Alright... So this is a thing. That I made. I haven't written anything to actually post in a very very very very very long time. I saw the Hobbit and have been consumed by fanfic for it ever since which is a pretty impressive run for me in a fandom. This was just a plotbunny, and I have many more that may see the light of day soon now that school is almost out... It should also be on my tumblr under the same username if anyone is interested. I don't have an AO3 account and would appreciate it greatly if no one tries to post it in their name cause I doubt I'll get one what with their wait list thing.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit or the concept of earthbending
Also, this is a fanwork from someone who read the Hobbit an age and a half ago, meaning I am going to fuck with canon. I am going to fuck with timelines, ages, headcanons, pairings, and I don't know shit about kung fu so my idea of earthbending will be vague and somehow still wrong. I like Thilbo or Bagginshield or whatever the hell you want to call it so this story will probably end up in that category. There will be no smut cause I can't write it and there may or may not be angst we shall see. You have been warned, let me know if you dig it.
The Soul of a Mountain
Hobbits, connected to the earth as they were, had certain... abilities.
One would think it more fitting for Dwarrows to shift rock and soil at their will, being miners by trade, but long before the Shire was settled, when Hobbits were crossing mountain ranges and trekking miles with their large feet, they nurtured a gift befitting the Green Lady herself. In the current age, however, Hobbits have become complacent, content with ties to their simple gardens. They have burrowed comfortably into the soil that welcomed them, far from the mountains and the power they held. And knowledge of this power has been all but forgotten.
Therefore it is extremely rare, unheard of really, to find an earthbender with power worth mentioning. Most Hobbits retained a sense for the soil and it's state (some feeling it more keenly than others, as with the Gamgee family), and it wasn't a surprise to see the occasional small stone go flying with impressive accuracy, or a field or two plowed with unorthodox speed. Some say it was only his soul-deep love for one Belladonna Took that allowed Bungo Baggins the power to chip away and shift stone when building the sprawling grandeur of Bag End.
Belladonna herself became quite a scandal, returning from her adventures with tales of how achingly the mountains called to her still. It was only her love for Bungo, and later for her son, that kept her from running off again. Even as she showed a marked increase in strength with the exposure to the wilds. The whole of the Shire was abuzz within a week of her return, talk of Belladonna lifting stone clean into the air on everyone's lips.
Though Belladonna abandoned the notion of traversing mountains again, she took full advantage of this deeper bond with the earth. No one really batted an eye when she requested the old teaching scrolls from the Thain. So ancient they weren't even written in Westron, the old dusty things were nothing but pictures of stances to stare at. And what good were stances and forms and motions if no one had the power behind them? Nevertheless, Belladonna practiced whatever she could. And Bilbo, ever his mother's son, absorbed her stories and her lessons like a little sponge. He envisioned elves and adventures as his mother poked and prodded at his basic stances, applauded her minimal achievements even as his own efforts won him a shift in the topsoil if he was lucky. Neither mother nor son could gain the strength to perform the dramatic displays in the scrolls, but they greatly enjoyed their attempts. Every move was memorized in regular and rigorous enthusiasm.
Until the Fell Winter.
Bungo's death nearly stole Belladonna's bending right from her soul, and her subsequent fade into heartbreak left Bilbo alone, young still and at the mercy of his fellow Hobbits and their opinions. He abandoned his practices, packed the scrolls away with his maps, and ignored the faint calls his heart gave for the earth. And then there was a Wizard, and twelve Dwarrows with their haughty not-king, and Bilbo Baggins found himself dragged across Middle Earth. Toward mountains.
But today Bilbo found himself in a bit of a predicament. Ever since the troll incident, a few days past now, a sort of ache had begun to plague him, too deep and consuming to pin to a body part. He dared not tell any of the company, their disdain for him and his lack of experience was no secret and he'd rather not provoke their ire, and anyway is was more emotional than physical as far as he could gather, and what help would Dwarrows be with emotional upheaval. Gandalf had told him in a whisper that they were nearing Lord Elrond's realm, meaning, among other things, that they were nearing the House Bilbo's mother had spoken of. 'And that means we draw closer to mountains...' Bilbo thought to himself, not for the first time on this journey. A sort of excitement shivered through him from where he sat on Myrtle in the back of the pack. A glance to the rest of the dwarves proved they had taken no notice, unsurprising really, and Bilbo relaxed back into his reflections.
No one had really believed Belladonna when she had spoken of the mountains' draw on her. Many had thought the strengthening of her bending and the ache in her heart to be mere excuses for her entirely improper want for adventure. Even Bilbo had grown somewhat skeptical over the years, and yet... There was no denying that he had felt... heavy since leaving the Shire. As though his soul were a rag slowly soaking up the energy in the wild around him until it was dripping. He had grown more fidgety as their journey progressed, a fact no doubt written off as nerves by the company, quick as they were to assume the worst of him at this point. Giving a sharp nod to himself as Myrtle trundled along, Bilbo resigned himself to a bit of exploration as soon as the company was asleep. He supposed, now that his mother's mountains were looming beyond the tree line, now was as good a time as any for some practice.
Alone in the starlight, some quiet Hobbit-steps from camp and four days from the troll cave, Bilbo shifted into a stance. 'The basics...' he remembered the sunny Shire afternoons learning with his mother, dreaming of the very peaks growing ever closer. He centered his weight, low and solid, knees bent, back straight but loose, and took a deep breath. A fist shot out, palm snapping open, hips swiveled, feet pivoted, and a rumbling slide echoed in the Hobbit's ears. Bilbo's eyes shot open (had he closed them?) and there, lying three feet farther away, was a good-sized boulder, up to nearly his waist, and the trail of displaced soil in its wake.