The Gift
Chapter I
The tween jerked up from his crochet when he heard his father's harried triple knock at the door. Mother hadn't allowed him to answer the door for weeks now, so he simply sat and watched, slightly tense, as Mother left her seat at the dining room table, went to the door, and carefully unlatched the various deadbolts (installed several weeks earlier on Mother's insistence for protection against the ever-encroaching orcs and wolves) on the big Green Door. The paint was dull and flaking. It was begging for a new coating, but Father had ordered the Gamgees away what seemed like ages ago, and instructed them to not worry about the Bagginses and to look after themselves. Bilbo missed Hamfast sorely and thought of him daily.
Mother opened the door just wide enough for Father to slip in. It wasn't nearly as wide as she would've had to open it just last summertime, (although it was but months ago it feels like years since Bilbo's seen anything that wasn't topped with white and cold as death to the touch) the Fell Winter stripping Father of his jolly, rotund frame.
To Bilbo's amazement, though Mother opened the door, Father was nowhere to be seen. After a few seconds she shut the door again, refastening the bolts with her nimble fingers.
Bilbo placed his crochet to the side and slid out from his blankets, staggering over to his mother, half alarmed.
"Mother, wait, why would you—"
"Stay away from the windows," Mother commanded, and Bilbo ducked away from Bag End's entrance. Though they deadbolted the door and boarded up the windows, tiny slats of light still penetrated inside the hobbit hole. Bilbo liked to gaze upon that light, and was always disheartened when it was inevitably swallowed up by the evening darkness. But Mother saw them as cracks in a defense she needed to be impenetrable, and unable to do much else she forbade Bilbo from setting foot near them, lest an orc or some other nasty being happened to catch sight of him.
"And by the Valar, keep your voice down, child."
"What about Father? You cannot leave him out there!"
There was a sudden shift in the air's fabric and then Father was there, crouched on the rug in Bag End's entryway, breath misting out in the chill air, (sometimes Bilbo would force a whole gust of air out at once and pretend he was a dragon, a very warm and well fed dragon) his trembling visible even through his many layers. Bilbo began to hasten towards him, but with a sharp glance from Mother he stopped short. With one hairy foot he drew anxious, uneven circles on the hallway floor.
Before his very eyes Father transformed from translucent, to pale, to a solid hobbit, albeit still with a significant sallow to his skin.
"Father, what…"
Mother helped Father past Bilbo and to the dining room, and Bilbo darted in front of them to draw out a chair for him. Mother went away to the kitchen, and Father bade Bilbo sit by him. When the young hobbit did so, he was clasped by the shoulders. Father's grasp was tenuous and wet from the snow (hunger had dried up their skin like shriveled gourds, until their palms cracked and bled from dryness).
"Now, I need to you listen to me very carefully, Bilbo Baggins." At the use of his full name Bilbo perked up, forcing down the constant buzz of dizziness that attempted to distract him. "It is true that you have inherited your troublemaking attitude from your Took of a mother—" Here the sagging flesh of his face folded into a smile, both strained and fond. "—but there are also certain things passed down on the Baggins side as well that you and almost all of the Shire are not aware of. And no, I do not mean your penchant for crochet and conkers, my lad. We Bagginses have a unique gift that enables us to turn fully and totally invisible."
Bilbo's mouth dropped open and stayed there. It was one thing to see his father magically appear in front of him (his mind had gotten funnier as his stomach had gotten smaller) but to have Father actually confirm that yes, that was not a hallucination nor your imagination, I actually did turn invisible my lad, was nothing short of astonishing.
"Well?" Mother entered the room, pressing a mug of boiled snowwater into Father's hands (they had ran out of tea leaves several days ago) and drew a chair up herself.
Bilbo stared at his hands, flipping them front and back, back and front again, but they remained steadfastly visible.
Father gulped the hot liquid down—Bilbo winced, it had to be scalding—before wiping his mouth with one of his favorite handkerchiefs, an old courting gift. When he was finished, he answered, "I went to the town hall, as I said I would. A raven has come, sent by the Rangers that patrol our borders. They promise provisions enough for the entire Shire to arrive in a fortnight."
"A fortnight?!" Mother slammed her fists on the table, (Bilbo wisely did not comment on her hypocritical noise level) and the Bagginses both startled badly at her ire.
"And how are we supposed to sustain ourselves until then? We have next to nothing left, Bungo, and I'm sure the Gamgees and other lesser off folk have been doing without for days now."
Father reached out to placate Mother, but with one surly look he immediately retracted his arm.
"We'll discuss this later. For now, I think you should give Bilbo some advice on his invisibility technique, now that he knows of it."
"Yes, dear," Father rose, taking the tween by the hand and slowly leading him to the latter's room. He positioned Bilbo on the bed, and drew up the desk chair beside it for himself. He sunk into it with a gust of air.
"I wanted to wait until you were at least of age for this, so that you could control it better. But with the way things have been going…I'd rather have you prepared for any eventuality, if I can help it. Now, it's going to be a bit more difficult for you to harness this ability, as you're still quite young. But I have faith in you, my boy; you're exceptionally bright, you'll snap it right up."
Bilbo bowed his head, the praise flushing his cheeks. Father continued on with a grin.
"In order for this to work, you need to channel your thoughts very clearly. First, imagine a…bubble, of sorts, that encompasses your entire body. It blocks off the gaze of others. It's not that you do not want to be seen, it is that you want others to be blind. I'm not sure why, but it is only by thinking with that particular phrasing in mind that you become invisible. Repeat after me: I want others to be blind."
"I want others to be blind," Bilbo obeyed, staring down at his hands. "I want others to be blind. Father?"
"Mm?"
"How will I know that I'm invisible? Should I start carrying 'round a pocket mirror, like the lasses?"
The creases Father's face wrinkled with mirth. "No, Bilbo. Thank the Valar, there is no need for that. When you eventually manage to turn fully invisible, there will be this almost tangible film between you and the rest of the world. It moves with you, so attempting to reach out and touch it is useless. However, if you ever find yourself in need of a…weapon, Valar forbid, then it would extend past your 'field', keeping the object invisible as well. For instance—"
Here Father winked out of Bilbo's sight. The tween started, still not used to his father's odd ability. He heard but the slightest padding of feet, and then suddenly one of Bilbo's books was floating in the air.
"You can see the book right now, yes?"
Bilbo nodded.
"Ah, but if I simply think that I need the veil to cover the book as well, then—" And just like that, the book vanished.
"This is so amazing," Bilbo marveled, standing and walking over to where he surmised his father was. "Have you ever noticed that it makes your voice sound all tinny?"
"Yes, Belladonna has said. I'm not sure why. Even I cannot confess to understanding this phenomenon entirely." Here Father flickered back into visibility, setting the book back onto the desk. He trailed his hand across the sturdy wood. He had built this table, along with all of Bilbo's furniture and the Smial itself, back when he was young and hale and desperate to impress his lovely new bride. Although Belladonna had always matched him tit for tat when they discussed banking or scholarly texts during their courtship, she was always more impressed with the Baggins whenever he used his brawn over his brain.
Shaking the dusty memories from the forefront of his mind, Bungo turned back to his son. "The Tooks are rumored to have faerie blood, explaining their predilection for going on adventures. Who knows? Perhaps very long ago a Baggins met some other sort of creature that granted our line this ability."
Without warning Father stumbled, and Bilbo rushed to support him.
"Father? Father!"
"I'm alright lad, I'm alright. Not too loud now; we don't want to bother Bella, not to mention whatever else might be skulking out there in the dark." Father extricated himself from Bilbo's panicked hold, but very quickly sunk into the chair, face paler than when he entered Bag End earlier, if that were at all possible. Bilbo returned to his seat as well, frowning at the other hobbit.
"The usage of invisibility is very draining, as you can tell. Once you are able to master it, only use this power when it is absolutely necessary, understand?"
"Yes, Father."
"I mean it, young hobbit. I have heard tales of Bagginses growing faint from overuse and taking tumbles down hills and injuring themselves, sometimes irreparably. And I will absolutely not have you making a fool of yourself by swooning in front of a lass—"
"But Father—"
"—nor shall you get into any sort of mischief by filtching mushrooms from old Farmer Maggot. If I find out that you've been dabbling in such an activity, why, I will not stand for it. I—"
"But Father, I don't even know how to turn invisible yet." The slime of fear curdled in his stomach. What if Bilbo never mastered the technique? He'd be a proper failure, not worthy of the Baggins name. And oh, if Lobelia found out, he would never hear the end of it…
"Do not fret overmuch. It will come to you soon enough. Just remember what I told you. Think: I want others to be blind. The effectiveness of your invisibility once you're able to create it is largely dependent upon your emotions, doubly so since you're so young. Keeping a cool, calm head is crucial, or the entire trick will fall apart."
"I'll master it as quickly as possible," Bilbo promised.
"Of that, my lad, I have no doubt. Now. Your mother will undoubtedly have my head if I do not go and speak with her now. Why don't you pop off to bed and practice in the morning, mm?"
Bilbo nodded eagerly, despite how fuzzed over his vision became as a result.
"Father?"
"Yes?" He paused at the threshold to Bilbo's room, one arm leaning against the door for slight support.
"Will this ever end? Will the trees ever blossom, the animalfolk return? Will we ever eat a Second Breakfast again?" Bilbo's lower lip quivered and he tried to stifle his sniffles but it was so cold and hunger kept squeezing his stomach and everything was so white and—
"Hey, hey, enough of that." Father was a warm, solid presence by his side. He slung an arm over the tween's shoulders, giving him a small squeeze. "Do not despair, Bilbo lad. As I've often said, while there's life, there's hope. Now sleep, my child. Your mother and I will be right down the hall if you need us."
And with that and one last reassuring squeeze, he left Bilbo's room, shutting the door softly behind him.
Bilbo threw his arm across his face roughly, ridding himself of the unbecoming moisture. He then set about piling every blanket in his possession (even the uncomfortable, scratchy one Lobelia had gifted him on her birthday) and some extras that his parents had given him as well onto his bed. He then burrowed underneath the mountainous pile, curling in on himself with the hope of generating some small warmth. Bilbo's eyes dropped shut almost instantly, his breath evening out quiet and slow, when he was jerked awake by a distant slam on a table, followed by angry, raised voices. Bilbo wiggled out of his makeshift mountain, crept over to his door, and turned the doorknob ever so slowly, ever so silently. He tiptoed through Bag End until he was just outside the entrance to the dining room. His parents' voices had lowered considerably, but they had by no means decreased in intensity. He strained his ears to listen craning his neck forwards.
"—might have no choice but to—" Mother was saying.
"No, no, no, I will not stand for it, not in this house Belladonna—"
"What would you have me do? I will not allow our child to starve any more than he already has. Have you clapped eyes upon him recently, Bungo? He's little more than a walking skeleton with skin stretched over it. He's not even that—he cannot walk, or jump, or skip. It is all he can do to sit by a weak fire and do his crocheting. He will not survive another week on the few scant crumbs still in our pantry, much less the minimum two that your dear Rangers require. And what of you, my dear Bungo? How much longer can you hope to forage in the state you're in?"
"Temper your ire and think, Belladonna. If we do as you suggest then we'll be no better than those savage orcs. And say we all do manage to survive. People will find out what we'd done, and will that be any way to live? We would be shunned, ostracized; death would be preferable to such a miserable existence. I cannot do that to you, to Bilbo."
"How can you possibly think of anything more than survival at this moment?"
"Is it truly worth it to survive if we have to degrade ourselves to such a level? To partake in—in the flesh of others?"
"Survival is always the most important thing, our number one priority. If you're not alive, everything else is meaningless. I will do anything to keep our family alive, anything, you hear?!"
Silence. Bilbo's mind spun. What did Father mean when he said "partake in the flesh of others"? Surely he couldn't actually mean, he could never mean—
"Give me five days, Bella. Five days to try things my way, and if that doesn't work…then we'll talk."
"No, then we'll do it my way. End of discussion."
"I—"
"I will not budge on this, Bungo Baggins." Her tone indeed brooked no argument.
It was here that Bilbo scuttled backwards and retreated to his room, to a sanctuary where he didn't have to hear his parents say such nasty and frightening things. Bilbo burrowed back under his blankets. He curled up like a babe, one hand massaging his complaining stomach, and desperately tried to not think of food.
When he stumbled over to the kitchen the next morning (never the most graceful of hobbits) his father was already absent, and his mother by the hearth, cramming snow into a pot.
"Your father's gone to try and fetch us some food. With any luck, he'll be back for second breakfast at the earliest, afternoon tea at the latest." She began without preamble. She reached one thin arm over to ruffle his curls. "Perhaps you can work on your invisibility trick in the meantime."
"Yes'm."
Bilbo went back to his room, doing his best to ignore the protesting gurgle from his stomach. He sat where Father had the night before, put his head in his hands, and repeated the mantra he had been taught. But no matter how hard he thought or how confidently he spoke, he couldn't feel any change, any sort of shroud between him and the rest of the world.
His father's customary knock startled him out of his reverie. Was it second breakfast already? As he hurried into Bag End's foyer to greet his father, he noticed that it was even later than he had predicted—the winter sun was sinking through the window slats.
Mother helped Father out of his overcoat, and he then trudged over to the dining room table and plunked himself down. He produced two frost-bitten rabbits from his inner coat, and held them aloft with triumph and a grin.
Mother plucked them from his frozen fingers, eagerly skinning them before putting them in the pot with the snow from earlier that morn, which had by then softened into water.
"Wherever did you manage to find them?" She asked.
"I had to go to the end of the High Hay, nearly into the Old Forest to find something that so much as breathed. Then it was right luck that I stumbled upon this brace of coneys."
"Did you happen upon any wolves, or orcs?"
"I could make out some paw prints in the snow here and there, but I didn't see any living creatures around save for these two hares—until I caught them, that is. All the other hobbits seem to be staying inside reinforced homes, as we are. I believe the wolves and orcs are more active in the night."
"They're scared of the daylight, huh?" Mother snorted. "Well, I suppose we'll take what we can get."
Belladonna dropped a kiss on her husband's forehead, and Bilbo beamed. Perhaps Mother's stopgap measure would never have to be implemented. They could make it though two more weeks of the Fell Winter, they really could. Then the men would come with enough food for the entire Shire…Bilbo could have cherry tarts, pheasant, applesauce, milk, corn, sourdough bread…the lad's mouth watered at the possibilities.
A steaming whole rabbit was placed in front of little Bilbo. Now, before cold winds began to blow over the Shire, one measly bunny was an appetizer at best, but now, with a pantry barren of even crumbs, a single small hare was nothing to sneeze at. He dug in eagerly, and his mother did not even bother to reprimand him for using his hands in lieu of her silverware! It was truly a marvelous day for Bilbo Baggins.
His parents split the other hare directly down the middle, and when Father immediately tried to offer Mother some of his share she glowered.
"Don't be ridiculous, Bungo. I may be a lady hobbit, but do not mistake me for a frail maiden out of one of your novels. The only reason you're the one out there scavenging and I'm stuck home defending is because of your Baggins magic, nothing more. Now eat up. We both need all the energy we can get."
Cowed, Father nodded and obeyed. After a few chews and swallows, he turned to address his son. "Bilbo, tell me, how is your practice going? Have you flickered yet? Or perhaps even turned completely invisible?"
The tween ducked his head. "No, I cannot seem to grasp it. But I do not understand what I am doing wrong. I'm repeating the line, just as you said, both in my head and aloud. I concentrate really, really hard, but nothing seems to happen!"
"Easy, easy, lad. It will come. Your first time is quite difficult, but once you manage that, something in your head seems to lock in place for good. You'll never have to force it to happen again; the power will be at your disposal. I'm sure it doesn't help that you're so hungry."
They continued to eat until every bit of meat was devoured. Then Mother showed them how to suck out the marrow from the bones, and then they did that.
After their meager meal the family bundled up in some quilts by the fireplace. A single log burned in the heart, the woodpile meticulously rationed.
Bilbo picked up his crochet from yesterday, the beginnings of a pleasant white doily for the mantelpiece. His parents gazed into the hearth for a time. His mother began to sing softly, a gentle hymn of flowing fields of grain, the touch of soft grass on a child's cheek. His father then joined in, his trembling baritone entwining with her steady alto. Despite the cold that bit at his fingers and the hunger that clawed at his stomach, their song lulled Bilbo into his most contented slumber of the winter.
For six days more, Father would go out early, venturing progressively further and further in order to find some small morsels for his family. It wasn't enough, never enough, not even close, but they were better off than most hobbits, and that fact quieted Bilbo's grumbling, though not that of his stomach's.
And then, on the seventh day, Bungo Baggins did not return to Bag End.
The sun came and went, and there was no sign of the gentlehobbit. Mother vainly peered through the slats covering their windows more and more frequently. Soon enough she relinquished her pretences of puttering around the house to pull up a chair by a window next to the door. She stared anxiously, chewing at her fingernails and clenching a Took blade in her free hand.
"Mother?" Bilbo timidly approached her after several hours. He was still mindful of her warning to stay away from the windows, so he hung back in the entryway to the foyer. He fidgeted. "Will Father come back?"
She turned from her watch to look at her son, and he saw that her usual strength was absent. What really struck him, though, was that it was replaced not by fear or worry, but by grief, an air of heavy acceptance.
She sheathed the blade and put it to the side, opening her arms to her son. Bilbo rushed to her, climbing into her embrace, and he hardly had to force his gangly limbs to fit. She stroked his curls. Soon a foreign wetness was dripping onto them.
"Mother, are you…crying?" He had no idea how to react. Mother had never cried, ever.
"I hope you never come to love someone as strongly as I have, Bilbo-lad. I hope you don't make that mistake. That way, you'll never have to know such grief as I have."
"Momma." Bilbo started to tremble, reverting to his childhood nickname for Belladonna as he was overwhelming by stress and emotion. "Oh, Momma. Pappa's…Pappa's gone, i-isn't he? The—the wolves, or the, the orcs, or—" He hiccupped.
Momma shushed him, palming comforting circles into Bilbo's back. "Assuming never does a single person any good. I should not have said that. I should not have despaired. It is possible that your father has at worst twisted his ankle on a root, or at best, has gotten in contact with the Rangers and Gandalf."
"Gandalf?"
"You've met him before. He created those lovely fireworks, don't you recall?"
There was a sudden knock, hard and heavy, at the door. It was not Pappa's customary triple knock.
Momma put him down, grasped him firmly by the shoulders. She whispered fiercely. "Bilbo, I want you to go to your room. I want you to go into your closet, behind your clothes, and I want you to stay there. Alright? No matter what you hear, stay right there. Do not move until I come to get you, alright?"
"Yes, M-Momma."
The knocking grew more forceful, grew into pounding—someone or something was trying to break down the door.
"Now go!"
With one hand Momma shooed Bilbo away, and with the other she drew the Took sword. She bent her knees slightly, lowering her center of gravity, bracing herself for whatever wanted entry into Bag End. Bilbo, heart hammering in his throat, half ran, half tripped into his room, stumbled over to his closet. He fumbled at the latch as the air around him throbbed and squeezed and blackened for a few seconds before he stilled his hands enough to open it. He shut himself inside, turning the latch again, pushing past all his summertime wear and huddling in the far corner. He drew his knees up to his wildly beating chest, and encircled his legs with his arms before burying his face into his knees.
As soon as Bilbo had settled into his hiding place he heard the earsplitting scream of the big Green Door being forced from its hinges, splintering onto the floor. This was soon followed by incoherent cries of fury from Momma and horrific grunts and snarls which could only be from orcs, coupled with the growling of wolves.
The struggle seemed to stretch on forever in Bilbo's mind, but was in actuality settled in less than five minutes.
Then, silence.
…
…
…
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Every stumping step was like a dagger to Bilbo's terrified heart. This was not the soft yet firm tread of his mother—instead it was scrabbling all over the wood, loud and heavy with ill intent.
There were some more grunts and groans, and suddenly the closet door was ripped away. The large snout of a wolf shoved its way in, fresh blood gleaming on its canines.
Bilbo stuffed a hand in his mouth to stifle his breaths, to strangle the shriek that threatened to tear through his throat. Snot and tears trickled onto his wrist. He closed his eyes, praying to the Valar, I want others to be blind IdontwanttodiepleaseohValar I want others to be blind pleasegiveanything I want others to be blind Iwanotherstobeblind—
"Oi, wot'r you doin' over there?" An orc sneered, stalking over to the wolf, pushing the clothes out of the way, staring directly at Bilbo. "There's nuthin' there. The babe rat's gotta be dead by now, ya daft sod. C'mon already, wot'r you still nosin' the clothin' fer? Why I oughta—"
The orc's words were cut short by a thunderous shout and a great flame. The orc screamed as his flesh sizzled, and he rolled uselessly on the floor of Bilbo's room until the tall figure stepped closer and cleaved off his head. The wolf, who had attempted to escape at the first whiff of magic, was felled by an accomplice of the first tall being as it tried to dart out the door.
A new head was thrust into Bilbo's closet. It had a long grey beard, sharp eyes, bushy caterpillar eyebrows, and atop it sat a pointed blue hat. In better circumstances Bilbo would've recognized the tall person as Gandalf the Grey, the wizard who had delighted him with dragon fireworks not ten years ago at the Great Took's birthday. But as it was, all Bilbo could do was sit and shake with a fist in his mouth and a fist on his heart and his mind keening I want them to be blind I want them to be blind I want them to be blind I want them to be blind…
Gandalf's face soon disappeared from Bilbo's hiding place and from the room, and he began to bellow: "Bilbo Baggins! Bilbo Baggins! Come out now, you are safe! The nasty creatures will bother you no longer! Bilbo! I say, Bilbo Baggins!" And so on and so forth as he got further and further away, until his booming voice was but a murmur in Bilbo's ears.
Only then did Bilbo climb out of his hiding place to find his Momma. Sidestepping the dead orc and wolf—too numb to puke at the sight of their brutalized corpses—Bilbo tiptoed into Bag End's hallway.
He sidled out to the front parlor by the Green Door that was chipped and faded that Pappa still needed to ask Mr. Gamgee to repaint. He sidled out to the front parlor by the Green Door where he saw his Momma and he called her name again and again louder and louder but she didn't answer no matter how often or how loud he called she didn't answer wouldn't turn her head sideways towards him to show she was listening that was strange Momma always listened always wanted to hear what Bilbo had to say important she said he was important a tween yes but almost an adult coming of age big day she was going to be so proud and he touched his Momma's arm and it flopped like a big dead fish like the ones he and Pappa caught in the Brandywine River why would it do that why what is all this red stuff what is that twisted lump of pink why isn't it in Momma's stomach where it should be where it belongs why Momma why I hid but you didn't come to get me why why why why why why why why why
And that was how Gandalf the Grey and the Rangers at last discovered little Bilbo Baggins that night, cradling his Mother's half-eaten corpse with a slackened face and eyes of the purest misery.
-TBC-