Hello everyone!
This is a replacement chapter as the last one had a few grammatical mistakes and the formatting wasn't what I wanted, hopefully this will be easier to read for you.
I've been hidden away dealing with some family issues, but I'm back at least for the moment. I have a lot going on at present, so please don't expect regular updates, however I've been writing this for a while now and I've finally got this chapter how I like it so I wanted to share it with you all. To put my writing progress in perspective for you, I've written more for chapter 7 of this story than I have for chapter 3. But bare with me, I will be back.
I love your opinions! This is a personal project of mine, and I desperately want our boys to live! So yes, spolier, the line of Durin lives on.
Please let me know what you think, it really makes my day to hear from you all.
The Hobbit: A Most Peculiar Adventure
Chapter 1
There was a big, round door just up ahead of me. The charming wooden gate and smooth flagstone steps that lead up to the door were unfamiliar to me, and therefore I was hesitant to walk up them, yet I knew I needed to speak with someone, for I needed to know where I was.
A soft, warm light shone through small circular windows either side of the door into the darkness of the night that surrounded me. Now that I was closer, I could see that the door was a beautiful deep green. There were little round nails decorating the door, and a single round brass handle in the very centre. All in all I thought it was a very handsome door.
Timidly, I rapped my knuckles against the wood, hoping those inside were not asleep or eating. I really didn't want to disturb anyone, but I needed to find somewhere to sleep and something to eat. Then, I could hear the faint sounds of footsteps. Giving a cautionary glance over my shoulder, I found no one, so it must have come from inside.
The door opened and out spilled more of that glowing light onto the cold stone I stood upon. My bare feet suddenly looked orange in the light, as if my skin was on fire. My musings were cut short when I heard a shocked gasp.
Looking up, I saw that the person in the doorway also had bare feet, but his were large and hairy. He wore a patchwork robe over what I assumed to be his night clothes and I automatically felt guilty. Had I interrupted his bath? Or supper? Or even sleep?
"P-pardon me sir," I said, hoping I was being polite enough, not too sure what the protocol was for knocking on someone's door in the middle of the night. "But, could you possibly tell me where I am?"
He made a funny sound, almost a gasp and an exclamation of disbelief all at once. At the same time, his big green eyes widened, his brown, bushy eyebrows disappeared into his curly fringe and his mouth hung agape.
Suddenly, he seemed to remember my question because he straightened, closing his mouth with a sharp click that I was sure actually hurt, righted his robe and bowed slightly.
"Pardon me miss," he began, his tone pleasant if a little wary. "You are in Hobbiton, which resides in the Shire, and my name is Bilbo Baggins. How may I help you?"
The Shire? Hobbiton? These words sparked no memories in my mind. I was without any knowledge or understanding as to where I was. Worse still, I had to face the worrying uncertainty of not knowing who I was.
"Miss?" Came the tentative call from Mr Baggins. "Are you all right?"
He was leaning forward through the curved doorway, his head tilted to one side as he observed me. The light coming from behind him brought with it a warmth, and it was then that I realised how cold I was. I shook slightly, indulging in the urge to wrap my warms around myself.
"I apologise Mr Baggins I-I don't seem to know…" I paused and took a deep breath, rubbing my arms slightly to strive off the chill and panic that was slowly filling me. "I appear to be lost."
Sniffing as a strong wind blew past me, I looked apologetically at Mr Baggins, hoping he would help me. I was too tired to try and find help elsewhere at the moment.
"L-Lost? Oh, of course, please come in. And you're cold, well of course you're cold, silly me. Come in, we need to get you next to the fire, you're practically blue!" He exclaimed, ushering me into the warmth of his home.
Thankful, I crossed the threshold into his house, instantly feeling the warmth prickle my icy skin. The rug beneath my feet felt different, it was a different sensation from soil, cobbles or stone, it was soft and comforting. The fibres were smooth with age, yet rough in contrast to the worn stone I'd been stood on moments before.
"Here," he said after shutting the large round door behind us. "Follow me miss and we'll have you warm in no time at all. Would you like a cup of tea? As it happens I've just made myself one."
"Umm, y-yes I would like that very much Mr Baggins, thank you," I answered, finding a half memory of a cup of hot liquid being offered to me materialising in my mind.
He smiled, however he managed to do so with a touch of nervousness. Was he worried about what his wife might think? Bringing a strange girl into their house in the darkness of night? Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea?
"I'm terribly sorry if I interrupted your nightly habits Mr Baggins." I spoke softly for fear of waking a sleep child. "If you would rather I left I would completely understand."
Mr Baggins came to an abrupt halt just as we entered a cosy room aglow with the amber light of a cheerful fire which was sitting in a hearth below a large, ornate wooden mantle.
"Leave?" He questioned as he processed the word.
I nodded. "Yes, I mean, I wouldn't want to disturb you and your family."
He blinked again before smiling and shaking his head.
"Nothing to worry about, it's just me here I'm afraid. Just me."
"Oh."
"So you really aren't disturbing anyone, in fact, your knock stopped me from falling asleep in my chair again." He declared while pointing to a straight backed, light green armchair by the fire. "Speaking of which, if you'd like to take a seat miss?"
Slowly, I lowered myself into the offered seat, a smaller, darker and softer looking armchair across from his own. Once I was seated, Mr Baggins smiled and produced a thick, dark blanket from a chest near the wall by a little arching window opposite the fireplace, which he then draped over my knees with the utmost sense of propriety.
"There we are." He smiled at me as if I had helped to accomplish something grand. "I'll just get you a cup of tea and then you can tell me how you came to be lost, yes?"
I nodded, glad I'd managed to knock on the door of someone so kind. Mr Baggins left with a smile and a soft instruction to try and warm up as best I could. Looking down at my slightly shaking hands, I realised that the beds of my nails were blue. I was positive they were supposed to be pink. I must really be blue with cold like Mr Baggins said.
Though I shouldn't be for much longer as the heat from the fire next to me was starting to seep into my bones like water soaks cloth. It was a little painful, the prick of the heat feeling like a thousand tiny blades piercing my skin. I half wanted to move away from the fire, but something told me to stay put, that the pain was my frozen limbs thawing. I wasn't quite sure how I knew this, I just did. Like I could identify objects around the room, a bookcase here, a loveseat there, and the bucket of logs beside my seat. Yet I struggled to remember events wherein I used or even encountered such, or any other, objects. Apart from the tea.
Speaking of, I could hear the faint clatter of crockery just as Mr Baggins entered the room. He was carrying two small cups and saucers carefully along with a plate of biscuits, and a brown teapot on a little wooden tray.
"Here," he said as he rested the tray on a small, level topped footstool between our chairs. "I wasn't sure what type of tea you liked so I thought a simple mint tea would do for now. And I found some pieces of shortbread from when my aunt last visited, thought you might like something to eat too."
"Thank you Mr Baggins." I smiled, completely charmed by his generosity.
"Please, call me Bilbo," he answered congenially. "What should I call you miss?"
I blinked, unable to recall my name, my title, or any word that may have ever been used to address me.
"I don't know."
Bilbo froze, stunned. "You, you don't know?" He questioned, continuing to blink in shock.
I could only shake my head, frantically scrambling for a reason why I didn't know. I couldn't find anything, nothing, not even a glimmer of a memory.
Looking up, I found Bilbo pursing his lips, I half thought he'd say I was lying. Instead, he surprised me by leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and a soft, patient expression on his face.
"If I might ask miss, how did you come to knock on my door?" He asked gently.
"Oh." I wasn't expecting him to ask that. "Well, the first thing I remember is waking up and seeing the stars staring back at me. I was lay back on dewy grass by a hedgerow, there was holly in the hedge. I remembered seeing it somewhere, it's a dark green colour, isn't it?"
He smiled then, not as if I were a child stating something obvious, but as if I had noticed a small detail no one else had.
"Holly, yes, yes it is, that's right," he said, small dimples appearing beside the corner of his lips. "I wanted my door to be holly green, it was painted yesterday. What else do you remember?"
"Well, there was a slight light in the distance I noticed once I'd stood, so I managed to climb under the hedge and find a road to follow the light. There was no one around me, not even an animal. No bags, or even my shoes," I explained, looking at my bare feet as pain began to ebb from them.
It was then that I realised the dress I was wearing was a deep red, delicately embroidered with gold and holly green thread. The sleeves were long, reaching my wrists but they were also torn and dirty. But it was the bottom of my dress that drew my attention, for it had been ripped and shredded until the hem ended a few inches above my ankles. My exposed legs were littered with scratches and bruises.
"What happened to me?" My words were a whisper in the quiet of the room.
I shook myself, remembering that I had not finished telling Bilbo how I came to find his home, and so continued,
"Once I was on the road, I followed it towards the light, coming to a couple of homes in the hillside. However there was no light from within them so I carried on. Yours was the first I had come across that had a light."
Bilbo stared at me as I finished my tale, his mouth hanging open a little as he did.
"And, and do you remember anything else? Anything at all?" He asked, looking throughly intrigued by my story.
"Nothing except when you offered me a cup of tea, I remembered a cup of tea being handed to me. But I do not know who by, or where I was," I explained truthfully, feeling inadequate of my feeble answer.
However, Bilbo seemed contemplative, humming to himself as he leant back in his armchair and took a sip of his tea.
"That is quite the story."
I nodded, sighing. Warming up was starting to awaken aches and pains I did not know I had. The injuries on my legs stung, there was a dull ache ebbing from my back and a harsh throbbing pain from my head, not forgetting the numbness now settling in my feet. If I had known being warm would involve such discomforts, I would have preferred to stay cold.
"Well," Bilbo continued. "I believe I might be able to answer one or two questions if you cannot my dear."
Any pain I felt faded into the back of my mind at this.
"You do?" I asked eagerly.
He nodded, smiling. "It seems to me that you have Dwarf blood."
"Dwarf?"
Again he nodded. "Yes, you have the right build, height. Though I must admit I didn't know Dwarves could have hair as curly as yours. I mean, if it wasn't for your feet, I could have said you were a…Hobbit." Bilbo paused and watched me with deep concentration.
Under his gaze I nervously reached up to touch my hair. He was right, it was curly and, bringing a piece around to see, it was a deep golden colour, almost exact to the amber light that had lead me to Bilbo's door.
Satisfied that I knew a little more about myself, I tucked the piece of hair behind my ear. Then paused again when I heard Bilbo gasp.
"What is it Bilbo?"
"Your ear."
"W-what about it?"
"You, you have Hobbit ears!" He exclaimed.
Frowning, I bit my lip.
"But, you said I was a Dwarf?"
He nodded, eyes fixed on my exposed ear intently.
"Perhaps, yes, you do bare a remarkable resemblance to Dwarves. However, your curly hair and pointed ears are undoubtably that of a Hobbit!"
"So," I began, fighting around the shady image in my mind of a stout figure I presumed was typical of dwarves and what I could see of Bilbo now. Who, upon further inspection, had curly hair and pointed ears. "You are a Hobbit?"
"Oh!" Bilbo snapped upright in his seat. "Yes, yes I am."
"Do you believe I could be…is there a name for a half Dwarf-half hobbit?" I asked tentatively.
Bilbo's gaze grew sympathetic. "There isn't, but yes my dear, I do believe you are one."
At this new development I sat back, aghast at what I had learned in such a short amount of time. To wake with nothing but the knowledge to follow the light on the horizon, and to now have a half identity was staggering to say the least. The pain in my head was thumping away like the beat of my heart but I tried to ignore it as I watched Bilbo, who had now forgotten about his cooling tea and was instead staring at me with a thoughtful expression.
"Bilbo? Are you all right?" I leaned forward to ask him, reaching for my own cup of tea, the heat instantly warming my stiff fingers.
"Hum?" He blinked away his stray thoughts, frowning a little.
"I asked if you were all right."
"Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine thank you." His polite sensibilities seeming to be an automatic response regardless of his actual thoughts and feelings.
At my sceptical look he sighed. "It's just…something is bothering me."
"What is it?"
Again he sighed, deeper now as if he was fortifying himself for unpleasant news.
"You woke alone, correct? Without so much as a coin?" He asked.
I nodded, truthfully a little worried where his questioning was leading.
"It's just Dwarves, and I've only met a few dwarves in my life, and what else I know has come from my books…but Dwarves by their very nature are protective of their own. This includes their women." He shifted nervously. "It is unheard of, unknown even, for a Dwarrowdam, that is a female dwarf, to be left alone."
Bilbo looked saddened with his revelation, but I was only confused.
"So, so, they don't leave women by themselves? Ever?"
He shook his head. "As far as I am aware my dear."
"But they left me," I stated sadly.
How could what Bilbo have said be true if they left me alone? Bilbo sighed and I could see that he was upset that he would be the one to break the news to me. He leant forward, setting his cup on the tea tray before reaching for my hands. Laying a hand on my own, the warmth from his hand was soothing against the ache that lingered in my bones.
"They might not have," he said. "Maybe something happened outside of their power, and they had no choice but to leave you?"
I bit my lip and sniffed back the unexpected swell of tears that welled up in my eyes.
"Maybe," I said, my voice quiet in the stillness of the room.
Bilbo patted my hand and then leant back into his chair, a soft smile on his face.
"But you are also a Hobbit!" Bilbo exclaimed happily. "And I have to say that once everyone gets a look at you, they will never want you to leave the Shire!"
"What makes you say that?" I asked, sniffing again.
Bilbo smiled, the lines around his eyes softening them until his gaze felt as warm as the fire we sat by.
"Simple really, Hobbits love other Hobbits. We are naturally a community based species who thrive together. When they all see that there is another Hobbit in our midst, and an unfamiliar one at that, why I doubt you will have a moment to yourself."
I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of being surrounded by Hobbits, variations of Bilbo with large feet and friendly dispositions, all of whom I guessed would pepper me with questions.
Questions I did not know the answers to. Questions I sorely needed to know the answers to. Even just so I knew who I was.
Bilbo must have seen my despondent thoughts on my face for he frowned and leaned closer again.
"What is it?" He asked ardently.
"They will ask questions, as is their right to know what I am and where I've come from because I am a stranger in their home. Though, I'm ashamed to say that I'm afraid that not everyone will be as openminded as you are Bilbo," I explained, feeling more lost with every word I spoke. "I don't even known my own name!"
Suddenly, absent of thirst or hunger, I set my cup back down and my hands began to worry at the fabric of my dress in my lap. My mind was too full of fear and dread to think of manners at that particular moment. What would they say when they discovered I knew nothing about myself? Surely it would raise suspicions? How could anyone possibly trust me if I do not even know my own name?
But then, I looked at Bilbo.
Bilbo trusted me enough, even before he had asked what my name was, to invite me into his home without ill intentions. Maybe, just maybe, there were others like him. And perhaps they would accept me just as he has.
All this time Bilbo had been patiently waiting as I sorted through my thoughts. He sat, quite calmly, in his armchair looking for all the world like someone having tea with an old friend.
"What am I going to tell people Bilbo?" I asked the quiet Hobbit, starting to panic about what I would face in the morning. "What am I to do? I have no money, no clothes, nowhere to stay and nowhere to go!"
"Now that isn't true," Bilbo was quick to add.
"Pardon?"
"You can stay here, that is, if you would like," he offered, suddenly looking a little shy at his sudden proposal.
"S-stay here? With you?" I questioned.
"Yes, I mean, it is the very least I can do for someone in need. Certainly a fellow Hobbit!" Bilbo exclaimed, with every word looking more and more involved with the idea brewing in his mind.
I rather felt like the chair beneath me had given way to a bottomless pit in the earth and I was falling completely without control.
"B-Bilbo, you, you c-cannot be serious?" I stuttered, wondering if all Hobbits were this odd and brash.
He'd only just met me moments ago, neither of us knew my name nor who I was and all of the implications that might come with this uncertainty were unvoiced, yet he was willing to offer me a place to stay in his home. This was bizarre, even I knew inviting a stranger to stay wasn't normal, nor was it a recommended thing when encountering such a situation as this. For all he knew I could kill him in his sleep! Not that I would! But he couldn't be sure of that.
"I'm completely serious, you are a young Hobbit, if only by half, alone without anywhere to go and without anyone to turn to. It would be against everything I was raised to be if I were to turn you away! My, not only that, but I would never be able to live with myself when I ignored someone who needed help. I can offer you help, I want to offer you help, so I shall," he said, nodded decisively. "I will hear no more on the subject."
I suddenly found myself sniffing, not because of the rapid change in temperatures my body had experienced, but because of Bilbo's touching speech.
"Thank you Bilbo, thank you so very much," I whispered, unable to stop the couple of tears that spilled over onto my cheeks.
Bilbo smiled and leaned forward to squeeze my hand gently. Smiling back at him, I wiped my face and sniffed again.
"Well, it seems our tea has gone cold," Bilbo huffed, looking only a little put out by this.
I smiled at his small pout, his round features illuminated cheerfully by the firelight as he contemplated our tea. He felt the round, earth brown teapot, then sighed happily.
"Not to fear," he said happily. "Still warm in the pot."
I laughed wetly. "Perfect."
Bilbo took both my lukewarm tea and his own half finished mug and added a little of the hot tea. He handed mine back and held out the plate of biscuits in offering. The shortbreads were stout slices of a golden, crumbly biscuit. Along the top of each were rows of four dots, spaced evenly along the entire length, as if made by a fork. I suddenly had the vague image of standing at someone's elbow as they pressed a fork to make these marks onto a pale dough on a wooden countertop. We were making the same biscuit. The person, the woman, beside me smelled of sugar, apples and spices. I had been happy, I could feel the memory of emotion warming me form somewhere inside my chest.
"Miss?" I could hear Bilbo ask tentatively. "Are you all right?"
I nodded, I was better than all right! I had remembered something!
"Yes, yes I'm fine Bilbo," I answered quickly, smiling. "I'm fine, I actually, I just had a memory. I-I remembered something!"
"Really?" Suddenly his eyes were wide and a smile blossomed on his face.
"Yes, it was, I was by someone's side. They, she, I think was making shortbread. She was pressing a dough with a fork to make marks like the ones on the shortbread." I indicated to the plate now held frozen in Bilbo's grip as he waited wide eyed for me to finish. "I could smell apples and sugar and spices, I think I was in a kitchen, one I knew, I felt…oh Bilbo, I felt happy there, safe and so, so happy."
I couldn't have contained the smile on my face even if I tried. Bilbo looked much the same. I'd remembered something, and it was more than just a flash of tea being handed to me.
"You see," Bilbo said warmly, almost…proudly. "You'll have your memories back in no time!"
At that moment I couldn't help but feel the same, I hoped beyond reason that the rest of my memories came back as easily. I surely wanted to know who I was, and what I was doing bare footed on the edges to Hobbiton. More than anything, I longed to know my name, something that identified me as me, not just a Dwarf-Hobbit hybrid.
That also bothered me, as here I sat in what I could deduce was a once expensive gown, without so much as a ring left as a clue to any matter of my past, and there had been no one banging on Bilbo's door asking if he had seen me. Surely someone was looking for me? What Bilbo said earlier about Dwarves puzzled me. If I was one of their own, then they would not have left me in the middle of nowhere, could they? Surely I meant something to someone? Someone must miss me, mustn't they?
I refused to believe that I had just been abandoned. If I had a family, for surely I must have one as I am sure I did not just appear from thin air, they cannot have purposefully left me on a field somewhere. There had to be a reason for my being alone.
Something must have happened that was beyond their control. Like Bilbo had said, of course.
Content in the surety of this, I sipped my warm tea, letting the heat from the mug, liquid and the fire chase away any lingering chill in my being. Upon eating some of the delectable shortbread, I found my stomach growled with hunger, making noises I did not know it could make. Bilbo, rather than being disturbed by the noises, chuckled and handed me more biscuits. Finally, after seven of the biscuits and a cup more of tea, I felt sleepy, and the warmth was like a comforting embrace for me to fall asleep within. Bilbo must have noticed my relaxed figure as he smiled and nodded knowingly.
"I can understand if you feel tired, warmth does that, and especially if you have been cold for a while," he remarked. "I will make sure the guest room has everything you might need, and then I think I will retire to bed myself."
He stood, placing his now empty mug onto the wooden tray.
"I won't be a moment," he reassured me before smiling and vanishing through the doorway behind his armchair.
Alone again, I felt different. Before when I had happened upon Bilbo's door I had been alone, but now the solitude felt…odd. It was as if I had only just realised that something was missing. Not missing from the atmosphere, as Bilbo's home, as far as I had seen, was inviting and cheerful and all that I could want after waking to blackness and the dewy grass of an unnamed field. No, something was missing from me. I was without a part, a…vital piece of, of my being. I had no other way to describe it other than that.
I didn't know what, but I was missing something and it wasn't just my memories.
The sudden pop of the fire jolted me from my thoughts. Now wasn't the time to dwell on that which I cannot change. I could leave such things until tomorrow when I could start over, and who knows, I might dream of my memories if I was lucky.
Bilbo took that moment to reenter the room, his brown curls slightly dishevelled.
"Everything is ready if you wish to retire," he spoke softly and unsurely.
I was confident that, as welcoming as Bilbo was, he was not used to strange women turning up at his doorstep with no memory and nowhere to go. This was as strange to him as it was to me. For some reason his nervousness settled the battle of guilt and uncertainty in my head. It was endearing that he was, despite his uncertainty, willing to help me. I could only hope to return the gesture of kindness one day.
"Yes, thank you Bilbo I think I will," I said, standing.
I replaced my cup of tea to the tray on the footstool and then folded up the blanket Bilbo had settled over my knees. It was a soft wool that sparked memories of the same sensation. Bilbo smiled gratefully when I replaced the blanket to the chest he had taken it from earlier.
"Thank you," he said. "You know miss, I have not had such a thoughtful guest in a long time."
I felt so warm now that the smile that graced my lips at his words felt lush and easy.
"Thank you Bilbo, I can only hope to be of use around your home, if only to lighten the burden of my presence here."
"Burden?" Bilbo spluttered. "You are no such thing! You are my guest, and you do not need to do anything to compensate me for letting you stay. I will not have you thinking you are indebted to me."
I was glad for his words, but he was wrong in the fact that I wasn't indebted to him, I was. It was a simple truth, but a truth nonetheless. But his words made me decide against taking the tea tray back into the kitchen, which I was sure I could find, and washing up.
"Thank you Bilbo."
He nodded, satisfied. "Now, if you'll follow me, I'll show you were you'll be staying. I hope it is to your tastes. If it isn't, let me know what changes you would like and I'll do my best to perform them."
"Oh, Bilbo I am sure I will love it," I assured him, humbled that Bilbo wanted me to feel comfortable and at home in someone else's home.
He lead me through a door to the left of the fireplace, into a hall Bilbo informed me was called the East Hall, and that we had just left the parlour. As we walked, he pointed out the kitchen, which was next to the parlour as I had expected. Then, we entered a grand looking space, much more than a hallway, and I thought that the title Atrium, that Bilbo supplied, suited it rather well. To the left was an archway leading to the sitting room, and to the right, the pantry and behind that were two cellars, a wine cellar and a cold cellar. Further ahead to the left was a door leading to the study, which Bilbo told me connected to his bedroom, should I need him. Another beautifully carved archway gave way to the West Hall, with a small passage to a storage room to the immediate right after entry to the hall. To the left was a passage leading to the back door after another archway, and then the hall divided into two, the right towards a back room, and the left to the guest room.
"Or, perhaps we should call it your room?" Bilbo asked hesitantly.
I couldn't control my smile if I'd even attempted to.
"Do, do you mean that?" I asked, keeping my voice to a bare whisper for fear that I'd speak too loudly and break the illusion of comfort I'd found in Bilbo's home.
Bilbo smiled, watching me fondly.
"I do," he whispered as well, but his tone, nor his expression, was mocking. Instead, he seemed to me to be sharing a secret in the strictest of confidence.
"Oh, Bilbo!" I exclaimed, unable to hold myself back as I launched myself at Bilbo to embrace him.
He caught me, though I knew he hadn't expected it, as I hadn't anticipated that I would embrace him myself. Still, he recovered from his shock and hesitantly patted me on the back, chuckling. Conscious that I was hugging an almost stranger, I pulled away.
"Thank you Bilbo! Thank you so very much!" I said through the swell of emotion I could not control or hold back.
He chuckled again. "You are very welcome."
I noticed the flush of his cheeks and thought for a moment that perhaps Bilbo wasn't used to such displays of affection.
"Sorry if I startled you Bilbo, I just couldn't contain my thankfulness. I have been so worried that I would not find a place to spend the night, and yet here you are offering me your guest room!"
He continued to chuckle, appearing very much pleased by my reaction.
"It's no trouble at all, as I said, anyone else would do the same. Everyone needs to be shown a little kindness, especially when they are in need of it," Bilbo commented wisely, looking for all intents and purposes a teller of grand tales from his youth.
"Anyone might well do the same, yes, but what really matters to me is that you have done so for me," I said, holding a deep, warm fondness for Bilbo in my chest.
Bilbo grew flustered, all ruddy cheeked and flickering eyes. He cleared his throat and smiled.
"Yes, well, as I said," he replied a tad awkwardly. "Now, shall I give you a quick tour of your room?"
Flushing with happiness, I nodded, and turned to open the beautiful oak door, but was halted by a gasp behind me.
"Oh!" Bilbo gasped when I turned back to face him. "Your head! It's bleeding!"
"What?" I questioned, reaching for the back of my head only to pull away sharply in pain.
When I examined my fingers, I found there to be red flakes and clotted scarlet liquid. Bilbo was right, I was bleeding. Or, I was more inclined to conclude that I had been bleeding, quite a lot if I was to estimate from the amount that stuck to my fingers.
"Oh miss, quickly, you must let me look at that," Bilbo tried to calm the panicked tone in his voice, but it was all to clear to me how frantic he was at the sight of my blood.
I didn't blame him. The sight of it both turned my stomach inside out, and raised so many questions that it felt as if my head were spinning endlessly.
"Come into the study, I've got a small supply of healers tools, bandages and what not," Bilbo spoke quickly as he ushered me back the way we had come, past the corridor to the back door and back to the study. "I should be able to clean up that gash, but tomorrow I can call our healer, Hilda, or if you're feeling well enough we can call by her home, she'll be able to patch you up much better than I can."
He laughed nervously, and I couldn't find fault for him in doing so. In fact, I was a little worried that dear Bilbo might faint at any moment. His behaviour was so erratic I feared he was just speaking to keep his mind occupied from the shock of his discovery.
Meanwhile, I had begun to feel ever increasingly weary and tired. My head felt hot and sore as if it had been beaten like a worn out shoe in the heat. I was sure that this wound was the reason my head had begun to ache so much when I was warming up. I just hoped that if the pain in my back was from another wound, it was only brushing or mere scratches. If I asked Bilbo to examine my back I feared he would lose all sense — common or otherwise. Tomorrow I would just ask the healer, Hilda, to examine it for me.
Bilbo guided me into a wooden chair beside a small made up fire, to the right as we walked through the door. Once I was seated, he quickly found a box, hidden among a paper littered bottom drawer in the desk beneath a small arched window. He returned to me, smiling when he caught my gaze, and placed another chair behind me.
"I'll try my best to clean the cut, please tell me if I hurt you. I do not want to cause you more harm." Bilbo's voice shook slightly but I was sure he would have a steady hand when tending to me.
I nodded, mindful that the action caused my temple to ache and a pain, sharp and sudden, to throb from the base of my skull.
"Of course I will Bilbo," I reassured him, it seemed my excitement had dampened the pain momentarily.
I heard him splutter behind me in what I thought was a rushed and muttered variation of, 'Good. Well, then, I suppose I had better get along with it. Bilbo Baggins don't you dare faint on this poor girl.' But I didn't comment, rather staying as still as I could when I felt Bilbo's hands carefully part my hair to lay over both of my shoulders, then the tentative touch of a cloth soaked in something against my scalp.
"Ahh!" I couldn't help but wince away from the stinging sensation that prickled my hair on end.
"Sorry!" Bilbo burst. "Sorry, sorry, err, I'm so sorry miss, I should have warned you. The cloth is, it has a disinfectant on it. It might, sorry, it obviously does sting a little."
"It's all right Bilbo. I'm okay, I was just a little shocked is all." I moved back to my original position. "It's all right."
I could almost see his hesitation.
"If, if you're sure."
I nodded. "I'm sure Bilbo. I know you don't mean to hurt me."
I heard him sigh before he touched the cloth to my hair.
"I'm going to clean the cut now miss, just to prepare you," he warned.
"Thank you Bilbo, it's fine, go ahead."
With another sigh, he began to gently wipe at the gash to my head. I took the time to relax, the warm atmosphere of the study seeping into my skin and pulling at my drooping eyelids. Bilbo was gentle as he tended to me, and I wondered if he had any family members who were younger than him. I could almost imagine him patching up a mischievous niece or nephew without their parents knowledge before telling them to tell their parents what they had been up to.
"You have suffered a rather nasty cut I'm afraid miss," Bilbo's voice broke through my musings. "I would not be surprised if this head wound was the reason for your memory loss."
The thought puzzled me, how could a wound cause memory loss?
"That can happen?" I questioned, feeling wholly unsure of myself as I did so.
"Oh yes," Bilbo explained. "I've seen these sort of injuries before. The young Hobbits tend to get overzealous and a few have ended up losing a number of days in their memories. Why, I recall an incident when I was still a child, when a farmer, I can't quite remember his name, forgot he was married!"
I gasped, not even thinking of such a thing in regard to myself. Was I married? Betrothed? How could I tell? What if I had a child, or children and I knew nothing of their existence?
Bilbo, unaware of my inner panic, carried on with his tale.
"He believed himself to be a whole five years younger than he was! Though it was amusing to watch as he regained his memories, whenever he remembered arguing with his wife or doing something that had upset her, he would apologise and ask her for forgiveness, even though he had already done so!" I could hear the merriment in Bilbo's voice, this was obviously a fond memory for him.
"So, did he regain all of his memories?" I asked, afraid of the answer.
Bilbo paused in cleaning my head, the cloth resting against my hair for a moment as he thought.
"Yes, I do believe he did," Bilbo answered, sounding sure of himself. "There might have been a few moments he could not recollect, but one can hardly be expected to remember a whole five years. And if I may say so miss, you shouldn't expect yourself to remember everything. A lifetime lost could take another lifetime to remember."
I nodded mutely, somehow knowing that Bilbo was right. Anyway, there was only one thing I wanted to remember more than anything: my name. I longed to know my name, not even all of it, but just enough to have something of my own, something of me. Half remembered images of a blurry figure wasn't much in the grand sense of things, but it did give my hope.
The sound of Bilbo clearing his throat broke me from my thoughts.
"Ahh, Miss?" He asked cautiously.
"Yes, Bilbo?"
He cleared his throat again.
"The wound it, it may need stitches, however I do not have adequate supplies to do so here. I can bind the wound through other means to last until tomorrow, or, if you would prefer, I can go and fetch Hilda now?"
"Oh," I paused, not really understanding how sewing my head back together would help it heal. "Is-Is it that bad?"
Bilbo rushed to reassure the tremor in my voice. "Not at all! Not at all, Miss! It would just heal much faster and leave minimum scarring if it was stitched."
"Oh." I suppose that made sense, from what I could recollect, sewing a ripped piece of fabric together again looked neat. But trying to apply that image and replace the ripped fabric with my torn flesh made me shiver. "No, I wouldn't want to bother her this late, it can wait until tomorrow."
Again Bilbo hesitated. "Are you sure miss?"
I pictured a needle piercing my flesh and fought against a wave of nausea and another forceful shiver. "I'm sure Bilbo. I'm quite sure."
"Very well then," he said, and I heard him place the cloth down. "Now, what I am about to do is something my mother once had to do to me when I bumped my head."
"Were you very young?" I found myself asking.
"Not very," Bilbo answered. "I'd gotten my foot caught on a tree root and fallen on a rock, gave myself a rather nasty gash just above my hairline. I was terrified of needles as a child, and if I am honest, I still try and avoid them as much as I can."
"So what did your mother do?" I was enraptured by the thought of a young Bilbo watching a sewing kit wearily as his mother washed his cut as gently as he had mine.
"Well, she used my hair," he started.
"Your hair?"
"Yes, I asked the same thing, I thought she was just trying to trick me so she could thread a needle through my forehead." He chuckled to himself as if reliving the moment with his mature wisdom of adulthood.
As we spoke I felt Bilbo's hands start to gently brush through my hair, softly tugging strands loose and untying snarls of hair. It was strangely soothing.
"But she explained that by using a short plaiting method, the hair would secure the wound so it would remain closed, and I wouldn't even have to see one needle." I could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke fondly of his mother.
"How strange," I commented, wondering how such a thing could be accomplished.
Bilbo laughed, his fingers now gliding through my smooth hair easily.
"I thought so too, but I must say that it is quite effective. As a matter of fact, Hilda uses the same technique on the children in the village. It certainly helps to contain any fears about needles." He paused for a moment, I heard him hum to himself quietly in thought. "In fact, I do believe that every mother knows this trick, at least among Hobbits that is, and to the best of my knowledge."
We lulled into a comfortable silence for a moment, each of us immersed in our thoughts. I wondered about Bilbo's memories, how quickly he had recollected them and the emotions that came with them. I must have memories like that to recall, happy moments, embarrassing moments, moments of fear and joy and wonder. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before they came back to me. Perhaps I would receive each one separately, recollecting segments of my past piece by piece as Bilbo had told me one Hobbit had. Or, maybe I would not remember anything. Maybe fragments of my mind would unfurl themselves for me, but others would remain lost to me forever.
"Maybe my mother knew about it too," I found myself commenting.
Bilbo's breath caught in a half gasp and his hands paused in my hair. I heard him swallow before he seemed to reanimate, his fingers weaving my hair into separate plaits that bared my wound to his sight.
"Maybe she did," he answered, then cleared his throat once more. "Do you think your mother was a Hobbit?"
Biting my lip, I hesitated in answering. Now that Bilbo has posed the idea, I felt an undeniable knowing, a gut feeling, that he was right. As if the idea of my mother being the Dwarf was impossible.
"Yes," I whispered. "I-I do believe she was Bilbo."
Bilbo hummed behind me, and for a moment I thought he might tell me I couldn't really know for definite until I remembered her. But, he surprised me yet again, as if his utter expectance of my memory loss and uninvited, unexpected arrival at his door was not enough proof of what a gentle and undeniably kind soul Bilbo was, he then patted my hands from where they lay on my lap, leaned around my back to look at me and smiled, saying, "I haven't a doubt in my mind that you aren't right miss. Not one."
I couldn't help but mirror his smile, mine taking a grateful edge. How had I managed to find someone so willing to help me, who was also excepting of my peculiar circumstances? Bilbo patted my hand again, and then returned back to tending to my wound.
"Thank you." I was sure to say before emotion threatened to fill my throat and block the words.
Bilbo didn't answer, but I could tell he was still smiling.
"B-Bilbo?" I asked tentatively, unsure if what I was about to ask was considered over stepping over the bounds of our acquaintance or not.
"Yes?" He replied.
"How, I mean, what erm…could, could you tell me about your mother? I-I mean that she sounds like a wonderful Hobbit, and I'd love to know more about her." My voice was high pitched with nerves and my speech stuttered as I tried to form a complete, comprehensive sentence.
"Of course," he answered, sounding happy to dive into the topic of conversation I had posed, contrary to my hesitations. "In fact, it may help take your mind off of any pain you're feeling. I find that nothing distracts one quite as easily as good conversation."
"I must say I do not know, but it seems to be distracting me thus far," I commented lightly.
Bilbo chuckled. "And for that I am glad. However, I must warn you miss that I am about to begin braiding over your wound so you may feel some pain, but I will endeavour to be as efficient as possible so as to not prolong any sense of discomfort."
"Thank you Bilbo." I was warmed by his consideration of my wellbeing, he truly was a gentle soul.
"Now, as to the topic of my mother, her name was Belladonna Baggins, nee Took. She was a wonderful woman and I do miss her, she passed away seven years ago now," Bilbo lamented, sounding forlorn.
I suddenly felt awful, I should have known better than to ask after his mother since I knew he lived alone.
"I am so sorry Bilbo, I did not mean to upset you," I tried to apologise hastily.
"No, Miss, not at all! I adore talking about my mother, it keeps her alive in my memories. And I am sure she would have loved to have met you," he laughed to himself.
"Really?"
"Oh yes! For sure, a strange young half Hobbit, half Dwarf appearing out of nowhere with no memory, she would have loved nothing than to help you solve the riddle that you are."
I couldn't help but chuckle at the image of Bilbo's mother my mind presented, being endearingly polite and hospitable while peppering me with questions and posing several theories to my memory loss.
"Was she a lot like you?"
Bilbo contemplated my question for a moment, and it was then that I felt the very first tugs against my scalp. It wasn't awfully painful, but I knew that Bilbo was there, I could even feel my hair pull over the wound, the full feeling of flesh pressing together making me shiver.
Bilbo saw it instantly, and was quick to reassure me.
"Are you cold miss? I can fetch you a blanket if you need?"
I almost shook my head but remembered at the last moment.
"No, no, I'm fine Bilbo."
"Are you sure? I can light a fire for your room if you think you may become chilly in the evening." Bilbo was the epitome of a gracious host.
"I'm sure I'll be fine Bilbo, but I will let you know if I change my mind before we retire."
He made a noise of approval from behind me. I couldn't help but picture the satisfied smile on his face, it seemed to be easy to make Bilbo happy, one just had to have nice manners.
"Now," he began, and at the same time I felt him begin to section off another part of my hair. "My mother was from a large family, being the ninth child and youngest daughter to my grandfather Gerontius Took and Adamanta Took. My mother married my father, Bungo Baggins and together they financed the construction of their home and, my own."
"They built this house?" I asked, having had been imaging that the maze of a house Bilbo lived in had been here for many years.
"Yes, yes," he nodded. "Bag End, my home, is currently the Shire's most luxurious and comfortable Hobbit hole. They lived happily together until I was born fifty years ago, and we became the closest of families."
"Sounds like you had a wonderful childhood growing up in such a lovely home," I commented, day dreaming of a young Bilbo running through the very passage the elder version had lead me through.
"Yes, it was," Bilbo sighed happily. "And my mother was the one who made my young Hobbit-hood so very memorable, for she was as cunning and witty as any Baggins, and as adventurous and brave as any Took. It was often remarked among other families within the Shire that long ago one of the Took ancestors must have taken a fairy wife, as it was thought there was something unHobbit like about the family as they were always getting up to mischief or having adventures."
"And is there?" I asked, utterly enthralled by the image Bilbo painted for me.
"Is there what, miss?" He questioned back.
"Do you have a fairy ancestor Bilbo?"
He laughed, though not the shameful laugh that could be aimed at someone who said something foolish, nor was it a laugh of disbelief that someone had the gall to ask such an appalling thing, but, to me, it seemed to be a laugh of someone who had been suddenly struck by a thought they had never had before.
"Good grief," Bilbo began, chuckling. "In all honesty I'd never given it any real thought until now."
"And now that you have?" I asked.
"Now, I cannot help but think that it is entirely possible, what with the Took's background and…preoccupation with adventure," he stated with utter surety.
He chuckled to himself for a good while, still weaving his fingers lightly through my hair.
"There!" He suddenly proclaimed. "Those should hold until we can get you to Hilda tomorrow."
"You've finished?" I asked, bewildered that it had taken him so little time and without much discomfort on my part at all to do.
"Yes," Bilbo answered, sounding pleased with himself. "And I must say that they could rival Hilda's own!"
I couldn't help but giggle at Bilbo's contentment at his medical skills.
"I'm sure they could," I complimented, and heard Bilbos happy sigh at my praise. "Thank you Bilbo."
"You're welcome my dear," he sighed again and I heard him stand from his seat. "Now, before we retire for bed, are you injured anywhere else?"
I stayed seated, taking stock of my now thawed body, and biting my lip when I realised the ache in my back was now throbbing painfully. There were other aches all over my body, my left ankle itched, my knees were sore and I was sure my right hip was bruised too.
"Yes, I think I am," I answered Bilbo hesitantly, realising that any injury to my back would need to be looked at without the obstacle of my dress.
Bilbo immediately came around to face me with a concerned softness to his features.
"Where?" He asked. "Are you in a lot of pain?"
I shook my head, I really wasn't. I was sure that tomorrow I would be, however, whether it was the cold or shock, I wasn't yet feeling the full brunt of the pain from my injuries.
"No, not a lot of pain, I think it's the shock more than anything physical that pains me the most at the moment," I admitted, feeling a little hesitant to reveal what I felt for fear that Bilbo would panic.
I was sure he was a hardy Hobbit, but the knowledge that I may have to be treated for injuries underneath my garments may be a bit much for him to take.
"Are you sure?" he persisted.
"Yes, Bilbo," I answered, nodding decisively. "I'll be all right until morning."
Bilbo copied me, almost as if out of habit to agree with someone if they insisted rather than because he believed I was telling the truth.
"Yes, yes, morning, we'll see Hilda right away," he said, then paused and frowned. "Before breakfast! Although…that may be a little early…perhaps before second breakfast."
Second breakfast?
Was that normal? Maybe it was, I had a whole culture to remember, a way of life, a routine to follow.
"That sounds like a sensible idea," I haphazardly input an opinion, well aware that I could at any moment trip on a misunderstanding.
Bilbo saw right through my attempt at playing pretend.
"I have a lot to tell you miss," he said, a happy smile on his face. "Tomorrow you will have a whole culture to explore."
There was no judgement in his eyes, no hesitation in offering his help, and no exasperation at having to give it. He seemed genuinely pleased to be the one, the only one, to help me relearn everything. This perfect stranger who had shared his home, his food, his help, and all without once asking for anything in return.
How lucky had I been to happen across Bilbo's home and not someone else's? For I could not imagine that such warmth, understanding and kindness spread to all Hobbits. Or, perhaps it was just good manners that I had simply forgotten were instilled in every being, but there was something about Bilbo that made me pause in that assumption. Something that I would have wagered stemmed from his mother.
Out of the blue, Bilbo hummed as he was watching me but I could tell that his musings lay somewhere else entirely, somewhere deep in his own mind.
"Bilbo?" I called softly, after waiting a moment to see if he would speak.
"Hmm?" He jolted from his thoughts, humming again in a questioning tone as he blinked back to the present.
"Are you all right?"
"Me?" He blinked again, as if processing my concern for him. "Oh, yes, yes, I'm quite all right, just thinking."
I bit my lip to keep from smiling at his pondering expression, a small crease appeared between his eyebrows, his bottom lip protruded slightly and I could see the index fingers of both hands began tapping a silent beat against the outsides of his robe pockets.
After a minute of silence I prompted him to speak his thoughts aloud.
"Your situation upon waking makes me wonder how the Bounders didn't see you," Bilbo commented, eyes adrift in the waters of his mind.
"The what?" I asked, trying to follow the trail of his invisible thoughts.
"They are border-watchers of the Shire, a volunteer force employed to 'beat the bounds' and prevent incursions by undesirables," Bilbo explained, then sighed heavily, clearly exasperated. "I don't know how no one saw you or how you came to be in that field as they are posted all around the Shire! Someone must have to have seen something!"
He looked angry at this point, now muttering furiously under his breath about the uselessness of the Bounders, and one in particular, a Mr Adalgrim Took, about whom Bilbo clearly had nothing pleasant to say.
"Bilbo?" I called again. "Perhaps we could ask the others tomorrow?"
I was beginning to feel my eyelids drooping, my body sore and my soul aching. I needed rest.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes, of course," he muttered, slowly emerging from his thoughts with the clearing of his throat and a decisive nod. "Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow I'll have a word, several actually, with that Took, mark my words. No good pilferer…sticky fingered thief…why anyone would want that smarmy, no good Hobbit protecting them I'll never know."
I bit my lip, feeling an amused smile begin to flourish at his grumpy mutterings. From what I could gather, Mr Adalgrim Took had grown up alongside Bilbo, and that there was most definitely no love lost between them. If I understood correctly, Adalgrim was a known thief in Hobbition, but got away with most, if not all of his crimes, because of how well known, liked and envied the Took family was; a family Bilbo was, in his mind, unfortunately included in. It would seem my stay in Hobbiton would not be a boring one, of that I was certain. And when I caught the glint of mischief and the bright spark of cunning in Bilbo's eyes, I knew that he would be the one to make my stay here all the more entertaining and instructive.
For, who could be the better teacher of social constructs and mannerisms dedicated to Hobbits, than a Hobbit?
"Good night Bilbo," I said softly. "And thank you, for everything."
He smiled at me, warm and charming, finally putting a stop to his mutterings.
"You're welcome miss, I'll see you in the morning, good night," he wished, taking his leave with a smile and retreating back down the corridor and towards his bedroom.
Still smiling at his antics, I opened the bedroom door. The room was utterly charming.
Small and quaint, with cheerful yellow walls and a small, round window on the far wall, with a bare wooden chest, made up of four little drawers and two doors. The bed was to my right, just big enough for me. There was a small bookcase, and by small I meant that it couldn't house as many books as the others Bilbo had in his house, but was still as high as the ceiling. It seemed that Bilbo had a fondness for cosiness, a feeling I felt myself mirroring, my very being warming in a way that felt familiar, as if the sight in front of me was one I had seen before. Something that both warmed and worried me.
I know there are parts I'm missing, vast fragments of memory that make me, me. It's like my mind is a room full of objects covered in white sheets, I can see that the memories are there, but I can't remove the sheets to see them. It's so frustrating, knowing that there are things to remember, but not having the power to do anything about it. But, perhaps that was a topic of thought best left till the morning.
So, I curled up under the covers, laying back against the small mound of pillows that I suspected were stuffed with downy feathers and relishing in their plumpness. Still in my dress, I only felt slightly guilty for inevitably getting the neat bed dirty as my eyelids grew heavy and I resigned myself to putting my worries on hold in favour of rest.
There were whispers, murmurs in the dark that were as soft as the sheets I lay on. Finer than any silk, caressing my skin like feathery kisses, tingling and warm, I didn't want to move. A pleasant feeling like liquid warmth was settling in my belly and making my head muggy, as if I were sat in afternoon sun filling me with lazy ambition. But I was indoors. There was no sun, only the soft glow of candle light and the shadows of figures stood at the foot of the luxurious bed I lay upon filling the room. I could see no faces, no distinguishing features of any kind on them, and only hear their rough, harsh voices, the sounds of which made little sense to my clouded mind. The language was abrasive, unlike Westron, which I knew I could speak, but oddly familiar, as if I had been taught it as a child and had simply forgotten over time. The room itself held some familiarity to me, but as I reached for the answer, it slipped away, replaced with the dark abyss of sleep.