OF QUIRKS, DWARVES
ONE FOR ALL AND ARKENSTONE
(A Hobbit/Lord of the Rings + My Hero Academia Crossover)
Summary:
"Bilbo Baggins, gentle-hobbit of Hobbiton-across-the-Water, and Midoriya Izuku, quirkless kid in a world where most people have superpowers, woke up in each other's figurative shoes one fine morning.
The two worlds would never be the same."
First and foremost, some initial disclaimers/general notice:
1) All disclaimers apply: The Hobbit, The Silmarillion and all related work were the property of The Good Professor and presently belongs to The Tolkien Estate. Boku no Hero Academia belongs to Kohei Horikoshi. I own little more than the words I write. This story uses the same theme as the anime Kimi no Na wa, but otherwise uses no copyrighted material from the aforementioned.
2) A few notes on language and timeline:
- Names are written in the Japanese order in scenes where Deku is the viewpoint character (so "Baggins Bilbo", "Sackville-Baggins Lobelia", "Gamgee Hamfast"), in the Western order in scenes where Bilbo is the viewpoint character (so "Izuku Midoriya", "Katsuki Bakugou", "Shouto Todoroki"), and in their 'correct' respective order in scenes taken over by the omniscient narrator.
- The deaths of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins are moved back by five years each, so Bungo passed away in T.A. 2921 and Belladonna in T.A. 2929. The births of Hamfast Gamgee and his wife are similarly moved back, to T.A. 2916.
3) This work can also be found on Archive of Our Own and Spacebattles. Minor variations may exist between the three versions.
CHAPTER 0
BAGGINS BILBO-SAN AND HIS MISTER IZUKU MIDORIYA
At first sight Mister Bilbo Baggins of Bag End was nothing less than the quintessential gentle-hobbit of his age. He was well-off and hospitable, two qualities that not too often went hand-in-hand, and had to his name a magnificent hobbit-hole under The Hill – synonymous to 'comfort' in every meaning of the word.
More importantly, he was respectable and proud of it: Tookish as his mother had been in her life (may her soul rest in peace), the good Mister Baggins took after his father more, and would never, ever do anything strange or out of the ordinary. Including, and especially, going on adventures beyond The River, thank you very much!
But those who knew him more intimately would note that he, too, had a rather queer habit. Then again the only one so close to him was his gardener Hamfast Gamgee, who was content with tending his gentle-hobbit's garden and not very interested in poking about his master's records (at any rate it would be an enormously impolite thing to do, and Hamfast prided himself on his propriety).
Every other day, after all letters had been written, all business handled, seven meals eaten and red wine drunk, Master Bilbo Baggins would sit down in front of his writing table now moved close to his bed. He would prepare an enormous tome now half-filled, and ink his quill. He would blow several enormous smoke rings, then he would set his pipe aside for the day, and with a fruity smile on his face he would write in a script unknown to neither Men nor Elves of his world: complicated and flowery, and resembled miniature drawings than actual letters.
His note would always begin like this:
"Thursday, the 12th of Astron, Year 1340 of the Shire Reckoning,
My dear Mister Izuku Midoriya, may the hair on your feet be woolly and warm (or nonexistent as is your like)..."
And would always end like so:
"... Thus ends my day, and begins yours. Please refrain from disturbing the peace at Bag End and the respectability of my Father's name, as is always.
Sincerely yours, Bilbo Baggins."
And then he would go to bed, look long and hard into the comfy wooden ceiling of cozy Bag End one last time.
Because next time he would open his eyes, odds were he'd be boxed inside walls of bricks and a ceiling of concrete, staring at so many paintings of a grinning blond who well resembled an overweight First Age Vanya of the host of Ingwe who ere dwelt in the Undying Land (or so the legends said).
At first sight Midoriya Izuku was your dime-a-dozen teenage boy living in a world where 80% of all folk has one sort of superpower (or "quirk" as they were known) or another. Well, as normal as a teenage boy of that world with no quirk to his name whatsoever – not one that he could control at any rate.
More importantly, he was a nerd and a fanboy and proud of it: many a notebook he had filled, full of analyses and observations on the many, many heroes and villains that this brave new world had given birth to. Including, and especially, All Might the Symbol of Peace, greatest among heroes and the boy's idol.
And those who knew him more intimately would note that he had yet another rather queer habit. Then again the only one so close to him was his mother, and Midoriya Inko has things in mind other (and at any rate more important) than her son's doings on his own smartphone.
Every other day, when he'd finished his religious daily re-watch of any number of videos with All Might in it, Midoriya Izuku would yawn loudly, set aside his many notebooks upon which " Hero Analysis for the Future " was written, and leap on his bed. He would stare at the All Might posters plastered everywhere around his tiny room like drawing strength from it, and with a shaky grin on his face he would tap so many words on his smartphone screen: his notes were as a rule uncharacteristically long, and he'd often considered whether he should have gotten a new notebook just for this sort of thing.
His note would always begin like this:
" Seireki 2014, April 12, Saturday,
Baggins-san, hope you're doing okay (and no I still don't want any hair on my feet thank you very much!)"
And would always end like so:
"Well, guess I'm in your care again. Please try not to get into a fight with Kacchan, and keep my stuff safe will you?
Cheers, Midoriya Izuku."
And then he would go to bed, look long and hard into his shrine-to-All-Might of a room one last time.
Because next time he would open his eyes, odds were he'd find himself on a bed too small in a room too stuffy, surrounded by books and maps and fancy toys and the lovely aroma of a perpetually full larder.
When it happened the first time, the respectable Mister Baggins and the nerdy Izuku had thought the same thing: "What?" followed by "Where?" and then "How?".
For Bilbo Baggins, to find himself trapped in the body of a Big Folk child had been the height of embarrassment and lack of propriety.
There he'd been, dressed in a toddler's clothing, rolling off a bed too large for his own folk, staring at a shelf full of little statues of this muscular blond whose blue tunic could hardly contain his muscles. When he had opened his mouth, he'd been speaking in a language not his own in a voice too high and cutesy.
Next thing he knew this Big Folk women had come rushing in, and heaved him over to breakfast, and promptly proceeded to fill up him with milk and fish, dress him up in tweenish clothes, and ship him off on her box-that-run to a place full of so many children. Bilbo would have tried running away, if he had not been too astonished and flummoxed during the whole time.
What was a quintessential gentle-hobbit to do?
As it happened, Bilbo had made it solely by observing.
Because respectable gentle-hobbits were to be calm and polite, and never to speak out of turn. He'd not been so sure if those words he had spoken in this strange tongue translated perfectly to "At your service and yours", but the governess in charge of this nursery was immensely impressed.
So this forty-year-old hobbit, well-mannered and respectable as his father and his grandfather before him, had conducted himself most maturely in the face of this small cozy place full of children not a fifth his age. Because that was most certainly what his father would have done in his place.
The nursery had been quite nice, in the sense that it had reminded Baggins that he had been, by respectable standards, supposed to get married and have fauntlings of his own about now. Except that very quickly he'd been reminded that children like those around him hadn't been exactly, well, what he would have expected from kids of his own.
To put it simply, a very large part of them were abnormal in the same way a wizard was abnormal: endowed with powers ranging from curious to terrifying. One could conjure light from every inch of his skin. Another could extend her snake-like arms and enjoyed doing it just for fun. Another could turn solid everything he wrote. Yet another talked to animals for fun. Yet another could detach their fist and shoot it forth like a missile. So on and so forth.
And there'd been this delightful fellow who could make things explode by punching it. A boy whose messy white hair, toothy grin and arms always folded could hardly hide his swelled head. His name, as Bilbo soon learned, was Bakugou Katsuki.
Bilbo had found out equally quickly that Bakugou's favorite pastimes were respectively, punching stuff and picking on Izuku Midoriya. One explosive-sweat-powered shove and a nasty cultureless string of laughter later and the fact was plain for all to see.
It was under such circumstances that Bilbo Baggins had been forced into a battle: an unarmed (quirkless was the word, was it not?) child, versus one armed to the teeth, grinning and so confident he could take on a live dragon and win.
But this was important: children as a rule were fond of curious things, and in a world so saturated with physically wondrous things the well-crafted spoken word had suddenly become a rarity. And so Bilbo came up with a defense of his own. "Would you care for some riddles?" he'd said, smiling and politely, to a couple of girls and boys in their class, bored to tears by school. He quizzed them about fire and time and eggs, and a multitude of other mundane things oft forgotten in a world run by machines and amazing powers.
Bilbo Baggins had never quite fancied himself a teacher any more than he fancied being an adventurer. But like every good story-teller Bilbo knew how to begin a tale and where exactly to endone, and had put that knowledge to use accordingly. It wasn't too long before he'd found himself surrounded by a small group of delightful boys and girls, puppy-eyed and smiling and grinning, who'd clapped their hands and laugh and cried out for more riddles and more stories.
More importantly that meant the messy-haired boy who'd make a wizard blush with his explosions had been unable to get anywhere closer to him than Bilbo'd been comfortable with. He'd shouted and screamed and at one point tried to shove Bilbo's small congregation apart.
Unfortunately for Katsuki Bakugou, the one as a rule was unable to contend with the many very well – in particular a crowd of children trying to protect their new story-teller. And shouting "You worthless worms and your worthless quirks!" while dogpiled by half a dozen classmates (and their quirks), as a rule, was not going to endear the perpetrator very much to the stern governesses, whose job was to keep down this very manner of thing.
Judging from his kicking and screaming and blowing up at the teacher pulling him to the corner, it was maybe the very first time that Bakugou was subject to punishment of any sort. Bilbo Baggins had not known it then, but such was also the very first time the boy whose body Bilbo'd been inhabiting was regarded as something of a hero.
At the end of the day, he'd decided it had not been so bad. When the mess at the nursery had been made known to the parents of all the children involved, Izuku Midoriya's mother had put Bilbo to bed. She'd cried and told him how proud she'd been of him – and reminded Bilbo how dearly he'd missed the late Bungo and Belladonna Baggins.
Bilbo had not known it then, but the circumstances that made Mistress Inko Midoriya cry over such a seemingly minor thing would then end up driving the coming years of his own life. Though it would be a while before he'd learnt what exactly her name was.
When he'd woken up the next day, he'd been back to where he was meant to be: In a hole in the ground, and that meant comfort, as himself, rotund and hairy-footed and hungry for breakfast.
For Midoriya Izuku, it had been the closest he'd ever come to dying.
Picture this, if you will: a six-year-old boy, trapped in a body too large to control. Locked and alone in a house full of sharp objects, tiny objects, breakable objects, things to trip on, things that could fall and crush, so many doors and locks, and a very large supply of alcoholic beverages. No Momma in sight, and no matter how hard he'd shouted and cried and hollered nobody had come. And there'd been his body, too, large and fat and bulky, and there was this mass of hair on his feet.
What was a boy to do?
As it happened, Izuku had made it solely by observing.
Because that had been the only thing meaningful he'd thought he could do for a very long time. He'd been so very afraid, but weren't heroes supposed to be brave and cool no matter how heinous the crime or the villain?
So this six-year-old boy, steadfast and brave as the boldest of heroes he idolized, had flashed a smile in the face of this big scary house full of unknowns. Because that was what All Might would have done in his shoes, right?
That's right, he had thought, and proceeded to systematically analyze Bag End like it was a villain – except one that was directly threatening him.
He'd found some loose paper in this fancy room full of books and maps, and a pencil too. Things he could use to write on, and that had been good.
Armed with such weapons of knowledge and a smile, he'd explored the place, taking note of where everything were. He'd found out, for example, that every rooms in the house had been neatly aligned along a single corridor, and that all the rooms on one side had been windowed and all on the other hadn't. Or that the doors were round and green and brass-knobbed in the center. Or that there were enough coat-hangers around the place for his entire kindergarten class to play with and then some.
Sure it'd been a big place. Sure there'd been no Momma there. Sure it had been everything his house was not. Sure Izuku had been lost and frightened as a child should never be.
But this was important: houses as a rule reflected their owners, and Bilbo Baggins had ever been a kindly host. There'd been food in the kitchen and warm blankets in any single bedrooms, and in the study there'd been picture books and many maps. Knives the hobbit had tucked away quite securely, and things that a child might swallow he'd put in a box (less because of duty of care and more because those were likely to be things of sentimental value)
Young Midoriya hadn't been able to read very well then, struggling with kana and the simplest kanji; certainly much less the blocky prints ubiquitous on those maps.
But a good picture had ever been worth a thousand words, and there'd been many a picture: of many Warriors and Heroes fighting dragons and were-worms, of the elves who had ere dwelt in Gondolin and Doriath and wrought many wondrous things, of the fair elf-maiden Luthien lulling Morgoth Bauglir to sleep through the magic of her songs. And of course, the artistic impression of the brave Bandobras Took the Bullroarer, swinging his club and ripping the orc-chief Golfimbul's head right off.
The last said image was not exactly friendly to a child's innocence perhaps: There'd been a tiny little fellow, scraggly-haired and hairy-footed, atop a pony suitably small, his club going whack, and a bigger dude's ugly, frightening head flying off the stump.
But Midoriya's borrowed eyes had widened, first at the singing elf-maiden, then at the little man beheading the big scary monstrous thing. He'd laid the two books wide open on the ground, and for long tarried before them. His fingers had traced the images, and the little child's brain had make out two things: One, those two smaller, less-scary-looking people had most definitely been heroes struggling against villains, though he knew not who they were meant to be.
And two, if these had been heroes, they'd clearly been winning without any sort of overwhelming quirk whatsoever.
At the end of the day, he'd decided it wasn't so bad. He'd climbed back into the bed from which he woke and covered his face with the blanket that had smelled vaguely of leaves and herbs and flowers. He'd dragged the picture book with Bandobras Took to bed with him.
Izuku had not known it then, but the hobbit who'd slain a goblin-chief and invented the game of golf at the same time would soon rank himself among Izuku's idols. Though it would be a while before he'd learnt what the hobbit hero's name actually was.
When he'd woken up the next day, he'd been back to where he was meant to be: Under the roof of his own home, surrounded by action figures and posters of All Might, still a quirkless boy of six whose feet were hairless.
It hadn't taken long for the both of them to realize the nature of the switch, though it was a while before some meaningful action was taken. If you would ask them neither Baggins nor Midoriya could recall whose idea it was at first (or perhaps each had devised it independently), but after a while they'd both go to sleep with some sort of writing implement in hand.
It also hadn't taken long for Bilbo Baggins to realize he had some sort of responsibility with this child to whom he'd been so inexplicably bound. Perhaps Eru Iluvatar and Yavanna had intended him a bachelor for a reason: because he was meant to be parent to a child not his flesh and blood. And what was the first thing a parent needed to do? To equip himself with what he needed to properly bring up a fauntling, of course!
So Bilbo Baggins had started to learn.
He was a middle-aged hobbit, sure, and not meant to be learning new things so much any more. But being given the body of a child meant being treated accordingly by everyone, and that meant the schooling he so desperately needed. He'd taken those lessons meant for the boy: in science and in mathematics, in the ways of the Big Folk of that foreign world – both technology and quirks, and most importantly in the flowery script they used.
So when Izuku finally reached for his pen and wrote "Nani ga kimi da ka?" on a piece of paper and left it on his bed, his answer was "Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit of Bag End, Hobbiton, at your service" - or the Japanese approximation thereof.
Thus began their first conversation that played out over the course of a couple weeks, completely in writing.
"What is a Baggins?" Izuku had written. "And what is a hobbit?"
"Far as I know you've been me, and I've been you half the time. You need only consult the nearest mirror next time you rouse. That's me; a hobbit," Bilbo had answered, and added this little bit at the end. "There is one in the bathroom just down the hallways."
"I know! Um... Nice house, by the way. And uh, my name's is Midoriya Izuku. They call me Deku, though. Sorry for putting you through, uh, whatever Kacchan does all the time."
"I know. I see you haven't broken anything around here; that's more than I can say about most fauntlings your age, much less Big Folk! And never you mind about – what's his name again? Bakugou? He'd get what's coming to him some time."
"Um, sorry for asking, but could you please not hurt Kacchan? I mean, he's not nice most of the time, but that's just who he is. I mean he's got an amazing quirk, and I, well, I don't have one."
"I'll do what I can in the best interest of all," was Bilbo's final answer after much deliberation.
The next few days, months, years had passed in much the same way: Every so often Bilbo Baggins and Midoriya Izuku would spend one day as the other person. Sometimes it was merely a couple days, sometimes as long as a week in between, but the switching was there to stay.
Katsuki Bakugou and his gang had quickly decided that Izuku (or "Deku" as they were now used to call him) did have a quirk after all: to quickly memorize things and come up with the most outlandish riddles from outright nowhere, but only once every so often. Which still made him useless and therefore deserving of the moniker. Unfortunately for Katsuki and company, a growing number of their friends disagreed.
Hamfast Gamgee and his wife had also decided that their Mister Baggins had apparently gone down with a chronic bout of disease that would leave him bed-ridden once every so often. News was fast to travel within Hobbiton, and for a time the Sackville-Bagginses's hope was all-time high that their eccentric cousin would keel over and die any day now. Unfortunately for the Sackville-Bagginses, months and years passed and Bilbo was still alive and kicking, and showed little desire to give them anything more than the silverware that Lobelia could steal.
In time Bilbo got into the habit of arranging things he'd like to have Izuku do on the table he'd now moved to his bedroom. Which meant books and more books, on practically every topic known and beloved by the hobbits whose magic was negligible but whose love for those things that grew were not. And most importantly, the many myths and legends of Arda, as told from the perspective of hobbits: of kings and heroes and wizards and warriors, and the many wondrous things wrought and lost and found. Of elves who had ere sailed on their white ships to Middle-Earth and were now leaving on board the same, and of the Shadow that once loomed and now was (ostensibly) no more. And of course, of the hobbits who were to remain carefree in their love of songs, fine food and excellent company.
In return Izuku taught Bilbo all he knew about practically any and every hero, to which there was no end either. Which meant an introduction to the wonders of Youtube, internet forums and social media, upon which there was a virtually endless supply of information on all things as long as you knew where to look. And most importantly, the ubiquitous presence of one Symbol of Peace: of how he'd always give his all against the villains who plagued their world, of his endless smiles and sunny demeanor, of his ever-longer list of exploits and people saved. And of course, of Izuku's greatest and most outlandish dream: to one day be someone like All-Might and conduct heroism with a smile.
They'd also come up with a kind of unspoken rule: They would both make an attempt not to meddle too much in the life of the other. Which, at the end of the day, wasn't all that hard. Bilbo needed only not show up his grown-up aptitude so often except for self defense – which meant telling stories and riddles when Bakugou was in the vicinity. Izuku needed only to stay away from the pile of paperwork that Bilbo had graciously labeled "Don't look, don't touch" in the neatest Japanese he could come up with.
It was a most excellent arrangement, all told.
In time Izuku grew into this quirkless boy with a reputation for the oratory art – a skill that he was slowly mastering in his own name. His notebooks were now of two kinds: One was a meticulous recording of heroes and villains religiously maintained; the other a collection of stories and tales as told by Bilbo Baggins as well as of his own imagination's making, equally fervently filled.
More than once Bilbo had written in his large communication tome: "I am proud of you," and meant it. Because their worlds might be different as night and day, but the need for good story-tellers, orators and entertainers would certainly be there to stay.
Indeed they would have been perfectly contented living their respective lives that way, each living two lives and learning enormously from the other.
But that was the story of the past.
The story of today was how the pair found themselves at the receiving ends of events they were not meant to be a part of: How, on the same day, Izuku Midoriya was met by a wizard looking for someone to share in an adventure, and Bilbo Baggins stumbled into a murderous slime villain...