Work Text:
It was nearing the end of summer in the Shire, and the hobbits of Bywater, as was their wont, were gossipping in the Green Dragon over ale at the end of a long day’s work of early harvest.
“Winter’ll be coming on soon,” commented one, an aging Proudfoot. “Mad Baggins’ll be on her way any day now.”
Hamfast Gamgee, who had worked for the hobbit-woman in question before she gained particular notoriety, aimed a frown at the Proudfoot over the rim of his mug. “You oughtn’t to talk so,” he reproached. “T’aint’t right to go around giving a well-brought-up lady hobbit such names, when anyone with sense knows she don’t leave of her own free will.”
“You may say so, Ham,” another, a Chubb who lived up to the surname, interjected, “but whether there’s some wicked dwarf magic making her leave or no, her wits has been addled plain enough to see. Whether it’s done by magic or on its own makes no matter.”
“ I heard,” the barmaid added, coming around to offer another round, “that she fell in love with him outright. And if that’s not a sure sign she’s gone ‘round the twist, I don’t know what is.”
“You oughtn’t to talk of what you don’t know about,” Hamfast rebuked the gathering at large. “Miss Baggins was always a well-spoken, respectable lady hobbit before those dwarves and their wizard spelled her, and it’s a pity none can unspell her, is all. S’not natural for a hobbit to have to live so much out of the Shire.”
Young Samwise Gamgee, not even in his tweens, sat quietly by, listening with all his might, but not speaking up for fear of being sent away. Mad or no, Miss Bella Baggins was by far the most interesting topic in all the Shire - there was talk she had actually seen elves , which to Sam’s way of thinking was well worth being stolen away by a dwarf king.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Ted Sandyman nursing an ale in the corner, and began edging his way over. He didn’t much like the miller’s son, but Ted could be relied upon to spin the tale of Bella Baggins when the adults would only give him sidelong looks and say it wasn’t a story for children.
“Evening, Ted,” he greeted politely.
“Evenin’, Sammy,” Ted drawled. “Got your head full of Mad Baggins again?”
Sam wasn’t sure how to reply with any kind of dignity, but was spared the trouble, as Ted laughed raucously. “Not that you’d be the only one. Betcha half the folk in here are hangin’ around to see if they can spot that Mountain King comin’ for her. I s’pose you’re wanting to hear the tale again?”
Sam turned rather red, annoyed at being so transparent to the bigger, older, braggish Sandyman, but felt someone step up beside him just in time. “We could all do with a story, now that you say so,” said Rosie Cotton, standing so close he could reach out and hold her hand if he dared, and Sam felt that hot rush in his chest that had been showing up more and more often when Rosie came around.
Her brothers were starting to gather as well, and some of the other hobbit-teens who were old enough to help with harvest and come to the Green Dragon after, but young enough to still love sensational stories unabashedly. Ted, seeing he had an audience, took a long pull of his ale and set the mug aside with a grin. “Well, then, seeing as you all insist...”
The assembled young hobbits immediately flocked to sit down in nearby chairs or on the floor, all attention fixed on what promised to be half delicious gossip, half legend, and all completely sensational.
“So...” Ted began, “you all know that years ago, Bella Baggins used to live just up in Hobbiton, in Bag End, where the Sackville-Bagginses are now. And she never went courting as far as anybody knew, and she lived all on her own, but other than that she was as respectable a hobbit as you could find anywhere. Then...”
He lowered his voice dramatically, and his listeners leaned in eagerly. “A great tall dwarf they call the Mountain King came through the Shire. Nobody knows why he came or where he was from, but he came by Bag End while Bella Baggins was cutting flowers in her garden. Now you know dwarves are all manner of greedy and grasping, and when they see summat as they want, they takes it with no nevermind, and they do the same as comes to womenfolk. And when he saw Bella Baggins, nobody and nothin’ else would do. So he put a spell on her, see, and it made her go running down the road after him without hat or handkerchief, and when she caught up...he took her away. ”
The young hobbits held their breath in anticipation, though all of them had heard the tale at least once before. “The Mountain King,” Ted continued, “took her clear to the other side of the world, he did, and he shut her up in his mountain with all his gold and jools, and he put silver clothes on her and said she was to be his queen. And he thought that would be the end of it, ‘cause dwarves don’t ever need to see the sun and they can live underground forever and ever. But hobbits cain’t , and after some months she started sickening.
“They say she was like to die, and the Mountain King hollered and yelled and made a great big ruckus, ‘cause dwarves don’t take kindly to givin’ up what they’ve got, even to death. Finally he decided she had to go back to the Shire, to get well. And one day, back she came, no word nor explanation, and settled down at Crickhollow like she’d never been away. But soon as she was well again, the Mountain King came back and made her go away again, ‘cause he wasn’t about to let her go that easy.”
Ted, evidently thirsty from tale-spinning, drained his mug and slammed it empty onto the table. “And that’s why every third spring, Mad Bella Baggins comes back to stay in the Shire for a bit, and why she goes away again when the weather turns cold. And there’s some as say she weren’t never enchanted, but I say as she is, ‘cause whenever she comes, the summer’s more plentiful than the other two summers put together, and the winter’s cold enough to come straight off the mountains, and if that ain’t magic, I don’t know what is.”
“You ought to mind your tongue, Sandyman,” growled Hamfast Gamgee, suddenly looming over the little assembly, “when you’re talking of your betters. Go find some other empty heads to fill up with your superstitious nonsense.” Sam attempted to sidle away before he could be noticed, but was unlucky; Hamfast snagged him by the back of his collar with a disapproving snort.
The younger Gamgee was all braced for a lengthy and irritable lecture, but was abruptly saved, as the tavern door opened and a hooded and cloaked figure, taller than any hobbit, entered. A hush instantly fell over the room, as every hobbit’s attention went to the stranger while they tried their very best to pretend they were looking anywhere else.
The stranger did not speak a word, but from a dim corner by the fireplace, a smaller figure emerged whom somehow no one had noticed before. A multitude of sandy curls with complex braids running through them spilled forth as she pulled back her hood, prompting the stranger in the doorway to do the same.
Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, and “Mad” Bella Baggins of the Shire regarded each other for a long moment, and then, quite swiftly, the latter crossed the room in a few strides and cast her arms about the former’s neck, drawing him down into an extended and passionate kiss that would have been the talk of the whole farthing even if the participants were not already so notorious. When they broke apart, they simply smiled at one another for a moment more before he looped his arm around her waist and led her outside.
The tavern door swung shut behind them, and those remaining indoors, their tri-yearly entertainment passed, set about dissecting it immediately and thoroughly.
“You saw the way she snogged him, same as I did,” the barmaid argued, loading empty mugs onto a tray. “She’s properly in love with him, I say, though that don’t make her any less mad.”
“Nah,” maintained the elderly Proudfoot as she turned his way. “Dwarf magic, mark my words. No hobbit would marry something that tall and hairy without spells being involved.”
___
“Were you feeling possessive, ghivashel ,” Thorin inquired, as they rode forth from Bywater, “or did you wish me to appear so?”
Bella grinned wickedly and unrepentantly. “They were telling tales about us in the inn again,” she explained. “Apparently, your snatching me away and imprisoning me underground as your unwilling, bewitched queen has passed from common knowledge straight into local legend.”
Some years ago, Thorin would have grown indignant. Now, he saw the funny side, and laughed accordingly. “Have they come up with an explanation for why such a wicked and desperate creature as I am claimed to be would let you visit so frequently, when he has far less time with you than he would like already?”
“Evidently,” Bella said, completely straight-faced, “hobbits cannot be kept in underground caves without sunlight. If I did not return every third summer, I would sicken and waste away, and that is something you simply will not permit.”
“Indeed I would not,” Thorin half-growled. It had been quite some time since Bella had faced down a dragon with only her wits and gotten caught in the middle of a five-way battle, but he had never really gotten over his nigh-obsessive concern with preserving her life. “Fortunately, I am motivated by the much less mystical and more straightforward reason of wishing you to be happy and see your home every so often.”
“For which I am most glad. Hobbits are dreadful gossips and more than a little narrow-minded, but I would miss them if I were never to see one again.” Bella grinned, riding close enough to nudge Thorin in the ribs. “All the same, I have missed you. One of these summers you must come with me - six months is far too long for any woman to be without her husband.”
“Not enough time to grow accustomed to sleeping alone, then?”
“No more so for me than for you, and you know it.” Bella grinned cheekily at him. “Now you’ve gone and reminded me how long it’s been. Talk to me about how things have been at Erebor - I need a distraction until we can stop for the night.”