Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit, or The Lord of the Rings, or any part of Tolkien's mythos.
Many thanks to BlueInked and chrisfardell for their reviews! :)
If you don't keep your feet
Back then
Whenever Gandalf clapped his eyes on Hildifons these days, the little chap always seemed to have a stick in his hand – and on one memorable occasion a table knife, before it had been taken off him – as he ran about shouting for everyone to look at him, look at him. Today he was loudly proclaiming that he was the king, any king, who was going to defend the Shire from all invaders. With regular reminders for them to "Look at me!"
Gandalf and Gerontius, smoking some excellent Longbottom Leaf, were always ready to assure the lad that they were watching him very closely indeed. There were far fewer assurances from Adamanta, trying as she was to divide her attention between Hildigard's attempts at embroidery, Isembard and Hildibrand fighting over their toys while a nursemaid fretted over them, and Belladonna as she gurgled on the rug spread out on the grass beside her mother's chair and tried to get her toes into her mouth.
"Isengrim's studying, but the older boys are off somewhere else," Gerontius muttered. "Poor little beggar gets left out, often as not. I shall have to make sure I keep those boys in line. Seven boys, Gandalf, it does wear on a body! Dear Hilgi," gesturing to his elder daughter with the stem of his pipe, "was very left out sometimes as well. It's sad that she had to wait so long for a sister, but Bella was worth the wait!"
While Gerontius practised his smoke rings, Gandalf could see the annoyance grow on 'dear' Hildigard's face as her brother grew louder in his play; annoyance which looked as if it sat upon her brow all too often. "Maaaama, Hilfi won't stop it," he heard the lass whine at last, putting her sewing down rather roughly. "Tell him to go and play somewhere else!"
Adamanta sighed, perhaps not loud enough for her daughter to hear, but not near quiet enough to escape him. "Hilfi, love, you need to quiet down a little-"
"Hilfi," Hildigard shouted over her mother, clearly despairing of her ability to get the job done, "why don't you go and play with the others?"
"Don't want to," the boy shot back quick as winking, "they never let me be anyone fun, they never want to play what I want. They say, they say they're older so they get to play all the good things!"
"Hildifons, don't be so loud-"
"Then go and play somewhere else," Hildigard retorted, again shouting over Adamanta. "You're always too loud, you always are!"
He wondered if he should say something. Wondered, but chose not to. Adamanta and Hildigard would surely not thank a wizard for intervening, no matter how much they might or might not like him. Gerontius, meanwhile, groaned and started forwards to intervene, all his former contentment forgotten as real life intruded into this paradise.
"I'm the king," the boy was shouting back even louder, singing tunelessly, "I'm the king, I can be loud as I like, I'm the king of the castle and you're the dirty rascal!"
Gandalf saw Adamanta sigh again and rub her brow, about to jump back into the fray. That pause was fatal; Hildigard seemed to take it as a sign of surrender. All of a sudden the girl lept up, threw her sewing back into the basket the maids had lugged out here earlier, made another noise that might as well have been irritation personified and started back towards the Smials at a brisk walk, ignoring all of Adamanta's calls to come back.
"Leave her, dear," Gerontius advised even as his wife began to lever herself out of her own chair, "she's been simmering all morning. I'm surprised it took this long for her to blow up in our faces."
"I don't know what's got into her these days, Gerontius," Adamanta said, disregarding him as she got up fully. "She seems to snap at anything I say. Goodness knows I was never like that at nineteen!"
"Hilgi's snapping? She a dragon?" Hildifons shouted, running up between Gandalf and his father and looking far too excited at the prospect of slaying his sister.
"No, she isn't. Hildifons, stay here," his mother said, giving him a sharp look so that he knew he was in disgrace. "Gerontius, Master Gandalf, watch over the babies, if you please. And, Gerontius, talk to your son." And she strode out of the dappled shade and into the sunshine, going quickly after her daughter.
"Ah. Hildifons, come here." Gerontius sat down on what suddenly might as well have been his throne instead of one of the garden chairs, as Hildifons crept to stand in front of it, narrowly avoiding treading on Belladonna's blanket. "You were very rude just now. When your mother or I ask you to do something, what do we expect you to do?" He tilted his head as the boy hesitated. "Well?"
"Listen and obey," Hildifons muttered.
"And did you listen and obey just now?"
"I listened."
"Hildifons, I know it's not any fun when your brothers won't play with you. I'll be having a word with them later about that. But Hildigard and your mother were working on something and wanted quiet, and Belladonna might well have been sleeping, and they were in this part of the garden first, after all. They have every right to be annoyed. If you were trying to get to sleep and Hilgi was making a lot of noise, wouldn't you want her to be quiet?"
" 's, papa," Hildifons said, his voice very small.
"I'm happy for you to play as much as you like, but when your mother or I ask you to be quieter, what will you do from now on?"
"B'quieter," came the mumbled reply.
"Good. Come up here, m'boy," Gerontius added, softening and holding out his hands. The boy promptly dropped the stick and scrambled up into his lap. "It's all right now," he said, putting his arms about him and rocking gently, "I'm not angry, but you must apologise to Hilgi later on."
"Yes, papa."
"And I'll be having words with her as well, don't you worry." He looked up over his head to where Gandalf stood observing, and groaned. "Sit down, Gandalf, or I'll sprain my neck before too long. Not on the chair," he added hastily, "wouldn't take your weight. On the ground."
Even before he'd obeyed and was seated comfortably on the grass, Hildifons was scrambling out of his father's arms and over to sit next to the great and far more interesting wizard, while Gerontius eased himself up and went to check on the younger boys. Boy and wizard both watched Belladonna roll around on the blanket, still steadfastly trying to gnaw on her toes and clearly having a marvellous time doing it.
"She wants something to chew," Hildifons said, with the air of conferring ancient wisdom upon the foolish Big Person he was sitting beside. " 'f you give her your finger, she'll put it in her mouth right away and gum on it and drool everywhere. Go on, do it!"
"But my fingers have been dabbling in things that are far from fit to put in your sister's mouth," Gandalf told him, watching in not a little fascination as Belladonna left off nibbling her toes and began trying to fit her whole fist in her mouth. "And even if they were clean, I doubt she'd like the taste of wizard."
Hildifons shrugged. "Oh. Bella, Bella!" He waved at the baby girl; her eyes were drawn to the movement and her hand dropped from her mouth as she smiled. "She likes me best," he said proudly, reaching out to slip his hands under her back and support her neck, clearly remembering how he'd been instructed to hold babies before. "She always smiles whenever she sees me. Bella, this is Gandalf!" he said, letting her rest against his chest and turning her towards the wizard.
The baby's smile shrank to a puzzled look, and he thought to move further backwards in case he was frightening her – but then, oh then, such a wonderful wide smile came back! Her whole face was drawn into her delight as her mouth opened wide, her cheeks grew plump and her eyes half closed. He felt his old man's heart pick up speed as he leaned forward again.
"Ag," she said as she reached out for him, her shiny fingers beckoning him closer, "ag, ag!"
"You can hold her," Hildifons said, lifting her gently forward, "if you're careful. She likes you too. D'you know any good stories 'bout kings?"
Here and now
Gandalf says nothing to her offer, but he descends to help her unearth the box and watches the horizon on occasion as she pulls off the various layers of the oh so pretty dress, and replaces them with the fewer layers of her travelling clothes.
"Do you want to come with me, Gandalf?" she asks at length, buttoning up the front of her bodice. "It would be lovely to have you along."
"It would depend very much, Bella, on where you plan to be going. I have other things that require my attention besides your latest adventure."
"And yet you spent nearly a month enjoying the bounty of the pantries and cellars of the Smials, and smoking all of Papa's pipeweed. Yes, the world really is in peril without your aid." She tries again to fold the petticoats so that they will fit in the box and again is thwarted. "But, if you have tasks that must be fulfilled, don't let me stop you. If you could possibly take me to the edge of the Shire, I'll be on my way and you'll be on yours."
"Bella, where would you be going?"
"Oh, all over the place. I might try to find the Rangers, say hello. I'd probably fail miserably, but at least I'd have tried." She lets her hair loose, shakes it out, ties it up again with a few extra ribbons and strings she also left in the box. Keeps it out of the way, and also means she'll have less chance to pull more of it out. "Most like I'll end up in Rivendell, I always seem to end up there. I could wait for you to show up, in time; somehow you always seem to end up there as well."
"And what then?" Gandalf's sat down on a rotting log by this point, staring at her through his bushy eyebrows. "Will you remain in The Last Homely House, forever among the Elves? Or will you spend the rest of your life wandering in the wilderness, Belladonna? Shake the Shire from your feet and simply disappear, without nary a word home?"
That hurts. He meant it to, of course, perhaps he even meant it to hurt just like this. She gasps from it and feels an utter fool, but that doesn't stop the pain and the shame. "I wouldn't do that. In fact, I'm going to write a letter right now!" She just so happened to pack a paper and pencil in the box as well, in case she felt the need to send a note detailing when she'd be back, before she slipped off.
Sending letters home, reassuring and promising, has become very important now.
"Good. I am glad for it." Gandalf gets up again. "As to any adventures you propose to have, you're welcome to come with me to Bree, and after that wherever you will."
knowing that he doesn't want to spend any more time with her than necessary, that hurts too. She really just shouldn't have gotten out of bed today, she should never even have woken up. Still, he has things to do and places to go that are more important that her running away from Bungo possibly proposing or fooling about in the wilds. So she doesn't say how strange it is that he, of all people and after all this time, is suddenly trying to put her off adventures, and she does her best not to start cracking her knuckles again because then he'd definitely have something to use against her if they argued.
"I'd better get started on that, those letters." She'll have to write one to Bungo too, oh no. Two apologetic letters in one sitting! Her stomach squirms to think of it.
"The day's growing ever older, and we must be on the move. You can write them in the cart."
"True, that," she says, as she gives up and stuffs the petticoats into the box on top of the pieces of her dress, willy nilly and still manages to get the lid down. She considers accusing Gandalf of using magic on the whole affair while she wasn't looking, there doesn't seem to be any other reason why that should have worked. "I'll have to plan them out beforehand. I wish I was like a poet, any poet, writing beautiful things at the drop of a hat!"
Gandalf helps her to bury the box again as well, and pats her on the shoulder before they head back to the cart. It does not feel like a funeral, not at all, drat it.
The general theory is that Hobbits age at two thirds the rate humans do; considering they come of age at thirty-three, in our terms they'd be about twenty-two. So for example Hildigard, while she's nineteen, is the Hobbit equivalent of twelve or thirteen.
If I've got that wrong please correct me, but I'm pretty certain she gets terribly annoyed with her brothers no matter what age she is. :D