Chapter Text
When Bilbo arrived back at Bag End after a long day tramping through the woods searching for elves, it was to find his mother kneeling beside her marriage garden, carefully weeding it and tending to the plants.
Belladonna straightened up and sent him a smile, her eyes raking over the tear in his shirt, the mud stains on the knees of his trousers and the fact that his jacket was being used as a makeshift sack to hold some pilfered pears. Where another hobbit may have scolded, Belladonna only smiled. “And what adventures have you been up to today, Bilbo?” she asked.
“I didn’t find any elves,” Bilbo told her sadly, “but I did find a marvellous pear tree! I bought some home for us all.”
“Well, how about we make a crumble tomorrow,” she suggested, and Bilbo nodded enthusiastically as he watched her tease out a dandelion plant from under one of her roses.
Usually Bungo would help her, but he had been a little bit poorly. Both of his parents had told him not to worry, but the last few nights Bungo had gone to bed without tea or supper, which was not a good sign for any hobbit.
That’s why Bilbo had brought home the pears. They were his father’s favourite.
Belladonna pulled the last weed from the flower bed, tenderly touching the leaves of one his father’s bay plants, which was looking a little brown and wilted around the edges, before she stood, gathering her tools.
“Mama,” Bilbo asked, his mind still dwelling on that gentle touch even as his mother picked up her trowel and dusted down her skirt, the fingers of his free hand curling around his acorn, sung in his pocket as always. “How did you know that you wanted to give your soul-seed to Da?”
Belladonna looked a little surprised at the question, but she smiled softly, her eyes far away. “He always waited for me,” she said. “After my own adventures, he was always there, wanting to hear all about them, no matter who disapproved. And soon enough, it didn’t feel like I had come home until I had spoken to him and I knew that I wanted to plant my garden and make my home with him.”
Bilbo couldn’t imagine showing his soul-seed to anyone, let alone letting them touch it or plant it. His mother must have seen some of that on his face because she smiled and gave him a hug.
“I know the thought of giving your soul-seed away is daunting. But I promise that you’ll know when you have found someone you want to give it to, my little Bilbo,” she assured him. “You’ll recognise the person who you would tie to yourself with bonds as strong and nourishing as deep roots in the earth, the person that you would give your whole self to.” Her eyes flickered back to the drooping bay plants, and Bilbo could see the determination in her face. “Even your own breath, if need be.”