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Part 1 of The Good Earth
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2013-02-13
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2013-02-25
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Gardening

Chapter 2

Notes:

Upped the chapter count. I think this'll go a bit longer than expected. :)

Thank you for all your fantastic feedback!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“You do know, my loves, if you wanted to listen in on our conversation you might as well have stayed inside with your arithmetic.” Bilbo points out with the long-suffering patience that has come to define his approach to fatherhood as he picks each of his boys up off the floor and dusts them off. Some suffer it better than others. “Here now, go make yourselves presentable and I will introduce you to my friend.”

“But, Da!” Grim cries out, having never mastered the art of subtlety even with his brother there to elbow him in the ribs. “We want to hear the rest of it!”

“Then perhaps you ought not to have gotten caught.” Bilbo replies. “Bobbin, make sure the others wash thoroughly and put on fresh shirts. There’s a mince pie in it for you if you get Grim to wash behind his ears.”

“Yes, Da!” Bobbin sets to herding his brothers into the back and Bilbo waits until he can hear splashing before he continues.

“Bobbin is the clever one, I take it?” Gandalf guesses.

“It’s a busy life, keeping up with those three. Frodo is sweeter than my little crop of mischief, if a bit too biddable. Where they lead, he’s sure to follow.” Bilbo sighs. “…but yes, if I hadn’t given Bobbin a distraction he would have crept back down the hall while the others made noise then reported back what he heard. Probably in exchange for both their puddings.”

“He never got that from his other father.” Gandalf takes his tobacco pouch out from his voluminous sleeves and Bilbo fetches him a light from the stove.

“No, perhaps not.” Bilbo agrees. “I think he takes after my mother, truth to be told. She was the subtle sort too.”

“So, Thorin is their father?” Gandalf takes a puff on his pipe and exhales a cloud of smoke that resolves itself into an Oliphant. “I had guessed before. Bobbin has his father’s nose and Grim shares his temperament.”

“Yes.” Bilbo admits in defeat. “It… he… before things came to pass the way they did at the Gate, Thorin gave to me a token. Perhaps I read too much into it. It was only a lock of hair, but afterwards it was all I had of him… all I believed to remain of him. When I came home I felt so dreadfully alone. I’d gotten used to the sounds of other people and the bonds of kinship. I couldn’t go back to having just my books and my armchair there to greet me at day’s end. So I braided his hair with some of my own and made a seed to plant.” He looks at his hands once more. They’re still steady, which is surprising. Perhaps he’s stronger than he ever gave himself credit for. “You’ve seen what grew from it.”

“Indeed, I have.” Gandalf agrees. “Fine healthy lads. Lads who, I think, their other father would dearly like to know.”

“I… yes, you’re right of course, but the journey…?” Bilbo frowns. It’s such a long trip, especially by the routes he’d have to travel with little ones in tow. There will be no cutting through Mirkwood, no matter what Thranduil’s people have done to secure the road there since. They’ll have to book passage on a river barge, if such a thing can be had. Oh, what a bother! And to think, by comparison that first trip was all short-cut!

“I have business in the East, but I think that perhaps it must wait.” Gandalf decides aloud. “I can take you to Rivendell and from there arrange for you a trustworthy escort.”

“I don’t suppose I have the luxury to decline, do I, Gandalf?” Bilbo asks and is not surprised by the other’s grave nod.

“No, you do not.” Gandalf agrees. “Now the children have finished washing and are hoping we have not noticed so lets us talk of more cheerful things.”

“Of course.” Bilbo says, but the heavy hand of dread is on his shoulder now. He is not looking forward to this trip at all, although his boys take to the news with much so much rejoicing that it’s all he can do to get them to sleep that night.

Gandalf leaves the next morning to arrange for a pony cart while Bilbo goes next door to leave his key with old Hamfast for the duration.

“Going visiting are you?” Hamfast asks with a queer squint and an oddly guilty shuffle.

“I am.” Bilbo tells him.

“Be seeing elves, will you?” Hamfast asks again.

“Some, yes. In Rivendell and beyond.” Bilbo agrees again. “What of it?”

“Then perhaps you’ll allow me to ask of you a favor.” Hamfast sighs and it’s a sigh of defeat. “You see, I’m not getting any younger and my littlest, Samwise, is owed a Birthday wish. He wants to meet some Elves and I’ve yet to find him any. They pass through here on occasion on their way to those gray ships of theirs, but they’re never in a mood to chat with a curious fauntling, you ken?”

“Oh, I see.” Bilbo nods and it is a thorny problem, although not one he would have predicted. The elves he knows are kind to a fault and generous with the young, but perhaps it’s different at the end when they feel themselves being called out of this world. Maybe their minds are on other things. “It’s not an easy journey I’m going on, Gaffer Gamgee. I’m already of mixed feeling bringing my own boys, but it’s not entirely my choice. I will gladly take him, but this is not a holiday. There may be danger before we return home.”

“Perhaps that’s for the best.” Hamfast says thoughtfully, as he taps out his pipe with his heel. “Big wishes like that. They’re costly and he ought to learn the truth of that. He’ll be of use to you, I dare say, being a bit older than your littles. He’s had his first growth and I think you’ll be glad of someone to help you mind them all before it’s over. Think on it, will you? I’ll mind the house either way you decide.”

Gandalf arrives with the cart later that afternoon, while Bilbo is still doing up buttons and checking various pockets for handkerchiefs. “I see we have one extra, Mister Baggins.” He observes with an amused drawl that makes young Samwise scowl, but his attention is soon diverted when Grim and Frodo start a scuffle.

“Gaffer Gamgee asked a favor of me.” Bilbo explains and then winces as the youngest Gamgee gets each fauntling by the ear and drags them off one another. “I think he’ll be useful.”

“That he will be.” Gandalf agrees with a slow nod. “I can tell already.”

The route to Rivendell is blessedly quiet. There are fewer orc parties these days, although not for any good reason. Rumor has it that they’re migrating to the South-East, where no good things live. They give the Trollshaws wide berth, much to Grim’s vocal disappointment. One of his chief ambitions for the trip was to see the stone statues left behind by the trolls in his father’s stories.

“They exist, young one.” Gandalf assures him. “I have seen them myself, but you’ll have to be a bit larger and able to run faster before it would be wise to risk that exact route. Do not fret. They still stand and will continue to do so for a great many years.”

“I’m going to go on my own adventure when I’m bigger.” Grim tells Frodo, all full of confidence. “And slay my own dragon too!”

“Let us hope you don’t need to.” Bilbo laughs and ruffles his curly blonde hair. “I, for one, have seen what a dragon will do to the surrounding area when it settles in. It isn’t at all nice for those who have to clean up after it.”

“If one does then, me and Bobbin, we’ll go a-slaying.” Grim insists. “Frodo can come too.” He allows graciously and his cousin looks pleased at being included. Usually Samwise can count on an invitation to Grim’s prophesied adventures as well, but he has yet to be forgiven for hitting his first growth ahead of the others.

“Perhaps you will, my dears.” Bilbo looks up at the sky, glad that his days of looking up and finding death in the skies are well over. “…but adventures have their way of surprising you, so don’t set your heart on dragon-slaying, hmmm?”

“No, Da.” Bobbin agrees and Grim grumbles his own assent while Frodo nods sagely.

The Elves of Rivendell greet them warmly and Lord Elrond turns out to be particularly fond of children in the same way many of Bilbo’s own uncle were, which his hellions interpret as license to run wild. To his surprise, Lord Elrond not only permits it but seems to enjoy the experience.

“It has been a very long time since my own child was this size.” The Elf Lord explains once a meal has been both served and then tidied away. Even at their worst, Bilbo is pleased to see that all his sons make better guests than that long ago party of dwarves. There is much that Bilbo is willing to tolerate, but bad table manners means being banished from the meal. No Hobbit is willing to suffer that fate more than once.

At the same time, Bilbo has met the Lady Arwen and has a hard time envisioning her being anything other than a sweet and biddable girl. Lord Elrond laughs when he says this out loud. He laughs and laughs and laughs and when he is finally done, he allows that his child has grown up well.

“It is a shame their mother could not be here with you.” Lord Elrond muses as one of his serving folk sets out trays of both sweet and savory afters.

(There has been all-together more meat at this one meal than Bilbo remembers Elrond’s people serving during the entire week Thorin’s company stayed with them all those years ago. He would not have believed it at the time, but Bilbo now realizes that Elrond may well have enjoyed a small prank at the expense of his Dwarfish guests.)

“We haven’t got a mother.” Grim announces with a perplexed crinkle to his brow. Bobbin elbows him, but not as hard as he usually does.

“The boys have the right of it.” Bilbo explains. “I never married, but I did want children. So here we are.”

Lord Elrond frowns. “… but what of the woman who bore them?” He asks and looks first to Bilbo, then to Gandalf when he fails to get any answer other than a confused frown.

“I’m not sure what you mean?” Bilbo hopes he hasn’t offended their host, but… “…why are you assuming there was a woman involved? In what capacity?”

Gandalf lays a hand on Elrond’s wrist and murmurs something in the high Elven tongue, of which Bilbo knows very little. His Sindarin is better than his Quenya and fatherhood has made him into an inconstant scholar.

Elrond answers in that same language only to receive an answer that seems to flummox him all the more, but he does not seem angry at least. “Forgive me.” He says after another exchange. “Elven customs are very different from yours it seems and I made a hasty assumption.”

“Not a problem at all.” Bilbo hastens to assure him. “Big Folk in general seem to be a bit confused about how we do things in the Shire. It’s nothing to worry over.”

“Indeed.” Lord Elrond coughs into his napkin and then calls for another topic.

They stay with the elves for a few days in order to let the faunts rest. Frodo is coming up on his first growth and while it would never have been Bilbo’s choice to travel at a time like this, one does what one must. He is approached on a few occasions by elves draped in healer’s green and they question him about Hobbit childbirth. Bilbo answers as honestly as he may within the boundaries of tradition and good manners, but his companions often leave these conversations with more questions than they arrived with.

Gandalf arranges a guide for them in the form of a young ranger by the name of Strider, who is a quiet sort and has a confusion about proper meal times that seems very typical of the Big Folk. Bilbo learns quickly to arrange meals that can be eaten on the move because what Strider lacks in social niceties he makes up for in his woodscraft.

Still, it’s a bit frustrating and makes him miss his dwarves all the more. After all, he never had to explain the difference between dinner and supper to any of his old companions. Imagine not knowing about second breakfast and eating three whopping great meals a day. Bilbo can hardly imagine what digestion must be like for Big Folk. It probably explains Strider’s general sour outlook. Dwarves, at least, have a proper understanding of such things!

Bilbo has never been so glad to see a boat as he is the river barge Strider arranges passage for them on. With four exhausted fauntlings in tow and a long-shanks setting their pace, Bilbo is actually looking forward to a week or two spent in constant terror that one of his charges is either about to or in the process of tipping over the side and drowning.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how one looks at it) nature decides to grant them the blessing of a constant cold drizzle that keeps the fauntlings below decks and huddled into Bilbo’s sides for warmth.

“Are they really so cold?” Strider asks one evening as he observes Bobbin trying to wedge his entire body into Bilbo’s armpit.

“Yes.” Bilbo sighs. “They don’t produce much of their own heat until their first growth. You see young Samwise is doing a bit better.”

“Only a bit, Mister Bilbo.” Samwise mutters and shivers in abject misery.

“Come here then and add your heat to the rest of us.” Bilbo says and shuffles Frodo into his lap to make room.

“Here.” Is the only warning Strider gives them before the damp warm weight of his cloak settles over them all. “This will help.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo tells him and moved the edges around until they’re sealed in on all sides.

“Make no mention of it.” Strider tells him and departs for the upper decks. Perhaps it’s his imagination, but Bilbo could swear that he heard the man murmur ‘What odd little creatures’ before going.

All told, Bilbo is grateful to see Lake Town although it is much reduced in these later years. Many of its people relocated to Dale and those who do live here do so on a seasonal basis. Still, there’s a small inn that has hot baths and a good meals for reasonable prices.

“This is where I leave you.” Strider informs Bilbo. “There will be a patrol from Dale in the morning and they provide escort for travelers to their city. I will be by this way again in a month and seek you out at the Mountain.”

“Thank you for your help, Strider.” Bilbo presses a parcel into his hands. It’s not much, but it’s the last of the sweet travel bread he brought with him from the Shire. It’s his own recipe based on Beorn’s honeycakes, although never so cloyingly sweet. “It’s not much, but I think it might be nice to have a break from those queer little loaves the Elves gave to you.”

“I thank you, Master Hobbit.” Strider says in his grave way. “I appreciate your thinking of me. Travel safely and I hope we all meet again in good time.”

That is the last Bilbo sees of Strider, or rather Aragorn as he shall one day come to know the man, for a while. It is a peaceful parting, if not a wholly happy one for no patrol arrives in the morning. It is in fact an entire week before they appear.

“There have been raiders in the vicinity.” Is the explanation the guard captain gives to Bilbo. “Some patrols were suspended, but we received word that there were travelers with small children in Lake Town so my Lord Bard had some of us make the time.” He cocks his head. “You are like no Dwarf I have ever seen. What manner of creature are you?”

“I am a Hobbit, sir.” Bilbo tells him. “Mister Bilbo Baggins of Bag End at your service and these are my sons.”

The guards have up until this point regarded him with the sort of weary indulgence he’s come to anticipate from Big Folk, who look at him and see something very close to one of their own children, but they take notice of his name and are more respectful after. Someone pays his tab at the Inn without leaving a name and the Guards all ride close by when they depart Lake Town. They do not ease up at all until they reach the walls surrounding Dale. Even then they deliver him and his family directly into the household of his old friend, Bard, who is now Lord of Dale.

“Bilbo Baggins!” Bard greets him with as much joy as Bilbo has ever seen in him, which in another man would be mild amusement. From Bard it is every outpouring of good fellowship. “I thought you might come for the Dwarves’ ceremony. Your name is well known in these parts and my men have standing orders to bring you here to enjoy my hospitality. You and your children are welcome here.”

Bard at least asks none of the impertinent questions Bilbo has come to expect. Instead he gives them a meal and beds for the night. He feeds them again the next morning and sends them on to the Mountain with another guard, which endears him to Bilbo like no other. Bard must have a Hobbit’s soul, he thinks, housed in too large of a body.

They make good time to the Mountain and when they arrive at the front gate, which is now unblocked, Bilbo sees something he never thought to expect; a welcoming party headed by Fili and Kili.

Time has not changed either of them much and even though they both carry scars from that old war Bilbo has never seen a merrier pair of Dwarves. They flank him on either side with much back-pounding and happy greetings that nothing seems to be able to stop until young Samwise calls out to Bilbo for help getting Bobbin and Frodo down from their pony. Grim is already on the ground and looking dangerously bored.

“What’s this?”Fili murmurs and plucks the faunts out of their saddle, one in each hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hobbits so small.”

“Nor will you this far out of the Shire.” Bilbo agrees and takes Bobbin from Fili when it looks like the faunt is about ready to bite. Frodo, on the other hand, seems to be enjoying the treatment so Bilbo lets Fili keep him. “The two here are my sons, Bobbin and Grim. The one you’re holding is my nephew, Frodo, who lives with us. The last is Samwise Gamgee, who helps me as a caretaker.  Boys, these Dwarves are Fili and Kili, who you will know from the stories I’ve told you.”

Grim squints up at Fili with a deep skepticism. “Did you really shoot a warg in the nose with your bow and arrow?”

“No, lad.” Fili corrects him and tucks Frodo under one arm so that he might kneel down. “That was my younger brother, Kili. Knives and the axe are my weapons. Tell me: are you the younger or older brother?”

“Bobbin was first.” Grim makes a face. “…but Da says I’m loudest.”

“Then we have something in common!” Kili lifts Grim up onto his shoulders. “I’m the youngest and loudest as well. We will get on well, I think, young Master Baggins. You’ve been holding out on us, Bilbo! You should have written. Bofur at least would have sent toys.” He chuckles. “Maybe too many.”

“Forgive me.” Bilbo adjusts Bobbin on his hip and chuckles as his eldest holds on all the tighter. There have been too many strangers of late and Bobbin has never been particularly fond of being handled by those he doesn’t know. “I haven’t been a very faithful correspondent of late in recent years.”

“Think nothing of it.” Fili tells him. “That you’re here now is enough. Come, you’ll want time to refresh yourselves.”

“You know, Brother…” Kili chimes in with a smile that Bilbo does not like the look of. “With the little ones, Bilbo may need the use of a suite rather than a berth in the guest quarter.”

“A suite?” Fili’s answering grin seals their doom. “Oh, I see. Yes. You’re right, brother. That would be best and I think I know of one not in use.”

“It’s good to see that time and responsibility haven’t changed you.” Bilbo tells Fili as he resigns himself to whatever clever trick the brothers have up their sleeves.

“Hah!” Fili chuckles and leads the way into Erebor’s lofty halls. “Never.”

Notes:

Bilbo is so done with this travel nonsense, you have no idea.

In answer to some recurring questions; yes, Hobbits grow their babies in the garden although they're not quite cabbage patch kids. I envision it as more of a potato vine since the kids grow under the soil. Elrond is very confused by the concept, but is willing to take Gandalf's word for it when he says that knowing the particulars just makes it worse.