Chapter 14 Ladies and Gents, dear readers of all appropriate ages
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It was morning and the house was quiet. Nothing wrong with quiet on a regular day. A bit of peace and contentment can do wonders for one's mind. But the quiet of Bag End was not of that kind.
When Fili woke up it was to see Kili sitting still on the bed next to him, hands in his lap, playing slightly with the edge of the blanket. Getting up on his elbows Fili asked
"What's wrong?"
It took a moment for the other to respond, but when he did it was in a barely-there voice
"It's so quiet… Its never quiet in the mornings, Feel…"
Fili strained his ears, trying to catch a smudge of noise; voice or other, but it was all for naught.
"Did you go outside to check?" asked the older dwarf as he stood up from the warm confines of the bed and tugged on his pants, stepping into the soft boots, made for the house only.
Kili shook his head as he followed his brother's lead, pulling on a warmer tunic. The house was cold, and, unlike every other morning, there was no smell of breakfast floating around, no herbal aroma to indicate that Bilbo was making more of his medicines. There was nothing, and suddenly the brother's felt afraid.
Opening the door, and looking this way or that Fili slowly crept outside, making as little noise as he could. He went all over Bag End, checked the kitchen, and the living room, the guest and spare bedrooms, and even the cupboard. Everything was as they left if last night, but something was still missing.
"Fili!" an urgent whisper came from the hallway, and the older dwarf answered the call, coming to stand next to his brother. Kili was holding on the doorknob of Bilbo's room, and he wanted Fili next to him when he went in.
This would be the first time that either of the dwarfs was in the hobbit's bedroom, even though their rooms were not far from each other. It's not as if they were not allowed to go in, but they just never had the need, and never felt right to invade the most private of their Auntie's dwellings.
When Kili finally opened the door, it was to the sight of their hobbit sitting in the middle of the bed, legs drawn in close, and hands wrapped around them. Bilbo's head was bowed down, touching his knees, and the room felt particularly cold.
Looking over at the window Fili let out a soft curse, as he saw that it was wide open, and a small hill of snow was beginning to gather underneath. Closing it as swiftly as he could, and barely sparing a glance to the darkness outside, Fili turned around and faced the other occupants of the room.
Kili didn't know what was wrong with him, but he had gathered the hobbit to him, as he sat behind Bilbo on the bed, and pulled him into his lap. There was no reaction from the other man, and the young dwarf send his brother a desperate look, as if asking him to make everything right.
Fili didn't know what to do, but he decided that comfort was a must, especially for a hobbit.
"I'll go light up the fireplace; you keep him warm, and comfortable, alright?" said Fili to his brother, pulling a blanket over them both and tucking in the corners. Bilbo looked to have relaxed a bit in Kili's hold, and was now leaning on him with his whole body, having fisted his hands in the dwarf's shirt.
The dwarf could only nod, as his attention was kept by their hobbit, whom he had never seen be anything else but cheerful, or an occasion frustrated. To have him like that: quiet, and frozen, was unnerving, and Kili didn't know how to deal with it.
Looking at the two on the bed Fili was suddenly aware of just how young his self-proclaimed Auntie was. Thorin had told them that hobbits matured differently, but even still. Bilbo had barely had his coming of age. He was only 33, and to a dwarf…even to a hobbit, that was not a lot. Right now both Bilbo and Kili looked desperately young, and Fili knew that it was now his turn to take care of them.
For three months now Bilbo had taken on the role of their guardian; had fed them, clothed, provided support and even got them a job. He had been teaching them about hobbits and their customs, told them stories of their uncle and his silliness that Fili still had trouble believing, and had made sure with his every gesture that the boys felt like they were a part of Bilbo's family.
Fili relaxed in those months. He wasn't responsible for supporting his brother anymore, he didn't have to scrounge for food for the two of them, and he didn't have to worry if the place they slept at was safe. No empty stomachs, no idle hands, and a feeling of security settled over him, and now, when Bilbo was clearly not well, it was finally his turn to step up once more and take charge.
Leaving Kili to take care of the other man, the sandy-haired dwarf walked about the hobbit hole, getting it its usual cheery state. Fire in the fireplace, kettle on the stove, get the food from the pantry and make breakfast. He had observed this routine enough times to know it by heart, and even though he couldn't cook like Bilbo, the hobbit had more then adequate supplies of food already prepared in the pantry. So really, all he had to do was get it out, and reheat some of the things.
While Fili was busy trying to get the house into a semblance of coziness it usually possessed, Kili was trying to wrap the hobbit up as close to himself as possible without suffocating him. Bilbo had by then relaxed his hold a bit, and looked to be slightly dozing, as he settled peacefully between Kili's thighs. The dwarf had his arms around the hobbit, and his chin resting in a nest of curls.
Kili remembered the few times when he was sick, or feeling unwell, how Fili would come, wrap him in uncle Thorin's big coat, and then tell him stories about the Erebor, dragons and humans. He would listen and imagine the sort of adventures he would have with his brother at his side. Fili never got sick, so the younger never had to know what to do with an ill person, but he tried to be reassuring. Even though his heart was hammering in his chest with worry, and his eyes never left the empty face of the hobbit on his lap.
Soon enough the house was filled with warmth and a smell of hearty stew. Slight creaking of the wooden floor was heard as Fili neared the room and stuck his head inside.
"How is he?" asked the dwarf, as he opened the door and came in with a tray full of bowls and cutlery.
"I think he fell asleep" answered Kili, as he looked down at Bilbo, who's eyes were closed and breathing even. His fingers were still clutched in Kili's shirt and his cheek was firmly pressed against his chest, but his face looked peaceful, and the body was not rigid anymore.
Just as Fili sat down on the bed, the smells of food seemed to awaken the hobbit as his eyes fluttered open, and his nose twitched. Sitting up slightly, still leaning on Kili, Bilbo brought his legs closer and looked at the brothers.
"Bilbo!" was heard from both of them as they saw their Auntie wake up. "You're alright!"
"Oh finally" let out a sigh Fili as his shoulders sagged in relief "Auntie are you alright? You weren't moving, the window was open and there was snow on the floor. Why would you open a window in the middle of winter?!"
Bilbo looked at him and shrugged.
" 'M sorry" he said "It's just not a good day for me…" finished the hobbit as he let his head rest back on Kili's shoulder. The dwarf's arms only squeezed harder in return as he asked.
"Why? Why's this not a good day?" Kili was genuinely concerned as he tried to figure out what in the world would be bad enough to resolve their hobbit to such a state.
"It's the day my mother was killed" whispered Bilbo halting questions in their wake.
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It started like a normal winter if a bit earlier then usual. Cold came in first, then frost, and finally in a matter of a night the Shire was covered with a blanket of white. Only it didn't stop snowing, and it didn't stop getting colder. More and more snow felt, covering up everything in its way. And then very soon news came from Buckland that the river froze. At first everyone delighted and hobbitlings came out to play in the snow as they always did, wrapped in scarves and shawls, mittens on their tiny hands, and hats on their curls. But then one day a child disappeared.
There was no warning, no word received. A little girl had come outside to feed the chickens in the evening, and did not return. Everyone searched but came up with nothing. But then another fell. And this time there were signs: blood, and cloth left in the middle of the street. And in the snow: paw prints. They were able to distinguish at least 5 different sets, circling around the bloody patch. And everyone got scared.
Shire had never had wolfs. Not since its very settling, when the holes weren't dug, and there were still walls around the budding village. There was no one still alive who remembered the last time they have even seen a wolf.
Starting that night children weren't let go of at night, and as soon as the sun starts setting, everyone were ushered into the homes and doors, perhaps for the first time ever, were being locked. As the population of the Shire soon found out it was not enough. Screams and wails awoke everyone in Samford and soon their echoes reached the Red and then White Downs. Hobbiton was not far behind.
One winter morning little Bilbo woke up to the sound of a hammer. He came to the hall to see his mother barricading the windows with planks of wood and sturdy nails, and his father tugging in their chickens and geese. The birds were loud, and left soil in they path, but Bungo just steered them all into the back room, and closed the door. As he passed by Bilbo he run his hand through the boys hair, and went outside again to shuffle in whatever spare wood was in the shed.
"Bilbo! Come help." Said Belladonna as she struggled with a particularly big plank. Bilbo hurried to his mother, holding up one end, while she hammered in the nails, slowly but surely closing the gaps in the open window.
"What's going on momma?" asked the little hobbit as he tried to hold the other end of the wood.
Belladonna gave him a look and shot a glance in the direction of the door. She put down the hammer and kneeled before her little son, putting her hands on his shoulders.
"Winter is here honey. And this winter is not like the ones before. This winter is cold. And it is ice. And it is death. This winter brought wolves from the marches and moors. And because the rivers froze they were able to get into Shire." She smoothed her hands over his cheek "We have to stay inside and make sure that no one can get in, do you understand sweetheart? You remember the stories I told you? About the travels and the mountains, and the dangers?"
Bilbo nodded a yes as he tried to understand all that his mother was telling him.
"Well its going to be a bit like in these stories of mine. We'll have to hide, and be really quiet, and if we're good, if we're really really lucky…" At this her head snapped towards the door, as she heard the heavy footsteps of her husband. As if nothing happened she took up the hammer and motioned Bilbo at the plank. "You keep holding that up sweetheart, just a moment more"
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Fell Winter was hard on everyone in Shire. And one learned to adjust when faced with a life-threatening situation. The rations of food were gone, by orc or wolf, or simple overconsumption. So when one day Bilbo's mother stumbles into the house with a sack, and goes straight for the kitchen, not forgetting to lock the door, and put a sturdy chest under the knob, Bilbo doesn't exactly worry. He's not allowed outside the house at all these days, and stays locked inside, making sure that windows are barricaded, and doors are always covered.
When delicious smells start coming from the kitchen though, smells Bilbo had almost thought he had forgotten; he is intrigued. There hadn't been any fresh food in a very long time now, and no way of getting it either from what he had overheard of his parents conversation.
So Bilbo slinks into the kitchen and watches as his mother stirs something in the pot, back straight, and arm occasionally stretching to the spice rack to grab this or that. He thinks he sees her adding a lot of herbs that help with tenderizing, and masking the smells, but he's not too sure.
He does not ask her what she is cooking though, pays no attention to the bloody sack in the corner, with a bit of hair sticking out of it, and goes back to his book, glancing over the closed and reinforced door on instinct. A few hours later he hears a patterned knock and hurries to the hall to let his father in.
The older hobbit is tired, covered in layers of clothes, and comes into the hole with sagging shoulders and empty hands. His face is colored with bruises, and his knuckles are bloody, and his eyes are dull.
Bilbo wordlessly helps him out of his many coats, and closes the door.
Soon their mother is calling them for dinner, and his father is slowly shuffling over to the kitchen. Bilbo is excited, he hadn't eaten well in a while, and whatever his mom was making sure smelled delicious. He sits at the table in front of his bowl, swinging his legs a bit and watches as his father glances at his mother with sharp eyes.
Belladonna looks Bungo straight in the eyes, and pours him a bowl of stew. She does the same for Bilbo, and then herself, putting down the ladle, and sitting at her usual chair.
They do not talk, and Bilbo digs in with a gusto, for the stew is hot, and full if spices and meat! Oh he hadn't had meat in so long! He hadn't really had anything in so long.
The young hobbit does not notice the trembling of his father's and the steady gait of his mother's hands, as they eat their portions. Or rather Bilbo and Belladonna do. Bungo clutches his palm over his mouth and runs to the cleaning room, and the sounds of retching reach the mother and son.
"Didn't he like the food?" asked Bilbo as passed his mother his bowl for seconds.
"I guess your father didn't appreciate it after all" smiled his mother with a little strange tilt to her mouth.
Bilbo shrugged his shoulders and dug in once more.
"Well I think it's delicious, so thank you momma."
He didn't see his father again that day, and he didn't see his mother go into the back yard and bury the bones and the fabric of their cousin, who had the misfortune to die alone in his hole while his family was away in Bree. Neither did he know that this night was the first time that his father had slapped his mother as he whispered furiously to her, too confused and bewildered at her deed to understand. And that this was the first time that Belladonna Took put away the customs and acquired traditions of the Baggins family and stood proud in her belief, in her conviction that she had done the right, the only right thing to do at the face of hunger, desolation, starvation, and the possible death of her child.
"If you cannot provide for this family then I will. And I will do everything. Everything. To make sure we survive.
Next morning his parents aren't speaking and Belladonna takes Bilbo with her to go outside at the sunniest of times, to get some more wood for the fireplace. They come home laughing, and happy, and for the first time in a long while Bilbo thinks that this winter is not all too bad.
Then in the evening his mother is called to their neighbor for her labor and Bilbo wakes to string but shaking hands of his father, who is telling him that Momma isn't coming home anymore.
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As Bilbo finishes telling the brother his story Kili has tears streaming down his face, and Fili's hands are clutched so tight, his palms are bleeding. They look at each other, and Kili budges over, as Fili gets into the bed and curls over both of them.
They spend the rest of the day like that, curled together in the big warm bed, under the same blanket, telling each other stories and fairy tales. And as the brothers look down at the form between them, suddenly a lot smaller then usual, they vow to everything dear to them that they will never let their hobbit suffer like that again.