This is my first published story and I'm really excited to be able to post it. It is just a one shot, but it was an idea that was floating around in my head that demanded to be written down. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit or any of Tolkien's other works or characters and likely never will.
I'm Going to Look After You
There's a grief that can't be spoken as there are no words for it. It is a grief that feels like all the good in the world has died away. It sucks all of the joy out of your once happy soul. It steals the breath from your lungs and the warmth of your skin. It tears you to pieces, leaving nothing more than a shadow of the person that you had been. And there are some wounds that even time won't heal.
Bella sat in her garden, having felt altogether too suffocated by her quiet house. By her books that she could no longer escape in and her armchair that was too comfortable and not comfortable enough. She had tasted true adventure and her father was right to discourage it.
"Those are fairy-stories Bella-Bee. The world doesn't always work that way."
He was right, of course, as he often was. You'd be hard-pressed to find anything that a Baggins didn't know. But Bella thought that she had. Her father had never left the Shire, so how would he know what lay beyond it. How would he know how the world worked? Even when the wizard had told her that there was no guarantee that she would come back to her little hobbit hole, it hadn't fully sunk in until she returned.
Leaving the Shire was not respectable and entirely frowned upon. She also found out first hand that it was a fine way to allow your neighbors and relatives free reign to sell all of your things. But, she hadn't known how dangerous it really was. Gandalf had filled her head with the idea of this grand adventure over mountains and rivers and across woodlands and wastelands. Ideas of friendship.
And love.
How angry she had been all those years ago when Gandalf brought a troupe of dwarves into her dining room. They ate her food, pillaged her pantry, trailed mud on the carpet (and her beloved mother's glory box), and all but destroyed her plumbing. They were messy, rude, boisterous, and showed no respect for her as their host. She felt as though she would explode. They spoke as they wished, with no pretty words or forced civilities. They didn't treat her as the respectable Bella Baggins of Bag End. She was just…Bella. And she didn't realize how freeing that was until she woke up the next morning to an empty house and an unsigned contract on the table.
The house was all too quiet now, just as it had been that morning. Just as it had been when she, against all odds went there and came back again. Her dining room looked far too large and she hasn't sat at that table in years. Not since she came back and, sitting at her empty table, sobbed, screaming until her throat was sore in grief and heartbreak, clutching her mithril armor.
He should have kept it.
Bella was empty. Her life had no purpose anymore. Everyday she would wake up and once again do the same meaningless, trivial things that everyone else did. Though she was now too different to accept it.
Eating seven meals a day was too much and made her sick.
She didn't see the point of attending social callings with people that she knew hated her.
She refused to wear dresses.
She carried Sting everywhere, occasionally fooling herself into thinking that it was glowing.
She hired a gardener, not feeling up to maintaining her lovely garden herself anymore. When asked, she said it was because she was getting too old for it. But she simply couldn't stand to do it. The acorn that she planted in Dale would be the last plant that she ever tended.
"Farewell, Master Burglar. Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees, watch them grow. If more people valued home above gold this world would be a merrier place."
She only cooked enough food for herself and kept only one of her pantries stocked. She had no use for the multiple pantries that her father had built.
She hardly ever smoked anymore. It reminded her of the dragon which reminded her of him.
Not that she ever really forgot about him.
She wore a single braid on her left temple and holding it together was a bead. She never cut it. She never took it out, never messed with it unless she was washing it. No one in the Shire knew what such a braid meant, of course. But she did and she would wear it proudly until the day she died.
The day she died was about the only thing she had to look forward to. It meant that hopefully…just maybe, she'd be allowed to see them again.
Her adventure had left her broken, damaged to the point that there would be no putting her back together. Upon realizing that, in addition to the Baggins fortune and Bag End itself, she also possessed a chest of actual treasure, many of the male hobbits around her age had expressed their wishes to court her. As mentioned earlier, they didn't know what her continued display of the dwarven braid meant.
Bella knew that, of course she did. But it didn't stop her from snapping that she wasn't interested, slamming her door, then having a good cry. She cried over what she lost, all the what ifs that, to this day, continued to plague her mind in the darkness. The poor gentlehobbit would stand on her front mat confused at what he'd done to warrant such an extreme reaction.
She had been so incredibly naïve when she ran out of her door, contract blowing in the wind. Their song had captivated her. Their quest inspired her. And she gave it everything she had up to and including her heart. She truly had felt that there could be a place for her in the wider world.
Her first impression of Thorin Oakenshield was that, yes, he was extremely handsome even despite his long hair, beard, small feet, every other distinctly un-hobbity trait that he had. Then the clothead actually had the nerve to compare her to a grocer! On her own doormat! She very nearly smacked him with a frying pan. But even then, he was still so very…interesting. He commanded the attention of the whole room and inspired her with one well-worded, heart pumping speech. He was so brave and, while he didn't show it very much at first, he was so kind. He made her feel treasured, special. Loved.
She adored his eyes and was always happy to drown herself in them. She could still remember how those eyes had sparkled when they gazed at her. How his smile made her heart leap. How his hands cradled her to him like he never wanted to let her go. How his lips molded perfectly against hers and how her hands danced and tangled in his long hair.
She loved him then and still loved him now, so many years after his death-after she had held him as he took his last pained breath. Her heart had shattered so irreparably on the spot and her blood ran as cold as the ice which they laid upon.
She still though thought that she would see him sometimes. A flash of smiling blue eyes in the window. A lump in the bed, which always just ended up being the pillow that she held at night. She'd lie awake at night, imagining what they could have had if fate had been kinder. She dreamed that he'd open the door, give her a smile that was only hers, and quip that the Shire needing more road signs and it was a miracle that she never had gotten lost herself. She'd think she'd hear his laugh, or a heavy knock at the door, the knock always belonging to some snooty Sackville-Baggins that she did not want to see. She'd her his song, floating hauntingly through the house, stealing her heart all over again.
"Far over the Misty Mountains cold. Through dungeons deep and caverns old."
His voice was enchanting. After his speech, it was the first thing that drew her to him. The haunting melody made her heart pound faster and she felt the urge to give him a hug and reassure him that he would not face the dragon alone.
She wished for the days when the dragon was their biggest problem.
She imagined him kissing her, holding her, lying next to her in bed, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.
She had never kissed anyone before him and she'd never kiss anyone after him either. And because of that, her relations called her 'Mad Baggins'. She was thought odd because she wouldn't see any suitors, wouldn't part with her letter opener (which may have been Dáin's war hammer for all the other hobbits thought), and wouldn't answer pointless social calls with people that she didn't want to see. A prime example being one Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.
One Lobelia Sackville-Baggins who was only waiting around for Bella to die.
"Miss Bella!" Her eyes shot open as she jerked straight up, arm instinctively going to her side regardless of however many years had since passed. Hamfast Gamgee was sprinting up Bagshot Row, panting the whole way.
"Hamfast? What is it?" She called, a too painfully familiar ball of dread forming in her throat.
Drums were sounding from inside the corridors of Ravenhill. Torchlight appeared in each of the dark windows as they turned around. Bella's heart was in her throat as she gravitated closer to Thorin, praying that it wasn't what she thought it was.
But, as she learned then, prayers are seldom answered. Hamfast had tears in his eyes and Bella's back felt too warm. Especially since she usually felt too cold like she had felt that day.
"Miss Bella, there's been an accident with Mister Drogo and Miss Primula." He chocked out, his fingers kneading the hat that he was holding nervously. She could feel the cold waves of grief beginning to wash over her. His next words sounded like she was underwater.
"They've drowned, Miss Bella."
The world could be cruel. Bella knew that now. Yet Hamfast's confession still drove all the air from her lungs. Tears welled up in her eyes and she slumped back onto her bench.
"D-drowned?" She whimpered, throat closing up. Her gardener nodded.
"Aye, a few days past. I'm sorry, Miss Bella."
Before he could react, the broken hobbit in front of him leapt forward, clutching him tightly and sobbing into his shoulder. Hamfast froze before hesitantly hugging her as well, patting her back consolingly.
Hamfast had been shocked when Bella had approached him, freshly returned from what everyone believed to be the dead, timidly asking him if he'd be interested in tending to her garden. She had said that she was just getting older. That bending over as much as she did was hurting her back. She offered to pay him of course, and often did even when he told her not to worry about it.
He had seen the haunted look in her eyes, the sorrow and soul crushing grief. He knew then that her adventure had changed her. It had broken something deep inside of her, crushing her Tookish spirit. And ever since he knew he was going to take care of her. Look after her.
"It's gonna be alright, Miss Bella. Everything'll be alright. You'll see. There is still some good in this world."
She sniffed and nodded, pulling away slightly. She rubbed her snot on her sleeve, something that used to make her cringe and complain for want of a handkerchief.
She didn't use those anymore either. Not out of choice, granted. She just simply forgot about them. Very un-hobbitish.
"Can you look after Bag End for a bit, Hamfast? I need to go up to Buckland for a while. Check up on little Frodo."
Hamfast paled at the reminder of the bright-eyed little boy. The little boy who-like Bella-was so full of joy and spirit. Quick to smile, always running around the Shire in search of Elves. Now they were both orphans. Grief-stricken.
"You rest assured, Miss Bella. There won't be any Sackvilles within a mile of Bag End if I can help it. You go see to that boy."
Bella nodded, straightened her father's second favorite petticoat and ran off, once more, without a single handkerchief to her name. Drogo and Primula had always been her favorite cousins. Those feelings only grew once she returned, utterly broken hearted, to an empty house, emotionally and physically. Drogo and Primula had been kind enough to help her track down and buy back the majority of her things. Except the spoons. Those she simply stole back.
Regardless, Drogo and Primula were the only members of her many relations not to judge her for running off with thirteen male dwarves and coming back so unrecognizably different. They didn't look down their noses at her or call her 'Mad Baggins' behind her back. They didn't press to hear why she was the way she was either. They comforted her, cared about her. As such, they and the Gamgees were the only ones to see the inside of Bag End since her oh-so marvelous return from the dead.
Ridiculous. No one could return from the dead.
Then there was little Frodo. He was so full of life, energy, and bright smiles. When he laughed, she saw the same joy that Fíli and Kíli had. And he looked so very much like Thorin, almost to the point where she couldn't look at him at first. Then she saw how saddened Primula and Drogo were by this, yet they didn't shout at her. They weren't angry with her.
She made an effort to get to know her new little cousin after that. For Drogo and Prim. She would hold him and play with him. She'd put him down for naps and tell him stories of (fake) adventures and wonders of the great big world. She started to heal, slowly and only around the boy, but heal she did. She no longer cried herself to sleep each night only to wake up from dreams filled with grief and death. She looked at the boy and, instead of seeing death, she saw life. Innocent, untarnished life. And she vowed to protect it at all costs.
Frodo would be her reason for living. Those visits to Drogo's were the only times that she felt her life meant something and as such were the only reason that Bella remained in the Shire that's normalcy suffocated her.
Bella had been his favorite relation (other than his parents, of course) ever since he was old enough to know what that was. He was enthralled by her stories and her cookies were the best. He once whispered that they were a smidge better than his mother's and made her promise not to tell anyone that he said so (especially his mother). The lad even started calling her Auntie Bella, because he didn't think 'first or second cousin once removed' was close enough of a relation.
Little Frodo had wormed his way into her broken heart without even realizing it. And Bella found that she wouldn't have it any other way. She wasn't whole, but she was good at forgetting that when Frodo was near. Some visits, she would even find herself feeling like her old self.
Bella got to Buckland by dinner time and found the Master of Buckland, Frodo's uncle Rorimac Brandybuck kneeling down next to his little nephew, trying to bribe him with sweets and comfort him with warm embraces and whispered words. Frodo's watery blue eyes saw her as soon as she walked through the door. With a quivering lip and a giant sniff of his little nose, he jumped to his feet and was running to her like Smaug himself was chasing him. He jumped into her arms as she fell to the floor, squeezing the life out of her and getting snot all over her father's petticoat.
Bella cried with him and placed gentle kisses on his temple as he shook in her arms, little face contorted with grief. She didn't whisper that everything would be alright, or any such words at all. Because she knew that all words fell flat in the face of such grief. The only thing that could mend a broken heart was love, but even then, nothing will ever be completely alright again.
It was a feeling that she would have rather died than see written so clearly on little Frodo's face.
Frodo relaxed in her arms and fell asleep under her gentle caresses. She was pulled from her grief-stricken thoughts by a hand on her shoulder. Rorimac Brandybuck had since moved over and knelt down next to her.
"The poor lad's been troubled ever since the accident a few days past. Snuck out yesterday to steal some of farmer Maggot's mushrooms and broke down cryin' this morning. He's missing all his meals and hasn't stopped bawling all day. Woulda thought he'd have run outta tears by now. I don't think he fully understands what's going on." Her eyes were wide and she continued to stroke her cousin's black curls comfortingly. Rorimac shook his head sadly. "Buckland's no good for 'im. He needs someone who'll look after 'im better than we can."
Understanding swept through Bella of what he was asking.
"The lad's always liked you, Bella. And, well, we thought that it might be best for 'im if he lived with you from now on. If you're willing to take 'im in of course."
Bella didn't even have to think about it. She had always wanted a child but after returning home from her quest, alone and broken hearted, she knew it would never happen. She could never love someone so deeply, so…completely, ever again.
But now she could have a child to raise, to love. Frodo may not be hers, but she would treat him as if he was. Frodo needed her and she needed Frodo. She knew that just as she knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west. Just as she knew that the Shire was green and elves were immortal and dwarves could be kind.
They needed each other.
They would look after each other.
Bella nodded. "He'll be safe with me." Not just safe, though Bella would certainly die before watching anything happen to the sweet boy in her arms. She hoped he would be happy again too. He could make friends with the Gamgees. They had a young son around Frodo's age, after all. Samwise was a good boy. He'd help Frodo get back to his usual, happy self. Bella was sure of it.
Rorimac nodded, obviously relieved that she had consented to take Frodo, but also melancholy. "I'll miss 'im. That's for sure. But he'll be much happier with you." He said, almost to once again convince himself to believe it.
Bella nodded again. "That's all I want." Satisfied, the Master of Buckland walked away to rejoin the rest of the grieving families.
Bella continued to sit on the cold, tiled floor of Brandy Hall, Frodo safely cradled in her arms. She rocked him back and forth, delivering sweet kisses to the top of his head.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself, just once, to imagine if Frodo was hers. She'd be sitting in their bed in the King's chambers, rocking her child to sleep after waking from a terrible dream. Thorin would be next to her, looking on with such a proud look. His eyes would twinkle and he'd lean over and kiss her cheek. He'd reach across her and caress their son's head, just as she was doing to Frodo, soothing him back to sleep. He'd wrap his strong arms around them both, protecting them, whispering how much he loved them.
Tears once again sprung from her eyes as she came back to reality. Frodo was not hers. Her son would never get the chance to be born and that realization felt like a stab to her heart.
But she would be strong. Because, while her son would never be conceived, Frodo had been. He was laying in her arms, so trusting and so fragile. He needed her and, as long as he did, she would be there for him. Frodo shifted, burying his face further into her shoulder. Her heart felt lighter than it had in years and she smiled softly, brushing a stray curl out of his face.
She thought once more on her fantasy, before letting go. Accepting. She said goodbye to it and sent more thoughts of love toward the East. To the mountain that stood alone. The mountain that had stolen her heart from her. And that was it. She knew the pain would never go away, but she was fine with that. Thorin and his nephews were good memories that she wouldn't wish away for the world, even if they pain they brought she would carry for the rest of her life.
She would start living again. Frodo would be her fresh start.
"I wish that I could say that everything will be alright, but I'm not sure that's true. It's been many years and I've never felt alright until I met you." Bella whispered in his ear, uncaring that he couldn't hear her. "Grief is a hard road, but I will be there to walk it with you."
Frodo shifted, thumb tucked slightly into his mouth. Bella felt such a strong burst of love fill her soul, that, for the first time in years, she smiled a genuine smile. Yes, she was quite ready for another adventure.
"I'm going to look after you."