Chapter Text
Very little was known of Hobbits. They resided in a far place called the ‘Shire’. Rarely did they travel and even rarer did they speak to strangers; they kept to themselves, and hence no one knew much about them.
For those who had never seen one, Hobbits sounded like mythical creatures. One would be hard-pressed to not see a dwarf or elf a few times in their life, and even fewer would be lucky enough to never see an orc or goblin. But Hobbits? Even when there were tales of them roaming around in the area, it’d be near impossible to find them, quick on their feet as they were.
Hobbits had a trait that very few were aware of: the ability to influence with their voices. Hobbits used their ability to tend to their gardens, cultivating them with mindful words and a structured plan - Hobbits do like knowing what happens before something happens. Hence their strict social politeness. Being creations of Yvanna, Hobbits were finely in tune with the life of the plants and animals around them - so much so that they could sense when something was close to dying.
Bilbo Baggins was a special case. When he was born, his cry shuddered across the Shire, covering all those who heard it with the sense of ‘cold’ and ‘hungry’ .
As he grew, when he would laugh, flowers would bloom and turn their faces towards him, and when he would cry, they would wilt. The hobbits had never seen such a phenomenon, even amongst their kind, and they began to believe that Bilbo Baggins was a sign and gift from Yvanna. His happy countenance, voice like honey, and attunement with life made him so. The life about him flourished and grew at the sound of his voice - gardens and fields would double and grow healthier than they ever had. He was a blessing to the Shire.
Eventually, tragedy struck in the form of a cold winter and hungry wolves.
Many hobbits suffered during the time known as the Fell Winter, and many perished - Bilbo’s parents amongst them. Most of the hobbits died from starvation, but not the Baggins.
Belladonna had been determined to seek help for the Shire in Bree and set off with Bungo and Bilbo to attain it.
They didn’t make it halfway before the wolves attacked.
Even from a distance, the Shire could hear the shriek. It shattered across the land like breaking glass, cruelly stabbing into the minds of those who heard it with an inescapable pain.
The Bounders were sent to find the source of the sound and found Bungo and Belladonna in the snow, and Bilbo between them, trying to wake them up. Two wolves lay nearby, dead, but not from any obvious physical wound.
“They’re gone,” Bilbo whispered, eyes red.
And it was the last time any hobbit heard Bilbo speak.
It was determined that Bilbo had been the one to make the cry and that it was the same cry that had killed the wolves. It was kept secret in the Shire amongst the Thain and a few others - they understood the repercussions of rumors of Bilbo’s abilities leaving the Shire.
So, whispers of Bilbo’s voice were quieted, and the memories of the faunt Bilbo Baggins used to be, faded away.