A/N: This AU has been whirling about my head for some time now and is a lot of fun to write. I hoping to update this weekly, but since this is just the Prologue and I have the first chapter done already, that will be following on Sunday.
This is a Neverland AU, though I expanded on some aspects of it, and of course, added in a few bits from Middle Earth.
Hope you enjoy it, do let me know what you think!
And as always, feel free to hit me up on tumblr: .com
And Straight On 'Til Morning
"To live will be an awfully big adventure."
GREY
"Take care, lest an adventure is now offered you, which, if accepted, will plunge you in deepest woe."
There were several points in the whole ordeal where Bilbo would question just how he had got himself into this mess. The answer was, of course, always the same.
A single word, or name rather.
Gandalf.
The Grey Fairy of legend that had featured in so many of the stories his mother had told him. The mischievous spirit that carried children off on adventures past the second star to the right…
When he had been a child, Bilbo had wanted nothing more than to be whisked away into the sky, borne for the mysterious land that time did not mark.
As he had grown older and, as his mother used to remark bitterly, more and more like his father, his mother's stories had become just that in his mind; stories.
For now, only just a man, he was too sensible for fanciful tales of a land where age marks not the faces of its creatures, a land where a great magic dwells. He had lost both his parents too young and thus led a jaded, though peaceful sort of existence in his old family home in the Welsh Marches. It wasn't that he was unhappy per se, but he wasn't happy either.
If he were to describe his life in one word, he guessed it would be lonely; he had his books and a painfully slow internet connection but he lived three miles from his nearest neighbours, the Gamgees. And he certainly did not converse regularly with any he may consider a friend.
His days passed routinely, he would wake, have a cup of tea whilst he turned on the computer, after he had breakfast he would go to the computer, refreshing his usually empty inbox - just in case - then he would potter about for the rest of the day, reading or tending to his mother's rose bushes. On Thursdays he would drive his father's old navy four-by-four down to the village of Little Bagshot to buy the week's shopping. After dinner, on what was becoming a more frequent occurrence, he sometimes would fetch a bottle of wine from the cellars and drink a glass or two.
Perhaps, one day, he may go back to university, put himself through to get that History and Classics degree he had started before his mother, Belladonna, had fallen ill. As it was, his parents had left him with enough wealth that he could live quite comfortably for quite some time without ever needing to worry, or indeed to seek work.
All in all, by the age of twenty-two, he was quite settled in his idle life in Bag-End.
And that, of course, was when the fairy came.
It was a balmy evening in late June, the dark sky showing just the faintest tinge of pink and the crickets' chirping made for a pleasant ambiance. Bilbo reclined on the small wooden bench in the shadow of the large oak tree, swigging white wine from the bottle - because he could - mind mulling over nothing in particular.
A particularly large firefly buzzed past his ear, its glow a peculiar silver, and he swatted at it half-heartedly, growling slightly when it flew closer to his face.
Thankfully, it moved away, though seemed to stop in mid-air. Bilbo spared it a brief glance before taking another hefty swig from his wine. Suddenly, with a loud bang like an exploding firework, a tall bearded man appeared before him, dressed in long grey robes.
Blinking slowly, forcing down his choking, Bilbo stared at the man for a moment before looking down at the bottle in his hand to check that no he had not drank all that much.
"You are not imagining things, Bilbo Baggins," the man said in a deep, booming sort of voice.
Bilbo just remained still, gaping at the man, his mind protesting practically everything about the situation.
"How do you know my name?" he demanded after a moment. "And who the hell are you?"
The man had the audacity to roll his eyes at Bilbo, looking at him as if he were some kind of imbecile.
"I am Gandalf," he said imperiously, "And Gandalf means...me."
Well wasn't that just super helpful and specific? Bilbo glared up at the other man until the name registered somewhere deep in his mind, something that had not be stirred since childhood and he pointed his finger accusingly.
"You're the fairy my mother told me about!"
Gandalf tilted his head in acknowledgement, his grey eyes twinkling amusedly.
"You're the one who takes children on adventures to Neverland."
"Not just children," he corrected, "Any may go to the Neverland who are pure of spirit."
Saying nothing more, Gandalf just stood before him, smiling serenely. Bilbo narrowed his eyes.
"And why are you here?"
"Well Bilbo Baggins, I was looking for someone to partake in an adventure."
He froze, wine bottle halfway to his lips and stared at the strange man.
"Wha- Me?" he stuttered, "Why?"
"Because I made a promise to your mother," Gandalf said, slightly exasperatedly, "Just before she died, to make sure you were living okay."
Bilbo straightened his shoulders and protested, "Im fi-"
"You are not fine," Gandalf cut in, nostrils flaring angrily. "And you are not living either. You exist up here alone with your books and your wine."
The last was said with so much derision that Bilbo felt himself physically recoil slightly, into the wooden back of the bench. Noticing this, Gandalf seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly.
"What happened to the little boy I once met?" he asked, his deep voice softer and tinged with something quite like melancholy. "The one so eager for adventure?"
"He grew up," Bilbo snapped. He was too old for fairy tales, but even as he said it, his mind conjured up an image, a memory he had long since dismissed as a dream, of a young boy meeting a man, a man who, at the time, seemed impossible, as tall as he was, bolstered by an air of magic about him.
"Very well," the grey fairy sighed sadly, "If that be the case."
He turned and moved away, out the gate to the grassy knoll, pale in the night. With a flourish, he sprinkled some sort of glitter about himself, and it clung to a pair of invisible wings behind him, like dust dances upon a shaft of sunlight.
Bilbo felt something lurch inside of him at the thought of being left behind and he sprang up, crying out.
"Wait!"
Gandalf paused in his ascent, hovering about a foot off the ground and Bilbo ran over to him.
"You can bring me back yes?" he asked, a little breathlessly.
Gandalf replied, a little grim, "I can't promise anything Bilbo. Except adventure."
Bilbo's mind was whirring. He could go, go on an adventure, as he had always wanted as a child. Or he could stay, in his home, in safety - Gandalf even warned him, in that vague way of his, that there would be some indiscernible amount of danger involved. Biting his lip, he found the thought of not returning did not scare him as much as it ought to. The thought of wasting away alone, however, did.
"Do hurry Mr Baggins, I can't be here for much longer, I only have so much fairy dust, you know."
His decision made, he reached out and placed his hand in Gandalf's outstretched palm. His stomach lurched as he was pulled into the air. Gandalf grinned, pleased at him. Soaring through the air, Bilbo smiled, arms outstretched, breeze whistling over his fingertips as they sped over starlit paths.
It was only as they skimmed the cool wisps of a cloud, Bilbo's toes curling at the sensation, that he realised something.
He'd forgotten shoes.
And he was still in his dressing-gown.
