone to sleep. She told him about the disagreeable merchant and how he would be the villain of the story she planned to tell. Gandalf listened intently and did not speak until she had finished.
“Tell me,” he began after taking the smoke-pipe out of his mouth. “Do you imagine adventures every time you visit Bree?”
She did not come to Bree often but that was hardly the point. “And when I pick apples in the orchards, or fish in the stream, or garden at my neighbour’s home. It may be small, but then, so am I. And small adventures feel like big ones to those who are small.” She told him with a firm nod.
Taking a deep draw of his pipe, he waited for a moment. When he opened his mouth again, it was to blow a rink of smoke towards her. Smiling, she moved a little bit to the side so her head would fit into the circle since her mother was not there to scold her for being so much of a faunt at her age.
“I think you’re wrong, Belladonna Took,” he finally replied. “I think you are not small at all, but rather very big.”
And Belladonna had to think about that. The lass decided she didn’t understand what he meant, but that was okay because she had a feeling that this man never spoke in such a way that could so easily be understood.
“There is a reason why I have come to Bree,” he told her, his voice hinting at something exciting.
Her nose twitched a bit in curiosity, as was her habit. “Why have you come, Mister Gandalf?” she demanded with a huff after the man hadn't followed up on his statement for a bit too long.
“I wish to find someone with which to share an adventure.”
And from that moment on, her life was never the same. She had made the return trip to the Shire empty-handed to deliver to news to her family. She was leaving and she did not know if or when she would be back so no need to wait up for her. Her only surviving elder brother, Isumbras had just sighed and grumbled about her impropriety and how she lacked a sense of responsibility. She chose to ignore him. Her other siblings had been excited at the prospect and asked to go with her. She had cajoled them. Her mother, Adamanta Took neé Chubb turned a rather impressive shade of purple and stormed at her daughter, telling her that no respectable hobbit would just off and leave their home with no warning or proper reason. She was the Thain’s daughter and certain things were expected of her behaviour. When she turned to her father, Gerontius Took had just laughed and told his wife that Belladonna had been born with a Took, and people had certain expectations of one who carried that surname, regardless of their relation to the Thain.
Belladonna had said goodbye by letting them all know that she was by no means a respectable hobbit and would prefer they wouldn't tarnish her good Took name by accusing her of being so. Adamanta had been worried about her potential suitors abandoning her for a hobbitess with more sense, but as far as Belladonna was concerned, if that happened, it would be an unexpected bonus to her excursion. If no gentle-hobbit wanted anything to do with her after an adventure than she decided that no gentle-hobbit would do.
With a smile on her face and pack on her back, she’d trotted out of the Shire to where Gandalf waited for her. And together, they went on an adventure. Then two. Then three. Then four. Little to her knowledge, Belladonna Took had changed the course of the world simply by talking to a strange old man in a pointy hat. The future would never be the same.
And Arda would be better off for it.