Chapter Text
Chapter One
Bilbo used to be a respectable hobbit. Being the son of Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Took, other hobbits gossiped about which parent the chubby little faunt would take after. While his childhood seemed more adventurous than the other fauntlings, Bilbo seemed to mellow out in his tweens, taking after Bungo in his respectable nature. He went from pilfering pies to checking accounts and managing land, a second edition of Bungo in that regard. He had a natural talent and interest in language, books, and maps, spending much of his free time, in his prime, scouring old texts rather than chasing skirts as other hobbits his age did. Bilbo simply had no interest in women, and that was perfectly fine with him.
It was a struggle being the sole inheritor of Bag End at a rather young age, 3 years before his 33rd birthday. Bilbo loved his parents as dearly as they loved each other. Bungo passed after a particularly rough fever during the Fell Winter. The Brandywine River froze over, allowing wolves to cross, and during an excursion with his wife, Bungo got the injury that eventually got infected and killed him. Belladonna had loved her husband so dearly that she not only settled down with him, but also passed away only a year after Bungo’s own passing.
Despite the untimely and rather traumatic timing of his parents' deaths, Bilbo Baggins was quite well off regardless, though it made him more of a hermit. He was determined to live his quiet, peaceful life, his only worry being how to keep his spoons safe when Lobilia visited. Bilbo dearly missed his parents, but one doesn’t have much time to spend mourning when the entirety of The Hill of Smials and the surrounding farmlands relied on his work. He never had the desire to venture farther than a short walking holiday, like visiting the Green Dragon inn for a pint, as adventures were simply nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things that made you late for dinner.
That’s what he told himself at least.
Being a most respectable host to any guests, even a Sackville-Baggins, had become his main focus in life. Bilbo took care in making his Smial as comfortable as any home should be, a haven compared to the harsh, cold weather that took and took from him. Cozy enough, the large Smail became a museum of his parents' lives; his mother's doilies and adventuring treasures, and his father’s writing and architecture plans for Bag End. Yet, it was also his home to take care of.
One of Bilbo’s favorite parts was the fruitful garden, and he employed Hamfast to help him maintain it year-round. Hamfast Gamgee was one of the only hobbits that Bilbo was close to, besides being his employer. Other than Hamfast, his cousin Drogo was his closest friend when his parents died, a steadfast cousin and helping hand. However, Bilbo hasn’t been able to see him for a good while, as his wife Primula was pregnant and Drogo has been doing all he could to make this pregnancy easier on her. Bilbo was incredibly proud of his cousin and wished them the best with this one, as they didn’t seem to have the best luck with kids.
This reminded Bilbo that he still needed to stop by with some fresh pastries and that tea he was telling his cousin would help with the pregnancy. The hobbit knocked the remaining ashes out of his pipe and tucked it into his breast pocket to be cleaned later. With a grunt, he pushed himself off the porch bench and meandered back inside. He had been enjoying a pipe of Old Toby before getting to his tasks for the day, hoping to enjoy the autumn weather before the first snow. Oh, how he dreaded the snow. He popped into his father’s old study and sat, pulling out some parchment and quills to write up a list of things he needed from the market to stock up on, as he tried to avoid leaving his home in the winter if he didn’t have to.
Flour. Sugar. Egg. Cream. Nuts. Perhaps another wheel of cheese or two. He didn’t need to get pickles or any other veggies for the most part, as his garden harvest had been very successful this year, and he completed his canning later than usual. Grabbing two baskets and lining each with cloth, Bilbo poked his head into the pantry to fetch the jar of dried tea leaves, a generous mix of red raspberry leaves, lemon balm, and ginger root. Tucking it safely into the smaller basket, he also added a couple of paper-wrapped cherry danishes, biscuits, and a jar of whipped honey butter. After a quick second breakfast, Bilbo grabbed his jacket and, with a basket on each arm, began to head out the door.
“Good mornin’, Mr. Baggins. Off to the market, are ye?” Hamfast called from the garden, where he was kneeling in the dirt to winterize the roses and prepare the rest of the garden for winter.
“Hamfast! Good morning, I plan to visit Drogo and Primula first, then head out to stock my larders. How’s winterizing going?” Bilbo halts his steps to talk to his friend, of course.
“Ah, those two. Thick as molasses in January they are.” Hamfast chuckled, standing up and brushing the dirt from his knees. “It's going along wonderfully, Mr. Bilbo. Should be all wrapped up before the eve, just gotta finish up the roses. You be careful out there, looks like a blizzard is blowing in.” Bilbo grimaces at the idea, his tail flicking in irritation, and Hamfast guffaws at that.
The gentle hobbit’s tail was always a dead giveaway of his mood, unlike Hamfast, who had an impressive amount of control over his own. Bilbo guessed it was just another Tookish quirk of his; his mother couldn’t hold her tail either.
“Always appreciate your expertise, Hamfast. Yavanna knows what I would do without you. Now don’t let yourself catch anything out here, tell the Missus I said hi.” Bilbo chuckled as Hamfast beamed at the compliment and turned on his heel to head back down the stone path to the road. The ground was starting to get colder as well, and feeling the wind, Bilbo knew it would be snowing hard soon—better hurry before it starts to fall, as Buckland was quite a walk. Bilbo politely greeted other neighbors and hobbits as he continued, and it took about 2 hours to arrive at Drogo’s smial, just in time for Luncheon. Skipping elevenses would do him no harm. He definitely wasn't worried about having food all winter, even though it had not been a problem in years, no sir!
Knocking on the round yellow entrance, a disheveled Drogo opened the door, and his eyes lit up upon seeing who was visiting.
“By the hair on my feet, if it isn’t Bilbo Baggins!” Drogo pulled Bilbo into the threshold of the home and hugged him with a friendly pat, tail lightly thumping the floor in response to Bilbo’s own excited one. Bilbo just laughed at his affectionate cousin and returned the hug.
”Why, Drogo, don’t you look rather well. I say you could use a little more fattening up.” Bilbo teased, holding up the basket of pastries and tea he brought. Drogo brightened and took the basket from him.
“Oh, how you spoil us, cousin. Now come on in, I’ll put the kettle on for tea, Luncheon is almost ready.” Bilbo entered the living room to see Primula knitting in an armchair near the fire, obviously round from pregnancy, looking rather well and content. She looked up from her work and smiled warmly at him. Bilbo returned the smile and leaned down to hug her in her chair.
“Primula, why, you look positively radiant!” Bilbo rested on the couch near here with the jar of tea in his hands. “Here, I brought you some of my mother’s trusty tea. If it helped her with me, it will surely help you with little Frodo in there.” Bilbo chuckled, passing her the jar. She took it with a thankful look on her face.
“You’re very kind, Bilbo.. I have a good feeling about him.” She set down her knitting and rubbed her belly. Bilbo smiled warmly at this.
“Quite the fighter this one, can’t seem to give his mother a break,” Drogo called from the kitchen with a laugh before walking in with a tea tray of cups and the kettle. He leaves once again only to return with an assortment of sandwiches, fruit, and other bits to nibble on.
“He must be itching to get out. He sure has been taking his time.” Bilbo hummed thoughtfully. Primula laughed and returned to her knitting as Drogo began to lay out the table, a yellow hat beginning to form.
“Oh, use this tea, dear. Bilbo brought his mother tea, and I should like to try it.” Drogo took the jar from his wife and scooped out some to brew. “Now, Bilbo dear, how have you been? It’s been a while since you’ve come for a visit.” Primula spoke.
“I figured I should come and visit my favorite cousin and his lovely wife before the snow sets in. I wanted to bring plenty of tea to keep you stocked this winter.” Bilbo said, blowing on his own tea. Drogo already had one of the pastries Bilbo brought in his mouth, but paused eating his to hand one to his wife, the look on her face exasperated but endearing.
“I swear he’s worse than a faunt.” She muttered in a teasing way before turning back to Bilbo. “Well, we always appreciate the visit. Are you going to be alright bunkering down this winter alone?” Primula spoke softly. They all knew how rough the first few winters were for Bilbo when his parents died and his immense fear of the snow. Bilbo had stayed with them for a good while, but the last few winters, he seemed to do fine on his own. Primula held Bilbo’s hands in hers, worry still evident on her face.
“I think I should be fine, Primula. I appreciate the concern, though. I’m more worried about you guys. I can always ask Hamfast to bring you more firewood if need be. Make sure to always have the midwife on standby.” Bilbo nodded, fretting as he was known to do.
“Now, cousin, no need to fret like a mother hen. I made sure to stock up on wood just the other day, so we should be set, and we have the schedule all laid out.” Drogo piped in, wiping crumbs from his face, to which Primula rolled her eyes.
They continued to talk for a good while before Bilbo had to leave, promising to write over the winter and visit as soon as the snow melted. He stayed later than planned, having both luncheon and afternoon tea with his cousins.
The walk back to Hobbiton was uneventful, and the market was even more so. Bilbo went and filled his basket with the more essential items and placed orders for other deliveries to be made over the duration of winter, so he wouldn’t have to leave his smial. It had been a rather normal Highday for Bilbo overall, and he was looking forward to getting home and resting, but as he left the market, the first bit of snow began to flutter down. Bilbo felt his throat tighten as a pure white flake brushed his nose. A flash of painful memories tore past his closed eyes, and he had to shake them away. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, tail wrapped around his ankle in a self-soothing gesture, ignoring any odd looks sent his way.
“Just a little snow, Bilbo old boy, nothing to worry about.” He assured himself and finally continued on home.
Finally home, Bilbo lit the fire and put his groceries away, putting the kettle on to have some chamomile for his nerves and something to sip on while he cooked. By the time supper came around, it was snowing rather hard, inches and inches already sticking to the ground. Bilbo sighed as he looked out the window and closed his curtains. It was going to be a heavier winter than usual. Sitting in his armchair, Bilbo picked up the book he had yet to finish and tucked into his reading, still full and warm. He didn’t even realize that he had drifted off until there was a loud cry from his garden. Startled awake, Blibo clutched his chest and shot up from his seat.
“What in Yavanna’s name?” The Hobbit crept towards the window and peeked outside. It was too dark to see further than his roses, but the frost cloth on his gooseberry bushes shook like an animal was hiding from the harsh weather within. There was another pained whine followed by the hush of a voice, barely heard over the howling wind.
A chill ran up Bilbo’s spine. It was not an animal in his bushes, but a person, maybe two. Bilbo pushes his ear to the window, straining to hear more. The voices were muttered, guttural noises that Bilbo wouldn’t have recognized as a language if not for his knowledge of vocal rhythm and intonation. Bilbo loathed the idea of going out in the storm, but something twisted inside his stomach. What if they need help? Quickly wrapping himself in his winter cloak, Bilbo grabbed a lantern from the kitchen and cracked the door open.
He hesitated in the doorway for a few moments and took a deep breath before stepping into the snow. He blinked against the heavy snowflakes, white already covering his shoulders, and stepped into his garden, concern overriding his initial fear.
“Hello?” It wasn’t until he called out that the rustling stopped and the whining became muffled. The wind nipped at the hobbit’s ears, and he had about half the mind to just turn around and go back inside. Fear made his furry feet feel leaden, his ears ring, and his vision blurred. He could hear the voices more clearly, but they were definitely speaking another language; the softer voices spoke of youth, and Bilbo’s chest tightened more, less in fear and more in concern. Bilbo blinked harder to clear his vision.
“You know, it’s quite cold outside. My gooseberry bushes can’t offer that much protection.” He spoke calmly as he peered at the bush, not daring to get closer. Bilbo saw the shine of two pairs of eyes from the part in the fabric. Any adult would be far too large to squeeze under the bushes, if there was a faunt or two in need of the hobbit's help, he had to do something.
“My smial is much warmer if you’d like to stay the night. I have a fire going and plenty of food to share. Beef stew, if you must know, I’m quite the talented chef.” The hobbit kept his voice soft on purpose and kept talking to seem much less threatening. He set the lantern down and crouched, tail wrapping his body. Now he could see the children. Two boys, no older than 7 and 4 by men’s standards. The younger one was swaddled in two travel-worn cloaks, and the oldest only in a threadbare tunic, shaking and obviously freezing. Both were covered in cuts and dirt, and with the way the younger one's chest heaved in a concerning fashion, the poor thing must have caught some sort of sickness.
“I don’t know how long you boys have been out here, but surely inside would be better. Seems like your friend here is sick.” The older boy looked down at the younger one, and his face twisted in pain and indecision. Bilbo simply remained crouched and unmoving, like trying to persuade a stray cat. The cold snow was starting to pelt him and burn the sensitive skin of his neck and tail. “How about this. I shall leave the door unlocked for you, and you can come in as you would like.” Bilbo began to stand, not wanting to stay in the snow much longer, but a sudden, desperate voice made him freeze.
“Can you help him?” The eldest spoke, voice tense. The boy spoke Common fluently, but a thick accent remained. Bilbo shook off his stupor and nodded.
“Of course, but he needs to be inside where it is warm for any care to work. I promise no harm will come to either of you. I want to help.” Bilbo assured the young boy, and finally, they got out from under the bush. The eldest struggled to carry the younger faunt, but he refused any help from the hobbit, still unsure of his intentions, but slowly, they made their way inside. Bilbo let out a sigh of relief when he finally got the door closed, his head feeling less fuzzy now that the wind was muffled by the walls.
“You are welcome to go sit by the fire. I’ll bring you both some blankets and food.” Bilbo hesitated by the living room entrance before hurrying down the hall to find the closet of spare comforters. Grabbing his mother’s thick quilt, he walked back to the living room to see the boys crouched by the fire, still trembling. The hobbit cautiously approached so as not to startle the boys, but the eldest jumped anyway and leaned away, pulling his feverish brother with him. Bilbo made a note to make some noise as he approached them in the future; hobbits were rather silent.
“Now then, I’m not meant to cause you harm. Here, this will keep you warm while I heat some food for you both. Too thin, I tell you.” Bilbo chided as he draped the blanket around the children and tried not to fret while hurrying to the kitchen. Reheating supper would be simple enough for now, some bread and butter outta to help fill the stomachs. Pausing, Bilbo dug through the pantry to find some chicken stock; surely the younger boy would struggle with anything solid if feverish.
Balancing a bowl of stew, a loaf of bread, a pitcher of water, and a cup of warm broth, he brought the children their food. The more cautious eldest seemed to falter in his determination to remain aloof at the smell of the stew. Poor thing ate with the ferocity of someone who hasn’t had a warm meal in weeks. And perhaps he hadn’t. The thought pulled at the hobbit’s heart; he had never been one to want fauntlings, but the idea of these poor faunts lost, cold, and hungry made him feel ill. Bilbo sat down on the rug next to the boys, cup of broth still in his hands.
“Now, I know you don’t quite trust me, but would you let me take a look at your friend? I’m not sure he could eat on his own.” The Hobbit spoke so softly that it was almost a whisper. The eldest paused his eating and looked down at the younger boy, brows furrowed in more intense thought than Bilbo had ever seen on a face so young. The dirty blonde boy carefully pulled the darker-haired boy from his lap and unwrapped the cloaks partially. Far too young to be out alone, alright, Bilbo noted, a flushed, sweaty face pinched like the poor thing was in pain. Bilbo carefully adjusted the boy so his head would lie up on his leg, all under the weary gaze of the eldest.
Bilbo pressed the cup gently to the boy's lips. “Come on, darling. You need to drink something.” The boy trembled but took a small sip and then another, much to the hobbit’s relief. Hunger waits for no illness, it seems. The hobbit had to help the boy pace himself. Bilbo grimaced as the wet cloak pressed into his trousers and pulled lightly at the fabric clinging to the boy. “We need to get you boys out of these sopping clothes; they will only make you much colder.” Bilbo helped the boy finish his broth, then helped him sip water before he put the cup down. He started to scoop up the younger boy when he was stopped by a small hand.
“Wait, he’s my brother. I’ll take him, sir.” The elder brother stood up on wobbly legs. Bilbo’s initial instinct was to scold the boy; he obviously was in no condition to do so, but the desperate look in his eyes made him pause.
“Actually, young sprout, I need you to do something very important for me. Do you think you could handle it?” Bilbo asked, clocking the blonde boy’s need to support his brother in some way. He paused and shuffled on his feet before nodding. Bilbo suppressed the urge to chuckle at the boy. “Listen, down the hall, 3rd door on the left, there is a linen closet. I need you to go grab some towels and rags for both you and your brother here. Think you can do that for me?” The hobbit asked like it was a dire situation, a serious look on his face. The blonde boy paused and nodded, matching the look and turning on his heel to dash down the hall of the smial. Bilbo prayed for his carpets, watching booted feet leaving marks behind... Boots?
“Now, your turn, young one.” Bilbo hummed mostly to himself as he adjusted the feverish boy in his arms and headed to the washroom. The hobbit struggled to strip the boy of his filthy, torn garments and began to fill the tub with warm water and suds. It took Bilbo a minute to figure out how to remove the boy's boots, having never worn shoes in his life. Taking a closer look at the tunic and cloaks the boys wore, Bilbo noted they were worn, thick traveler's clothes. Despite the state, the fabric was rather well-made, and each had embroidered runes on the collar and sleeves. It didn’t take a scholar to figure out that these were dwarven runes, given the sharp angles, but it would take one quite a while to transcribe the words even if they knew the language, which Bilbo didn’t, as dwarves were very protective of their cultures. The boots began to make sense.
Bilbo carefully folded and set the clothes down before turning his attention to the feverish dwarfling now sitting in the tub. The hobbit kept his palm firmly on the poor child’s back to steady him. The blonde one came busting into the bathroom, arms full of every towel and rag that Bilbo probably owned.
“I didn’t know which ones we were allowed to use…” The young dwarf muttered and placed the massive lump of fabric on the floor. “We don’t have anything to pay you with, sir.. But we can work to pay you back for the help.” The blonde dwarf said, almost like he was mimicking someone’s mannerisms. Bilbo couldn’t hold back the scoff that escaped him.
“Now, master dwarf, there’s no need for that. What kind of gentle hobbit would I be if I turned away two fauntlings in need of help? And none of that ‘sir’ business, you may call me Bilbo.” The hobbit’s tail stood straight up, hooked up and out of the way, not wanting to disturb the boy as he focused on lathering the youngest in the tub. The eldest seemed uncomfortable with the whole situation and was adamantly not trying to stare, but nodded and walked to the edge of the bathtub to look at his younger brother. “May I ask what two young dwarves such as yourselves are doing out in such a storm. Hobbiton is quite a way from Bree.” Bilbo wanted to pry more, but figured he wouldn't get much from the anxious dwarfling at the moment.
“We aren’t from Bree…” The eldest muttered, one hand untangling the beads from the brunette's hair. “How did you know we are dwarves, sir?” Bilbo sighed at the 'sir' but figured he shouldn’t push it quite yet.
“Well, no Hobbit I’ve ever known would be caught dead in boots nor beads,” Bilbo said, tapping the blonde boy’s boots with his tail. The boy simply stared, fascinated by the Hobbit. “And you are much too thin by my standards. We’ll be fixing that soon enough, though.” He chuckled and turned his attention back to the boy in the washtub. No more conversation happened as Bilbo finished rinsing off his brother. Drying his hands off with a towel, the Hobbit stood up.
“I’ll leave the rest to you, my boy. Call if you need anything.” Bilbo figured the other boy would refuse to bathe with him there, so he slipped out the door and left it open a crack, explaining what he was doing as he was doing it to avoid startling the already skittish boys. He grabbed some old, long nightshirts of his for the dwarflings and left them by the door before going to plop himself down in his father’s old recliner. The older hobbit sighed and ran a hand over his face. What was he going to do? He didn’t know how to take care of kids; he was an only child for Yavanna’s sake!
But he couldn’t just let them fend for themselves. Bilbo’s mind flashed to the snowstorm outside, and a chill ran through him. It was lucky these children landed themselves in Bilbo’s bushes and not some other more prudish hobbit like the Sackville-Baggins. Bilbo would just have to take care of them until someone came along for them. Dwarves were particularly protective of their children, so surely a parent or relative would come knocking eventually? Bilbo didn’t bother pondering what would happen if no one came. Bilbo rested his head back on the recliner and let his eyes slip closed. He didn’t notice himself falling asleep until he was startled awake by a crash from the bathroom. The hobbit jumped up and rushed to the bathroom..
“What happened?! Are you boys oka-WAHHH!,” only to slip on water that had covered the tiled floor and hit the ground. Hard. Two boys grimaced, looking his way. A guilty-looking older brother held up a sopping wet younger brother trying to pull him out of the tub, and they knocked over a bottle of hair oil, which explained the crash. Bilbo lay on the ground with a groan, holding his head and turning to see both boys on their knees with heads bent.
“Sorry, sir. We are so sorry.” The blonde one looked frightened, but the other boy was barely conscious, though looking cleaner.
“Ughh... That’s alright, boys.. Just dry off, and I’ll clean this up.” They almost seemed surprised by the lack of reaction from Bilbo. Bilbo was just focused on his pounding head. The boys got up and scurried away. The hobbit watched two naked behinds running off from his fallen position, and Bilbo let out a disbelieving laugh.
“What in the Yavanna’s Green Gardens has my life come to?”