Chapter Text
Bilberry Baggins is an odd hobbit; she left her home at BagEnd to create a newer home on the outskirts of Hobbiton.
In the wild and warm forests of the hobbit dwelling town. She lives there in quiet peaceful solitude, her only company being the animals of the trees and earth that live there. Her garden large and tender produce with flowers, bushes, and shrubberies alike. Vegetable plots and fruit baring trees protected her tree hole known as a home from first sight.
You could only find this particular Baggins nee Took if you knew where to look and had a guide who had been there. A hobbit so tempestuous in her youth that one might suspect she would have settled in her later years.
So, you could imagine the Grey Wizard’s great surprise when he arrived at the top hobbit hill hole of BagEnd, to find it empty and boarded up. ‘No Hobbits Here’ a faded, wooden plaque hung upon the once proud scarlet door. Near overshadowed by the growing bushes and shrubs that could no longer be called shrubbery.
Gandalf stood amiss in front of the former homely home, scratching his head under his scraggy hat until a voice called out to him.
“A good morning to you, Ser! Is there something I can help with?” A somewhat friendly-looking Hobbit waddled his way over to the wizard, pipe in hand and the other pocketed to his waistcoat. A middle-aged, well-fed male who, despite his smile, seemed a little wary of the new face outside abandoned Bag End. After all, no good could come from newness. Especially big folk.
“Ah, yes, I’m looking for the Lady Baggins of this…former, residence.” The reaction was slow yet instant. Nervous smile shaping into a strained and mildly irritable one.
“Baggins, eh? Well, I’m afraid you’re outta luck. No Baggins have lived here for a good few years. Good day.” And with that, the portly Hobbit turned on his heels and made to depart. His thick soles barely scuffling a noise as he fled.
“Might I ask where she went?” Gandalf called after him, only to get a chubbed finger to the outskirts of the village of Hobbiton. To where the thick pricka-bushes grew and the wild woods stood wild.
“Where on middle-earth have you strayed, Bilba Baggins?” Once again, Gandalf reached up to scratch his head in bemused befuddlement. She always was more Took then Baggins in blood and spirit, but he truly had thought that the young, unruly lass from memory would have settled under the pressure of local folk.
Apparently not, if the deserted house and groused neighbours were anything to go by.
Well, he supposed, it was time for a nose around. Hopefully, the quarry of dwarves on their way would not get lost. They would still need their wayward burglar.
A mischievous smirk pulled upon his aged lips.
This would certainly prove more interesting than he thought.
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Interesting, as it turned out, was not the word he’d use for trying to locate his wayward friend. Eru damned frustrating, fit much better. Somehow, amongst the trees he’d become familiar with; he could not find the smial he was looking for.
Every promising hilltop was a dud. Grassy verges turning out flat with no hobbity hole in sight. Not even a hut, that the once spritely Belladonna called her ‘fort’, could be found. Not to mention the same oddly parsnip-shaped tree that he had passed for the third time.
Perchance, the sandy-locked hobbit from before meant the town across.
Eek!
A starling swooped down into his eye line. Looping and twisting through the air proudly to catch his attention.
Eek!
It swirled and pranced gracefully. Wind tipping its wings into a delighted arch. A gesture to follow.
And follow he did.
A path that had not laid there before finally shed its grassy skin. The bright coloured rocks and stones gleaming against the suns gentle rays. Like stained glasses, creating odysseys of rainbow light in the well-cared trees.
There, in the opening of a tiny valley, sat the growing home of one Bilberry Baggins.
With a contented sigh, Gandalf admired the view before him. A carved piece of a paradise away from Hobbiton. High grasses that swayed in the playful breeze. Ankle high for him that could only be torso tall for a little being like a Hobbit.
A lazy, bubbling river that streamed around a fair few full plots and fruity shrubs lined its banks.
An idyllic home, if not for the fact it was carved out of a thick, sturdy oak.
Instead of woven into hill and underground, this one stood proud intertwined amongst woods and brush. Many floors climbing up into the trunk that flowed dim shroom light. That was where the grey wizard found her, relaxed, and reclined against the base and trunk of the almighty tree. A tree, one could say, too big for hobbits.
Gandalf approached the lass, looking more and more like her mother every day, and stopped just a foot away. His arms leant easily against the head of his wizard’s staff. Admiring the craftsmanship of her home.
“To think I would see the day, when Bilberry Belladonna Took nee Baggins, left her family smial and wandered off.” The Grey wizard began, a twinkle in his eyes as the hobbit lady paused her long drag of her pipe. Her amber coloured eyes bright yet suspicious in the glance she gave him.
“Yet, here I stand. Irrevocably wrong and incredibly proud,” He leant lower, allowing the shade of his weary hat to protect her own eyes against the blinding sun, “You really were more Took, than Baggins, weren’t you, my dear?”
The wariness from her face eased from her features, the former lady’s shoulder now loose and smile as bright as the sun. She placed her father’s old pipe onto its stand and clipped her book shut. Letting it rest on her apron.
“I am afraid, dearest Gandalf, that I am neither Took nor Baggins these days. Certainly not a respectable Hobbit either.” Bilberry’s expression lilt with cheekiness, something the elderly grey fondly remembered from her childhood.
“All those late-for-dinner adventures put me rather at odds with my nosey neighbours and cousins of mine. Bebothering me all the time,” she stretched up from her slouched position on the grassed floor, “Imagine the scandal the day I decided to pack it up and move.”
Gandalf chuckled in delight at the thought. No doubt, such an action put the locals in a great flurry of gossip and attention.
“I can, and well, imagine it. I was quite surprised to see that your arch-nemesis, as she called herself, hadn’t moved in to the old family home.” The pair amused themselves at the image of her old childhood friend turned enemy.
Lobelia had indeed kicked up a fuss the day Bilberry left. The hobbitess regaled the wizard about how her cousin had stormed up to the door, hissing and spitting like a wet cat. Demanding, grating, even begging at one point about the home that should ‘rightfully be hers’. It was her greatest pleasure, informing the gaudy-looking woman that if she ever set foot in BagEnd; that she would set it ablaze.
“Definitely your mother’s child.” Gandalf shook his head at her chortling and glanced once more at the tree she had built her home in to.
Bilberry had risen to her fluffy, golden feet. Stretching and cricking the bones that had sat still too long. Rolling muscles and turning shoulders to get it all going again. She wasn’t as spry as she once was. All those joints needed a moment to get going again. Alas, the burden of aging.
“So, how is my mother’s favourite friend?” She cast a shrewd gaze his way.
“And what are you up to?”
Gandalf hid a knowing smile under his grey beard. Pride coursing at how perceptive the young hobbit had become in her years.
“Well enough, and ‘up to my old tricks’ as your mother used to say. Usually before I gave you a wooden sword or fireworks to give the rest of the Shire a wake up call, eh?”
Bilberry’s lips split into a large and familiar grin, eyes alight with mischief yet still keeping the old wizard under her keen eyes.
“Old tricks indeed.” She hummed and gestured for him to follow.
“In you come then, tell me what trouble you are getting me into this time.”
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“You are actually insane.”
“Now, Bella.-“
“Completely and utterly bonkers.”
Gandalf harrumphed and took a long drag of his pipe, ignoring the pointed look from the Hobbit across the table from him. She had set out various plates of snacks and delicacies ranging between sweets and savouries. She knew exactly which buttons to press when it came to food bribery. A talent she had inherited from her mother.
“I understand it’s a bit…unorthodox-“ Bilberry scoffed at his choice of words, but he badgered on, “but I believe it will work.”
“Hm.” The hobbit lass didn’t look impressed.
“Dragons…are a bit out of my purview, Gandalf. A couple of trolls I can manage, they’re stupid, but a dragon.” Bilberry’s face twisted into an amusing grimace, lips pursed and eyes all squinty. She did not seem enticed by his quest in the slightest.
“It is a necessary risk, my dear. The dwarves-“
“Dwarrow.” The wizard blinked in surprise at the correction but decided not to question it.
“The dwarrow must return to the Lonely Mountain, Bella.”
Bilberry let out a long, exasperated sigh. Having done this song and dance many times with another being of the mystic energies. One that liked to rile her almost as much as Gandalf did.
“Have you spoken to Galadriel? Did she put you up to this?” It would not surprise her if the meddlesome elf had been involved in his schemes. Elrond had managed to stymie quite a few of the high elf’s convoluted thoughts but not even he could keep an eye on the both of them.
“No…the Lady Galadriel has not been involved in this quest. Although I have no doubt she’ll catch wind of it sooner rather than later.” He paused, watching Bilberry with great curiosity and taking another drag from his pipe.
“Why would you think she had?” The way the hobbit’s face twisted again bubbled amusement through him. Only someone who had dealt with the wise elf’s tricks and moments of childishness had earned that particular expression. It was almost a spitting image of Lord Elrond’s.
“She likes to give me grief.” Was all she said before sharply putting down a pot of tea.
Gandalf sighed contently as he settled himself further into the plush settee. It wouldn’t take much to nudge the Hobbit lass to join him to Erebor. Initially, this journey would have been to push Bilberry out of her comfort zone but Galadriel had already solved that. The second was because he needed a burglar and only a hobbit would do.
With their wide, light footed feet, they could easily traverse difficult terrains due to the hardy soles of their feet. The Took family was especially adept at this. Their faunts well-practiced at thieving from a young age.
Bilberry was one such Took.
“Gandalf.” The wizard glanced up at the weary hobbit, who was leant against a dining chair, dish cloth in hand and an unimpressed look marred her features.
“Are you sure?” With the smallest nod from him, she wilted and dumped the cloth on the table.
“Fine, when do we leave?”
Gandalf left after filling himself full of many biscuits and jams feeling quite proud of himself. His host had been determined to fatten him up, piling more and more delicious treats until he couldn’t eat any more. He figured it was her own way of getting revenge as he had to take a good breath or two before he could get going once more.
A hobbit tactic that he could respect; even if it exhausted him.
“Now to collect the dwarves before she catches wind.” With a raspy chuckle, he sat back down the path he had struggled to find before.
Although, perhaps, he should have paid special care to her words. ‘We’ didn’t have to be just them after all. Who said the Hobbit couldn’t outsmart the wizard, just this once?