Chapter Text
In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Now this wasn’t a nasty, dirty, wet hole that was filled with worms, nor was it a dry, bare, sandy hole where nothing could flourish. No, this was a hobbit hole. And a hobbit hole meant comfort. This hobbit hole, with its big, round, green door and its tube-shaped entry way, was home to a peculiar, young hobbit. Bilba Baggins was by all means an adult, having reached her maturity age years ago, but she was still naïve to world. She had only ventured beyond Bree once, rarely living her smial in Hobbiton. Her mother, Belladonna Took, was the adventurous type before she settled down with Bilba’s father, Bungo, and while Bilba longed for the adventure she was a Baggins. And Bagginses were a respectable family. And despite her longing, after the passing of her parents Bilba Baggins decided to stay in the smial that her father built for her mother and live as her father would have wanted. Alone, thank you very much, Bilba did not need a hobbit lad who thought he could boss her around. No thank you, Bilba was her own hobbit and her own hobbit, she would remain.
Bilba Baggins was considered odd (mad if you asked the Sacksville-Baggins, not that anyone would). She was not even in her forties, yet she had lived alone for almost twenty years, and she was dead set on never marrying any of the hobbit lads in the Shire. Which was odd for any hobbit, as hobbits found joys in the small things in life: food and family. Bilba Baggins did value these things, but her family was dead, and she did not want to start one with the lads in the Shire as none of them were hers and only desired her money.
Bilba was out in her garden, tending to her prize-winning tomatoes, when a shadow fell over her. She tilted her head up, her honey curls threatening to escape from their tie, as she stared up at a tall figure draped in gray material and adorned with a pointing gray hat.
“Good morning,” Bilba called, and she meant it. The sun was shining, her plants were flourishing, and elevensies was just around the corner.
“What do you mean?” The gray-cloaked man said. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is morning to be good on?"
Bilba stared. “All of them at once, I suppose,” she said, her brow furrowed. “And a very fine morning, it is. If you have a pipe about you can sit down and have a fill. There's no hurry, we have all the day before us!"
Bilba gestured to some tobacco that sat on the table by her door, from where she worked on her plants. Her skin flushed from the warm sun beating down on her, as she slowly stood and made her way closer to the man.
“I have no time to blow smoke-rings this morning,” he said, “I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone."
“I should think so – in these parts. We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can't think what anybody sees in them,” said Miss Baggins. She stood there, awkward, before slowly, she moved to the patch of herbs her mother planted some thirty years prior. The man stood there (though surely with a pointed hat and a staff, he was much more than a man, a wizard, perhaps), leaning on his staff, staring. Bilba felt quite uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze and hoped that her pretending to appear busy would make him leave. It didn’t.
“Good morning,” she called, “We don't want any adventures here, thank you! You might try over The Hill or across The Water.” And with that she turned away, having thought she ended (or at least signaled the end) of the conversation.
"What a lot of things you do use Good morning for!" He said. “To think that I should have lived to be ‘good morninged’ by Belladonna Took's daughter as if I were selling buttons at the door.”
“I beg your pardon?” She said, staring at the gray wizard. “Let me see, I don't think I know your name?"
“And you do know my name, though you don't remember that I belong to it. I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means me!”
“Gandalf, Gandalf! Good gracious me!” Bilba said. “Not the wandering wizard that gave Old Took a pair of magic diamond studs that fastened themselves and never came undone till ordered. Not the 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? Not 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” It could be noted that Bilba Baggins had a great love for flowers and them her, as they seemed to thrive under her watchful eye. Bilba froze before continuing, “not the Gandalf who was responsible for so many quiet lads and lasses going off into the Blue for mad adventures. Anything from climbing trees to visiting Elves – or sailing in ships, sailing to other shores! Bless me, life used to be quite inter – I mean, you used to upset things badly in these parts once upon a time. I beg your pardon, but I had no idea you were still in business.”
“And where else should I be?” Gandalf inquired. “All the same I am pleased to find you remember something about me. You seem to remember my fireworks kindly, at any rate, land that is not without hope. Indeed for your old grandfather Took's sake, and for the sake of poor Belladonna, I will give you what you asked for.”
“I do beg your pardon,” the hobbit lass said, “but I haven’t asked you for anything.” She ran the back of her hand across her forehead collecting the sweat the seemed to collect there.
"Yes, you have! Twice now. My pardon. I give it you. In fact I will go so far as to send you on this adventure. Very amusing for me, very good for you and profitable too, very likely, if you ever get over it."
Bilba’s eyes widened as she stared at the wizard, as she held her gardening tools in her hands, she inched back towards her round door. “Sorry, I don’t want any adventures,” she swiftly said, “not today! Good morning. But please come over for tea, anytime you like. Why not tomorrow? Come Tomorrow! See you then, good-bye now!”
With that she turned quickly, ripping open her door and slammed it soundly behind her. She flicked the latch and ungracefully tipped herself, back first, against, banging the back of her head against the door. “What on earth did I invite him to tea for?”