(((I would like to give credit to all those who have contributed: Rosie_Gamgee for the Character of the same name, LadyRanger for Andurion, Sillende for Oneth and Vanalosswen for the Character of the same name. )))

Preom: The finding of a Journal

Wilst rumaging through the numerous stacks of documents as yet unsorted. I found a book bound in brown leather. As many of you know the majority of Hobbit writings are of mundane matters, such as geneology or the tracking of the weather year to year. That is why this volume caught my notice. It is a tale of an adventurer, or perhaps it is a journal kept along the way. It is unusual in Hobbit writings to find such tales, factual or fictitious may they be. So it is that I came to translate this long forgotten text. And, here I present it to you.

The Journey of Willow Undertree

Leafings

Last two,
on that branch
on that tree
in that grove

They cling,
to each other
fearful of
the Fall

Remember,
the Spring
cool rains
new growth

and Summer
hot sun
wet breeze

to Autumn
changing colors
growing dry

Now in Winter’s wild winds
These two stand alone
Dread of dropping
contested by
weariness
of holding
on

Willow sighed and, sat up in the tall grass where her herd was grazing. Not what most Shire Folk would consider poetry, but it satisfied her well enough. Alasse wagged his little stump tail from atop the goat cart. ‘Pour little dog’, she thought, ‘always trying to be taller. Wish his problem were mine.’ She smiled and removed the watch from her waistcoat pocket, she opened it and listened for a moment to the lilting tones, then nodded. “Your stomach is always right on time.”

Willow stood and looked over her shrunken herd. Market times were always the hardest, she hated saying good bye and seeing her herd so small. She pulled some cakes and a piece of jerky for Alasse from the cart. She tossed the jerky into the air and his little lithe body flew into the air after the precious meat. He caught it and turned his body mid air so when he landed he could see how pleased his mistress was with his catch. Willow laughed and leaned against the cart eating her seed cakes.
Ever since she was old enough to walk all day she had helped her Uncle with the herd. He taught her all she would ever need to know about goats. She had helped birth more kids than the local midwife. Wandering the commons outside Hobbiton and taking the goats to market in all the large Hobbit towns fostered a wander lust in Willow. Although she could have stayed at home and taken over the furniture business (taught to her by a friendly old gaffer on her frequent visits to Tuckborough) and made herself a comfortable living, she instead wandered hither and tither with her herd. ‘Besides,’ she often thought to herself, ‘Folk need milk and warm clothes before fancy chairs.’
Leaf bumped her elbow and lipped at her shirt sleeve. She broke a piece of her cake and handed it to the tall goat. “You glutenous thing, I won’t be able to fit you in the harness you keep eating cakes like this.” Grass came from the other side while she scratched behind Leaf’s floppy ears and stole a large bit from the remaining cake. “Oh crepes! Grass you sneek, I won’t have enough to eat between the two of you.” Grass mearly bleated and pushed her head into Willow’s hand for scratching. She grabbed the two goats by their collars and lead them to the front of the cart. “Well you’ve had your meal, now it’s time to move on home.” She hitched them up one at a time, seeing this Alasse leapt up and started gathering the herd. The other little goats bleated their dissatisfaction at being moved from this nice spot where the grass was sweet and the sun warm. Alasse raced and cirlced them together, ready to go by the time Willow pulled her walking staff from the cart and whistled Grass and Leaf to get moving.

Alasse knew the way home and he kept those goats stepping down the road in the right direction, while Willow lead the cart behind. Her thoughts began to wander and she took the watch from her waistecoat pocket once again. She felt the smooth surface and wondered how many times her Father had opened it, and what he felt when his father had given it to him as a young lad. She popped it open, listening to the chimes and running a finger over the strange writing on the inside cover. She wondered what it said, someone told her once they thought it was an Elven script but she didn’t know anything more. It was just one more thing that made her feel so out of place and different. There are not many orphans in the Shire. Much less ophans of parents who where killed by bandits in the Breeland. She didn’t remember much before she was sent to live with her Aunt and Uncle in Hobbiton. She remebered her father working in his garden. She remembered his round happy face and his green eyes so much like hers. The sound of her mother’s voice singing as she drifted off to sleep, but the words had long since dissapeared from her memory. The smell of being held and comforted after a bad dream in her father’s protective arms.
In all her time in the Shire she had yet to see a Hobbit like herself. She was too tall for a Hobbit lass and her raven hair, while wavy at the ends, was mostly straight. Of course she would not wish to seem conceited but in her humble opinion the features of her comely face were more fine than most others. That was only the begining though, her love of travel and the wild woods set her apart. She had wandered with her herd as far to the South East as the River Shirebourn and to the edge of the Overbourn Marshes. And of course she went to Buckland to market her goats as well as Tuckborough in the Southwest and Needlehole in the Northwest. She could get top prices in Bywater or Hobbiton if she wanted, but; she used the traveling markets as an excuse to wander. As she was coming well into adulthood, though, she had begun to regret the reputation she had created. No proper young Hobbit Lad would want a wild Breelander wife to raise his eight younglings.

An overloud “Harumph” stirred Willow from her ruminitions, a local farmer on a mushroom hunt cut in front of her on the road. He gave her a dissaproving look. She shrugged and moved on slipping her watch back in it’s spot. Looking down she realized what the trouble was… she was still in her trousers! “Alasse!” She whistled Grass and Leaf to stop, grabbed a pack from the cart and dove into the bushes.

She changed hurridly into her skirt because, the only thing worse than being caught with your trousers on was being caught with them off. ‘Bebother these confounded skirts’, she cursed as she laced up the back. She always traveled in trousers, much better for walking in the brush, and in Buckland where the Big folk sometime came and bought her goats she felt it better to be an odd looking Hobbit Lad on his own than an odd looking Hobbit Lass on her own. She hopped back onto the road looking a little more respectable. It would be too late though… by the time she reached her home outside Bywater everyone from Hobbiton to Overhill would know. Of course, by then, she would be on stilts dressed as a big man in the company of Dwarves. Well, she had been alone since her Aunt died, and she had resigned herself to the fact that she would only ever have her goats and sweet Alasse for companionship.

Finally they came to her little hole between Bywater and Hobbiton. She had received scornful glances from a number of the townswomen on her way through town. With great melancholy she locked the gate behind her goats and with Alasse hopping about to try and cheer her went inside to start a fire in her stove.
Alasse was sleeping soundly, his little doggy stomach warm and full, his short legs sticking up in the air, his ears and lips flopped to either side. Willow pinned her skirt up to her knees and sat on her porch in the evening sun, a piece of curved wood propped between her legs. She pulled out her carving tools and continued where she left off before her trip to Market. This chair should be ready to paint by weeks end and then she could collect from Mr. Thatcher for the set. It would be more than enough to fill her root cellar with grain for the goats and maybe a nice ham for herself and Alasse.

She shook her head, she was tired of making the same chairs and benches over and over again. Willow had a desk full of beautiful designs, but no I want the chairs like you made for the Harfoots.

Some local lads laughed and pushed each other as they headed for the local pub. They whispered as they passed. ‘Louts, gossip will be the death of me.’ And once again she wished for something exciting to happen to her.
Rosie Gamgee walked down the road, aware of the stares and whispers of the hobbits as she passed. At nearly five feet tall (four foot seven, she would brag), she was most likely the tallest hobbit that ever lived. And the rumors surrounding her sudden departure from a warm and loving home into the great unknown made her notorious. She was a rare sort of Hobbit, having at least one distant relation who was of the Big Folk. This was often said to be the source of all her ‘faults’ and un- Hobbitish behavior. Rosie was quite surprised that she had come back to the Shire. It was as if something had been drawing her here, asking her to come back home. It brought many questions to her young heart, since she had stopped thinking of the Shire as her home a long time ago

‘Well, at least I’m giving them something to talk about, especially with my trousers.’ Rosie thought with a smile. As she headed to the nearby pub, she passed by a hobbit-girl sitting in the sun. She was taller than the average hobbit (though still much shorter than Rosie herself) and she had her skirt pinned up and sat carving a curved piece of wood. Rosie tucked her shoulder length red-gold curls behind her ear and smiled at the girl before continuing on to the pub.

‘Eggshells,’ Willow thought, ‘That Lass is tall!’ She tried to smile politely back, but she was afraid that she just gaped. After she was out of sight down the road Willow popped up and let the wood and tools clatter to the porch. Alasse almost did a back flip as the piece landed next to his tail. “Oh, sorry…” And she went inside to grab her coin pouch.

The confused pooch followed, wondering if his mistress was quite alright. “And where might a traveler be headed this time of evening… I’ll tell you. To the Inn, and…” She looked down at herself in her worn, grease stained, wood chip encrusted skirt. “Oh no, this won’t do. Anyways, if I run down there right after her she shall know I have followed her.”

Alasse cocked his head at her, very perplexed. Willow caught her breath and went to her room to change. “A clean green skirt a nice white shirt and matching vest.” She transfered her Father’s watch and coin pouch to her new clothes, and calmly headed into town with Alasse trotting close beside her.

As she approached the loud happy sounds of the Green Dragon Inn she stopped, and proceeded to have a conversation outloud with herself. “Folk are going to think it odd me coming to the pub. After all we only come to get a barrel now and again.” She looked down at Alasse who was listening intently. “But if we don’t she may be headed out of town tomorrow, then we’ll never forgive ourselves will we?” The little dog wagged his tail, he really wished she wouldn’t ask him questions like this.

A cute couple made their way well around Willow talking to her dog, and hurried into the pub. “Well that’s done it, now we have to go in, we’ve been spotted and going back now will only make things worse.” With that issue resolved she made her way in to the loud an bustling mob.

After being well bustled and sung at by drunked, loud Hobbits she found her way to the counter. “Ye dog’ll ‘ave to wait outside.” The ‘well rounded’ Hobbit behind the counter half growled at her. She gave Alasse a whistled command to go outside. He hung his head and dodged the moving forest of feet to wait outside. “That’s better, now young Willow what can I do fer ye?”

She was already craning her neck to see if she could find the Lass who passed her porch. “Oh? Um, I’ll have a stout, and your kitchen still open?”

He placed the stout on the counter, “Sure is.” He smiled because it was transparent the reason she was down at his pub this evening.

“And a cold chicken sandwich then also.” She took a deep drink of her stout and tried to look casually around while she waited for her sandwich.

Rosie sat at a back table, sipping her ale and staring back at those who dared to stare at her. As she sat, she noticed a head poking slightly above the rest of the crowd. As some slightly drunk hobbits staggered out of the way, Rosie smiled broadly. The head belonged to a girl in a nice green skirt and vest, the same girl she had seen earlier. She motioned a waiter to come over.

“Who is that girl, the tall one?”

“Oh, HER.” the young man sniffed in disgust. “Her name’s Willow. Orphan, I think. Wears trousers and talks to her dog.” Then suddenly he seemed to remember that Rosie was wearing trousers, so he fell silent.
Rosie rolled her eyes in response before continuing. “Tell her I wish a word.” she said.
He shrugged and weaved his way over. Willow was just about to take a nice big bite of her sandwich when Boncar Stoorkind (an oafish sort who when not slobbering drunk waits tables to keep his tab down) Grunted at her. “There’s a Lass there wishes to speak with you.”
“Oh where?” He nodded his head towards the back corner and Willow’s eyes went wide. The stranger whom she had followed here gave a small wave, and air-toasted Willow with her mug. After a moment of gaping Willow guessed she must have been staring. She lifted her mug in acknowledgement, picked up her plate and headed over.

Poor Boncar was much dissapointed as Willow weaved carefully away because he had expected a coin or two for his troubles. “Strange folk… People the likes of them should take a hint and leave.”

Willow began to sit down and then remembered herself. “I wonder if I… or rather if you wouldn’t mind, if I shared a table with you?” She did not actually waiting for an answer, she sat and introduced herself. “I am Willow Took Undertree, I herd goats and have a small business carving mundane items for mundane folk.” She smirked shyly. “I should probably admit that I followed you down here, well because you’re taller than I am!” She blushed, her curiosity, she believed, was quite unbecoming. The lilting chimes of her pocket watch sounded and without thought Willow pulled it out, checked the time and gave it its nightly winding.
Rosie grinned widely at the girl. She was probably not much younger than Rosie herself, in fact, she could even be a bit older. “Mundane items for mundane folk!” she laughed. “Yes, that describes the Shire perfectly. This is definately not the place for someone who loves adventure.” She tilted her head and watched as Willow wound a beautiful pocket-watch. “And as for you following me because my hieght…” Rosie paused and took a drink, “I figured as much.” She leaned forward and inquired “Now, who was that ugly chap who waited on me?” Willow rolled her eyes.

“That’s Boncar Stoorkind. Not a pleasant sort.” Willow took a bite of her sandwich and, reveled in the lovely flavors. ‘Money well spent’ she thought to herself.
Rosie’s smile disappeared. “Well, I learned from our Mr. Stoorkind that you’re in the habit of wearing breeches.” she said with mock sternness. Willow’s face fell, she swallowed down her food and, looked like a puppy about to be scolded. Rosie reached across the table and, tilted Willow’s chin up and smiled kindly at her. “I must admit that you seem to be more ‘proper’ than me, however. At least you have the decency to wear a skirt in public.” She stuck a trousered leg out from under the table where Willow could see. Willow blushed and smiled. Rosie’s eyes nearly watered from her held-in mirth. Finally, someone of her own kind who identified with her, and accepted her. Rosie dropped a couple coins on the table, she knew now that this shyly bold girl was her reason for returning. “I think, m’lass, that we should go somewhere less crowded. Then we can talk.” ‘Perhaps,’ Rosie thought to herself, ‘I am to start her on an adventure of her own?’
Abbannalis Took sat with his back towards Willow and her new aquaintance listening intently. He had always thought that Willow was the tallest Hobbit in existance, until the one with the red – gold curls walked in. By Ben’s reckoning she was as tall as a Dwarf… though granted much prettier. ‘Of course then again you never know,’ He thought to himself thoughtfully, ‘Haven’t actually seen a dwarf, and perhaps there are some lass’ what look good in whiskers.’

Oh, he so hoped that this traveling Hobbit would tell some of her travels, so he could write them down! His heart sank as she and Willow began to leave.

“Ah, yes, and, poor little Alasse is waiting outside alone.” Then an idea struck Willow, like a pebble to her head. “If you haven’t laid your money down for a room at the Inn yet, I have a room. My Aunt and Uncle’s old bedroom… not much fancy. But, it is a feather bed, not straw. And if I was a betting Hobbit I’d wager I make the best duck egg and goat cheese omlet you’ve ever tasted.” Her heart soared to think that she had been recognized as a fellow adventurer. As she grabbed the rest of her sandwich for Alasse, and drank down the rest of her stout she heard someone moan behind her.

“Ah bolloks, don’t leave now…” ‘Oops now that was plank headed for you to do, you fool of a Took.’ And Abbannalis turned a ruddy shade of red beneath his blond hair.

Willow turned and cocked her head at Ben’s back not really knowing what to say. But Rosie gave him a half stern half bemused look and said, “Willow, me thinks we’ve been spied upon.”

Ben turned and, shrugged his embarassment and appologies. Rosie laughed a bit and waved Ben off. He broke out in an akward smile and felt a tingle in the pit of his stomach. The tall lass had a sweet laugh.
Rosie took Willow by the arm because the other lass looked as though she wanted to give the impudent lad a piece of her mind. When they stepped out of the pub, they were met by a happy, sweet-faced little dog.

“Ah, so this is Alasse, hm?” Rosie asked, kneeling down to pet the dog. Willow nodded. “Well, I must say that you appear to be very well named, Alasse.” Rosie cooed at the dog. Then she stood up and, looked at Willow. “I think, now, that I’ll take you up on your offer of a room.”

“Oh, of course!” Willow said happily, “Here, follow me.” As Willow led the way to her house, Rosie looked at her with a strange longing in her eyes.

“Willow, do you ever wish you could go on adventures?”
“There is nothing I dream of more vividly than going on an adventure!” Willows heart raced. ‘And nothing I fear more…’ “Have you been to many places? Oh! How I wish to see mountains! Or the Sea! Or forests so tall they touch the clouds.” She stopped short as she unlatched her gate, she must sound like just a starry eyed child to her.

As Willow pushed the front door open something else struck her. “What did you mean well named? I made that name up, it’s nonsense.” Alasse cocked his little head as though he knew better.
“Alasse, a nonsense word?” Rosie laughed a sweet laugh that sounded like a running brook. “On the contrary, Wil, Alasse is no nonsense. In the high tongue of the Elves, Alasse means Joy.” Willow looked at Rosie dumbfounded. While her new friend absorbed that information Rosie took the opportunity to look around the little hole. Under the single window sat an ornately carved desk strewn with papers. She stood beside the desk and nonchalantly fingered a couple of the papers, while Willow put a kettle over the dwindling fire. The designs depicted on the pictures were ornate and intricate and, reminded her a little of the carvings in Imladris. It peaked her curiosity about this unique Hobbit. She looked up, the room she was in not only was the main living space but, also the kitchen and, as she noted the large copper tub with a curtain pulled parially around, bathing room. It was not a lavish hole as she remembered the home of her youth… She shook such thoughts from her mind and turned her thoughts back to her hostess.
“Anyway, you spoke of traveling?” Rosie sat back in a comfortable looking chair while Willow stoaked the fire. “I could tell you of such things…I’ve seen forests of trees that talk to each other, I’ve stayed with Elves in the last homely house, I’ve ridden with the Rohirrim of the south, passed over mountains that touch the sky, and seen the white city of Gondor. Which would you like to hear of first?” Rosie asked, almost as eagar as Willow herself.
“Which first? Oh, dear me, all at once!” Willow listened intently and, together the two talked and listened and snacked on sweet cakes and tea until the wee hours of the morning. They would probably have continued well into the next day if the goats hadn’t called out to remind Willow it was time for their breakfast.

“Eggshells! Is it that late?..Early? I am afraid I have kept you up all night. Come, and, I’ll show you to your room, you’ll be wanting some rest and a good meal before you’re off again.”

Willow lead Rosie to the room and then wearily went outside to tend her duties. Funny thing, she hadn’t felt tired all night and, even now as her body cried for rest her mind was full of bright visions of the lands and tales Rosie had told. Alasse trotted happily beside, fully rested as he had spent the night napping, alternating between their two warm laps. Willow looked down at the small dog and, wondered again from where she plucked that name.

She emptied some grain into the milking stalls and clamped the neck bars shut. As she sat at the first goat she began to hum a tune that often haunted the back of her mind. She thought she could hear her mother’s voice… Indo-ninya Indo-alasse “My heart… My Joy” ‘My mother spoke an Elven language?’ She went through the rest of her chores in a sort of tired haze. “What else don’t I remember about my folks?” Alasse sat up a begged for a little milk before she put it out for pick up. “I’m sorry, almost forgot.”

She set out the little chipped lid for him and poured some of the fresh warm milk out. He lapped it up with much zeal. There was nothing he liked better than his morning and evening drinks… except perhaps breakfast…well and then there’s always Elevensies, and lunch is quite nice too, and of course the sweet cakes with tea… Oh, and then there’s a bowl of stew with supper… but besides those he definatly liked his drink of fresh milk best. ‘Yum’ Alasse licked his lips and padded off towards the kitchen wondering if there would be eggs for breakfast.

Willow was about to head inside but she was struck with a thought. “If I leave who will take care of you?” She watched her goats as they lay muching the grass around them in the cool morning sun. Her watch chimed softly for its morning winding and she pulled it out absenlty. She ran her fingers over the Runes on the inside cover, ‘Maybe she’ll know what they say.’

Poor little Alasse drooped his head as he realized breakfast would have to wait and his mistress was heading to bed. Her dreams were full and colorful and somewhere in her sleep she decided it was time to leave. To find out what had happened to her parents, and why she was different.