Prompt: So Belladonna Baggins-nee-Took might have been the adventurer in the family, but it was Bungo Baggins that encouraged his son's Tookish side, making up stories about the Elves in the forest across the way, or showing him how to knock a Man's knees out with a walking stick, or asking for stories of wee!Bilbo's daily adventure.
Because while I love Bilbo getting his adventurous side from Belladonna, I'm getting sick of Bungo being less than thrilled about it.
The guy MARRIED Belladonna, for goodness sake. Obviously he wasn't too upset by a hobbit wanting to go out adventuring!
The very first thing Bilbo remembers about his father is a memory from long, long ago. He had only been ten or twelve then, just barely allowed to go out and wander on his own. Mother always encouraged him to explore. Father…
It had been a bright day, Bilbo remembers. Bright, and beautiful. The sun was shining on the rolling meadows, as Holman Greenhand pruned bushes and began the laborious work of preparing the garden for food. Father had wanted carrots, big fat ones. Mother wanted green peas, so poor Greenhand had begun turning over the earth, and deciding where to plant the garden.
But that wasn't what had caught Bilbo's attention. No, what had caught Bilbo's attention was Father standing in the middle of the pathway, demonstrating on how exactly to disable a full-grown Man with a simple kick to the knees.
His fathers hands were broad, but rough from hard work at building Bag-End. They gently touched his knee, saying softly, "Listen. Everything has a weak point. If you want to slay dragons, you must know their weak spot."
He pressed one broad thumb against the side of Bilbo's kneecap, and Bilbo could almost feel the shift of bone- it wasn't painful. Not yet. But it promised that it could be. Bilbo had looked up with such wide-eyes at that point, that Father had laughed, and gently lifted Bilbo into the air.
"It's not often that you'll come across something that will want to hurt you, but it's the duty of the father to worry about his dear son wandering off into the wild. Better that you know how to protect yourself so that way you can come home and tell me all about it."
Mother came in at that point in his memory, as wild as the Brandybuck river that flowed a few days travel away. Her unbound hair fell across her shoulders, pointed ears gone pink from the sun. Father looked at her with such love and happiness, even little Bilbo couldn't find it in himself to wrinkle his nose and run away screaming as father gently kissed her cheek.
"Well, what's my two brave adventurers going to do today?" He questioned gently, lifting Bilbo a little higher.
Mother laughed as she took her son from Father. "It's a secret, right Bilbo?"
"Secwet! We'll twell you all about it latew papa!"
Father laughed, a rich, clear sound.
That was Bilbo's first memory of father. Of Bungo teaching him how to fight.
Bilbo could never remember what the adventure with his mother was, only that it was something fun, and delicious. And Mother had brought something back for Father, and they had both threatened to make a little sibling for Bilbo though nothing had ever come of it.
The memories seemed to meld together endlessly- of warm summer days and the explorations of the woods. Of cold winter days and the light snow that covered the ground. Bird and beast tracks, the rite of passage into a popular group by stealing mushrooms from Farmer Maggot's family, being chased by dogs, watching the sun rise and set, visiting Took relatives, seeing Gandalf's fireworks-
They all blended together into a big mostly happy childhood.
There were of course bad days, when Bilbo refused to listen to Mother, and Father yelled at him. When Bilbo yelled at Father, and Mother butted in to shout both of them down. When Mother and Father discussed things he didn't understand in low voices across the table, but put on their brightest smiles and a united front whenever he dared ask.
But always, always, no matter how angry Bilbo and Father may have been, how loud and sharp the accusations, there would always be the question after Bilbo returned home- "How as your adventure?"
Father always asked it.
Only once Bilbo hadn't answered, and Mother came to scold him. She explained that it was not a nicety, it was not something father did as part of his proper ways that he seemed to love so much at times. It was an honest question, one that seemed repetitive, but wasn't. The answer changed each time.
"How was your adventure?" Father asked, as he cleaned out a swipe from a foxes claws after Bilbo stumbled too close.
"How was your adventure?" Father asked softly, standing awkwardly in the doorway after a fight and Bilbo had disappeared for the Tooks for three days.
"How was your adventure?" Father asked slowly, eyes flickering with a half-remembered light as his body wasted away, and Bilbo made up some wild tale, without the heart to tell Father that he hadn't gone out all day.
"I'm going on an adventure I think." Were Father's last words.
Bilbo could remember it well, because of how miserable the weather had been recently. It was pouring outside, a mix of sleet, hail, and rain. Mother was busy preparing dinner, trying to find something that would tempt fathers pallet, and convince him to eat. It was a miserable day to go out on an adventure.
He called for Ma then- and started circling around the room as his mother settled down at fathers' side. Gently she caressed fathers hand, their eyes on each other as his breath slowed.
Bilbo picked up and fingered the mementos of past adventures that father had so proudly displayed. There were too many to display in the living room. The ones with special meaning were kept in the bedroom.
It all kept reminding him of the question, the one he would never hear again. "How was your adventure?"
Mother leaned close to kiss father on the forehead. "I'll be with you soon enough." She promised, the gray hair still unbound and wild as the day when she first got married. "You have fun on your adventure."
Father smiled then, eyes closing peacefully.
Bilbo didn't have to watch to know exactly when father slipped away on his own peaceful adventure. Nor was he surprised when eight years later mother slipped out after father. It hurt, to be left behind, but for the first time, he wasn't so eager to be on such an adventure.
Better to let it creep up on him unexpected or softly through the night.
But every year, once a year, Bilbo would approach his fathers grave and share the adventures and tales he had. Eventually, slowly, he stopped as he grew older. It wasn't thoughtlessness, or anger- it was simply moving on. Of growing older, more middle-aged.
When Mad Baggins (as he was known by Shire inhabitants) came to his fathers grave with a jug full of dwarvish spirits, many people clucked their tongues. Whispered how poor Bungo Baggins must be rolling in his grave.
Bilbo upended the bottle over the still earth, listening to the wind. Faintly, he fancied, he could hear the question in the wind. "How was your adventure?"
"Oh father, mother- you'd never believe what kind of adventure I had in this past year." Bilbo said softly, settling down for a long, long overdue talk with his parents.
-end-