Step in time

by MustardTheWriter

Summary:

Bilbo Baggins, after living a life filled with guilt and self-loathing, is given a second chance by his very own creator. Now he must prepare for the adventure of a life-time three years before he meets his Dwarven company.
Will he succeed in his mission to see his loved ones reclaim their kingdom, or will he lose them to greed and dragon fire once more?

Notes:

• Inspired by Don't let the marigolds wilt by MustardTheWriter

NOTE:
This has not been beta-read, so if you notice any spelling errors, please let me know in the comments >-<

Chapter 1: Prologue

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A gasp jolted its way out of his body, making wide eyes dart around the cozy bedroom he was resting in with feverish familiarity. There was a lamp, wooden beams supporting the ceiling, a few hanging baskets filled with food for any midnight snacks he might seek, and a small indent on the wall from when he killed a cockroach a few weeks ago.

Wait.

He startled upwards, throwing his wooly covers off of his body as they fell to the floor in a pile. Without a thought, he jumped over the quilt, feet slapping against the wooden floor as he carefully studied the small indent in the wall, soft hands rubbing over the wall as he released multiple gasps, one after the other. This indent didn’t happen last week, no, it happened nearly- oh goodness it happened when he was forty-eight years old when he stabbed the cockroach with a knife after it scared one of the faunts- but that couldn’t be right because he was one-hundred and thirty-one now. Wasn’t he? But if he was, why was he here? He was on a boat sailing for the West last he remembered, what was- when did he get back here?

He stumbled backwards, knocking into the wooden frame of his bed as he ran a hand through his curly hair- by the maker herself when did all of his hair come back- before he all but sprinted over to the bathroom, nearly knocking the water basin over from where it was constructed into a cupboard. He looked up, staring into the mirror with wide green eyes as he stared at his reflection.

There he stood, with brown curly hair that was tucked back behind pointed leaf-shaped ears, his skin more tanned and far fewer wrinkles engraved into it from his years of ageing. His hands, which were softer compared to how calloused he was used to them being, stroked over his forehead in shock, before dragging down his cheek as he released a final breath. There he was, in all of his young glory, but- but why? Why was he here? Why couldn’t he remember his name? Why couldn’t he remember-

“You have gone through far too much pain in your life time, young one.” Her soft voice echoed throughout the green field, flowers blooming around her as the leaves of trees swayed with a non-existent breeze. “Far too much pain for such a pure soul.”

That voice- her voice- he clutched his head, stumbling back into the bathroom wall as he squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to remember what she told him.

“My husband an I have managed to convince Ilúvatar to allow you to live once more, a task that was not easy to accomplish, mind you.” She explained, sweeping a hand above his figure as vines slowly began to creep up him. “Your memories will return to you, and the rest of your choices will be yours to make, my dear child.” She murmured softly, green hands- with flowers and leaves growing from them- gently picked him up, holding him up to river-blue eyes. “Do not let me down, my dear Bilbo.”

“Yavannah!” Bilbo gasped, falling to his knees as calla lily petals blew through his window, swirling around him as he looked up at them warily. “Yavannah. . .” He whispered once more, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and index finger. Bilbo blinked once more, sucking in deep breaths as he felt one-hundred and thirty-one years of pain leave his bones and joints. Oh thank the fair lady herself, Bilbo had forgotten how good it felt to feel so young, he wouldn’t be feeling all of this pain if it wasn’t for that damned ring and its stupid lifespan increasing abilities. The only good thing that came from it, was that he was able to care for his dear Frodo for longer, and even then he managed to royally screw that up.

“Oh goodness. .” He groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he hunched his legs up to his chest. What on Middle-Earth was he meant to do now? He was forty-three, he had three years before the quest to Erebor, what was he meant to do? Run away and avoid the pain of losing his loved ones? Charge back into battle with barely a moment of experience beneath his belt? “No, no, no, no, no.” Bilbo murmured to himself, shaking his head as he clicked his fingers. “You cannot afford to be a coward, not again.” He reminded himself, standing up and relishing when his knees didn’t click in protest of the sudden movement. With a new found determination, Bilbo went back to his bed, picking up the quilt and throwing it over the mattress before entering his kitchen, lighting the candles that hung in the lanterns as he picked up a notepad and quill, hurriedly scrambling through the drawers for a spare pot of ink before he hurriedly began to scribble down notes of preparation.

Food.

Training.

Daggers.

Medicine.

Food.

“Right.” Bilbo murmured, tearing off the paper and tucking it into the pocket of his pyjamas. “Right, I can do this.” He murmured wandering the kitchen as he sucked in a deep breath. “Three years to prepare for victory.” He smiled in a self-reassuring manner.

“Or for failure.”

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Calla lilies represent purity, re-birth and divine beauty. <- In this case, I used calla lilies to represent re-birth

Chapter 2: And so the daffodil blooms

Summary:

Bilbo attempts to prepare for the future, without taking much consideration into what may change in the present

Notes:

I love Bilbo as a character, let’s make him anxiety ridden

Hearing the familiar twitter of birds was something Bilbo wasn’t entirely used to, in his past life- when his life span was extended thanks to the help of a cursed ring- he found his hearing and sight slowly began to deteriorate, until the chirping of the ravens became a dull noise in the background. Safe to say, getting used to actually having his hearing fully restored was going to take a while, and Bilbo often found himself overwhelmed by the unpleasantness of all the sounds he once took for granted.

Even now, as the Hobbit sat hunched over his writing desk, his slightly pointed ears twitching irritably at the sound of his quill scratching against the paper. It took him multiple tries to even try and write down the title of the list he was producing, and the plans he had for the future, he had only now grown tolerant of the way the floorboards lightly creaked under his large feet.

”Yavannah, I’m not going to get anything done like this.” He groaned in annoyance, pressing his palms into his eyes until he saw bleary colourful shapes and pulled them away, blinking tiredly as he looked around. The shapes slowly faded in rapid, flickering motions, and he watched as ice blue and smokey grey dotted around his vision, sometimes joined by fiery reds and emerald greens, before his vision cleared at last.

Everything around Bag-End was the same, from the beige walls, to the bistre of the wooden beams and wall trims, familiar paintings hung up on the walls, and the silhouette paintings of his mother and father. Everything was familiar, and cozy, and perfectly in order, and he absolutely hated it. He hated how the stacks of books on his shelves were so carefully held up, hated how straight and uniform his portraits were, hated how perfect the paint job on the walls were, and he especially hated the absence of the occasional paper and pencil left on the floor from a certain young Hobbit who he no longer had with him.

Nothing was right. He wanted the chaotic mess that came with adventure, that came with children, he longed for campfires and scary stories, he longed for childish finger paintings. He longed for the life that the Dwarrow and faunts brought into his life, longed for the mess created after an unexpected dinner party, or when the children would be exceptionally fussy about food. He. . . He longed for them to live.

Tears were slipping down Bilbo’s cheeks before he even realised it, the dewy drops of clear blue landing on his paper, creating damp splotches on the crumpled parchment.

”Oh. .” He murmured, idly wiping away the tears, rapidly blinking as his eyelashes became damp with the water welling in his eyes. “Oh not now, Bilbo.” He scolded himself, looking up at the light fixture above his head, distracting himself by searching for any mistakes in the metal component, before sighing when he found none.

Perfect. Everything was too damn perfect to be him, to be who Bilbo was. No longer did he wish to put on the mask of perfection and politeness to appease the judgmental masses of Hobbiton, no longer did he wish to hold back snarky and sarcastic rebuttals from friends, neighbours, and acquaintances. He wanted to be upfront, he wanted to be honest, he wanted to be openly judgmental in what he thought was right and wrong, not bothering to hide his opinions behind honeyed words and faux smiles.

Bilbo sucked in a deep breath, allowing his shoulders to relax and sag as he forced himself to calm down, to bury all his troubles under the surface as he glanced back down at the paper. Silently, he picked back up the quill, sinking back into his seat as he began to write down plans and preparations he should make.

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”Oh, Bilbo, we have such astonishing news for you!” Drogo spoke up, staring at Primula with such love he had half a mind to roll his eyes at the sheer sweetness of it all.

Things were especially odd now, since last Bilbo recalled, his cousin and his wife hadn’t married until well after the quest to reclaim the mountain, unless his memory had really deteriorated so badly and they got married sooner?

”Drogo, Primula.” Bilbo greeted politely, nodding his head at both of them before inviting them inside. “Please, come in, come in.” He insisted, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as she shut the rounded green door behind them, marching over to the kitchen to prepare some cups of tea.

”We haven’t seen you in a while, Bilbo.” Primula remarked, ignoring the squeak Drogo made with a fond sigh. “Oh hush, no use in dancing around our concern, is there my love?” She inquired with a fond smile to Drogo, who muttered under his breath as he pulled out a chair for her.

Bilbo blinked, placing the kettle over the fire to boil as he pulled out three teacups, placing in some sweet herbs. “I’ve indulged myself in a bit of writing, I suppose I’ve lost track of time.” He replied with a smile, distantly remembering how many people remarked that Primula was the closest in personality to Belladonna, though most members on his Tookish side argued that Bilbo held more of the ‘Belladonna flair’.

”Really now? I suppose that is a time consuming affair.” Drogo replied, nodding his head as he sat down next to Primula, tapping his finger on the tablecloth.

”Oh, I do love a good story, especially the romance ones.” Primula sighed fondly, and Bilbo snorted slightly as he picked up the kettle.

”Well, hate to disappoint, but romance isn’t exactly my trajectory.” He replied with a slight grin, ignoring the mild look of surprise on Drogo’s face at hearing the snort that escaped him. “But no, I’m just writing nonsense right now, probably won’t even make any works.” He continued, pouring the cups of tea into the teacups as Primula chuckled.

”No, I wouldn’t think so.” She mumbled, before straightening up. “Well, in so the the subject. .” She continued, speaking slightly louder as Drogo perked up, reaching over and holding her hand.

”Cousin, Primula and I are expecting a child.” Drogo spoke slowly, waiting until Bilbo had put the scalding hot kettle down before breaking the news to him. This thought was a good one, since Bilbo immediately paused, his right hand jerking up to his hair as he idly grabbed the curls.

”Pregnant?” He asked in slight surprise, getting a nod of confirmation from a shyly smiling Primula and a nervous looking Drogo. Now this, Bilbo definitely knew that Frodo hadn’t been born until way after the quest to Erebor was completed, and of course, things couldn’t just run normally for him, could they? “That. . That’s spectacular.” He stammered out after a moment, setting his hand down as he pushed his tea to the side. “Do you need supplies? Or rather, know when your due date is?” He asked, lightly tapping one finger against the tablecloth as Primula beamed, and Drogo seemingly relaxed.

”Well, I’m only a few weeks along, so I have no clue when the little one will be coming.” She explained, lightly patting her stomach. “And I think we’re all good for supplies right now, don’t want to go overboard.” She insisted, and Bilbo glanced over at Drogo as he coughed into his fist. It would appear his second-cousin had other plans regarding how ‘over the top’ he could go for his child.

”Well, I suppose congratulations are in order, I’ll bake a cake to bring over later.” Bilbo declared, clapping his hands together with a grin as Drogo snapped back to look at him.

”Oh Bilbo, there’s no need.” He insisted, making a ‘no’ motion with his hands.

”We’ve already received plenty of cakes, and as much as I love them, there is only so much a Hobbit can take.” Primula explained, and Bilbo nodded his head in understanding, remembering how his Baggins family members would bake a cake for any occasion.

”Well, perhaps I can host dinner for you two then? A celebratory evening.” He suggested, using the announcement of- who he assumed to be Frodo’s- birth as a way to get some form of noise and contact to fill his empty smial.

”Oh, only if you insist.” Drogo nodded his head, seemingly pleased with that idea as Primula hummed in agreement. “We can come over at seven? Don’t want to be out too late.” Drogo explained, and Bilbo nodded his head with a smile.

”Of course, of course, I’ll begin cooking as soon as I’m done with my tea.” He said, gesturing to the steaming cup next to his left hand, and Primula nodded her head, sipping slowly on her own cup of tea. The conversation drifted from there, going on to talk about potential names for the young child. “We were thinking Flora, if the thing is a girl, and Frodo if they’re a boy.” Primula explained after Drogo went through the painstakingly long story of how they came to their name conclusions.

Bilbo nodded his head, sipping the rest of his tea before complimenting the names chosen, silently gathering up the now empty cups and putting them into the water basin to clean later- if he even remembered to do so, he’d probably have to make a note of it.

”Well, I should begin cooking now.” He murmured, rubbing his chin with his thumb as Primula nodded her head eagerly, ignoring how his method of getting people to leave was considered ‘bold’ as Drogo stuttered before following after his wife. “I’ll get all your favourites ready, don’t you worry.” He insisted, seeing the two to the door and watching as they left before he shut it and sighed. Not that he didn’t care for his second cousin and his wife, far from it, but Bilbo was initially hoping to continue with his plans on how he could make travelling to Erebor easier.

However, with the sudden change in what he expected to happen, now the Hobbit had to consider anything ‘odd’ or ‘out of the ordinary’ that may happen on the quest that never initially happened. For example, what if the company themselves were to meet Gollum? Or Gandalf never shows up to save them from the Goblin King? Or what if Bard doesn’t help them into Lake Town? Many of the events that Bilbo was used to could easily be changed, and the Hobbit dreaded the thought of having to deal with any unprecedented events, ones which he couldn’t plan for, ones which could kill more.

”Come on.” He ordered himself, slapping his right cheek as he hurried over to the kitchen. “No more doom and gloom, I’ve got a dinner to prepare.” He mumbled to himself, hurrying around the kitchen to get the ingredients he needed for Primula and Drogo’s dinner, which would likely consist of a roasted chicken with plenty of steamed vegetables, two pots of gravy, mashed potato, Yorkshire puddings, and a slice of sponge cake for dessert.

Slowly, the kitchen was filled with heavenly smells of roasted chicken, accompanied by the delicious gravy and multiple herbs and spices. Primula loved her gravy to be hot and flavourful, whereas Drogo much preferred flavourful gravy over the spiced ones, so Bilbo went on with making two different types of gravy, not as fussed as he might have once been when he got some stains on his sleeves that he had rolled up.

”Just one shirt.” He shrugged his shoulders, pouring a small amount of gravy on the back of his hands before tasting it, humming in approval as he tilted his head back. “My, Frodo dear, would you like a taste?” Bilbo asked aloud, tilting his head to the side as he awaited a reply that he slowly remembered wouldn’t come. He shook his head, putting the bowls of gravy to the side as he washed his hands, fingers hitting against the teacups he forgot to wash earlier.

One of the many things Bilbo would regret, is that he wouldn’t be able to raise Frodo, to walk so to the lad when he couldn’t sleep at night to get some tea and biscuits from the kitchen, or holding him on his shoulders to get an apple, before sitting himself there until he fell asleep. Those sweet little moments would never come again, unless he babysat the lad as often as possible, before going on the treacherous quest.

However, Bilbo soon paused, freezing up as he recklessly dropped the delicate cup on the drying rack next to him. A thought he hadn’t considered until now suddenly made him tense with fear and anxiety, if certain events could happen earlier- such as the birth of Frodo- then wood that mean the quest would happen sooner or later?

”Oh gods. .” He whispered, running a wet hand through his curls as he stumbled back. “What if Gandalf comes knocking tonight?” He murmured, unsure how well Primula and Drogo will react to suddenly having a company of Dwarrow and a wizard in his smial. “No. No, no, no.” He grumbled, hitting his fingers off of his forehead before drying them on a cloth. “The Creators wouldn’t be so cruel.” Bilbo repeated to himself, ignoring the way his hands trembled as he poured the bowls of gravy into their respective gravy bowls.

After his near breakdown, Bilbo continued on with preparing dinner, switching out his tablecloth for Primula’s favourite colour- a warm ref with yellow lacing and stitches- and picked the plates that had some of Drogo’s favourite flowers decorating the upside, chrysanthemums- and Bilbo chose to ignore the symbolism behind the flower- as he grabbed his silverware.

Blunt the knives

Bend the forks

Smash the bottles

Bend the corks

A sudden knock at the door interrupted Bilbo’s musical musings- ignoring the familiar ache in his chest as he thought about how jolly the Dwarrow were- and he set the forks down before hurrying over to the door.

”Sorry Primula, Drogo, I’m just setting the ta. . .” Bilbo trailed off, pausing when he was met with a wall of wrinkled grey, slowly raising his head up to the tall figure. “Gandalf?”

Notes:

Daffodils symbolise change

Chapter 3: Will the snapdragon cry?

Summary:

Bilbo welcomes Gandalf with open arms, though doubts begin to plague his mind

Notes:

I’d like to apologise for not updating for a while, I entered a complete writing slump recently and lost motivation for any and all creative interests of mine

Bilbo stared at the Grey Wizard for what felt like an uncomfortably long time, just barely managing to mask the fear that threatened to express itself on his face, looking more surprised to see the wizard than fearful of what may happen. Gandalf did look younger, his face less weathered by hundreds of years of age and stress, and his hair seemed to be a shade lighter compared to how Bilbo usually remembered him, and his fingers seemed to have more meat on them, compared to when they were spindly and boney. He looked good, he. . . He looked like him. 

"Now, mister Baggins, is this any way to greet a guest? Leaving them waiting outside your door for the nightly chill to kill them?" The wizard asked in amusement, and Bilbo felt his heart drop as the teasing joke.

"O- of course! Simply surprised by your sudden appearance." The Hobbit insisted, ushering the Grey Wizard inside before closing the door behind him, clutching onto the handle tightly in order to hide the tremor in his limb. He couldn't bare the thought of losing the wizard, remembering when his dear nephew recalled how the wizard fell and died, only to be re-born as the White Wizard. Still, the idea that for a moment Gandalf was gone was too great to handle, and he remembers bursting into tears when Frodo was out of sight. 'Do you want anything to eat or get a drink?" Bilbo instead asked, taking Gandalf's hat and putting it on the wooden coat stand, dodging the pointed edge of the hat as it brushed one of his curls upwards.

"Oh, I'll take a small bit of whatever you're cooking!" Gandalf declared, raising an eyebrow at the large amount of food in the plates and bowls. "My, dare I say, master Baggins, I don't recall even you eating so much food in one sitting." The Grey Wizard commented, and Bilbo tsked him as he shook his head.

"Now, now, Gandalf, you should never comment on a Hobbit's appetite." He lightly scolded the wizard, pretending the slight tremor in his voice was from the strain of carrying a large bowl of mashed potatoes to the table. "And besides, it's not for myself, my second-cousin and his wife, Primula, are coming over for tea, they've recently found out she's pregnant." Bilbo explained with a slight smile when Gandalf nodded his head and set the vegetables on the table, grumbling under his breath when his fingers stung with how hot the bowl was. The Hobbit simply smiled, memories of him rolling his eyes at the wizard's oddness coming to mind, however, he found his actions oddly endearing- it could be because he missed Gandalf's company, or because Frodo picked up this little habit after the wizard. Still, it felt nice to not be so judgmental because someone wasn't perfect in their etiquette, and it was better than the times Gandalf would simply stand in the way as he thought about whatever would go on in that odd mind of his.

"Ah, well, I won't bother you for too long, just a small portion for me and I'll be off." The wizard announced, running a hand through his beard as Bilbo nodded his head and went to grab a bowl and fork, scooping some portions for Gandalf before handing the steaming food to the wizard. 'We can sit and talk in the living room, if you'd like?" The Hobbit suggested, leading the wizard away to the comfortable armchair he had with a gentle pat on the back.

"Now, now, Bilbo Baggins!" The wizard chortled as he held the bowl, mixing in the steamed sprouts and broccoli with the mashed potato. 'I've only walked this Earth for two-thousand years! Don't go treating me so old now." He joked, and Bilbo forced himself to laugh along- he could never wrap his head around the difference between Gandalf's spiritual age, and his physical age- before he sat down on the chair opposite him, drumming his fingers as he stared at the fire.

"Did you want to speak to me about something, Gandalf?" He asked, glancing at the wizard as he swallowed a mouthful of mashed potato and vegetables, humming in approval as his lips curled upwards.

"Mmm, just coming to visit for a while before I journey off elsewhere to visit a friend." He replied, glancing at the Hobbit. "By the Western Misty Mountains, a place where your mother quite enjoyed exploring to." Gandalf added before he continued to eat, and Bilbo paused at the mention of his mother, his ears flickering upwards as Gandalf described the location; Rivendell. The Hobbit remembered the beautiful greenery and rushing waterfalls that surrounded the valley and the Last Homely Home. Oh, the memories were so gorgeous, a warm feeling blooming in his chest at the thoughts of the kind Elves.

”I see.” Bilbo replied as he leaned back in his seat, twirling a strand of curly hair between his fingers. “My mother, you say?” He asked, resting his elbow on the armrest of the chair.

Gandalf nodded his head, picking a bit of sprout that got caught in his- surprisingly well combed- beard. “Yes, your mother, Belladona Took Baggins.” The wizard replied with a fond sigh. “Elves reside in those mountains, she often busied herself with the knowledge their libraries held.” He explained, mentioning how she would almost always drop everything just to go visit the Lord of the Elves.

”You know, you never talk about your ‘friend in the mountains’ much.” Bilbo mused aloud once Gandalf had finished speaking, seemingly catching the wizard off guard. “Any reason?” He asked.

”Well, Bilbo.” Gandalf cleared his throat once again as he sat up. “What resides in the West is meant to be secret from most, you only know of him because of your mother.” He explained, continuing on with his food as Bilbo hummed, glancing at the fireplace. 

“Would I be permitted to visit this ‘friend’ of yours sometime?” The Hobbit asked, choosing not to focus too much on the silence that followed as Gandalf stared at him.

”I. . I’ll see what I can do.” The wizard replied, finishing his food- in a surprisingly quick manner- before leaning forward to Bilbo. “Any reason for the sudden curiosity?” He asked, and Bilbo held back an unpleasant shudder at the look in Gandalf’s eyes.

”You’ve changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins.”

There was silence as Bilbo thought for a moment, before glancing over at Gandalf. “I’ve just been having these odd-ish dreams recently, of worlds beyond the Shire.” He explained, relaxing when Gandalf leaned back. “Suppose my Tookish side is finally getting the better of me.” He mumbled as Gandalf chuckled, setting the bowl on a side table before he got up.

”Well, master Baggins, I will see what my friend says, if I do not arrive on the fifth of the coming month, then you are not permitted.” He explained, walking through the halls to grab his hat- only slightly grumbling when his head hit off the chandelier before Bilbo could warn him.

Would the old fool ever get used to that light?

. . .

”R. . Right, suppose you’re off then?” Bilbo asked as he opened the door for Gandalf, the wizard chuckling. “Using me as a pit stop, how rude Gandalf.” He lightly scolded the grey wizard, who laughed even more as he left without so much as a ‘farewell’.

The circular green door was same nest slammed shut after the wizard departed, and Bilbo felt oddly numb as he stared at the handle of the door, his mind seemingly spinning as he stood still as a statue.

”I don’t know how I’m going to manage seeing the faces of so many old and dead friends.” The Hobbit mumbled, his hand falling from the door knob as he slumped on the wall, slowly sliding down until he was curled up by the wall. It wouldn’t be the very first time in Bilbo’s life he had these moments, but normally he found it easy to recover when small footsteps pattered over to give him a cuddle.

But there were no footsteps.

There were no cuddles.

There were no smiles and giggles.

There was just Bilbo.

Notes:

Snapdragons represent both deception and graciousness

Chapter 4: And so the Earth spins

Summary:

Bilbo adjusts to his life as best he can, managing to put on the image of a somewhat sensible Hobbit

Notes:

*Returns after being gone for nearly a full year*
Hey. . . How y'all doing?
This chapter may not be up to scratch, I re-wrote the format a lot of times and finished writing it in the middle of the night

Having to compose oneself from a breakdown was something Bilbo had grown used to in his former years, when the laughter from faunts, or the grumbling from Hamfast Gamgee after the Sackville-Bagginses had something to say about his gardening techniques, reminded him far too much of the company of Dwarrow he travelled with- particularly the dead members- he found himself curled up on the floor, trying to desperately focus on the groves in the wooden floors. Of course, there were other elements that brought memories of the other members to his mind, such as the gleam of a cooking knife, or the gleeful dances that took place at parties, but with those memories, Bilbo also found himself filled with this odd sense of. . Resentment wasn't the correct word, and contempt seemed too cruel. Well, whatever it was, it reminded Bilbo of the fact that he never received letters from the Dwarrow, and only ever had one visit from Balin, and that was before he went on his quest to Moria. Mahal rest his soul. But other than that, the company of Dwarrow never met or wrote to him, sure he had other Dwarrow visit and help him, but it just wasn't the same.

He tried to write, he really did. He sent letters soon after the repair of Erebor, offering visitations and help with sowing crops for the summer, letters of consolation when Moria's reclamation failed, but no letters were ever written back, and Bilbo eventually gave up on writing. Now, he knew that they were under no obligation to reply, especially not when grieving loss, or having to rule over a newly reclaimed kingdom, and yes he could've- should've- visited when he had the chance, before his bones had grown rickety and breathing became more difficult to do. Yet something always stopped him, cowardice most likely, Bilbo was always so afraid to do things for himself, always content to sit comfortably in Bag-End and act as though the world had no problems. To pretend that the stupid little ring he kept wasn't poisoning his mind. To sit and fatten himself up whilst his friends- his family- died and-

Breathe.

There's no point in getting so emotional now, not when he needed a clear head and the ability to think rationally if he wanted to make it through the quest. Bilbo stared at the table in front of him, empty dishes splayed out in front of him, and bowls stacked on top of one another, with dirty forks, knives, and spoons piled together in said bowls. The dinner had been fun, he supposes, it was nice to actually take the time to catch up with Primula and Drogo, hearing about their planned baby names and how they wanted the nursery to look. Baby talk was never really Bilbo's 'thing' so to speak, he never found the intrigue in speaking of all the baby clothes and diapers, but he had enough decency to remain intrigued enough for Primula's excited rambles. Besides, just because this topic wasn't for him, it doesn't mean that he should put expecting parents down.

"We were thinking that Begonia could be a good contender if they're a girl too!"

"Ah, lovely, lovely, indeed."

Yet the conversation took a turn when Primula had grown uncomfortable sitting on wooden chairs, and Bilbo had taken her to his armchair, handing her a book and a tray of dessert before he was waved off to speak to Drogo. Their conversation remained fairly normal, talking about whether Bilbo would be getting into gardening more, and Drogo wanting to try and brew some of his own beer , before Drogo dropped- or in his case, mildly dulled down- niceties and asked him why Gandalf had been visiting.

"We discussed whether I may go for a small journey."

"Outside of the Shire?"

"Perhaps, not too far im assuming."

"Never assume things well with a wizard, Bilbo."

"I know, Drogo."

"I'm being serious Bilbo, you're my cousin and I worry for you."

It ended with many reassurances to him, and a promise to come by soon for a spot of tea, before Bilbo was bidding the happy couple goodbye.

Bag-End became familiarly quiet once more, and Bilbo found himself sitting down in the arm chair Primula had once been sitting in, ignoring the tray of crumbs and the abandoned book on the side table as he drifted off. He couldn’t help but wonder about how things would play out differently. Would Frodo be older when his parents died? Would they die in different ways? Perhaps the Creators would be merciful and allow the family to live peacefully in this time. . Bilbo supposes there’s nothing he can really do about it.

Other thoughts began to come to mind, thoughts about the company. Would they be changed too? Would their meetings be more pleasant? Would he have to work less hard to earn their trust if he had some experience under his belt? Would Thorin be kinder to him? Oh Thorin. . .

A firm shake of his head forced Bilbo away from his turning thoughts, cheeks slowly flushing. He had only ever loved once- a concept that was referred to as having a ‘one’- and he wondered if he would be able to feel those growing emotions again. If maybe Thorin’s gaze would soften around him once more? He was thinking like a foolish faint now, he needed to clean up, not thinking about ifs and whats about a potential love life.

What if Thorin loved another?

 

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It had been a few weeks since Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End had been resurrected, and he could safely say he was already fed up of life and would quite like to bid it a 'goodbye' as soon as possible, please and thank you! The shock and unfamiliarity of being resurrected had long since fizzled out, growing used to hearing sounds at their fullest again swiftly became the norm, along with having a keener sense of awareness about his environment and the goings on in said environment. That didn't mean that various annoyances wouldn't come with it.

For example, Bilbo was on edge, almost all the time, flitting between expecting Gandalf to come barging in with a company of Dwarrow, and dreading the stomps of Lobelia Sackville Baggins coming to his door. Honestly, it was such an exhausting frenzy to be living in, and yes, Bilbo knows that it is technically his own fault for being so high strung, but he couldn't help but worry about any and all potential changes to the life he was once familiar with.

There was this other thing, less of an annoyance and more of an intrigue, he would say. The thought of the quest, and the amount of injuries accumulated on the journey, had him growing with worry, so he scoured his bookshelves for a book on healing, or herbal remedies. He had spent almost the entire day looking for a singular book on the topic, before he decided to crack open his mother and father's old chests. He had spent a while looking through old scriptures and possessions, brushing his fingers over the maps and sketches his mother ha drawn during her time, before he came across her chest of books she bought on those adventures. There were plenty of titles written on weaponry, smithing, farming, foraging, and hiking, before Bilbo finally came across the last few books that were about herbal remedies, medicine, and medical practices- which also contained a few pages on how to perform said practices with limited supplies.

The pages were interesting, and Bilbo found himself hunched over his floor, taking notes about what was needed, what could be substituted, and what could be left out all together. It was quite interesting, if he were to be honest, perhaps if he had been more interested in his youth, he may have studied under the village physician, maybe he would take up the role of apothecary? Either way, no time to focus on the past- which was rather ironic coming from him- he had a future to save. Whilst he was reading over the tomes, a select few paragraphs had caught his eye, such as the ones that made references to 'the magic of Hobbits' and the 'olden practices' that were used in earlier ages. Such descriptions intrigued Bilbo enough, and once he had finished the book and revised his notes until he could nearly remember them immediately, he went rummaging through more books and scrolls until he found diary entires from his mother's journal.

A sudden taste of bitterness fell across his tongue, and Bilbo felt more inclined to put the book down than continue on with reading it. It was easier that way, to not be reminded of all he had lost so soon in life, but he stubbornly forced himself to push through, reading through her writings and taking breaks to dry his wet eyes and blow his nose in his handkerchief. However, he believed that the pain was somewhat worth it, as he soon came across the writings about said Hobbit practices. Once upon a time ago, Hobbits commonly practiced the art of worshipping the Earth, from songs and rituals, to carvings and hairs, every aspect of life was to be devoted to the Earth, to the fields Yavanna had grown, and the fruit she had gifted to her creations. Over time, the practice had died out, as Hobbits became far and few, many felt that such tradition would only attract more unwanted attention, and so generations of magic had been forgotten out of fear of extinction. Apparently, the writings of the last Hobbit to engage in the craft had been tucked away in Rivendell, safe and sound from being ruined.

A frown overtook Bilbo's features. All of this culture, education, practices, had been forgotten and left behind out of fear of being harmed by other races who had been persuaded by an eye of cruelty? Disgraceful. He had half an urge to march up to Rivendell and demand that Lord Elrond hand over the book so he could publish it out to the Shire and have his people reclaim their culture. However, he held himself back from such thoughts, setting the book aside so that he could take some further notes for himself later on. Anyways, the folk of the Shire would probably find such claims to be silly, some may even find it insulting to take certain crafts and link it back to elements of witchery. Unless.

"No, Bilbo, you have a quest to be worrying about." He lightly scolded himself, slapping the side of his head with his hand as hard as he could- which in retrospection was rather weak and he should probably work on building up some muscle- before he blinked, glancing back at the pages of writing. If certain practices could be used for luck, or for reaching out to the Earth itself for a kinder path, then wouldn't that be useful on a murderous quest? Would it have benefits for Mirkwood, or for the Misty Mountains and the stone giants? Would these practices save precious time, prevent injury and death? His mother's writings did mention how the practices involved minor medical rituals that were believed to help speed up healing and prevent infection- of both body and mind- could it be possible he could use these healings for poison arrow wounds and stabbings? Or even sickening minds?

Bilbo picked up the journal, hurrying towards his arm chair and depositing the journal on the coffee table in front of it, before hurrying around looking for a quill and ink, deciding to boil up some water and herbs for tea. Seems like he would be having a later night than anticipated.

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Years had passed since his fist discovery of his people's forgotten craft, and Bilbo found himself becoming more and more engaged in it, cleaning up his home and dedicating a room to his parents and Yavanna, unpacking their items from the trunks they had been shoved in and allowing them to decorate the smial pleasantly. He had also began to make note of all the changes that would happen to a Hobbit once they properly engaged in the craft of the Earth.

1. Physical changes will be made to one's body, carvings of vines will embed themselves in one's back, arms, legs, neck, and even face after multiple uses of magic in the craft. These markings will also glow when one is actively engaged in the craft- such as when praying, or healing wounds with herbal remedies. It is, however, unsure as to why these markings appear on the skin, and why they only glow when one's power is in use. Certain scriptures believe that it represents one's strength in power, others believe it represents the range in which one can perform magic, I am of the belief that our Lady simply thought glowing marks of vine would be a lovely detail to add, and I am inclined to agree with my own opinion.

2. One will develop the ability to communicate with animals the more engaged they are to their craft, and the more connected they are to the Earth. This can be noted from changes in how animals approach you, and also to the presence of birds, butterflies, moths, and other critters that find their way into your smial. It should also be noted that communication with these animals requires one to actually study their language, yes you will have to neigh and chuff like a horse, or chirp and sing like a bird, if you wish to be fully understood by said animal when you are in the early beginnings of one's craft. However, prolonged exposure to these animals will slowly even out the language barrier, in the fact you may speak in your common tongue to the animals, and they will understand you through translations, and vice-versa. DO NOT BE SURPRISED WHEN SAID ANIMALS BEGIN TO ASK FAVOURS OF YOU AT WHATEVER TIME SUITS THEM.

3. Despite how skilled a Hobbit may be in their healing, Elves will always know best- specifically the Elves that reside closest to Eriador- if an Elf gives you a suggestion on a herbal remedy, or the pronunciation of an incantation, TAKE IT. They have roamed the Earth for far longer than you or I, and often know more when it comes to healing.

4. Re-introducing this craft to your stiffy society is a lot easier than expected, simply produce the proof of your mother's writings, and the re-written scriptures of the last book to be written by a Hobbit on your culture, and they will be inclined to believe you, but not fully inclined to follow. Some may engage in herbal remedies, others may engage ina. simple prayer, it doesn't matter.

5. Lady Yavanna is an ever patient being whom does not expect cathedrals to be built in her name, her church is the Earth itself, and you shall treat your home like an altar to her. Especially if she may or may not have assisted in your revival, then you owe more than enough to her.

6. Elves and Wizards will be especially overjoyed when they see the revival of a practice they believed to be dead, so be tolerant of curiosity and stares, but do not be afraid to set a firm line of boundaries, especially when it comes to whether or not they can or cannot study your carvings for explanations on how the light is produced when dedicating your time to your craft.

Bilbo thought that his mental notations of the development in Hobbit magic had been insightful, and had been put to good use many a time when he and Gandalf would go out exploring the world together. He had started small, exploring out to the boarders of Rivendell, and even staying over for a few days- often to the glee of a young Dúnedain- and Bilbo wasn't sure whether he was happy or concerned at the fact Aragorn was much younger than he remembered him being. Still, he reminded himself that this was part of the revival, the fact that not everything would be the same to the time he was used to. This was one of the consequences of being given a second chance.

Still, Bilbo did his best to ignore the constant worrying feeling that would grow in his gut- especially when the happy birth of his dear Frodo was swiftly followed by the births of Sam, Merry, and eventually Pippin after a two year wait. He couldn't deny how much he loved each of the boys though, teaching young Sam how to read and write, baking cherry tarts when the fruit were in season, babysitting and letting his little rascals sleep over on Fridays. It was easier to ignore his anxieties when he reminded himself that everything he was doing- the dangerous journeys that he'd return from with treats and toys for his little ones- the meticulous training with a sword and constant effort to better his aim and build up muscle strength and speed, were all for a good cause.

It did mean, however, he allowed the reminder of the quest to slip his mind on more than one occasion.

Notes:

Did I pretty much make Hobbits witches? Yes
Did i give them pretty glowing markings? Yes.
Am i tired? Yes.

Notes:

Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are very much appreciated! ^-^

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of The Hobbit - Reversal of Time