Chapter Text
Everyone knows the Bagginses; all in the Shire at least. They are a very respectable family, who do respectable things. The Bagginses have tea with any guest-said guest really ought to call first-and the family has a truly magnificent garden that brings all who see it into the deepest depths of envy.
Hobbiton also knows the Tooks. A rowdy, adventurous clan. Completely unable to inspire any type of respect; though of course nobody would dare tell any of said family that to their face. It would be impolite, far too impolite for any of their tastes.
No hobbit ever even considered the idea of a Took and a Baggins courting. Too different natured; those two families, they'd say. That was, until Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins did just that.
Everyone had an opinion on the two's courting. Many supported it, surprising as it is. After all its a chance to have a party- and what self-respecting hobbit doesn't enjoy a good party? However, there are always those who must argue in sensibility's name, in a most annoying way. People that were convinced that it was simply the worse notion they had ever known. These hobbits were quite promptly not invited to anything concerning Belladonna's and Bungo's wedding.
That doesn't mean that they did not show up anyway. But the underlining point was made and understood.
A year or so after the wonderful wedding, the loving and rather odd couple gave all the Shire happy news. Bella was pregnant.
Baby showers were thrown, gifts were given, and all held baited breaths in wait of the new little fauntling.
Finally, the wait was over; Belladonna was in labor. And as a Took who has seen and heard many things most hobbits had in fact not, the curses and screams toward her dear husband should not have shocked everyone within hearing distance to their core as much as they did.
Hours after it began, it was over. And again the Took-Baggins pair had given another surprise. They had been blessed by Yavanna with twins.
You see, hobbits have many children; are known for the trait. But it is a rare thing to have twins. Even they themselves do not understand the reason why this is. They do realize however, that when it does happen, it is a absolute delight for all.
The first born was a boy; Bilbo Baggins. Blue-green eyes, a mixture of both his parents', thin wisps of just curly, dirty blonde hair. The ladies who saw him said teasingly that they would have to watch their own daughters around him, once they became of age. Then there was the second born; a lovely little girl named Bilba-Prim. Mesmerizingly large blue-greens that are identical to her brother's, alongside thicker, curlier locks the color of a lazy auburn fire. Bingo's friends told him in a rather grim voice that he would have to be batting boys away with tooth and nail when she was older. Needless to say, Bungo was unamused. But he still mentally prepared himself for the situations to come. Both tiny fauntlings were holding onto each other, and both were well loved by all who met them.
As the pair matured, each showed which family traits they seemed to favor. Young Bilbo; exploring the forest around the Shire and behind Bag End in search of elves that he simply knew were there somewhere in hiding. He always came home late, a trail of dirty leaves and muddy faulting sized foot prints left in his wake until Belladonna caught him and sent him straight to the bath. Her face was always hiding her pride and amusement in these instances.
Then there was dear Bilba- Prim as most had taken to calling her. So calm and darlingly polite. She stayed by her father's side during luncheons with friends, neighbors, and dryly disliked family members that one simply had to entertain every now and then. Always batting her long and shockingly dark eyelashes that tried in vain to hide her big blue-green eyes. Her posture was never found wanting, and when someone gave her or someone she loved-usually her older twin or mother- a just barely veiled insult, her father would not even have to say a thing. He knew that his quick witted, silver tongued daughter would give a heart clenching reply, that would either have said company blushing in shame, or stumbling over themselves to apologize. If anyone would give him a glance during these situations, they would see his gentle eyes gazing at his Prim in as much love as possible. Prim was always living up to the Baggins respectability.
The only thing that challenged Prim's respectability was Belladonna's insistence of both of her children learning how to use a sword. Or at least know which is the pointy end. No one really thought much of it, everyone assumed that the two fauntlings would never actually need theses skills. Not even Belladonna, even though she believed it important to know how to protect oneself.
Things change as time goes on though, and people must adapt. Prim and Bilbo realized this rather harshly, as did the rest of the Shire, when the Fell Winter came upon them.
Suddenly, wolves had begun crossing the frozen lake. Food slowly dwindled to scarcity, as did the Shire's occupants, one by one a few days in between each sorrowful demise. Fear covered all in blankets thicker than the ones laid across them during the nights. In an instant, Prim's and Bilbo's sword skills were very important for their friends' and family's survival, even with how limited their knowledge was. It brought them protection, and extra food after it was all finally gone.
However, unlike with wolves one cannot slice through sickness to stop it's rampage. This is what caught Bungo Baggins in it's clutches, towards the end of the terrible Winter. With each day the weather brought a bit more warmth, and Bungo's fever worsened as his body deteriorated. And just as Bungo's body was slipping away, so was Belladonna's mind.
The Fading was already beginning.
Once the family, forever changed, had buried Bungo under what would become a lovely patch of forget-me-nots, the twins' mother did not leave the house. She simply stayed by the window that overlooked the regrowing garden. When Bilbo and Prim attempted to get their mother to eat, she would smile blankly at them and tell them in a gentle, distant voice that she could not eat. Both the not-so-children buried Belladonna a month later, under the same patch of newly grown forget-me-nots, and neither were ever the same after.
For a while, the twins continued clinging desperately to their tight bound, even as it unraveled before their eyes. Each had changed however. None would find Mister Baggins in the woods any longer. Instead, he seemed more at ease in his home, taking care of finances, taking impeccable care of the revived garden, and all other things utterly respectable. A true gentlehobbit, all would say.
Prim on the other hand, became more Tookish than any previous Took. Wearing trousers and loose tunics that did nothing for her shorter than usual and wonderfully curvy shape more and more often. She is rumored to be seen practicing with any Ranger willing to teach in the ways of the blade, on the outskirts of the Shire. Coming home late, trails of dirty leaves and mud in her wake, and a new skill always under her belt. A belt that, with each week was being tightened as her soft middle slowly abandoned her, leaving behind a toned but still delicate body. Obviously, she had become completely unable to warrant respect, unlike Mister Baggins, hobbits would whisper to one another as she passes by them in the market.
Such difference lead to arguments between the siblings. And distance grows along side every fight.
This is where we find our twin hobbits. After some few years a wizard decides that it is time to meddle. Because as all are privy to, a wizard meddles precisely when he means to.
Bilbo believed that this day would be absolutely normal, just as everyday before had been. He would wake up, find Prim just as she left the house. He would remind himself, as he always did, to get her to eat more as to thicken her belly and take away the unseemly tightened skin, which he never does. Then he will make himself first breakfast, then have a nice smoke and get on with his day.
The first part of the morning happened as usual. Prim left with a quick nod towards her older brother and sword at her hip. A dreadful thing in his opinion, but that was an argument never won.
Then, during his comfortable smoke in front of his prized tomatoes it all promptly went to hell.
One of the tall men, dressed in a grey, worn at the seams garb, with a floppy hat to boot walks by on the path right in front of his home. His face is marred by deep etches and lines from old age and stresses unknown to Bilbo, and his pace is assisted by a cain that he grips tightly in his hand. His long white beard ever looks mangled. Adventure leaks from the man in waves.
Bilbo instantly dislikes him, though he fashions his expression to say otherwise. He also thinks, rather dryly, how much Prim would love him, as bad taste in friends as she has.
Nonetheless, it would be rude to not greet the foreigner who of course must stop at his fence.
With a tilt of his pipe and a nod of his head, Bilbo says politely, "Good morning!" And it really was. The sky was blue and only white clouds were in sight. Winter was only just barely in the air, leaving behind a crispness that is quite pleasant.
The grey man raises an unimpressed eyebrow, and his response shows just as much. "What do you mean?" he said. "Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether i want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?" An infuriating old bat, Bilbo suspects to himself.
Bilbo's voice is a tad hesitant while he thinks on how to reply, so as not to show his annoyance through his words. He admits, this sort of thing always came more naturally to Prim. "All at once, I suppose". Bilbo shakes his head a bit and changes the subject. "Is there something I can help you with?"
The white bearded man gives an almost grunt, then straightens his posture a bit. "That remains to be seen. You see, I am looking for someone to share an adventure with".
'Oh no,' Bilbo thinks to himself as he puts out his pipe and stands from his bench. 'Not good. Not good at all. I best keep him far away from Prim's sights'.
Bilbo's voice is hurried as he climbs the steps towards his freshly painted door. "Good morning! We don't want any adventures here, thank you! You might try over The Hill or across The Water".
Before he can reach his door, the voice of the old man breaks his stride in an instant.
"To think that I have been good morninged by the son of Belladonna Took! Your sister, I expect that from, but certainly not you Bilbo Baggins".
Bilbo lengthens his pause, before taking a glance back at the man, taking him in with new eyes. "Do I know you?"
"Well, you know my name, though not that I'm connected to it. I am Gandalf, and Gandalf is...me."
The name sparks a rush of memories in Bilbo; ones of running around during Yule; Prim's tiny hand gripped tightly in his. Poor Prim, always a few inches small than most other fauntlings our age. Fireworks exploding and their parents' wonderful laughter in the background.
"Gandalf, the one who made such excellent fireworks?"
Gandalf seems to deflate a bit at this. "well, at least you remember me, if only for my fireworks". He nods seemingly to himself. "Yes, I do believe this will be good for you".
Bilbo doesn't bother waiting to hear more nonsense from an obviously crazed old man. Instead he hurries inside and closes the door behind him, leaning against it as if to assure himself that Gandalf is unable to come inside. He doesn't know that Gandalf put a mark on hid door; only that when he looks through his window, he is surprised by the sight of a wrinkled, large blue eye glancing back at him.
As he withdraws quickly, he gets a most dreadful emotion that he has not felt in quite a while; one that Prim has had far too often.
Curiosity is a bitch, his mother used to say before his father reprimanded her for her language.