Chapter Text
‘Is that mad Baggins with Bell?’
‘No, it can’t be! Bell wouldn’t be caught dead with his kind.’
‘I’m telling you, it is! Don’t you recognise that waistcoat?’
‘Bless my soul. It is, isn’t it?’
Head down, Bilbo followed behind Bell. He could feel the tips of his ears burning, the not-so-subtle whisperings of his fellow hobbits following in their wake. Few had seen him since his return. Even fewer had seen him and Bell in the same space, without heated words being exchanged, in all the years since she and Hamfast had wed. Her dislike of him was well known. Not that she was keen on any gentlehobbit; she just had a particular brand of scorn reserved just for him. At least Lobellia Sackville-Baggins hid her distaste behind a strained smile (more of a grimace, if you asked Bilbo) and sugared words. What do you expect, they would say, of a simple gardeners wife?
Tugging his waistcoat down, his hands wandered to his small, barely-there unless you knew to look, bump. Could there really be a little dwobbit in there? A smile crept across his lips. He just couldn’t help but love the term little Samwise had come up with; it was rather apt.
As long as the little one has ten fingers and toes, and a strong heart, why should it matter if it grows to have my feet or Thorin’s beard? He paused, eyes widening. Oh Aulie, what if it does look just like him? Or-or what if it gets his fathers height? Oh drat and damnation – what if it has his temperament?
Shaking his head, Bilbo gathered his wits about him. What would my mother say if she could hear me now? Why, she would be ashamed. So would Da. Did he love me any less for my Tookish curiosity? All those hours spent wandering the woods looking for elves. Mam certainly loved me despite my Baggins sense of propriety.
As Bilbo chuckled to himself they passed a rather rotund hobbit, who walked straight into the side of the nearest market stall.
Why, she kept a straight face the entire way to the tailors stall just outside of Buckland when I wouldn’t stop wringing my hands and sniffing something dreadful when I lost my handkerchief on our camping trip just after my fifteenth summer.
Keeping an eye on Bells back, he allowed his gaze to stray – just for a second. A dozen or more hobbits quickly found something to avert their gaze towards, while two dozen more stared back at him without a hint of shame. Bilbo hurried to catch up to Bell, head once more lowered in shame.
Hopefully it shall not get his nose, though. Not quite his most handsome of features, even I must admit. There again, he did say his sister broke it when they were mere dwarflings…perhaps it started off in a more fetching shape and size?
The tinkling crash of glass breaking brought Bilbo back to his senses. Turning his head, he saw a rather irate stall holder shouting at a dazed Proudfoot, many of his wares laying broken, surrounding the pair.
‘Oh my. Whatever happened there?’ He murmured, not looking where he was going.
‘Watch it!’
Bell’s voice cut through his wonderings. Eyebrows lowered, a fierce look covered the Gamgee matriarch’s face, as she stood between Bilbo and a rather flustered looking pair of tweens.
‘Now, Bell – there’s no need for that. They were just having a bit of fun.’
Wide eyes looked up at the surrounding adults, hands firmly behind their backs.
Bell turned to snarl at the hobbit running the bakery stall.
‘Fun? Fun! There fun almost had ‘im over.’ She gestured back towards Bilbo, hands making their way to her hips in a gesture that even her youngest had learnt to fear. ‘What if he slipped and fell? Or they bumped in and toppled him right over. Darn right careless brats.’
‘So?’ The hobbit – a Goodchild, Bilbo thought, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember her name – snorted, flapping a hand at the tweens to usher them away. ‘It wouldn’t a done him any harm. What with how boney he is, it’d hurt them more than it would hurt him.’
Bilbos cheeks burnt with shame as the snickering started. Only a poor hobbit, or one on his deathbed would be so thin. A nice, well-rounded figure was the only way to attract a nice lad or lass; everyone knew that.
‘Who’re you taking about these lads in such a way? If anything, it’s him who should apologize to them for not looking where he was going.’ Murmurs of agreement rippled throughout the crowed.
Bilbo bit at his lip.
So this is how it will be. Truly? Not a one on my side? What did I expect – a warm welcome home? Open arms? Foolish, foolish Took. Baggins side be damned; what good did it do me, letting me rush off on an adventure like that? Blast it all.
‘Bite your tongue Evelyn Goodchilde!’ Bell snapped. ‘All of you – shame! It’s one thing pointing out what them that knows better have done wrong, but picking on one who’s expecting. Didn’t your Mams teach you better?’
‘Expecting?’
‘Whose expecting?’
‘She can’t mean-‘
‘I can’t see! Who’s she talking about?’
‘You mean to tell us that mad Baggins is with-with…’ A Bulger spluttered, trying to find the right words ‘…in the family way, so to speak?’
Bilbo glanced up as the silence stretched on for a beat, then two, three. Bell stood in front of him, back straight, glaring down any who dare try and peek around her sturdy frame.
‘I would say that’s no-one’s business than MISTER Baggins, wouldn’t you?’
Reaching out with a shaking hand, Bilbo gently touched her elbow. Spinning around, she turned her fierce glare on him. Taking in his trembling form, her gaze softened. ‘Unless Mister Baggins wants to share, that is?’
He cleared his throat, daring to glance up. He quickly lowered his head once more. Hand dropping from where it rested on Bell’s elbow, his fingertips brushed against the edge of his threadbare waistcoat. Beneath the loose fabric, one could just about make out the faint outline of a bump.
How in the name of all that is green in the Shire can I hope to protect you, to be good enough for you, to be there for you, if I can’t even look our neighbors in the eye? How can I call myself your Da if I can’t even do this for you?
‘Go on, now. Leave him be.’ Bell started, shooing the crowd away with a scowl. ‘There aint nothin ta see here.’
‘E-excuse…’ Bilbo coughed, clearing his throat. ‘Excuse me!’ Straightening himself, he raised his eyes. Bell met his gaze; although her mouth didn’t so much as twitch, her cornflower blue eyes shined with approval. ‘There has been a lot of gossip flying about since my return. It ends here. You-you hear me?’ Folding his hands before him, he placed them comfortingly against his bump. ‘Many of you think me mad; For leaving. For coming back with such wild stories.’
Taking a deep breath, he could feel the words flowing as he released years of tension and frustration in one go.
‘Many more of you have never liked me. Few approved of my parents match. Fewer liked the strange little faunt they raised. Too Tookish and wild to be a real Baggins. Too reserved and mild-mannered to be a real Took. I have this to say to the lot of you.’
He paused. The crowed leaned forward in anticipation.
‘Stuff the lot of you. I couldn’t give two figs what any of you think of me. Or of those who have now passed – bless their souls. But…this isn’t just about the past now. It isn’t just about me. I could put up with all the whisperings and gossip, live happily – alone - as a bachelor for the rest of my days. But soon I shall have more than just myself to worry about.’
Rubbing at his belly with a steady hand, a small, sorrowful smile crossed his lips.
‘I fell in love, on my adventures. To a good, strong, honorable…being. He didn’t care that I was born to a good family.’ Whisperings begun, a low murmuring sounding throughout the gathered hobbits. ‘He never once gave me flowers, nor wrote me poetry. He didn’t even ask me to elevenses or afternoon tea.’
‘Not once?’ An outraged cry came from the back.
Bilbo laughed. He could feel the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. ‘Not so much as an invite to stroll before teatime.’
‘Oh no.’
‘He doesn’t sound like a good’un.’
‘Not even for mad Baggins, he don’t.’
‘To think – someone courting one of our own so poorly! For shame.’
‘But that didn’t matter.’ Bilbo had to raise his voice to be heard. ‘He had the most beautiful eyes. He had this…this smile, that he saved just for his nephews – they were barely past their majority if there were but a day, I swear. He thought me an idiot, too. In that respect, you all would have gotten on with him very, very well.’
‘Where is he, then?’ Bell asked. ‘Where is this perfect gent of yours?’
‘I…’ Bilbo faltered. ‘I learnt a lot on my travels. Elves truly are as beautiful as the stories say. None outside of the Shire appreciate a solid, sensible seven meals a day. Never leave home without a handkerchief.’
Nods of agreement went around. While they couldn’t comment on elves, it was common knowledge that only those in the Shire knew how to plan a meal. and who in their right mind would go out as far as the market without a crisp, clean handkerchief?
‘And…and that love isn’t always enough.’
His breath hitched. Not a single hobbit spoke.
‘I am with child. I plan to raise this child here, in Hobbiton. In the house that my father build for my mother. That…that was built with the hopes of many a faunt would run throughout its hallways and pantries. If any one of you has a problem with this – with me. Then…then you can bloody well keep it to yourselves.’
Pulling on his braces, Bilbo slowly looked through the crowd, blue eyes meeting, green, grey, hazel, brown.
‘Good day to you all.’