Chapter Text
If you knew very little about the creatures that most call Halflings, some call Imps and even fewer call Hobbits (which is, as I have been told by the little things, the only correct name)- you would be inclined to call them lazy and leave it at that.
And truly, you would not be entirely wrong, but you would also not be completely right.
Now, hobbits, as I will be calling them henceforth in lieu of offending them and never again receiving an invitation to tea, actually contain more dedication than most Big Folk give them credit for, if only they can muster up the want or have a need for it. Yavanna created her children for no grand purpose but to love them and spoil them with peace and comfort. Quite unlike such regal creatures as the dwarrow or elves, who search for or know their purpose as creatures who are there at the very beginning of creation and who would rise again at the end to rebuild it.
Hobbits have no such worries of that existential nature in their minds or in their hearts except for those they might take on themselves, which is rare. No, their drive and purpose lies in other matters that they are drawn to, such as the state of their garden or how they might spend their rainy Tuesday. Those things give them the same fulfillment that some other more large and dramatic creature might earn in trekking all of the world and killing the Enemy.
This does not mean that they cannot take on such things and continue to flourish, if only their heart is in the right place; for Yavanna grew her children to be as resilient as cockroaches or weeds growing on stone- not that any proper hobbit would appreciate such analogies.
If you ever had the opportunity to see those many hobbit farmers cultivating their enormous fields with their many children, hardly ever growing weary, you would take a moment to reflect on your own very lazy first impression of them. Yes, the soft and youthful (for no matter how old they became they still had that soft and glowing child-like visage that made you overlook such things as wrinkles) hobbits could go on for days cultivating and laboring and working on any number of things, with only ever a smile on their faces and the occasional question of when they would be able to go back inside of their cool smials for a meal (which they would have six times a day when they could get it.)
I once knew of a travelling Man who had stayed with a hobbit family as he was passing through their lands and offered his services in their fields as payment. The hobbits, who were already very generous in even allowing one of the Big Folk into their home, said,
“Oh, our dear guest, pardon us saying so but you haven't the disposition for it and it would be much more beneficial for you to perhaps fix our wobbly chairs instead.”
The man, a bit offended, shook his head and insisted. By the sixteenth hour he had collapsed from the heat and exhaustion, and the fauntlings that were working alongside him, of which there were ten, carried him all the way back to their home, secretly rather glad that they could go on to finish and no longer be so slowed by their strange guest.
When the Man woke again he looked outside and discovered that his hobbit compatriots, without him, had completed all the work within the hour and, not at all weary from it, had gone on running and playing and talking about all the dancing that they are going to be able to do that night at Master Bolgers birthday party. From then on until the man left, he stayed away from the fields and instead fixed every wobbly chair in the house, much to the delight of his hosts.
And now you see that it is no mystery why those places where hobbits chose to settle, yield the most and best food in all of Middle Earth.
With these revelations you must naturally also be thinking that these often-overlooked creatures would be the perfect kind to take on important adventures. And here is where you would be mistaken once more- but not entirely wrong. Don't be too upset, as I can hardly blame you for the confusion.
See, this hobbitish resilience and hardiness comes from their need to have it. Like I said before, they would put in the same effort and dedication to their land and other such quaint domestic things as any adventurer would put into their adventure, or a bard their music or a warrior into their weapons.
It is in their nature, you see, that the Mother gave to them- and they do not grow weary or complain because it is what needs to be done to survive and be comfortable. Without their farms or their work, how would they fill their bellies six times a day? And, oh dear, cousin Camilla has dropped by unannounced and I do hope I have extra honey cakes! And what if they are feeling adventurous after all, in the most hobbit way possible, and take it upon themselves to have a long walk and a picnic in Miss Briars empty green field today? One must prepare for such things!
They work hard so that they might be ‘lazy’ and peaceful, as their creator intended them to be. If you put a sword in a hobbits hand and tell them to go about galavanting across the globe for some vague important purpose and promise them fame and riches for their efforts they would drop the horrid weapon, huff at you and stomp away. For what need do they have of mountains of gold and for their names to be written in books for strangers to read when all that they need to be happy and satisfied was a patch of sunlight to lie in and a big plate of fresh food to eat, both of which they can easily find for themselves in their yard?
No, no. It was so simple for (most) hobbits to find happiness in the simplest of ways, that they could see absolutely no reason to go about throwing oneself in front of trolls, unless perhaps you had a wish to be dead. When it was so easy to be happy, why put yourself through any pain?
Now. Every once in awhile a hobbit is born restless. Where, for some reason or another, Yavanna is approached by the rest of the creators and is told of some Great Purpose that they could very much use a halfling for.
Hobbit, she would correct them and sigh at such dramatics.
After much convincing she would bestow upon one of her children that same drive and resilience that graced all hobbits, but displace it. She gave them that fire and impatience and wandering spirit in their heart to turn instead to lands far away. Such hobbits, much to the confusion and offence of their communities, found it especially difficult to be satisfied with being “lazy.”
One such hobbit, whose name is Bilbo Baggins, was trying very hard to be lazy that day that he was visited by the wizard Gandalf the Grey. It did not come as easily to him as it did others. His mind often moved from one thought to the next like a stampede of horses. He was very good at improvising very wild and dangerous stories to tell those willing to listen and also to tell himself, loudly in his own head to distract himself from his hyperactive boredom. Yes, he was very bored- which to him was a synonym for lazy. You and I both know the difference, as do most other hobbits, but for one like Master Baggins he could never tell the difference.
His mother, Belladonna Baggins, was much the same as he and had gone on many of her own wild adventures outside the sanctity of the Shire before she had given birth to her son. And I say birth with much emphasis because it is well known that even when she was twice her size with the weight of her child she would still go miles and miles away from her home, searching for different stars to look at.
And when her son came into the world she would walk as far as she could until she reached the last road of Hobbiton and look out into the far east with him clinging to her, eyes bright with love and energy and wanderlust.
She would say to him, “Bilbo Baggins, there are so many wonderful things to see in this world that I wish to share with you, and I can see in your heart that you will one day find your own new stars to gaze up at, if my name isn't Belladonna Took!”
Of course, she was both right and wrong because her name is primarily Took but it is also Baggins. She would never get the chance to show Bilbo anything but the very corners of the Shire, but she made no mistake in seeing the fire in the eyes of her spawn- and felt a certainty that he would one day go farther than she ever had.
Once she had left her son to walk instead with Yavanna, after those horrible months that the hobbits had come to call the Fell Winter, Bilbo was left quite alone in his home. His father, Bungo Baggins, had built Bag End together with Belladonna, and had meant to fill it with many children, an idea that Belladonna had laughed off numerous times, quite satisfied with the one.
And Bungo was also happy, as long as she was too, though he often complained of all the white hairs that his wife and child were giving him with the anxiety that came with their ferocious hearts.
Bungo was a very nervous, blubbering sort, to say the least, but he loved very generously and gently. Without him Belladonna surely would have gone flying away and befallen the fate of Icarus without the reminder of there being someone back home to miss her if she did. And without Belladonna, Bungo would have shut himself in his hobbit hole and never gone outside for fear of being tripped by the wind.
In the end, both were true- quite unfortunately for Bilbo Baggins, who was only 24 at the time and had not even come of age. Yes, many years had gone by and the more they did the more that Bilbo was without the reminder of his own nature that he inherited from his mother, and became even more like his nervous father.
Bilbo's thoughts had turned to them, as they often did when he was trying to think of nothing so that he might he lazy in peace, which he was beginning to think was impossible. And there he goes again with the thinking.
He took a frustrated puff of his wooden pipe (the one that Belladonna had carved for his father for his 58th birthday- it was so long that he did not need to lift his arm off of its resting place, and need only turn his wrist slightly- a very useful tool to perpetuate laziness), which he was smoking right outside his half open door, and turned his attention to the fauntlings that he could see at play across The Water. They squealed in their enjoyment, tackling each other to the ground and running about with no destination just for the joy of feeling the Shires grass under their feet. He listened to them with a smile and closed his eyes when a cloud parted to allow a beam of sunshine to warm his cheeks.
For a little while he managed to clear his head and pay attention only to the heat of his skin where it was touched by light, but soon his mind went to how close the fauntlings were playing by the water, and of how hobbits were wont to sink straight to the bottom when they fall in. He had a very vivid image pop into his mind of one slipping straight in, their curly little head disappearing too rapidly to fish back out. Then he got to thinking about how fast he could run and if he would be fast enough to jump right in after them before their lungs filled with water.
And then he imagined that all along there was a horrid slimy monster living in The Water, like a giant eel of sorts, and while Bilbo would be swimming back to shore with his fauntling in distress, that it would rise up and try to snap at his hobbity feet to drag him underneath to have a delicious snack. He would have to take out some sort of sword and defeat the creature by lobbing off his head.
And this was how the mind of Bilbo Baggins went on, an unstoppable series of what ifs that embellished those little domestic things that hobbits thought were just fine by themselves until they became a far-too-exciting story.
By now his face was pinched with a mixture of worry and excitement, one foot was bouncing rapidly in place and the other was making quite the rivet in the ground while he dung at the dirt with his toes. He had half a mind to go tell the children to be more careful or they'll fall in and be properly eaten by a monster. The other half meanwhile was considering running over to join them and having a fun bit of pretend where they treated a large fish as the monster to slay, and with it earn himself a dinner.
He opened his eyes, feeling that the sun was hitting his skin no longer, blocked by another cloud no doubt, and wanting to take the opportunity to check on the fauntlings again to see if they really did fall in while he wasn't paying attention. Instead he found that his view was blocked by a grey robe. The sight was so unexpected that he jumped nearly two feet in the air and shouted “Oh!!” with no small bit of fright.
But soon he blinked and looked up to see who it was that was intruding on his property. It was a Man, apparently. Although, you and I both know by now that it could be no ordinary Man but Gandalf the Grey, a very famous wizard that was more than likely on the lookout for opportunities to create mischief and to collect those willing souls that he could for some such Great Purpose.
He wore a very large pointed blue hat, which looked as if it had seen many-a-battle, and could only be held together by some magic of its own. He also wore a long scarf, threaded through with shining
silver that sparkled in the sunshine.
“Oh, dear, you gave me quite the fright, you know, almost followed my father straight to the grave!” The hobbit puttered out with a bit of a nervous laugh but a laugh nonetheless. “Good morning, sir, err…”
Now, Bilbo had known Gandalf from the wizards friendship with his mother. He had, in fact, been the one that spirited her away in many, if not most, of her beyond-Hobbiton adventures. And as a child, Bilbo had come to see the wizard as a very fun friend with an assortment of foreign toys and tricks, and a seemingly endless amount of stories to tell. But it had been a great many years since Bilbo had seen hide nor hair of the Man, after the Old Took died and Gandalf had not come back from some Grave Business in the south. He was convinced that Gandalf must have passed on to the other world already. After all, he looked very old. A simple mistake that we must pardon him, since he knew little of wizards and their nearly endless lives and deceptive appearances. It was for that reason and because the sun behind Gandalf hid his face in shadow, that Bilbo did not recognize him.
“What do you mean?” said the Man, who Bilbo can see was looking at him very curiously. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”
The hobbit blinked in pleasant surprise, his own curiosity sparking up in his cheeks and making him rock very excitedly on his feet, an unconscious motion that he had tried before to stamp out. It had been a long time since he had been shot with a snarky riddle-like reply that deviated from the usual small talk script that was followed by all in the Shire. He tried to hide his grin.
“All of them at once, of course! But if you so badly wish it to not be a good morning then I will politely retake the second blessing and instead wish that you are followed by a cloud of hail that might pelt down on your pointy head,” he threw back naturally.
And his gleeful amusement almost immediately followed with some guilt. His sharp tongue, inherited by his mother, had gotten him in some trouble before when he had forgotten to restrain it in company that would not appreciate it. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the Man's seemingly playful words.
But no, the Man furrowed his brow for only a second and then let out a very steady and full laughter. It was good natured and warm, and apparently pleased- the kind that diffused the tension that had built in Bilbo's shoulders and also sounded familiar. It made his ears twitch and make him think of his own fauntling days.
“No need for that, I will take all of your good mornings and happily avoid the curse of a hobbit following me in my wake,”
“Good indeed, because I must add that it is also a very fine morning for a pipe of Old Toby out of doors into that same bargain. If you've got a pipe on you I'll ask you to sit with with me and have a fill of my own! There is no hurry to move on, if you'd like to rest.”
Bilbo's sense of hospitality had begun to kick in along with his wit. The Tooks were one of the only clans that were more willing to take in adventures, wayward travelers, homeless and the like who periodically stumbled across their lands- giving them a bit of rest and strength before sending them on their way again. In fact, it had gotten to the point that people would point their way, and lands of the Took are by some considered a place of refuge on the long road, if only you could find it. Bag End wasn't exactly considered Took lands but his mother's hospitality to those that the Shire considered inhospitable had rubbed off on him.
Besides, this Man certainly looked the part of an adventure, and an experienced one at that, that might be able to tell him a very exciting story of his travels, a real story and not a made up one. Yes, he rather wanted to delay this interesting person a bit, he decided, and sat on a bench of his front garden, crossed his legs, and blew out a beautiful grey ring of smoke that sailed up into the air without breaking and floated away over The Hill.
Bilbo puffed up his chest in a bit of pride and looked back up at the tall Man to wave at him to join him on the bench.
“Very pretty!” Gandalf complimented but Bilbo had a feeling that it was the same kind of compliment that you gave a small child when they show you their mediocre drawing. “But I have no time to blow smoke-rings this morning.”
At this Bilbo tutted and huffed, as if such a thing was ludicrous. There is always a bit of time in the morning to ground yourself with a couple smoke rings, he thought. His huffs and puffs managed to hide his grave disappointment of the interesting stranger going on his way without anything exciting to tell. Bilbo was too distracted thinking about what a good job he was doing pretending not to care to notice Gandalf watching him very closely and with much consideration from under his large hat.
“Truth be told… I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging…”
These all-too-familiar words put an end to his puffing. He recognized them immediately; a vague proposition, directed towards Belladonna over a small cup of tea, minuscule looking in the hands of their wizard friend, while the light of the fireplace threw warm shadows about the room on the face of his mother.
I am looking for someone to share in an adventure… he would say, always the same.
Her eyes always shone with a ferocity when she was asked, the gleam in them very powerful and considering like a queen on a throne (or in this case, her armchair). Perhaps. Lets see if the adventure that you propose is good and exciting enough for the Great Belladonna. Then she would look down at her son, who sat on the carpet by her feet looking up at her as if she was a great hero of old, and decide no, it was not good enough for her to leave her boy with only his father, thank you very much. Who knows what trouble they would get into without her. Maybe one day when the boy is old enough.
The memory came and went in a flash and Bilbo, back in the present, stood straight up out of his seat and shaded his eyes with his hand to get a better look at the tall figures face. Yes, there could be no doubt about it now…
“... And it is very difficult to find anyone who is willing to go with me,” Gandalf smiled from under the brim of his hat, a bit of sarcasm seeping into his voice, as he stood in front of who he could only assume to be just the right person to go with him.
“Gandalf!” the hobbit cheered and dropped his pipe straight onto the cobblestone so that he might rush at the Man and like a fauntling throw his arms around him as an old friend. “Is it really you, good gracious, I thought I’d never see your face again around these hills, my old friend! You crafty wizard- taking so long to visit me and not even writing ahead! I’d been convinced that you were strolling with Yavanna in the stars for how long it’d been!”
“And maybe I have!” Gandalf said in offense, although his hand came down to pat Bilbo affectionately on the back, since he couldn’t return the hug with the hobbit clinging to his legs. “Hmm! To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took’s son, as if I was selling buttons by the door.”
“My dear friend, Gandalf, do forgive me for not recognizing you, really, how can you expect me to after so many years, and me half-sure that you had been eaten by some dragon or squashed by a troll or, or, even taken prisoner by some evil and tortured to death- or even swallowed by a Giant Eel! Or- Yavanna forbid it- died in your sleep without even a letter! ‘Dear Bilbo Baggins, apologies for such a long silence, condolences for your mother. I find myself dying from very regular mortal reasons and will not be able to visit anymore, so do not fret yourself with looking out over the eastern road, waiting for me to appear for some tea and a good story. Farewell!’” Bilbo prattled on rapidly, blubbering into Gandalf's robes.
“Bilbo Baggins-Took, I see that you have not changed one bit since last I saw you as a fauntling, when left alone you still spin wild stories out of nothing and wonder where it is I am and how it is I am going to die and whether or not I would have the decency to come back from the grave just to tell you how it happened,”
“Now, now, Gandalf, that is not all I’ve been doing; I’ve also been writing it down,” the hobbit finally let go of his friend and now stood, straightening out his waist coat and looking up at him with shining eyes.
Gandalf chuckled with an easiness that came with familial ties, and then paused, seeming to wilt. “I do give my condolences… for Belladonna and Bungo… I have been very busy with a great many wizardly things and time slipped by through my fingers as time often does. I thought of this place and the friendly hobbits that always managed to surprise me, when things were most difficult. And I even wished sometimes that I had one with me out there in the Wild rather than those other folk that don’t know a thing of true courage.”
Bilbo waved at him, as if neither he or hobbitkind deserved the words, and looked as if his eyes might be shining for a different reason than mirth now.
“Don’t trouble yourself over apologies,” he sniffed. “It’s quite alright. How is it that you found out, out there on your adventures? I did not know that the happenings of the Shire are so popular to travellers that they would carry the news of The Winter halfway round the world for you to catch a snippet of,”
“They are not! Yavanna would not allow so many to look upon the Shire with interest for fear of them destroying it- You are well protected, friend, from the cruelness of the world. Now, your mother, however, you should not underestimate. The elves and the eagles would not so lightly take the news of your mother's passing. And I had left here a bird to come find me if ever Belladonna met her end before I had a chance to say goodbye for myself. And after many years of a very nasty business that I could not step away from, I’ve returned, quite a bit too late for the funeral… or to be there for a friend.”
Bilbo sniffed again and rubbed his eyes so that they would not overflow. It had been decades since then, but it left such a hole that he felt the sting of loneliness even now; or maybe especially, as he had the whole of Bag End to walk, with not another soul in it to fill its halls. But he still smiled gratefully at Gandalf, finding that his presence now filled him only with relief and company and nothing at all of bitterness.
“Oh, oh, dear you are making me emotional in front of the neighbors.” And in fact other hobbits that lived nearby or had been walking on the road, were looking their way with little shame. “You are here now and that is what matters. To think! Here is that same Gandalf, wandering wizard, that gave Old Took a pair of magic diamond studs that fastened themselves and never came undone till ordered. The very same fellow who used to tell such wonderful tales at parties, about dragons and goblins and giants and the rescue of princesses and the unexpected luck of widows’ sons! The man that used to make such particularly excellent fireworks! I remember those! Old Took used to have them on Midsummer’s Eve. Splendid! They used to go up like great lilies and snapdragons and laburnums of fire and hang in the twilight all evening!”
As you can see, Bilbo had become lost in his imaginings once more, one sweet memory easily drifting into another so quickly that his mouth could barely keep up. Gandalf only stood and let his words wash over him, leaning on his staff as if he actually needed it, and a smile visible despite his long beard.
“The very one who was responsible for so many quiet lads and lasses going off into the Blue for mad adventures, Belladonna happily among them. Anything from climbing trees to visiting elves—or sailing in ships, sailing to other shores! Bless me, life used to be quite interesting, before you went off and all the rest happened.”
“Yes, and I mean to fulfill the promise I made to you and your parents all those years ago, and finally allow you to come along with me, to also be one of those that I spirit away.”
“Leave the Shire?!” Bilbo quickly stumbled back onto his bench, heart racing under his ribs as if it was trying to jump right out.
“Certainly! Did I not propose to you an adventure just minutes ago? And unless there are dragons and mountains and lost kingdoms hiding in the Longfoots sunflower fields, I should think that the Shire must be left to get to where we’re going,”
Bilbo had spent many years as a young hobbit watching the horizon in hopes that Gandalf would one day come and deem him old enough to allow him and Belladonna to go together with him. But now that it’s happened, Bilbo couldn’t help but to think of how it would be without her. Belladonna was dead. Quite dead, actually. And she was supposed to be the one to be there when finally he would be able to follow in her footsteps… to try to fill her metaphorical shoes. Suddenly, he was so sure that he would never ever be able to. And plus, when Gandalf so casually mentioned dragons and was too close to sounding not at all like he was making a joke, and this all was very real and… oh no, he was just a bit lightheaded and overwhelmed with the whole thing.
“You know, Gandalf… I don’t know if I’m really the best hobbit to take along after all. I’m no hardy Belladonna, I, I, I’m just like any other hobbit on this stretch of road. Just a Baggins. From Bag End. It’s a real Took that you’re looking more. You might try over The Hill or across The Water instead.” He had picked up the pipe that he abandoned on the cobblestone and was very intently looking it over for damage and avoiding looking at Gandalf altogether. From his periphery he could see his friend become rather stiff and stand straight without the need to lean on his staff.
“What are you saying, Bilbo Baggins?” And now the wizard really did sound offended, or at the very least surprised, which is very very hard to get wizards to sound.
“I am very grateful! For everything, really, I truly mean it, it’s only that, if it’s a really serious adventure, I’m not my mother, you know, I haven’t any qualifications since I never did get to an adventure of my own without her and… I’m sure that since I’ve got no practice at it that I’ll just make a great big mess of it and disappoint all of you! I mean, I wouldn’t mind going and seeing some elves or… doing something small… but I don’t think I’m…” he trailed off rather lamely, for once not knowing what thought came next, and sounding very much like his father.
Gandalf watched him shuffle sadly on the grass, a picture of anxiety and disappointment, and once again felt a pang of regret at not being around to stop the twisting ache of diffidence from taking a hold of the fauntling after that winter left him to his own devices.
“Bilbo Baggins-Took, I swear for your old grandfather Took’s sake, and for the sake of poor Belladonna, I will give you what you asked for,” he said very seriously; seriously enough that Bilbo looked up from his fiddling with his pipe and gave him a surprised look of his own.
“I haven’t asked you for a thing, my friend, except maybe a few hours of your time, if you’re willing to share with with me over a hot meal and some wine!” He grinned with good humor, trying to push down his ache of regret- a very loud part of him shouting in his head, saying: Bilbo Baggins, you fool, say yes or you shall die of boredom!
The wizard gave him a smile that made the hobbit think that he must be able to read his mind as clear as any book. “Yes, I would gladly sit with you. Unfortunately, I was not lying when I said I had little time to dally about in the garden or chatting with friends. Rather, I have some pressing news to deliver to my traveling companions today and had only come by this way because I would not delay in seeing you, my boy, as soon as I was able- to see you were well with my own eyes.”
The hobbit went red with embarrassment and affection, and was filled with that love of true friends that he had not felt in many years. He chuckled and blubbered in thanks, his shoulders tipping upwards in embarrassment just as the corners of his mouth did.
“Oh my, and it really made this hobbit very happy to see you after all these long years, and to know you still walk this world with us- just that thought alone brings me more comfort than anything! Please, do come by tomorrow if you can’t today. At least for tea!”
“You will most certainly see me tomorrow, Bilbo Baggins, that I promise you!” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye that Bilbo missed, and began walking back down the path to the gate.
“I will keep you to it then, you old bastard! Don’t be late or my father will travel all the way down from his place in the stars just to lecture you!” he called after him while the wizard gave out a hearty laugh. The hobbit smiled after him, watching the receding form for a few moments, wondering what the right thing to do would be, and jittering in place as he considered running down the road after him in spite of all the things that he had said.
In the end he only sighed and walked back into his cozy home, the side of reason winning out. It was probably for the best, lest he get himself well and truly killed in his inexperience, and maybe even some other people. He had only just had breakfast, but he headed for his pantry anyways, thinking that a cake or two and maybe even a drink of something would do him some good after the excitement.
Gandalf, meanwhile, had stopped as soon as he heard the door of Bag End close and then turned right back around. As quietly as a wizard can be, which was very very quiet mind you, he walked up those small stone steps that lead to the green door and laughed a very amused laugh as he scratched a very queer rune into the freshly painted wood, ruining Mr.Gamgees hard work! Now, you must be thinking: What a horrible thing to do to your dear friend, Mr. Gandalf! But I assure you, Gandalf, in his mind, was doing for his friend the very greatest kindness. Not that he’s not also going to get a very good laugh out of it, if he can help it.