Chapter Text
In a hole in the ground there lived a lonely hobbit.
No guests ever stepped through Bilbo Baggins’ green round door and into his smial. He had no friends, and although he had family, they never seeked his company.
To the hobbits of the Shire, Bilbo Baggins had been a stranger amongst them ever since he was born. The baby had been unusually quiet, with eyes that seemed too smart, not mirthful enough. As he grew up he turned out to be more of a Took than a Baggins, to the great disappointment of most of the community, who blamed it on the mother. Belladonna Took had been the most adventurous hobbit of her generation, after all, and was therefore not a respectable hobbit.
Her fauntling would run in the forest on his own, imagining adventures and elves, fighting off imaginary dragons and monsters. He would come home, covered in dirt and leaves, smiling apologetically at his mother, who always returned the smile softly.
“You are going to accomplish great things, my little Bilbo.” She always praised.
Every night she would tell him of her adventures, relating her travels, the people she met along the way, her time in Rivendell, the great city of Elves, and her friendship with Lord Elrond, its ruler. She would also tell him of the dwarves and their awful table manners, although they did make the most beautiful jewelry, and Bilbo would listen, his young emerald eyes wide with wonder.
One of those nights, though, Bilbo’s eyes had been filled with sadness and hurt instead.
His mother noticed and she took him on her lap.
“What’s wrong honey ?” She asked, her voice quiet and soothing.
Bilbo sniffled, prompting Belladonna to run her free hand through his soft curls.
“Am I… Am I different ?”
Belladonna inhaled deeply. She knew the question would come, one day or another. Her Bilbo was indeed not the most usual fauntling, but how could she convey to him that it was more than alright, when everyone else, even his father, thought the opposite ?
“Yes, Bilbo, you are different.”
The child sniffled again, lips trembling and fists closing as he resisted the urge to cry.
“B-b-but I don’t wanna be different ! No one wants to play with me anymore, they say I’m odd, they say I… I…” He sobbed as tears finally escaped his eyes.
The hand combing his hair descended to rub circles on his back.
“Oh, honey. You are not odd. You are special. And being special is good, so very good. I am so proud of you for being different, my little Bilbo.”
Her comforting words only made the fauntling cry even more.
“B-but Ma, they say I-I’m not even a r-r-r-real hobbit !” Bilbo wailed, curling in on himself.
Belladonna Took closed her eyes in sorrow. She knew those insults all too well, for she had suffered from them before her beloved little hobbitling.
“Oh, Bilbo…”
She fell silent as knew not what to say. Even she did not feel like a real hobbit. She did not fit into the definition the Shire had written.
She rubbed her child’s back and combed his curls as he wet her dress with tears and snot.
The poor fauntling was still young enough so that his father tolerated him being told of adventures and tales of the sort, but he would soon be a tween and Bungo Baggins would no longer let him fantasize of escaping from the Shire, and start trying to make him into a proper hobbit. After long minutes of sobbing and shaking, Bilbo quieted down. He lifted his head and started absently braiding a lock of Belladonna’s hair.
“Ma ? Can we go on an adventure together ?” The child’s voice was raw from crying, but the tone was hopeful.
“Well of course honey, I already told you that, just not right now, you’re too young, you know that.” Belladonna smiled as Bilbo’s optimistic face turned into a pout, and poked his nose, making a smile blossom on his face. “But one day, one day we will go explore Middle Earth together, I promise. And you will meet people who will love you for who you are, and not who they want you to be.”
A shadow settled on Bilbo’s face at the last sentence.
“Does.. Does Da love me for who he wants me to be ?”
Belladonna resisted the urge to avert her eyes. “No of course not, honey ! Your Da loves you as much as I love you, and let me tell you, I love you a lot ! Twice as much as all the gold in Erebor !”
“What’s Erebor, Ma ?”
“It’s… It’s a very beautiful place. A dwarven kingdom carved into a lonely, majestic mountain. It is so full of gold that 10 lifetimes would not be enough to count it all !”
Stars started shining in her fauntling’s eyes, just as she realized her mistake.
“Can we go there when I’m older ?”
“...No, we can’t, honey, I’m sorry.”
“Why ?”
“This is a story you are not yet ready to hear, my little Bilbo. It is too sad for your bright little heart.” Belladonna said as she poked her youngling on the nose again.
Bilbo chuckled, pushing her hand away.
“Tomorrow then ? I’ll be older !”
It made her laugh and she poked him on the nose once more. “No little Bilbo, this is a story for when you will be over 33. Now what about I tell you about the night your father proposed to me ? It was, as hobbit customs want it, a perfect half moon, to represent soulmates...”
She never got to tell the tale of the fall of Erebor.
Five years later, during the winter of Bilbo’s 20th birthday, his mother passed away. It was not a glorious death like she had often claimed she would get, her Took blood taking pride in the thought of dying while she was still wild and young. No, it was a slow, boring death, an usual one for a hobbit.
She had fell sick alongside half of the Shire. Bilbo had been sick as well, in fact he has fell sick two days before his mother, and his father had been left to take care of Belladonna alone.
The fauntling was carried to his parents’ bed and put next to his mother. There, through his feverish state, he thought he heard his father talk to someone.
“Why did he …. fall sick too ? Fauntlings his age …..pposed to be strong and healthy. Oh, why did he have to be this way ?”
Was Father talking about him ?
He sounded disappointed.
Days passed, foggy and boring. Belladonna was constantly sleeping, and when she was not, it was only a half conscious state in which she talked to people who were not there, people that Bilbo had only heard of in her tales, sometimes calling out to Lord Elrond.
“Ah Elrond, have you…. My son… Bilbo. He is the most...precious hobbit of them all, you… him… adventurous…Invite us sometime..Tauriel…”
It did not make much sense, but it warmed Bilbo’s heart, to know that his mother would talk to her elves friends about him like that. During those episodes, he would grab her hand with his trembling one and caress it weakly.
When she will be better, he thought, when she will be better, I will ask her again about visiting Rivendell. Maybe I’m old enough now.
Father would come in to feed them and caress his mother’s cheek. Sometimes he would also comb her hair and whisper loving things to her. In the beginning, Bilbo watched with big, too bright eyes, waiting for his turn. But Father would only touch his forehead briefly, sighing at the fever that was not receding.
“You should be better by now.” He muttered, once. Bilbo had expected to see concern in his father cloudy grey eyes, but they were too dark. Their seemed to be a special kind of bitterness in them, mixed with anger. Resentment.
It was the night after that that Bilbo got woken up in the middle of the night by a cold, sweaty hand gripping his.
“My little Bilbo… Honey, wake up. Open your eyes for your Ma.”
A weak, wet cough. The disgusting smell of sickness, and something else, another scent that had been growing stronger and stronger in the past couple of days. A scent that Bilbo feared, although he did not yet have a name for it.
He opened his eyes in the dark room, only lightened by moonlight that was filtering through the window in the ceiling. His mother was awake, and looking at him.
“Ma ?” He questioned, still sleepy. Was she getting better ? Maybe she wanted him to fetch her a glass of water.
“Good boy..” She reached with her free hand to arrange some of his curls away from his sweaty face. She was trembling.
“I love you, Bilbo” Tears filled her eyes and her next sentence came out as a weak sob. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to…” She coughed, and it snapped Bilbo out of the last shreds of sleep clinging to him. His heart missed a beat as he noticed the coldness of her hand. She was not supposed to feel cold, she was not supposed to have this sad look in her eyes, she.. She looked so old, all of a sudden.
The weird scent was overwhelming, filling his lungs as he took in a sharp breath. Something was wrong, so very wrong.
“Ma ?” He asked, tears and panic in his voice.
“Sshhh baby boy… It will be alright…” Another cough. The smell, bilbo could not bear the smell, it made him want to wail.
“Do not forget little Bilbo… Middle Earth is.. Full of beauties waiting for you to discover them..”
“Yes, Ma, and we’ll discover them together, when I’m older, we’ll…” The words died in the child’s throat when he saw his mother close her eyes in what looked like grief. “Ma ? We’ll explore Middle Earth together, right ?” Silence. “Right, Ma ?”
She opened her eyes, slowly. She was growing weaker every second. She did not have long, and she had too many words, too much love, she could not communicate it all.
“Bilbo, I… I love you, no matter who you are, no matter what you will become, I love you, I love you I love you I love you…” She repeated again and again, her voice falling to a weak whisper as Bilbo begged her to stay awake, to just stay a little longer, to not break her promise.
“I’m sorry.” She said, or maybe she just thought it, she was too exhausted to know. Black filled her vision slowly, creeping on her young Bilbo’s tear streaked face until all she could see was two panicked emerald eyes, and then, nothing at all.
“Ma ?”
“Ma ?!”
“MAAAA !!!”
Heart wrenching sobs. Wails, then the echo of running steps, and the sound of the door flying open. Screams, someone demanding to know what is going on.
But Bilbo did not care. He clung to the lifeless body of his mother, crying, demanding for her to wake up. Screaming at her that it was unfair, that she promised, she promised they would go on adventures together. Two hands grabbed his shoulders and hurled him backwards and into the wall.
“ENOUGH WITH THIS ADVENTURE NONSENSE ! LET ME SEE YOUR MOTHER !”
Shocked silence, and then a sob, not from the fauntling this time.
---
Bungo Baggins and his son were not the closests father and son of the Shire. In fact, they were pretty much the opposite.
When Bilbo was born, Bungo soon found that he was not patient enough to take care of a baby. Belladonna had smiled, had told him that it was alright, not every hobbit was cut out for this, and she had simply worked twice as hard to keep the fauntling fed and warm and happy and clean and everything else a fauntling should be.
“Don’t you worry, when he’ll grow up you’ll get attached !” Would say his friends and family, but they did not sound convinced, and they themselves did not want anything to do with Bilbo.
They did not even like to spend time with Bungo anymore, he could read it on their face, as clear as day.
And so reassured, Bungo waited for the little form he so rarely held to grow into a talking and walking little hobbitling.
“Da !”
“Yes, that’s me little one.”
“Da, may I have a hug ?”
“No, I’m busy reading, later.”
The fauntling sniffled. “Ma always puts her book away to hug me.”
Bungo sighed and put his book aside, before opening his arms. His son crawled on his lap and rested his head against his chest, eyes turned towards the fireplace.
It was rare, these moments they shared. Bungo found that he did not really want more.
“Will you tell me a story ?”
“Hum, sure..” Bungo grabbed the book he had put aside, and started reading out loud.
After a while, Bilbo yawned, making Bungo stop.
“What ? Is the story not to your liking, son ?”
The boy blushed. “It’s.. It’s just… It’s not an adventure…”
Bungo huffed. “Well if you want to be told about adventures you should go back to your mother.” He said coldly.
He felt the small thing freeze in his arms. “S-sorry father. I’ll listen to your story now.”
“Well I don’t wanna tell you the story anymore. Go to your mother. Or your room, I don’t really care. I need to be alone.”
The fauntling said nothing more, prefering to hop off his lap and get out of the room quickly.
Belladonna had been very mad at him about his behavior, that day.
Which is how he found himself in his son’s room once the sun had set, telling the little one a story about a wizard and an elf king doing whatever shameful adventurous things wizards and elves do. It was not because he was reading the words that he had to actually read the words.
To his relief, Bilbo never asked him to tell him a story again.
“He is still a child, let him dream of adventures !” Had protested Belladonna one day when he had suggested that maybe the other fauntlings did not like their son because of his disgusting penchant for adventures. “Besides, if you find adventures disgusting, please do enlighten me on the reason why you chose me, the most adventurous hobbit of the Shire !”
He had chosen her at a time when he himself found adventures entertaining to hear and read about. And look where that got his reputation. It had already been bad that he married a Took, but now, his child was growing up to be more of a Took than a Baggins, and that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
“I chose you when I was young and stupid !” He spat, not staying in the room long enough to witness his wife’s heart break.
The atmosphere grew tense in Bag End after that.
Five years passed.
For Belladonna, it was five years of forced smiles and hidden tears
For Bungo, it was five years of continual disappointment, while he pretended that he did not notice the way his wife’s eyes had dimmed.
And then Belladonna fell sick, and all his love for her came back with the fear of losing her.
Bilbo was sick as well, and so he installed the fauntling next to his mother. Maybe if Belladonna kept close to her boy, she would remember that she has to live, she has to.
Loud sobs woke him in the middle of the night. Bilbo was crying like Bungo had never heard him cry before. Cold dread gripped his guts as he ran to the main bedroom.
Bilbo was clinging to Belladonna like his life depended on it, his small body shaking with sobs.
“BILBO ! Get off your mother !”
No response.
“What is going on !” He demanded, but he already knew, deep down. He simply refused to believe it.
Bilbo refused to reply. Instead, he started begging, Bella to wake up, talking about a promise, and adventures.
Again with those stupid, life ruining adventures.
The dread and the anger ignited something dark and violent inside of him.
“ENOUGH WITH THIS ADVENTURE NONSENSE ! LET ME SEE YOUR MOTHER !” He screamed as he grabbed his son and threw him backwards. He heard the distinct thump of the boy’s head against the wall, but could not find it in himself to care.
Bella’s face was pale. Lifeless. Her dark curls were stuck to her still sweaty face, and her pink lips were parted. Bungo fell to his knees, reaching out to her. He caressed her cheek with a shaky hand.
She was already getting cold.
He had not gotten to say his farewells. She died thinking he did not love her.
He let out a strangled, broken sob.
Years passed. And he knew she would have wanted him to grow closer to Bilbo, to compensate the void she left behind. But he could simply not bring himself to love that boy. It made him feel guilty towards Bella, towards the boy too, but it was still not enough for him to love a son that is so much like his dead love, and so hated by the whole community.
At meals, his son had first tried to talk about Belladonna, sparking his anger. Then he had changed subject, talking about adventures, of all things. Bungo had been so furious, he had thrown his plate at the wall next to Bilbo. The sound of it shattering had not covered his scream.
“YOUR STUPID ADVENTURES ARE WHAT GOT YOUR MOTHER SICK IN THE FIRST PLACE !”
After that, meals were silent.
He heard whispers that Mister Odulf Hayward was trying to put Bilbo back into the right path, and though that maybe there was a chance for him to grow to like his son, after all.
Not long after he heard those rumors, his son dared disturb him while he was reading.
“Father ?” Something about Bilbo’s voice made him lift his head to look at him.
“Yes ?”
“Mister Odulf Hayward, my dance teacher, asked me to ask you if it would be alright if he gave me private lessons.” The tone of the young teen felt wrong, so incredibly wrong, as if he was asking for help but unable to form the right words.
Well, that would be his adventurous side refusing to get forgotten.
“Wondrous ! How patient Mister Hayward must be, to want to spend so much time with you ! I heard he is making you into a proper hobbit.”
Bilbo kept silent. Bungo frowned. The boy seemed far too reticent.
“I hope you are grateful for what he is giving you, boy.” He spat, suddenly angry. He always was when Bilbo was around. “He is giving you the opportunity to finally be normal.”
Bilbo seemed about to cry before he swiftly left the room.
“As weak as a girl, that one.” Bungo muttered to himself.
A month later, Bungo was peacefully taking a walk around Hobbiton when Odulf approached him, adjusting his walking speed to the Baggins’.
“Mister Baggins ! Do you have a minute to talk about your son ?”
“What about him ?” Bungo frowned. News about Bilbo were never good ones.
“It is about his… Unusual preferences.”
“Believe me, his preferences for… Adventures, have not gotten unnoticed.”
“No no, Mister Baggins, I am not talking about those preferences…”
“Then, what ?” Bungo was growing impatient now. He was having a perfectly good day until Odulf Hayward reminded him that he had a son.
“I am talking about Bilbo’s preferences for hobbits of the same sex, Mister Baggins.” Odulf’s tone was a grave one, and no one in the Shire would joke about things like that.
Those things were usually dealt with privately, as it was a huge shame for a hobbit to be homosexual, or to have a homosexual hobbit in their family.
Taking his long silence for confusion, Odulf clarified.
“What am I saying is, Mister Baggins, that your son is a homosexual.”
Bilbo was gay.
Bungo fainted.
That night, he got himself drunk, and called his son.
“Take off your shirt, Bilbo.”
“Fa-father, I would rather not to.”
“TAKE OF YOU FUCKING SHIRT YOU UNGRATEFUL SON !”
Bilbo flinched and took off his shirt immediately.
He took a stick and approached slowly.
“Odulf’s lessons aren’t enough” He slurred. “I’m gonna teach you how to behave, you fucking disgrace !”
His son’s screams of pain did not stop him this time. They did not stop him the next times either. Eventually they stopped, turning into weak sobs, then, after a year, Bilbo learned to take the punishment silently.
But Bilbo never stopped being abnormal, and the Shire could not blame Belladonna any longer, so they blamed Bungo, and one by one, he lost his friends.
Gandalf visited once when Bilbo was going to turn 32, and it was only the second time he saw Bilbo, but he asked to bring the boy on a walk.
Bungo had been forced to accept, no one sane would refuse anything to a Wizard, after all.
That night was the first night he drew blood on Bilbo’s back.
One night the winter that followed only two month later, the boy decided to rebel for the first time.
Bungo was lecturing him about his abnormalness during dinner when the teen muttered something under his breath. He was almost shaking with tension, his clenched fists resting politely on the table nonetheless.
“What is that, boy ?”
“I said : I am sick of you all.”
“Pardon me ?”
“I AM SICK OF YOU, SICK OF MISTER ODULF, SICK EVERYONE ! When I will be of age, I will leave the Shire, never to return again !”
“BOY ! CALM DOWN THIS INSTANT ! I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS !”
Bilbo’s jaw clenched shut, but he kept glaring at Bungo. His eyes had a dangerous glint inside of them, like something dark and painful was burning there.
He attempted to stare his son down, but the teen would not budge.
“Take off your shirt.” He demanded, voice cold with fury. “On your knees.”
Still, Bilbo did not move an inch.
“NOW !”
“No.”
“Boy, if you think this act of rebellion will lead you anywhere, you are even stupider than I thought.” He spat, standing up.
“I hate you.” Bilbo growled lowly, but his eyes did not show anger, they held pain.
Bungo noticed, and smirked. “Well if you hate me so much, why not leave now ? It would be a relief for the whole Shire.”
He expected his son to melt down, to ask for forgiveness like the weak thing he is.
Instead, he could only watch as the boy ran from the smial with nothing but his night clothes on his back.
“BOY !”
His call went ignored.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Then four, and the sun had completely sunk below the horizon.
Five, and it started snowing again, heavy snowflakes covering the already white ground.
The stupid fauntling would die if he stayed outside in this weather. Especially in those clothes.
“I don’t care. I want to get rid of him anyway.” He muttered, trying to convince himself not to help.
Half an hour more.
“Maybe he went to Odulf.” Bungo thought aloud again. Hearing his own voice in the empty room comforted him. “I should not let Odulf handle him alone. The poor man does so much for him already.”
He put on two of his warmest coats, as well as his thickest boots, and out he went, to Mister Odulf’s smial.
It was a ten minutes walk, and Bilbo must have ran, so the little disgrace probable did not even have the time to get cold. As it was, Bungo was already shivering despite his two coats. Hobbit really were not creatures made to support such low temperatures.
When Odulf opened the door, he looked half asleep, which made a strange feeling creep inside Bungo’s chest.
He was worried.
Worried that his son was alone, out there, in clothes that really were not fit to survive a winter night in the Shire.
“Where is he ?!” He demanded, even though he knew Odulf had no idea.
“Who ? Are you alright Bungo ?”
“Bilbo ! Bilbo ran away and he is only in his night clothes !”
“What ? And you let him go outside ?”
Bungo buried his face in his hands and gritted his teeth. “I had no idea he would be stupid enough to do that. Oh Odulf, I don’t want to have the death of a child on my hands, the Thain will never let it go, no matter how much everyone wants to get rid of Bilbo !!”
A soothing hand landed on his shoulder, and Bungo leaned into the touch. No one ever comforted him anymore. His entire life was as cold as the ground beneath his feet.
“I’ll help you find him, just let me get my coat. I think I know where he went anyway, but you will not be able to find the place on your own.”
Ten minutes later, they were walking into the woods of the Shire, holding a lantern between the two of them to be able to see where they stepped.
“He built a tree house not far from here a few years ago when the Sackville-Baggins kids began bothering him too much. Although he started it, if you ask me.”
Bungo hummed. He did not care. All he wanted was to avoid being called a child murderer.
And maybe, just maybe, he slightly cared about the fauntling with soft blonde curls that had the power to bring a smile to his Bella, the one with bright emerald eyes that his family still loved, that the community did not judge guilty of oddness yet.
“Bilbo !” He called. “Come home now !”
“BILBO !” Odulf yelled. “YOU WILL DIE IF YOU STAY OUT TONIGHT !”
Wolves howled in the distance.
“This is not reassuring Bungo, maybe we ought to go home and see if Bilbo has the common sense to find somewhere warm at least.”
“No, we need to find him. I will not be called a child murderer !”
They kept walking silently for a few minutes, only calling Bilbo from time to time.
When they arrived in a clearing, Odulf stopped.
“I.. I could have sworn it was there, Bungo.”
Wolves made themselves heard again, but they were closer this time. Much closer. Bungo looked around him warily, and he thought he saw glinting pairs of eyes surrounding them in the darkness.
“Odulf, maybe we should move on from here and search somewhere else.”
“Yes. I think his tree house is a bit more to the east, it’s hard to recognize the way in the dark.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Bungo saw a shadow move. At first he thought it was a wolf, but it was humanoid and it was running away from them.
“BILBO !” He cried as he started running. Behind him, multiple growls came from the shadows.
“The wolves are after us !” Shrieked Odulf as he ran next to him, then ahead of him.
Bungo cursed mentally. He had never been fast, even for a hobbit.
Teeth slammed shut somewhere near his ankle, and he felt the hot breath of the beast to which they belonged.
The pure terror made him run faster. He could no longer see the silhouette of his son, but he was sure that it was him he had seen.
“BILBO !” He screamed. But screaming made him waste his precious, shortening breath, and he coughed. The lantern he was still holding fell and he heard a yelp behind him.
He turned to see if the wolf had fallen, but was met with two horrible, glinting eyes. Before he could register what was happening, the wolf jumped on his leg. He felt his bone getting crushed by the predator’s strong jaw and he went to the ground, shrieking. Then it was a blur. He called for Odulf, for Bilbo, but none answered, and more wolves arrived. One of them bit his throat and Bungo heard his own screams die in his throat, as he drowned in his blood.
He looked up to the sky. The trees were moving, blurring everything. There were ever growing black stains obstructing his vision, but he could still see the moon and it was, ironically enough, perfectly half full.
Bella.
Flashes of that night he had proposed to her came to his delirious, dying mind. He remembered the green of the grass, the freshness of the summer night air, the love and innocence in her smile, in her eyes.
‘I love you’ he thought desperately through the gore and the pain as his world dimmed, and then stopped.
---
The news traveled around the Shire quickly.
Bungo and Odulf were dead.
Killed by wolves.
They had crossed the frozen river, some explained.
What about Bungo’s son, Bilbo isn’t it ? A neighbor said she heard them calling for him as they entered the forest. Others asked, eyes wide. What if the boy finally snapped and decided to get rid of them ? Some of those added. He has always been odd, after all.
No don’t say that, the poor thing is all alone now ! Protested a few, but they did not sound convinced by their pwn concern.
The Thain was called.
Bilbo was declared innocent, to the utter dismay of the community of the Shire.
He inherited Bag-End, and from then on, having no one left in the whole world, the young hobbit lived alone.
---
In a hole in the ground, there lived a lonely hobbit.
No guests ever stepped through Bilbo Baggins’ green round door and into his smial. He had no friends, and although he had family, they never seeked his company.
To the hobbits of the Shire, Bilbo Baggins was a murderer.
To Bilbo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins was worthless, odd. A nuisance. A disgrace.
The morning of his 33rd birthday, Bilbo woke up from a dream about his mother. They had been painting together a huge, lonely mountain, while she told him tales of a wandering dwarf king who had lost everything.
He swallowed around the lump in his throat and went on about his day, pretending it was a normal one. He knew that he would feel better if he cried, if he let himself be weak just for a little while, but he could not bring himself to, not when the fear of crying had been beaten into him by his father.
Fear.
It was one of the few things he could feel. Pain, fear, guilt, self hatred, numbness.
He did not count the times when he was so captivated by a book that he forgot who he was and started actually imagining himself being one of the characters living a glorious adventure. It was shameful. He was not a child anymore.
He did not count those times when he imagined himself as someone else, receiving a love the real him did not deserve, because those were not real emotions those were fantasies.
His favorite feeling was feeling nothing at all. It was the only moments of peace in his life.
He could not count the feelings his fantasies brought to him as peaceful, for they always called for a storm of self loathing and fear.
Some days he would feel his father’s presence, as if he was watching him, ready to jump on him and scream at him about the abnormality that he is. These days he usually spent curled up in his bedroom closet, fighting off the tears and hyperventilating, although he knew that logically, there was nothing at all.
He was mad. He had gone mad.
There was no way his father had survived the wolves.
Still at night, he could hear imaginary noises and steps, growls and howls, and he would try so very hard not to scream, but he was too weak, too terrified.
A year went by, and snow came again.
Bilbo was watching the snowfall outside the window, face blank.
He barely ate, but he still had to restock his pantry at least once a month, or every two months if he had a particularly bad few weeks.
So weak.
And now he had to go to the market, while it was snowing and the ground was probably just as freezing as it had been when Odulf had…
No. He was not going to think about that now, there was no use thinking about that now, no use remembering the feeling of helplessness, the panic.
The blood.
NO.
He had to get food, and that also meant that he had to stop being so damn weak. The past could not hurt him.
Except, it was hurting him. There was no denying it.
Although, Bilbo was stubborn, and if he had decided that the past was not able to hurt him, then it was not hurting him, the illogical fears were just a result of his madness.
Mad Baggins, he killed his father and poor Odulf. They say.
They are right.
The guilt was agonizing, though, so maybe he was not completely mad yet.
Bilbo put on his boots, put on his coat, and then a second. And then a third, this one with a hood big enough so that he could cover half his face with it.
It did not matter, everyone would recognize him anyway, but at least it would give him some privacy if someone said something that caused him to break.
He stepped outside, and instantly the cold air stung his exposed skin.
He flinched when he heard howls in the distance, but they turned into the sound of children playing, so he mentally slapped himself.
The travel to the market and back proved to be surprisingly peaceful. Maybe it was because Bilbo kept himself busy by making up a story, or maybe it was because no one dared talk to him, but he just had to quietly ask for ‘the usual’ and give his money to the merchants, and he was off.
Yavanna, he hated the snow, though.
The next years, he stocked his pantry enough to last the whole winter. The other hobbits never asked him why, but he knew they would talk. They would probably say he was turning into a beast of some sort.
Beast.
Glinting eyes turning on him, teeth bared, then getting distracted by a lantern light in the distance.
No.
Almost twenty years passed that way.
Twenty lonely birthdays, and as many winters spent shivering and screaming in the night, needing comfort and reassurance that would never, ever come.
The hate of his neighbors increased, they got bolder every year, starting to see him less like a menace and more like the weak, pathetic, unlovable thing he truly was. Now they would insult him when he passed by on his way to the market. The fauntlings would throw rotten fruits. Boys would make kissing sounds at him while the others pretended they were throwing up. Merchants would ask him to pay almost twice the price.
He turned 50, and decided to exceptionally sit outside, on the bench where he sat everyday with his mother when she read him stories.
Here it was, half a century of a life he could not be wasting more. He took out his pipe, stuffed it, and lit it. What a waste of such a good pipe-weed. Someone else would actually enjoy it instead of staying apathetic.
No one wanted him here. No one had ever wanted him anywhere except his mother when she was still alive.
She was dead now, though.
Maybe Bilbo should follow after her.
He closed his eyes, not sure if he was mourning or trying to enjoy the sunlight.
After only a few seconds, something obstructed the sun.
The hobbit opened his eyes, only to find himself looking at a huge man with a pointy hat. Everything about his was grey, from his clothes to his eyes, without of course, forgetting the hat. And that man was staring at him with eyes that seemed to pierce through his very soul.
“Good morning,” He greeted, not sure if this was the sign that he had finally totally gone mad or not. Or maybe the suicidal thoughts from just a minute ago were the sign he was looking for.
The tall man hummed.
"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?"
Bilbo stayed speechless for a few seconds. It had been two decades since he had had a real conversation with someone, and now this man engaged one with him, and he was thrilled to finally talk to someone other than himself, really, but… He had forgotten how.
“All… All of them at once, I suppose.” He tried hesitantly.
The man hummed again, still staring at him like he could see beyond his eyes.
Bilbo grew uncomfortable.
“Can I help you ?”
He did not want to help him. He wanted him to leave him alone.
“That remains to be seen.”
And why was he talking like that ? Did everyone talk like that outside of the Shire ?
“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure.”
Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat.
“A-an… An adventure.”
“Yes.”
The hobbit grimaced as pain shot through his back. He knew that pain all too well, it was the ghost of a pain that had faded a long time ago, but he remembered it each time there was a mention of what caused it, like some sort of curse Bungo had put on him.
He stood up and swiftly made his way to his door. He stopped at the doorstep and turned back to the man.
“Good morning.” He stated, this time conveying a very clear meaning : I am not interested, leave and never come back.
He was turning again, about to step inside the safety of his smial, away from this strange grey man, away from adventures, away from the pain torturing his old scars, when the stranger spoke again, his angry tone making Bilbo flinch and cover his head. For a second he was sure that a plate would come flying at his head. Then the man stopped talking and Bilbo’s brain slowly processed what he had heard.
“To think I should have lived to be bid good morning by Belladonna Took’s son ! As if I was selling buttons at the door !”
His heart skipped a beat again.
Belladonna.
Ma.
This man knew her.
“B-beg your pardon ?” He heard himself ask.
“You’ve changed, and not entirely for the better Bilbo Baggins.”
Well that was new. Bungo would have been pleased at him refusing to go on an adventure. Actually, everyone but his mother would have been pleased.
Then it occurred to him that this man was not supposed to know his name.
“I-I’m sorry, do I know you ?”
“Well you know my name, although you don’t remember that I belong to it. I’m Gandalf !”
Gandalf.. Gandalf…
“... And Gandalf means.. Me.”
Fireworks. Hugs. Huge grey robes, pointy hat, colors in the sky. A tale Bilbo had never heard before as he was falling asleep in the arms of the giant.
Gandalf. Gandalf the wizard. Ma’s friend from her adventures.
Gandalf was staring at him with disappointment in his eyes. Bilbo could not be mistaken, he knew how to spot disappointment in someone’s eyes better than anything else. Bungo’s had been full of it, after all.
So the wizard was disappointed in him.
A painful lump formed in his throat and he closed his eyes briefly. That was not supposed sting so fiercely, but then again, he guessed it was normal. He had always thought that his mother would stay proud of him, love him no matter what, but here was her friend, someone who had to share a lot of views with his mother, and the wizard was disappointed.
Bilbo suddenly grew aware of the silence that was stretching for too long.
“Uh.. Yes, I remember. Gandalf the wandering wizard, with the fireworks. Great fireworks by the way, quite impressing really.”
Gandalf’s eyes changed to something Bilbo could not quite read, but it looked very close to sadness. He looked around him at the garden that Bilbo had long since forgotten to maintain. The green paint on the door was old and almost gone. The windows were dirty.
“You look awfully lonely, my dear Bilbo.” He said, and it surprisingly did not sound like an insult.
Then his gaze returned to the hobbit hovering at the door.
Bilbo wanted Gandalf to leave him alone, to leave him alone right now or he might cry.
“This will be good for you.” He stated, determined.
Except Bilbo knew that tone, for he used it very often. That was the tone of someone who was trying to convince themselves.
“Let it be clear, Gandalf, that there will be no adventure wanted here, not today, not tomorrow, not ever ! Adventures are filthy things that destroy your reputation and make you make the wrong life choices ! I will not take part in any of this as long as I am alive !” He paused, breathless and not entirely sure of what exact words he had just said. “Good morning.” He said once again, before rushing inside his smial and closing the door behind him, locking it.
Not a second after he had secured the lock, he heard a strange sound coming from the bottom of his door.
Terrified, he put all his weight against the gate, hoping it would hold, but then the humming stopped and the door remained closed.
Bilbo waited a dozen of seconds longer before risked a glance at his window, only to see the wizard’s retreating back.
Yeah, he had probably gone mad.
He went to the living room and sat on the old armchair, trying to figure out what to do now.
He knew for sure that if he was mad, he was at risk of hurting people. And he did not want to hurt people, no matter how much they hurt him, no matter how much he hated them.
Which brought back to his thoughts from earlier.
Suicide seemed to be a quite good option really. The Shire would get rid of him, and Bilbo would get rid of Bilbo.
If death was like the nothingness he imagined, then it would feel a thousand times sweeter than all of the night terrors and the horrifying, crushing feeling of loneliness.
And so he took his decision : he would die tonight.
He spent the rest of the day preparing. He first wrote his will, as it was what he thought would take him the longest time, but actually, what took the most time was choosing how to die.
Poison ? He knew he had some somewhere. A noose ? A fire ? that would hurt. But then again, he deserve to suffer after what he had done to his parents. He was the cause of both of their deaths. A murderer. How do murderers get executed ? Bilbo did not know. They never have murderers in the Shire.
He could also open his wrists with a kitchen knife. Or try to drown himself in the bath. That would require some ingenierie but Bilbo had built a tree house all by himself once- No. He was not thinking about that today, not ever again.
Sun was already starting to set and he still hesitated between bleeding out and drowning. He had decided that the fire would be endangering the neighbors, and he could not find the poison.
He decided that while he tried to pick between blood and water, he would prepare his last meal.
He did not care at all about the menu, because everything was tasteless to him, had been for decades, ever since his mother died.
That is how he found himself gazing thoughtfully at his fish and veggies. He had subconsciously made what his mother always cooked him when he was sick.
And still he could not choose between the two potential deaths. Because he found that he did not actually know what he prefered : painless and slow, or painful and quick, or maybe slow and numb ? He did not even know how it felt, and no one in the Shire would be able to tell him anyway. Maybe drowning what absolutely agonizing. Maybe bleeding out was like falling asleep. Or maybe it was the opposite.
He groaned. Even dying proved to be a hard task for him. He truly was disappointing.
That is when he heard a knock on the door.
An hallucination, again ? Bilbo really had to hurry before his madness took it to the next step, whatever that next step was.
It was probably violence, though.
He stood up and went to open the door anyway. Who knew, maybe one of his neighbors had decided to come by and say hello for the first time in his life.
Behind the door stood a giant, half bald dwarf.
“Dwalin, at your service.” He said as he placed a hand on his chest and bowed slightly.
Now, that, that was… A weird hallucination. Very odd, even for Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna Took.
So what… What if this was real ? What if a wizard had shown up at his doorstep, ignored his refusal to go on an adventure, and invited a dwarf (a dwarf !) into his smial ?