Author's note: This will, most definitely, follow the story-line of the movies but with original scenes and dialogue. I honestly never intended to write a Hobbit fanfic but I was watching the movies and it sort of happened. The Fem-bilbo thing has been done before but I'd like to hope Molly is her own little hobbit and I hope you like her.
Thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Molly Baggins was gardening. She liked to garden; gardening was important. After all, gardening became food and food was also quite important.
She hummed softly to herself as she plucked the juiciest and the ripest tomatoes off the vine and placed them carefully in her wicker basket so as not to bruise them.
Perhaps she'd dice them together with some fish for dinner? Or half them and throw them on the griddle…so many choices.
Molly stood, brushed off her tan apron and gathered her basket. It was rather a nice day, this day; the birds were happy and singing, the sky was bright, the air not too hot but not too cold. What better day to finally touch up her front door? Been meaning to do that for ages, anyway.
So lost in thought, was she that she very nearly ran into the man waiting by her door.
"Please do excuse-oh, no."
The man regarded her as if insulted. But this was no ordinary man. This man cloaked in gray with wiry wisps escaping from his long, gray beard was a wizard and wizards were nothing but a bucket full of trouble.
"Margaret Baggins." He spoke as if they were old friends and Molly bristled like a cat. "Years and years it has been and that is my greeting?"
Molly drew herself up impressively; all three and a half feet of her. "Tis a proper greeting for the likes of you. And it's Molly, if you please."
"Molly, terribly sorry." A self-satisfied smirk painted his lips. "But where is your hospitality? Shouldn't you invite me in for a drink? For old time's sake?"
Invite him in? A man? A wizard? What would people think?
"I think not." She shook her head. "I'd never hear the end of it from Estella Greenwich, you know. It's bad enough you showing up on my doorstep. Now, if you don't mind, I've got dinner to think about."
The old wizard frowned, his eyes falling to her feet-which were well maintained, right down to the flaxen tuff of fuzz on top, thank you-and up to the strawberry corkscrew curls atop her head.
"You've changed."
Well. Didn't have to sound all gruff about it, did he?
"If you are referring to last we met," she said. "And my inappropriate behavior-I am quite sorry for throwing the rock at your head, by the way, but you did startle me-then, yes, I have changed."
There comes a time in every young hobbits life where they must grow and become respectable. Someone the grocer wouldn't mind saying hello to in the morning, someone the neighbors wouldn't whisper about. And Molly had quite enough of that already to last one lifetime, thank you very much.
"I see." He said. "It appears I've wasted my time. I had thought you might be interested in a little adventure but it seems I was wrong."
Molly laughed incredulously. "Adventure? No, no thank you." she said it all a bit loudly, just in case anyone was listening. "Not sure there's anyone around these parts anymore aching to go on any adventure." Not since mum passed, that is.
And Gandalf was mum's friend. Perhaps she was being a tad harsh.
"I do wish you well," she offered, slipping toward her front door. "Truly I do. Good afternoon."
Before he could say anything she ran inside and locked the door securely behind her and, just to be safe, the deadbolt as well.
That was that.
Molly felt her poor heart racing from all the undue excitement as she carried her tomatoes into the kitchen to be washed.
In a few hours, it would be getting dark and her stomach was already rumbling and what better way to take her mind off what just happened then food?
Let's see….she'd need some flour and butter for the biscuits, some lemon for the fish…Oh! And some parsley. Perhaps a bit of white wine this evening? She was feeling in the mood to spoil herself.
In no time at all she was covered up to the elbows in flour and popping the biscuits in the oven. Molly washed herself off with a cloth rag and started on the fish.
By the time everything was finished, it was dark and she was quite hungry. The fish looked marvelous, the biscuits smelled divine and the snap peas she'd made on the fly looked crisp as a cracker if she did say so herself.
Molly sat down at her table and tucked a napkin neatly into the collar of her dress. Just as she was about to taste her first fork-full of fish, there was a loud knock at her door.
"What on earth?"
Visitors? She never got visitors. Surely it wasn't-
Molly swung open the door, intent on giving that wizard a piece of her mind and chiding him for interrupting her dinner-
-it wasn't Gandalf.
She gulped.
Before her was a man. Or a beast. Possibly a man-beast; there was so much fur and beard it was hard to tell.
"No soliciting, sorry!" She tried to slam the door but the brute stopped it with his meaty palm and forced his way in.
"I beg your pardon!" she shrilled. "I'm not above yelling for help and I assure you that no less than thirty hobbits will rain down on you like…like….erm."
The man-beast's lips curled into a snarl. "Are ye the hobbit?"
Molly crossed her arms across her ample chest. Course, it wasn't the only part of her that could be described as 'ample'; she thought she looked perfectly hobbit-shaped.
"A hobbit. I am a hobbit. Molly Baggins, if you must know."
"Dwalin." He growled, sniffing the air. "Where is it, lass? He said there'd be food."
Oh no you don't. "Now see here, Dweller-"His eyes narrowed to little black beads. "Barging into a lady's home like this is beyond impolite; it is down-right rude. Please leave or I shall take measures."
"Having a wee bit trouble with the lass there, brother?"
Molly spun; if she'd had her frying pan, the man at her door would've gotten a face-full of iron. As it was he caught her startled fist easily and gently.
"Balin, at your service, lass." Quite bendy for an elderly man, she thought. Bent right at the waist he did and without a grunt or a groan.
Old Grungy down the way didn't look half as ancient and he squeaked every time he moved.
"Pardon me, but you've got the wrong house," She tried as this…Balin…entered her home and walked right up to the other one for a hug.
"Been ages, brother." They beat each other's back; it was barbaric. "You're shorter than last we met. Where'd it all go?"
"Same place your hair went, I'd imagine." Balin remarked with a smile. "Oh, I'm famished; good thing too, is that fish I smell?"
No. no. no. no. no.
"It is fish." Molly stood firm. "My fish because, you see, I've only made enough for myself."
Balin smiled and his eyes crinkled gently. "No need to put yourself out, lass; we'll manage. Pantry's through here, is it?"
"Of course but-" another knock at the door cut her off. "Blast and confound it all."
Molly braced herself for the worst; she already had a speech thought up and everything. She had her-as her father called it-business face on. No one wanted to see Molly Baggins's business face. No siree.
"Excuse me, I don't know who you think you are but do not-and I repeat-do not think that you," Molly paused seeing two, younger men at her door. Both looked like right scoundrels to her. "That either of you," she amended flawlessly. "Can expect hospitality in my home by barging into it. I've had enough of that, thank you. Now, wipe those filthy boots on the mat as I'm sure you're coming in anyway."
Both boys looked to one another; they looked like younglings being chastised. And they were young; the dark-haired one seemed the youngest, the least squirrelly of the bunch by far. Poor dear didn't even have a beard yet and I'm sure I read somewhere about that being a dwarf-type thing, beards.
But that blonde one…now that was a jack the lad if I ever saw one; what with those mischievous blue eyes and delicate braids.
Molly placed her hands on her hips in a way that garnered no talk back. "Now!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
A spark of satisfaction graced her lips in a smile as the two young dwarfs scraped their boots outside on the mat.
Younglings are all the same, dwarf or no dwarf.
"Are you...Mrs. Baggins?" The dark-haired one tried.
Mrs.? Mrs.? "I am the only Baggins, young lad. Molly Baggins, to be specific."
Again the two exchanged what I would call 'a look', the blonde recovered quicker and bowed respectfully. Politely. And so put on it was sickening.
"Fili, at your service, Lady Baggins."
"Erm," The dark-haired dwarf caught up and bowed as well though he was less practices and more clunky. "And Kili. Also at your service, Miss Baggins."
Molly stepped aside and gestured with her head. "Well, by all means, come on in."
The lads side-stepped and prattled on graciously about how nice her home was and was that fish they smelled? And ham.
Molly didn't prepare ham. She did, however, have a nice one hanging in the pantry-
No.
They wouldn't.
They did.
"My kitchen!" My ham! Molly nearly cried in the middle of her kitchen. She'd been saving it for a rainy day where she could prepare it properly with a nice, sweet glaze and lumps of potatoes. She was going to take some to her neighbors because that was right, that was proper.
Yet there lay her precious ham butchered down to the bone in a sad heap while the meat sizzled to death in a pan. A pan! Who cooks ham, unseasoned, in a pan!
Peelings everywhere; carrots, potatoes…it was scene of carnage. Her poor, poor pantry. All her food. Gone.
"Fili! Kili! Glad te see ye boys, grab the wine barrel."
Molly was aghast. "That barrel cost me a pretty penny, it did."
She was going to throw a little party with that; surely someone would have come.
One of the dwarves-quite unexpectedly-took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Relax, my lady. Try to enjoy the evening."
Molly yanked her hand right back and looked up at him, right in the eye.
"I'll thank you not to take any liberties, young lad." She said firmly. "I am a respectable hobbit and far too old for the likes of you."
Fili laughed whole-heartedly. "Age is but a number, Miss Baggins. Don't look a day over ninety to me."
Molly bristled like a cat.
"Eighty-five?"
Her eyes narrowed to little, blue slits.
"Seventy?" He was starting to look horrified.
"I shan't dignify that with an answer." Molly turned heel and stalked away. As she did, she heard what could only be described as a 'ruckus' at her door. Talking, laughing, banging, clanking; it was all too much for one hobbit to handle.
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Molly threw open the door to a gathering of rowdy dwarfs. She stood like an immovable stone with her hands on her hips and her no-nonsense stare.
"All of you," She started. "Wipe. Your. Feet."