Disclaimer: Original canon characters all belong to Mr. Tolkien. There are too many for me to list, but if you are a Lord of the Rings fan, you'll be familiar with them as they appear. Wild Child is alternate universe (AU) fiction, meaning it will not follow the original book/movie plot. Personally, I have found exploring the what-ifs opens the door to more possibilities and creativity. My creation and contribution to this story is Allie, her family and the wolves. However, as you read on, everything and everyone will entwine together in a single story that will take you along on an enjoyable ride.

Warning: There are touchy subjects such as child abuse, bullying, and violent fight scenes, but those themes are only small passages in the grand scheme of the story (at least so far, since I haven't finished the story yet). But no, seriously, it will mostly be rated T.

Also, I'm starting a massive rewrite of the earlier chapters because let's face it, some of them could be much better! I would like to thank and credit Jennyslaw for beta-reading this story. Thanks for enriching the background and the characters, and improving the overall writing. You're awesome!

Now that all that stuff's been said, let's begin!


by burningSunset

Now halt your minds

and listen to their cry

From Northern alters

formed of snow and ice,

Beneath celestial curtains

in their sky,

The wolves give evensong

of sacrifice.

~John Hubbard Bidwell~


Frodo Baggins was ten years old when he first met Allie Brandybuck, but following that meeting he would not remember for a long time it was then he had seen her for the first time.

On that hot mid-summer evening, Frodo was half-asleep with his head resting against his father's shoulder blades as the latter carried him on his back. His mother walked beside them, with one hand on her husband's arm and the other carrying a basket of groceries. Their pace was steady as they made their way toward Buck Hill.

Tired from playing in the fields all day, Frodo was now too sleepy to eat the apple clenched in his small hand. In a half-daze, he listened as his parents, Drogo and Primula, conversed quietly, their voices mingling with the buzzing bees and chirping cicadas on the side of the road and among the trees. The setting sun projected its last rays of warmth on his back and head. Slumber edged closer and closer as he counted his father's thumping steps on the dirt paved country road.

One. Two. One. Two.

Frodo's hand relaxed and the uneaten apple slid from his weak grasp. It made a hollow thumping sound as it met the earth and subsequently started rolling down the hill, an irregular ball of vibrant red coursing through the green.

Primula whirled around, laughing, to chase after the rolling apple. A small foot intercepted the apple's course further down the steep and sinewy road. It was a young hobbit lass in a yellow shirt and brown trousers.

She picked up the apple and stood watching the two adults and their sleeping boy, seeming uncertain about what to do. Finally, she threw a cursory look behind her shoulder and walked up the hill to the middle-aged hobbit carrying the boy.

When she arrived at his level, she extended the fruit to him on her outstretched hand.

Drogo smiled down at her warmly, offering his thanks as he took back what his son had dropped.

Frodo cracked his eyes open a slit and managed to make out a mass of curly blonde hair standing in front of his father. The latter shifted the weight of him on his back and reinserted the fruit into his hand.

"Be careful with it, son," his father cautioned, but not without kindness.

Through his vision half-blurred with sleep, he saw the girl had lifted her face to look at him, one hand raised to her forehead to shield her eyes from the rays of the setting sun. Even though he couldn't make out her face, he smiled anyway.

"Hello," he said.

The hobbit lass tried to make out his face as well, but the red glare of the setting sun obscured everything but his silhouette.

"Hello," she answered. And then she was gone, sprinting away towards the sound of galloping hooves and the creaking of a cart.