Chapter Text
Once upon a time there was a hobbit in a hole in the ground. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It always started that way did it not? Bilbo Baggins was quite floored when waking up from her deathbed.
It was quite improbable, impossible, asinine! Was this the afterlife? One does not wake up from death. One does not wake up young and alive from death. One does not wake up in the same empty smail, in Bag End, pantry full, and by Yavanna was this the after life?
Okay well the pantry wasn’t full. No it was quiet empty, the only time the pantry was empty was when her dwarrow barged in her house and that was that. This was different though. There was frost in the air and no fire could keep the chill at bay.
Bilbo was young. Much too young and it brought such painful memories to bare. The Fell Winter. If this was the afterlife than she must have been as worst of a person as she thought. She was young and Frodo wasn’t even born or a thought or anything. Oh Frodo. Dear Frodo.
Her precious nephew. What had happened? Oh she left him, she left him alone. If this was the after life then… She wouldn’t see him again?
Howls sounded throughout the shire trailing ice down her spine. Different howls echoed through out her mind, all the times she heard them. The warg howls, the battle of five armies, the howls from the fell winter.
She’s heard these from before. From the Fell Winter. From traveling with the dwarrow. It would only be a little while before the screams start within the shire from the invading orcs crossing the frozen over river.
Oh she remembered it so well the first time. Her parents gone already. Belladonna from illness and Bungo from a broken heart and malnourished. She remembered how terrifyingly alone she was and how she barely made it through the winter. Only the death of her parents left just enough food for her to get by. The firewood ration-able to keep a small warm fire going, and the sturdy walls of Bag End keeping the orcs and wolves from dragging her to her demise.
Young, she was so young. Not to her majority yet. The tender age of twenty-two. Should be terrified and unable to move in fear. But no. She was unable to move from her inability to process that she was young and all she had was gone, her Frodo gone, all the bad that happened was gone and all the pain and suffering was still there but only in her memory.
Maybe she really was going mad
Maybe she already was mad.
The howls sounded again and instead of fear, something welled deep underneath her skin. Pulse thrumming, ears twitching, different thoughts flitted through her head making her scrunch her eyes close and grab at her hair. Breath ragged as screams started sounding through the walls from the outdoors, Bilbo shook in pent up frustration and despair.
Useless. Utterly useless and helpless, what good was she. Stupid stupid stupid. Was this even real or just an elaborate dream? She wasn’t here was she? She couldn’t be, one does not go through time and end up in a younger body. It’s not real. It’s not, right?
Regardless the next scream made her jerk up to an unsteady gait to her feet. The need to do… something. Something. Anything. Everything.
Barely even recognizing her parent’s room she barely recalled putting on layers of sturdy cloth, barely recalled yanking her mother’s glory box open, vaguely recalled looking apon one of the only swords own by a hobbit. Her mother’s old sword, or rather a man made dagger that was a respectable sized sword for a Hobbit.
It was a blur of images and color and sounds before she found herself out the door, down the hill, sword pushed to the hilt in a warg, fauntling behind her as he scrambled away with a bloody arm.
Awareness trickled in as she yanked the sword back and stumbled back from a swing of a twisted cruel sword, it was only instinct from dodging so many dangers that kept her from being pinned by an arrow as cruel black speech was yelled over her head.
A clash of steel and a twist of her wrist and the dagger sliced the neck of an unlucky orc that over shot at his short opponent.
The awareness dimmed into a haze as rather than paying close attention her mind drifted. Duck dodged, weave, kick. No grace, no smooth finesse. Only a battle haze and anger, rage, frustration. They took everything. Everything. These vile things the spawn of morgoth. The evil that reeks from them.
It was memory that kept her going and the small lightness of her big feet in the freezing snow that kept the blade from skewering her. Small and still a child, rather not a faunt but a tween. Tiring was something long from her mind fueled by anger, rage, and adrenaline. Two young faces flashed in her eyes as she looked back to the young faunt. One with his short golden beard and the other with his dark whiskers with their annoying speech of ,” Ms. Boggins!”
Don’t think about it.
Don’t think about it.
It was sometime later with the sun was steadily moving with only an hour or two of light left that she came back to herself. A small party of orcs gone. Slain. They were not expecting such a small thing to retaliate with deadly force. Hand and blade thick with black blood, knicks and cuts darting red on her clothes. She won. She… won?
Several wargs lay dead, with their masters as well. The faunt long gone, away to the safety of his family, leaving only Bilbo with what was left. It was with a numb calmness that she used the snow to clean the blood from the blade and from her hands. It was with a calmness as she approached a warg corpse and kicked it to the side before dragging it over to another warg.
It was simple enough to pull the orcs to one side and the wargs to another. Wargs could be used as food after all. It was easy enough to find an orcish bow and a quiver filled with arrows and strap them on before returning home, was Bag Ends really her home though, to grab the necessary supplies.
It was nearing sunset when a fire started with the orcs bodies burning and the wargs corpses being meticulously skinned and usable meat shucked away and wrapped and placed on a sled.
That was how Gamgee found her anyway.
Back facing the burning corpses and sword embedded in the ground, small hobbit glaring out at the tree line, waiting for anything else to come, staying on guard.
“Missus Baggins?”
Brown eyes glances back at the man as he looked faint at the sight before him, her voice hoarse as she addressed him,” Hobson… Your lad okay?”
He appraised her a moment before slowly nodding,” Yes, a little roughed up but he’ll make it. Thank you.”
His eyes closed for a moment before opening and coming closer to clap her on the shoulder, worry, relief and tears dancing in his eyes, “Thank you so much, I- I heard the screams and I thought. I thought…. You- you saved my boy.”
It seemed real, he seemed genuine. Her old neighbor that had a family still yet to grow with his oldest son still being quite a bit younger that her. The first time around his boy didn’t make it, got eaten by the howls to never be seen from again.
Nodding her head slowly, Bilbo trailed her eyes back to the tree line, her quiet voice trailing,”... I did? Didn’t I- just…. The sled, take it with you. If you got time before sunset to hand it out, then do so. If not store it away for tomorrow and make your way home.”
“What about you? Lass you should be heading home too, your hurt and tired and- and- I know your parents are…”
“I’m fine.” she most definitely was not fine, “The blood will attract wolves. The wolves will in turn try to enter smails. I’m needed here.” And wasn’t that the truth? Hobbits were gentle creatures, they never even thought to fight back against such things, never had a need to. She wasn’t though. She knew when to fight, maybe not the most graceful in how to fight. But she couldn’t sit around and listen anymore. No more screams. Please no more screams. She had enough of those in her dreams.
“Missus Baggins- lass, I-”
“Hobson.” Brown locked with grey as she leveled him with her best impression of a certain dwarf king. “Take the meat, there are those who need it. Get to safety. Your family needs you. I- I’ve a plan, let me think it through… The wolves will come. The blood will draw them. I’ll keep them away.” She can play guard for a while, before she can think of a better one. Maybe barricades near the river.
No it’s a big task, not enough supplies. Maybe spikes with certain openings to funnel any that come what may? Maybe. She had the whole night to think of it.
Grabbing the rope to the sled the older hobbit leveled a worried stare to the young one, fear and morality warring within those eyes before the fear won out, guilt tinged his voice,” I’ll be back on the morrow then Missus Baggins.”
She had a lot to think over.