#shirefolk

[the-tipsy-tailor]

i have this pet theory that the shire is the Entwives garden and the hobbits are what happens when you make entings by parthenogenisis. maybe the entwives are gone and maybe not. maybe Goldberry is one of them. but like what if the hobbits have big feet because they get nutrients through the ground sometimes? what if they're so resilient because they have barkskin? they're described as having a deep love of green growing things and for orderliness. idk, i just like the idea that Treebeard is unknowingly telling the tale of the Entwives to their unknowing descendants.

[moxiewidow]

Imagine my surprise seeing these names on the office board. I had no idea i was working with Hobbits!!! #Hobbits #lotrmemes #lordoftherings #frodo #sam #merry #pippin #Tolkien #halflings #shirefolk (at Oceanside, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnYML_orrwr/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[miss-bubles]

#when the local hobbits treat nazgul like they're unwanted trespassers and not like evil undead spirits that serve the devil#annual lotr reread

oh my god, farmer maggot really is just out here being a complete badass, huh?

[thefabelmans2022]

reread the scouring of the shire and have many questions. first and foremost how long were merry and pippin living together at crickhollow?

[edges-of-night]

Hi! I hope you are doing well. If I could, I’d like to request how the fellowship reacts to you walking in on them either changing or in a compromising situation. Could go the other way around if you prefer; I’ve just don’t think I’ve seen anyone do this prompt with the reader walking in rather than them

No worries if you don’t want to do this prompt :)

Hi, I hope you’re well too! I didn’t go the entirely humorous route with this one, but I did choose to do it the way you described, with reader walking in on the Fellowship.

I hope you’ll enjoy your post! Take care ♡

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Aragorn has no problem with others seeing him naked. That said, he knows it’s not like that for everybody, and he does anticipate your embarrassment and profuse apologies once you accidentally walk in on him changing clothes. He’d gently and unexcitedly assure you everything was fine – and was perhaps a bit confused by himself. Is he blushing? Why is he so preoccupied by this? Maybe this is different when it’s with you…

.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Many soldiers are used to seeing other people naked and being seen naked themselves, and Boromir is no exception. Still, he wouldn’t be entirely comfortable with you walking in on him changing. A nervous laugh would escape him, though he’d instinctively try to play his ‘prince charming’ routine. Probably even successfully! That said, he knows this could very well be a delicate matter to you – and your comfort is always Boromir’s top priority, so he’d handle the incident according to your wishes.

.

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Frodo, as usual, is very unagitated about your accidental glance at him changing clothes. From behind the door, you hear him chuckle: “Don’t worry about it! I should’ve closed that door, it’s my fault entirely.” He would only make a few lewd jokes about the incident when drunk at the Green Dragon, but not anymore once you ask him to keep this between the two of you. It wouldn’t change your relationship in the slightest.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Walking in on Gandalf changing clothes would probably result in a blanket magically flying over your head or even your body losing control and turning around to walk the other way, like a puppet. You’d see nothing – in fact this would happen before you even knew what was going on.

.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Being the proud Dwarf that he is, Gimli would probably act like the incident never happened and be surprisingly nonchalant about the matter. He has nothing to hide or be insecure of, especially not with you. And after all, it was an accident! However, he’d sometimes makes jokes along the lines of “you never walk in on me anymore, dearie” after some time had passed. He takes all of this is good humour.

.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

I feel like out of the Fellowship, Legolas would be the “flirtiest” if you walked in on him changing his clothes. He is also exceptionally good at reading your mood: Are you embarrassed? “Be at ease, dear friend. There is no harm done, and so we won’t speak of it again.” Are you curious? Eyebrows raised, he’d subtly make sure to give you the best angles. Or are you perhaps being flirty as well? “It’s a good thing you’ve come! Look here – could you help me with this girth? It’s been driving me mad…”

.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

In the heat of the moment, Merry would probably scream something at you, like “Some privacy, please!” A minute later and he already wants to disappear into the Earth, blaming himself – how could he lash out at you like that? He’d worry and quickly walk up to you to apologise. He would accept your apology too, though he would still blush and quietly ask you to knock next time. Also: He knows how the Shirefolk can behave sometimes and wants to shield you from gossip.

.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin let out a cry when you accidentally walked in on him changing clothes, making you turn on your heels – before remembering you’ve seen him naked plenty of times. There’s no big scandal, even though he acts like there was. Going forward, as a joke, he would play with his scarf and smirk at you like the dirtiest thing happened between the two of you. You try to keep it down, but eventually, Pip would go around telling people you keep walking in on him on purpose.

.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Sam would be just as surprised and embarrassed as you are. He’d stumble over his words and his feet alike, trying to get distance between the two of you and cover his naked skin at the same time. Afterwards, you apologise to him profusely, but Sam knows very well you didn’t mean to intrude. “‘t was an accident. Nothin’ more and nothing less.” Still, he’d blush a little – and, just sometimes, wonder if you perhaps liked what you saw – after all, he’s too shy to ask ♡

[velvet4510]

Rosie Cotton does not get enough praise. This gal was truly a queen among hobbits. There’s a darn good reason Tolkien himself dubbed her “absolutely essential,” because she is.

(Samfro shippers especially need to appreciate her rather than erase her.)

The love of her life abruptly left the Shire and was gone for a whole year, when she was expecting them to get married. Think of how painful that must’ve been for her. Then she had such a strong intuition that she somehow sensed the Ring’s destruction and knew he was going to come back. Nobody else had this feeling but her. There’s definitely something special about Rosie Cotton, if she was able to sense this out of nowhere.

But then, when Sam finally did return safe and sound, he was head over heels for his master and planning to move in with him.

How did Rosie react? She accepted that being with Sam meant including Frodo, that there wouldn’t really be just the two of them like a typical marriage. And she basically said to Sam, “Let’s get married anyway and live with him.” Her love for Sam never went away, and not even his feelings for Frodo could make her want to marry anyone else. She knew what she wanted and wouldn’t settle for anything less. She took Sam exactly as he was, Frodo and all.

Not only that, Rosie literally allowed Frodo to name her firstborn child. Not her husband, not herself, but Frodo. She settled on the name that Frodo chose for her own daughter: Elanor. Talk about generosity; that alone really shows just how closely she let Frodo into the family.

And it was Rosie’s presence that gave Sam strength and a will to live when he needed it most. If it hadn’t been for her, Sam would’ve been left all alone and heartbroken with nothing, because Frodo would’ve either left on the ship or withered away and died in just a few years, maybe even months. Even if Sam had left on the ship with Frodo, he would’ve yet again given up his life and dreams for Frodo and lost his chance at cultivating his beloved Shire and having a family. Frodo would’ve just felt guilty and it would’ve likely tainted their relationship. It was Rosie who gave Sam something to live for in the Shire, and gave Frodo the peace of mind that he’d be leaving Sam in good hands. And she accomplished all this just by offering Sam the unconditional love, care, and support that he needed, and by respecting and loving Frodo when very few Shirefolk did. This is why Samfro shippers should never erase Rosie or blame her for the separation; Frodo was forced to leave Sam, either way, and Rosie was the miracle that they needed in order to survive the separation.

And then Rosie proceeded to (somehow) birth and raise a total of 13 children(!!), while also rising from simple farm girl to the Mistress of Bag End, the grandest estate in all of Hobbiton, and the Mayor’s wife, essentially leading the entire community of the Shire alongside Sam. She got a total of 62 years with the love of her life - who she once thought she’d lost forever - and lived to be 98.

Regardless of who you ship, respect Rosie Cotton. She deserves it.

[marta-bee]

In honor of a certain two hobbits' birthday

I thought I'd share Tolkien's letter #214 in its entirety. It's long for a Tumblr post, but fascinating. Hobbit inheritance laws, several interesting women-hobbits, whole paragraphs on hobbit gift-giving traditions and why Gollum (of hobbit-kind) expected to be given a gift on his birthday instead of giving them to others. And that's without getting into the Agatha Christie-worthy story that is Lalia the Great (or Fat).

If you like this stuff but haven't dug into this particular corner of the lore, I hope you enjoy.

214 To A. C. Nunn (draft)

[A reply to a reader who pointed out an apparent contradiction in The Lord of the Rings: that in the chapter 'A Long-expected Party' it is stated that 'Hobbits give presents to other people on their own birthdays'; yet Gollum refers to the Ring as his 'birthday present', and the account of how he acquired it, in the chapter 'The Shadow of the Past', indicates that his people received presents on their birthdays. Mr Nunn's letter continued: 'Therefore, one of the following must be true: (1) Sméagol's people were not "of hobbit-kind" as suggested by Gandalf (I p. 62); (2) the Hobbit custom of giving presents was only a recent growth; (3) the customs of the Stoors [Sméagol-Gollum's people] differed from those of other Hobbits; or (5) [sic] there is an error in the text. I shall be most grateful if you can spare the time to undertake some research into this important matter.]

[Not dated; probably late 1958-early 1959.]

Dear Mr Nunn,

I am not a model of scholarship; but in the matter of the Third Age I regard myself as a 'recorder' only. The faults that may appear in my record are, I believe, in no case due to errors, that is statements of what is not true, but omissions, and incompleteness of information, mostly due to the necessity of compression, and to the attempt to introduce information en passant in the course of narrative which naturally tended to cut out many things not immediately bearing on the tale.

In the matter of birthday-customs and the apparent discrepancies that you note, we can therefore, I think, dismiss your alternatives (1) and (5). You omit (4).

With regard to (1) Gandalf certainly says at first 'I guess' p. 62; but that is in accordance with his character and wisdom. In more modern language he would have said 'I deduce', referring to matters that had not come under his direct observation, but on which he had formed a conclusion based on study. (You will observe in the Appendix B that the Wizards did not come until shortly before the first appearance of Hobbits in any records, at which time they were already divided into three marked branches.) But he did not in fact doubt his conclusion 'It is true all the same, etc.' p. 63.

Your alternative (2) would be possible; but since the recorder says on p. 35 Hobbits (which he uses whatever its origin, as the name for the whole race), and not the Hobbits of the Shire, or Shire-folk, it must be supposed that he means that the custom of giving presents was in some form common to all varieties, including Stoors. But since your (3) is naturally true, we might expect even so deep-rooted a custom to be exhibited in rather different ways in different branches. With the remigration of the Stoors back to Wilderland in TA 1356, all contact between this retrograde group and the ancestors of the Shirefolk was broken. More than 1100 years elapsed before the Déagol-Sméagol incident (c. 2463). At the time of the Party in TA 3001, when the customs of the Shire-folk are cursorily alluded to insofar as they affect the story, the gap of time was nearly 1650 years.

All Hobbits were slow to change, but the remigrant Stoors were going back to a wilder and more primitive life of small and dwindling[1] communities; while the Shire-folk in the 1400 years of their occupation had developed a more settled and elaborate social life, in which the importance of kinship to their sentiment and customs was assisted by detailed traditions, written and oral.

Though I omitted any discourse on this curious but characteristic fact of their behaviour, the facts concerning the Shire could be set out in some detail. The riverside Stoors must, naturally, remain more conjectural.

'Birthdays' had a considerable social importance. A person celebrating his/her birthday was called a ribadyan (which may be rendered according to the system described and adopted a byrding). The customs connected with birthdays had, though deeply rooted, become regulated by fairly strict etiquette; and so in consequence were in many cases reduced to formalities: as indeed suggested by 'not very expensive ones as a rule' p. 35; and especially by p. 46 11. 20-26. With regard to presents: on his birthday the 'byrding' both gave and received presents; but the processes were different in origin, function, and etiquette. The reception was omitted by the narrator (since it does not concern the Party) but it was in fact the older custom, and therefore the one most formalized. (It does concern the Sméagol-Déagol incident, but the narrator, being obliged to reduce this to its most significant elements, and to put it into the mouth of Gandalf talking to a hobbit, naturally made no comment on a custom which the hobbit (and we) should regard as natural in connexion with birthdays.)

Receiving of gifts: this was an ancient ritual connected with kinship. It was in origin a recognition of the byrding's membership of a family or clan, and a commemoration of his formal 'incorporation'.[2] No present was given by father or mother to their children on their (the children's) birthdays (except in the rare cases of adoption); but the reputed head of the family was supposed to give something, if only in 'token'.

Giving gifts: was a personal matter, not limited to kinship. It was a form of 'thanksgiving', and taken as a recognition of services, benefits, and friendship shown, especially in the past year.

It may be noted that Hobbits, as soon as they became 'faunts' (that is talkers and walkers: formally taken to be on their third birthday-anniversary) gave presents to their parents. These were supposed to be things 'produced' by the giver (that is found, grown, or made by the 'byrding'), beginning in small children with bunches of wild flowers. This may have been the origin of the 'thanksgiving' presents of wider distribution, and the reason why it remained 'correct' even in the Shire for such presents to be things belonging to or produced by the giver. Samples of the produce of their gardens fields or workshops remained the usual 'gifts given', especially among the poorer Hobbits.

In the Shire etiquette, at the date of the Party, 'expectation of receiving' was limited to second cousins or nearer kin, and to residence within 12 miles.[3] Even close friends (if unrelated) were not 'expected' to give, though they might. The Shire residence-limit was obviously a fairly recent result of the gradual break-up of kinship communities and families and dispersal of relatives, under long-settled conditions. For the received birthday presents (no doubt as a relic of the customs of small ancient families) must be delivered in person, properly on the eve of the Day, and at latest before nuncheon on the Day. They were received privately by the 'byrding'; and it was very improper to exhibit them separately or as a collection – precisely to avoid such embarrassments as may occur in our wedding-exhibitions (which would have horrified the Shirefolk).[4] The giver could thus accommodate his gift to his purse and his affections without incurring public comment or offending (if anyone) any other than the recipient. But custom did not demand costly presents, and a Hobbit was more readily flattered and delighted by an unexpectedly 'good' or desirable present than offended by a customary token of family good-will.

A trace of this can be seen in the account of Sméagol and Déagol – modified by the individual characters of these rather miserable specimens. Déagol, evidently a relative (as no doubt all the members of the small community were), had already given his customary present to Sméagol, although they probably set out on their expedition v. early in the morning. Being a mean little soul he grudged it. Sméagol, being meaner and greedier, tried to use the 'birthday' as an excuse for an act of tyranny. 'Because I wants it' was his frank statement of his chief claim. But he also implied that D's gift was a poor and insufficient token: hence D's retort that on the contrary it was more than he could afford.

The giving of presents by the 'byrding' – leaving out of account the gifts to parents,[5] mentioned above — being personal and a form of thanks, varied much more in form in different times and places, and according to the age and status of the 'byrding'. The master and mistress of a house or hole, in the Shire, would give gifts to all under their roof, or in their service, and usually also to near neighbours. And they might extend the list as they pleased, remembering any special favours in the past year. It was understood that the giving of presents was not fixed by rule ; though the withholding of a usual gift (as e.g. to a child, a servant, or a next door neighbour) was taken as a rebuke and mark of severe displeasure. Juniors & Inmates (those having no house of their own) were under no such obligations as rested on householders; but they usually gave presents according to their means or affections. 'Not very expensive as a rule' – applied to all the gifts. Bilbo was in this as in other ways an exceptional person, and his Party was a riot of generosity even for a wealthy Hobbit. But one of the commonest birthday ceremonies was the giving of a 'party' – in the evening of the Day. All those invited were given presents by the host, and expected them, as part of the entertainment (if secondary to the fare provided). But they did not bring presents with them. Shire-folk would have thought that very improper. If the guests had not already given a gift (being one of those required to do so by kinship), it was too late. For other guests it was a thing 'not done' – it looked like paying for the party or matching the party-gift, and was most embarrassing. Sometimes, in the case of a very dear friend unable to come to a party (because of distance or other causes) a token invitation would be sent, with a present. In that case the present was always something to eat or drink, purporting to be a sample of the party-fare.

I think it will be seen that all the details recorded as 'facts' do actually fit into a definite picture of sentiment and custom, though this picture is not sketched even in the incomplete fashion of this note. It could, of course, have appeared in the Prologue: e.g. in the middle of p. 12. But though I cut out a great deal, that Prologue is still too long and overloaded according even to those critics who allow that it has some use, and do not (as some) advise readers to forget it or skip it.

Incomplete as it is, this note may seem to you much too long; and though you asked for it, more than you asked for. But I do not see how I could have answered your queries more shortly in a way suitable to the compliment you pay me by taking an interest in Hobbits sufficient to mark the lacuna in the information provided.

However, the giving of information always opens still further vistas; and you will no doubt see that the brief account of 'presents' opens yet more anthropological matters implicit to such terms as kinship, family, clan, and so on. I venture to add a further note on this point, lest, in considering the text in the light of my reply, you should feel inclined to enquire further about Sméagol's 'grandmother', whom Gandalf represents as a ruler (of a family of high repute, large and wealthier than most, p. 62) and even calls a 'matriarch' (p. 66).

As far as I know Hobbits were universally monogamous (indeed they very seldom married a second time, even if wife or husband died very young); and I should say that their family arrangements were 'patrilinear' rather than patriarchal. That is, their family names descended in the male-line (and women were adopted into their husband's name); also the titular head of the family was usually the eldest male. In the case of large powerful families (such as the Tooks), still cohesive even when they had become very numerous, and more what we might call clans, the head was properly the eldest male of what was considered the most direct line of descent. But the government of a 'family', as of the real unit: the 'household', was not a monarchy (except by accident). It was a 'dyarchy', in which master and mistress had equal status, if different functions. Either was held to be the proper representative of the other in the case of absence (including death). There were no 'dowagers'. If the master died first, his place was taken by his wife, and this included (if he had held that position) the titular headship of a large family or clan. This title thus did not descend to the son, or other heir, while she lived, unless she voluntarily resigned.[6] It could, therefore, happen in various circumstances that a long-lived woman of forceful character remained 'head of the family', until she had full-grown grandchildren.

Laura Baggins (née Grubb) remained 'head' of the family of 'Baggins of Hobbiton', until she was 102. As she was 7 years younger than her husband (who died at the age of 93 in SY 1300), she held this position for 16 years, until SY 1316; and her son Bungo did not become 'head', until he was 70, ten years before he died at the early age of 80. Bilbo did not succeed, until the death of his Took mother. Belladonna, in 1334, when he was 44.

The Baggins headship then, owing to the strange events, fell into doubt. Otho Sackville-Baggins was heir to this title – quite apart from questions of property that would have arisen if his cousin Bilbo had died intestate; but after the legal fiasco of 1342 (when Bilbo returned alive after being 'presumed dead') no one dared to presume his death again. Otho died in 1412, his son Lotho was murdered in 1419, and his wife Lobelia died in 1420. When Master Samwise reported the 'departure over Sea' of Bilbo (and Frodo) in 1421, it was still held impossible to presume death; and when Master Samwise became Mayor in 1427, a rule was made that: 'if any inhabitant of the Shire shall pass over Sea in the presence of a reliable witness, with the expressed intention not to return, or in circumstances plainly implying such an intention, he or she shall be deemed to have relinquished all titles rights or properties previously held or occupied, and the heir or heirs thereof shall forthwith enter into possession of these titles, rights, or properties, as is directed by established custom, or by the will and disposition of the departed, as the case may require.' Presumably the title of 'head' then passed to the descendants of Ponto Baggins – probably Ponto (II).

A well-known case, also, was that of Lalia the Great (or less courteously the Fat). Fortinbras II, one time head of the Tooks and Thain, married Lalia of the Clayhangers in 1314, when he was 36 and she was 31. He died in 1380 at the age of 102, but she long outlived him, coming to an unfortunate end in 1402 at the age of 119. So she ruled the Tooks and the Great Smials for 22 years, a great and memorable, if not universally beloved, 'matriarch'. She was not at the famous Party (SY 1401), but was prevented from attending rather by her great size and immobility than by her age. Her son, Ferumbras, had no wife, being unable (it was alleged) to find anyone willing to occupy apartments in the Great Smials, under the rule of Lalia. Lalia, in her last and fattest years, had the custom of being wheeled to the Great Door, to take the air on a fine morning. In the spring of SY 1402 her clumsy attendant let the heavy chair run over the threshold and tipped Lalia down the flight of steps into the garden. So ended a reign and life that might well have rivalled that of the Great Took.

It was widely rumoured that the attendant was Pearl (Pippin's sister), though the Tooks tried to keep the matter within the family. At the celebration of Ferumbras' accession the displeasure and regret of the family was formally expressed by the exclusion of Pearl from the ceremony and feast; but it did not escape notice that later (after a decent interval) she appeared in a splendid necklace of her name-jewels that had long lain in the hoard of the Thains.

Customs differed in cases where the 'head' died leaving no son. In the Took-family, since the headship was also connected with the title and (originally military) office of Thain,[7] descent was strictly through the male line. In other great families the headship might pass through a daughter of the deceased to his eldest grandson (irrespective of the daughter's age). This latter custom was usual in families of more recent origin, without ancient records or ancestral mansions. In such cases the heir (if he accepted the courtesy title) took the name of his mother's family – though he often retained that of his father's family also (placed second). This was the case with Otho Sackville-Baggins. For the nominal headship of the Sackvilles had come to him through his mother Camellia. It was his rather absurd ambition to achieve the rare distinction of being 'head' of two families (he would probably then have called himself Baggins-Sackville-Baggins) : a situation which will explain his exasperation with the adventures and disappearances of Bilbo, quite apart from any loss of property involved in the adoption of Frodo.

I believe it was a moot-point in Hobbit lore (which the ruling of Mayor Samwise prevented from being argued in this particular case) whether 'adoption' by a childless 'head' could affect the descent of the headship. It was agreed that the adoption of a member of a different family could not affect the headship, that being a matter of blood and kinship; but there was an opinion that adoption of a close relative of the same name[8] before he was of age entitled him to all privileges of a son. This opinion (held by Bilbo) was naturally contested by Otho.

There is no reason to suppose that the Stoors of Wilderland had developed a strictly 'matriarchal' system, properly so called. No trace of any such thing was to be found among the Stoor-element in the Eastfarthing and Buckland, though they maintained various differences of custom and law. Gandalf's use (or rather his reporter and translator's use) of the word 'matriarch' was not 'anthropological', but meant simply a woman who in fact ruled the clan. No doubt because she had outlived her husband, and was a woman of dominant character.

It is likely enough that, in the recessive and decadent Stoor-country of Wilderland, the women-folk (as is often to be observed in such conditions) tended to preserve better the physical and mental character of the past, and so became of special importance. But it is not (I think) to be supposed that any fundamental change in their marriage-customs had taken place, or any sort of matriarchal or polyandrous society developed (even though this might explain the absence of any reference whatever to Sméagol-Gollum's father). 'Monogamy' was at this period in the West universally practised, and other systems were regarded with repugnance, as things only done 'under the Shadow'.

I actually started this letter nearly four months ago; but it never got finished. Shortly after I received your enquiries my wife, who had been ill most of 1958, celebrated the return of health by a fall in the garden, smashing up her left arm so badly that she is still crippled and in plaster. So 1958 was an almost completely frustrated year, and with other troubles, and the imminence of my retirement involving many rearrangements, I have had no time at all to deal with the Silmarillion. Much though I wish to do so (and, happily, Allen and Unwin also seem to wish me to do).

[1] Between 2463 and the beginning of Gandalf's special enquiries concerning the Ring (nearly 500 years later) they appear indeed to have died out altogether (except, of course, for Sméagol); or to have fled from the shadow of Dol Guldur.

[2] Anciently this apparently took place, shortly after birth, by the announcement of the name of the child to the family assembled, or in larger more elaborate communities to the titular 'head' of the clan or family. See note at end.

[3] Hence the Hobbit expression 'a twelve-mile cousin' for a person who stickled for the law, and recognized no obligations beyond its precise interpretation: one who would give you no present if the distance from his doorstep to yours was not under 12 miles (according to his own measurement).

[4] No presents were given at or during the celebration of Hobbit weddings, except flowers (weddings were mostly in Spring or early Summer). Assistance in furnishing a home (if the couple were to have a separate one, or private apartments in a Smial) was given long before by the parents on either side.

[5] In more primitive communities, as those still living in clan-smials, the byrding also made a gift to the 'head of the family'. There is no mention of Sméagol's presents. I imagine that he was an orphan; and do not suppose that he gave any present on his birthday, save (grudgingly) the tribute to his 'grandmother'. Fish probably. One of the reasons, maybe, for the expedition. It would have been just like Sméagol to give fish, actually caught by Déagol!

[6] We are here dealing only with titular 'headship' not with ownership of property, and its management. These were distinct matters; though in the case of the surviving 'great households', such as Great Smials or Brandy Hall, they might overlap. In other cases, headship, being a mere title, and a matter of courtesy, was naturally seldom relinquished by the living.

[7] This title and office descended immediately, and was not held by a widow. But Ferumbras, though he became Thain Ferumbras III in 1380, still occupied no more than a small bachelor-son's apartment in the Great Smials, until 1402.

[8] descendants of a common great-grandfather of the same name.

[tehcherrya]

Ringbearer of the Shire, Tenth of the Nine

Frodo's physical body would eventually faced into the spirit world. Those eyes would never recognize the Shire as it is, nor savor the memories of what it once was. When he rode into the night, he would feel nothing of it. He would strike fear into any of the Shirefolk who gazed upon him. But he dare not hurt them, even if he does not know why. The Dark Riders sought to serve the Ring, and the Ring sought desperately to destroy the Shire. But it would not.

This dark rider was what once was Frodo Baggins.

And Frodo Baggins would never.

Perhaps this is just the morbid mind in me, but I have not seen enough Wraith Frodo art out there delving into the very real possibility that, were he never saved, he would have become one of them.

I am also intermediately fueling the LOTR fandom with my art, seeing as my last post got so much astounding attention! Enjoy!

[eglerieth]

Concerning Hobbit-Friends

nearly every other free people in Middle Earth have such a concept ( ie, Elf-friend, Dwarf-friend, etc.) so I decided that hobbits do it too. Any hobbit can name someone hobbit-friend, but that’s not a guarantee that their fellow hobbits will consider them their own friend. The exception is if the Thain or Mayor formally names someone hobbit-friend on behalf of all Shirefolk, which has only happened once.

here is a list of known hobbit-friends:

• Gandalf. Obviously. He’s the OG hobbit-friend, upon whom all others are based

• Tom Bombadil: he was given the title by Farmer Maggot. It is unknown if Maggot was the only hobbit to name him hobbit-friend, or if others had done so in the past and his proclamation was redundant.

• the entirety of Thorin’s company: Bilbo named them all hobbit-friend when he left Erebor, in the middle of his “tea at four” speech. This included a posthumous hobbit-friending of Thorin, Fìli, and Kìli.

• multiple Breelanders: throughout the long history of Bree and the Breelands, when hobbits and Men lived side by side, there were many individuals named hobbit-friend by their neighbor for various reasons. The line of Butterburs in particular have held the title unbroken from father to son, usually proclaimed by drunk hobbits in the Prancing Pony wanting to thank and honor their host.

• Boromir: thus named by Merry and Pippin. Pippin was honoring that bond/title when he swore allegiance to Denethor.

• Gimli: Frodo named him hobbit-friend when they were mourning Balin together in Moria and Frodo saw his heart.

• Treebeard: sort of named himself such unwittingly when fitting hobbits into his worldview out loud. Merry and Pippin just accepted it, thus binding it.

• Quickbeam: named such by Merry and Pippin as a throwaway comment that nonetheless had all the meaningfulness necessary.

• Thèoden: named such by Merry when he swore himself to him. He intended to teach him about pipeweed; that was a gift for a hobbit-friend not given to merely anyone. The horn Merry was later given was to honor it, and it was later given much honor in return in the Shire.

• Aragorn: surprisingly, it didn’t happen on the quest. He was their friend, sure, but not specifically a hobbit-friend. But as time went on the hobbits in the Fellowship began to treat him more and more like one, and he was finally formally proclaimed hobbit-friend by Thain Paladin himself on behalf of the Shire after he gifted the hobbits Westmarch and passed the law forbidding Big Folk from entering the Shire. The first king of the Fourth Age was long remembered in the Shire for being the first and only Man to be hobbit-friend to all hobbits. Not even Gandalf was accepted by all, *cough*-Disturber-of-the-Peace-*cough*

Finrod: the only person to be named hobbit-friend in Aman. Proclaimed by Bilbo and Frodo, and then again Sam before he realized it had already been done. He earned the title by connecting with them deeply and helping them around the Undying Lands. Come on, guys, you knew he was gonna have to complete the trifecta of races he’s Friends with.

[downstarr]

The King and The Hobbit

I've ventured into a new fandom with a short piece that imagined Thorin survived The Battle of the Five Armies.

The King and the Hobbit (3928 words) by downstar Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins Additional Tags: Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Canon, Thorin Oakenshield Lives, First Time, POV Bilbo Baggins, Dwarves in the Shire, The Shire (Tolkien), Bag End (Tolkien), Love Confessions, Declarations Of Love, Friends to Lovers, Post-Hobbit, Dwarf/Hobbit Relationship(s), Non-Graphic Smut, Bottom Bilbo Baggins, Top Thorin Oakenshield, My First Work in This Fandom, bagginshield Summary: Several months after The Battle of the Five Armies, the dwarves travel to the Shire to celebrate Bilbo's birthday. One dwarf in particular arrives ahead of his company to reconnect with Bilbo. --- I recently did a marathon rewatch of LoTR and The Hobbit movies. I hadn't realized on first viewing how close to being canonical Thorin and Bilbo's love came. Thought I'd try my hand at this fandom and do a little Thorin lives piece. It was great fun to try out a new world and new voices. With apologies if I made any canon errors! I am a pretty casual Tolkien fan.

EXCERPT:

It was two days before the 53rd birthday of Bilbo Baggins, and the dwarves of Erebor were on their way. 

As much as the Hobbits of the Shire did not approve of Bilbo’s wandering ways, his contributions during The Battle of the Five Armies and the retaking of Erebor from the dragon Smaug were already passing into the realm of legend. So, plans had been underway for weeks to celebrate his birthday with a lavish party.  

Reservations about his improper adventuring aside, what hobbit doesn’t love an excuse to throw a feast? 

Bilbo accepted the honour reluctantly, and only on the condition that the dwarves with whom he’d shared the quest would be invited. That nearly derailed the whole thing then and there, but after a bit of squabbling and peacemaking, the council agreed to the conditions. 

Bilbo had spent the last week bustling around Bag End, preparing for his visitors whose presence he felt was far more significant than his own turning of the year. It was no trivial matter to travel from Erebor to the Shire, even though the journey could be made in relative peace and safety - unlike their original quest. So he was aware of what a great honour it was for his friends to make the journey.

At the best of times, Bilbo could be full of nervous energy. It had been hard enough to keep up his facade as an ordinary, respectable Hobbit when he hadn’t gone off on an adventure. But now that the residents of the Shire knew that his respectability had been a facade, they looked at him even more askance. That, in turn, had made him even more self-aware, especially as it felt like the entire Shire was attending his birthday party. There was admiration and awe in the way the Shirefolk looked at him, as well. Just because a Hobbit didn’t want to go off fighting dragons themselves didn’t mean they didn’t admire his courage. 

Admiration felt almost more awkward than disapproval to Bilbo. But he’d slowly been learning to lean into the attention. Still, he felt very relieved and excited that his dwarven friends would be attending as well. And one friend in particular. 

Bilbo was just finishing stowing away the most valuable pieces of silver and sentimental knickknacks when there was a knock on his door.

As Hobbits tended to be very well-mannered about not dropping by unannounced so late, Bilbo convinced himself he’d imagined the knock and went right back to his tidying up.

The knock came again, this time harder and unmistakable. 

Bilbo crept cautiously from the kitchen toward the entryway, peering around the corner and doing a little halt-step. The movement of a shadow outside the window convinced him there was indeed someone out there. He twitched his nose, flickered his fingers, then cautiously stepped forward to pull open the door.

The figure was broad-shouldered and heavily cloaked, and no hobbit. 

A moment of fear spiked down Bilbo’s spine. His adventure had shown him the wide word, but it had also made him much more aware of the mortal danger that most hobbits had the good fortune to never see. He started to reach for Sting, which hung just behind an old coat he kept by the door. 

“You look upon me as an enemy, Bilbo Baggins. Surely these few months haven’t changed things between us so much.” 

Bilbo immediately stopped reaching for his sword. The spike of fear turned to joy. “Thorin?!” 

The bulky figure passed into the light of Bilbo’s entryway, revealing the most welcome face of the King Under the Mountain. Thorin smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “You sound surprised. Did you not invite us? Shall I go?” He motioned behind him.

Bilbo stood there staring at Thorin. They hadn’t seen each other in many, many months. When he’d left Erebor, Thorin was still under the care of Tauriel, whose Elven healing had saved him a mere breath from death’s door. Even then, his recovery had been long and slow, and Bilbo wasn’t certain that the King of Erebor would have the strength to make the journey to the Shire.

But now, here he was, standing right in front of him. Bilbo stared at him, and as he did, familiar, confusing feelings bubbled to the surface. He was somehow more handsome and noble than even his memory. He looked hale and healthy, though one hand held a silver-topped cane.

“Well?” asked Thorin with a roll of amused thunder in his tone. “Can I come in? I won’t do you the dishonour of pushing my way in uninvited as my kin and I once did.”  

“Oh yes! Yes of course. You are most welcome. Most welcome, indeed. Come, come,” Bilbo reached out to catch Thorin’s arm and pull him inside. He looked past him and stepped out onto the porch. He’d expected a gaggle of dwarves to be in Thorin’s company, but the lane was quiet save for the singing of cicadas.  “You’re alone?” 

“I left my company behind in Bree, where they will stay for the night. They will make their way here tomorrow. But I wanted to come ahead, to see you before the madness of the celebration to come.” 

Bilbo closed the rounded door and found himself staring at Thorin again. He wore a travelling cloak, but as the weather was still mild, it was not rimmed in fur. Even without that added bulk, the broad set of his shoulders was apparent. 

Bilbo reached for the cloak, and Thorin shrugged it off into his hands. He staggered under the weight of it. “Please, come in. Have a seat. I’ll make us some tea. Are you hungry?” He bustled off and gently set the heavy cloak on an armchair, then made his way back to the kitchen. He rocked on his feet, his whole body humming with unexpected excitement and a touch of nerves. 

Thorin rested his cane against the wall. He stood a bit askance and it was clear he was favouring the side where the orc blade had cut him clean through and nearly taken his life. “I wish nothing of you but your company, Bilbo. But…” he grinned softly, “...a cup of tea would not go amiss.”

“Right! I’ll get right on that. I’ve got some lovely cakes as well. The food is quite horrible in Bree. You’re probably dying for a bit of proper food after so long on the road. I’ll…”

Bilbo’s bustling was stopped in its tracks when Thorin caught his arm.

Continue reading on Ao3

[bitterseaproduction]

Spring from the Thaw - Day One

“This feels like folly.”

“Don’t be so hasty,” cried the grey wizard riding at Thorin’s side, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. The admonishment was paired with a little glint of a smile paired that the exiled royal did not care for, for it seemed as if Gandalf considered his own words something of a joke. But that good humour faded as quickly as it appeared, and it was hard to chastise the wizard after the clouds fell back across his face. “You need the Shirefolk just as much as they need you,” he went on, his tone serious as death, horridly fitting as that was. “They are the only ones who showed themselves willing to give an ear to your hopes, never mind the only ones capable of fulfilling those hopes west of Imladris.”

“The only ones desperate enough to try, you mean,” Thorin grumbled back without expectation of being heard, prickling with the unsaid mention of elves, his predicament, and his fellow dwarves��� hesitance and lack of faith all at once. Never mind the troubles awaiting him at his lost home: Without outside recruits, he would not have enough people to fill the mountain properly once they got there! The handful of former Ered Luin residents willing to follow him could barely make up a village, much less support restoring a whole kingdom, and it would be some years of grueling work and extreme luck before he could possibly hope to attract reluctant Durin’s Folk back to the mountain. They were not motivated to come. Not after such devastation.

Not when the gold had been lost.

He knew the Hobbits were his only hope if he wished to see his people rise from the ashes, but when he looked about at the land around them, that truth just made their mission feel more onerous. More doomed. The fields he, the wizard, and his trailing company passed through showed nothing of promise. Or much of anything at all, all white and grey with snow and clouds despite the late April day they found themselves in. But that was expected, and the entire reason Thorin was there: The Curse of the Shire. No one knew quite what had caused it, though Thorin suspected Gandalf did, as efforts by his company to question the wise man and try theories by him were met by sharp rebukes, a stormy dimming of the air about him, and heavy, shame-filled eyes that he tried hard not to let anyone see. But Thorin did see. He saw enough to guess that Gandalf felt some responsibility for the ruin about them. Whether that was due to guilt, as Gandalf was supposedly particularly fond of Hobbits and felt responsible for the people, or something far deeper, Thorin could not say.

It did not truly matter: What Thorin did know was that the Fell Winter of years ago had crippled all the freefolk of Eriador with loss and grief, but it had never left the Shire. Nearly thirty years on, the snow continued to fall in the Farthings, or so they said. Few never dared to venture deep into the lands to see the full truth of it, and even there, on the outskirts of the cursed lands, the dwarf shivered with remembered chills of that long ago winter, brought back to vivid life by the scene about them. He could hear his company muttering amongst themselves behind them, and hoped that fear and superstition would not cost him what hope they had before they even reached the meeting point.

Even now, his people still refused to enter the heart of the cursed land, and Thorin would not risk it himself without even a promise, so it had been agreed they would meet at Michel Delving: Once a town of some size that Thorin’s people had happily traded with not so long ago, as it stood in easy access to their home in the Blue Mountains. Now, it was little more than a ruin buried in the snow. There was no bustle nor sound as the white-covered rooftops came into view amid the storm. Their only accompaniment remained the wind, crashing down on him in an obvious rebuke of their foolish intent. Thorin was almost suspecting the old wizard had simply gone mad, or led them into a trap of some sort, for there was no chance an entire population would linger for years in such a place if the weather was truly eternal. Did the Hobbits of the Shire even live? How could anyone survive under such conditions, and if they were truly foolish enough to remain-

Gandalf let out a relieved cry and called out, “Inside, my good dwarves! Whoever feels hardy and reckless enough for it, move the ponies to that building there, but the rest of you, inside at once! And that includes you, Thorin!”

Torn between a scoff at the wizard’s manner and outrage at being ordered about, Thorin bit back both responses in favour of rushing to dismount and toss out his own orders, waiting to be certain his old friend and cousin Balin was at his side and his nephews in sight before squinting through the snows to find the wizard. He was nearly impossible to spot with his unfortunate greys, but Thorin’s efforts were soon unnecessary as a few loud thumps marked Gandalf’s location, and a door swiftly opened, letting out a warm glow of light amid the white. Thorin did not wait to assess, following Gandalf’s lead by turning to his company and ordering them inside, making certain everyone not tending to the ponies’ survival had made it in before passing under Gandalf’s arm for himself.

The room inside was relief. He heard multiple members of his party give a loud gasp or sigh of joy while he himself felt the tension bleed out of him in the wake of such warmth. It was no forge, certainly, but the heat was a wonder for the contrast and where it was, and as he looked about, Thorin realized why, and quickly tensed again. The long hall of a room was peppered with various blazing fireplaces, and those were pleasant enough, but the other source of warmth in the room was people. Dozens upon dozens of Hobbits, all clustered together in little huddles along the sides of the room, gathered in families or what-not around each fire. And they were all looking at them, peering with frowns and glares and in some cases round, hopeful eyes, but always staring. All expectant in one way or another.

Thorin did not like it, and he tossed a glare up at the wizard currently removing his hat to knock off melting snow.

“No need for that, my friend,” he murmured without looking at Thorin, which raised his hackles even more: Why would the wizard feel the need to be subtle? “Just leave them be and they’ll let us go about our business. Come along.” And with that, he donned his hat again, gripped his staff, and led the way down the hall.

Thorin had little choice but to follow and lead his own people where the wizard went.

When they had crossed almost the entire length of the hall – eyes following them the entire way, of course – Gandalf suddenly stopped, turning to one fireplace in particular with a look so soft and heavy that the tension was wiped from Thorin’s mind, replaced by shock and curiosity as he followed the wizard’s gaze. The spot was no different from the others, save for the occupants. There was a small cluster of Hobbit children there, all with wide, round eyes full of wonder and question, and it was impossible not to pity them on sight, given the circumstances. But it was hard to focus on that, for the tiny creatures’ wonder was not for them, but for the sole adult among them: A Hobbit with a mess of golden-brown curls, more-or-less identical to a hundred others Thorin had seen before. Except this one was quite fussily dressed, with a fine jacket and flowery waistcoat, and his face was quite animated, his round nose scrunching up amid a myriad of expressions as he waved his arms about and spoke rapidly to the children gathered around his overstuffed armchair.

“And then, just when I thought I was going to end up in the belly of a wolf, soothing his hunger when all I had wanted was to claim a few winterberries for dinner, dear Forty burst out of the bushes, and-”

And then he stopped, though no one interrupted him. Not the children, not the wizard, not even Thorin and his company. They had all been listening quite raptly, and Thorin had not been aware of his own interest until the tale suddenly stopped as the man’s eyes – some dark colour impossible to name by nothing but firelight – caught on them by chance. Caught on Thorin by chance, for it was he the Hobbit gazed at, and Thorin still could not place the colour of those eyes. But he found himself drawn into trying, meeting that gaze without falter until the Hobbit broke it himself to look elsewhere. His entire face softened at the sight just beside Thorin.

“Gandalf.”

Thorin looked up to see Gandalf smiling at the Hobbit in question with a fondness he had never seen before. He clearly knew this particular Hobbit, and Thorin suspected his identity well before the wizard turned his way with a warm, “Thorin Oakenshield, may I introduce Bilbo Baggins, Thain of the Shire?”

At this mutual confirmation, the Hobbit stood, waving back a child or two who sat in his way. There was no shock of revelation in his face either, and when the Hobbit was standing just before Thorin, he bowed his head in a faint, but fine show of respect, lowering his gaze for only that beat before meeting his eye again. “Just Bilbo will do,” Bilbo said, speaking with a heavy, strained smile and a knowing eye that Thorin again found he could not break. “Welcome, Your Majesty, to the Shire.”

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Bagginshield Week 2024

Day One - June 24 Prompts: Role Reversal/The Shire Falls Instead + Bilbo is the Thain/Is a Royal

. . . [to be continued] . . .

[heyitsjustmoi]

First in Bag End

The path had led him through the green, rolling hills of the Shire, with its freshly tilled earth, gardens teeming with life, and flower boxes brimming from windowsills. He took it all in, but found it difficult to describe the peace and tranquility of this land—an unfamiliar feeling for one who had seen much strife.

He had never heard of the Shire, not by name nor by reputation, and upon his arrival, the lush landscape overwhelmed him. It was unexpected, this calm, this peacefulness—a far cry from the dark and sorrowful halls of the Blue Mountains.

A small, elderly hobbit, burdened by a sack of rice, stumbled near him. Thorin reached out instinctively, steadying the sack with ease.

"Thank ye, laddie!" the hobbit exclaimed, his weathered face lighting up with gratitude.

Thorin held the sack a moment longer. "Where shall I take this for you?" His voice held a quiet uncertainty, for his garb and stature drew the eyes of curious onlookers. He was an outsider here, and the gaze of the Shirefolk upon him felt both curious and judgmental.

"Oh, there's no need, none at all! I can manage from here," the old hobbit replied, tipping his hat in thanks before reclaiming the sack with a slight bow.

With a sigh, Thorin breathed in the fresh air. Gandalf said I would know Bag End when I saw it, he mused, his eyes drifting to the peculiar homes of the hobbits—each one built under the hills, their round doors set like jewels in the earth. It amused him to think of the dirt that must settle within, though the people themselves appeared anything but unkempt.

One door in particular caught his attention: a perfectly round green door with a brass knob set squarely in its center. He paused momentarily before moving on, continuing his search through the village. His feet carried him toward the market, where laughter and lighthearted chatter filled the air. The spirits of the Shirefolk were infectious, and Thorin felt a flicker of something he had long since buried—hope.

Amidst the market's bustling energy, a voice caught his ear. "Now, I don't suppose you've seen a Wizard lurking about?" The voice was that of a finely dressed hobbit, polished and perhaps a touch arrogant in his manner.

"A tall fellow? Long, gray beard? Pointy hat?" the farmer replied, shaking his head. "Can't say I have."

Before the conversation could unfold further, the hobbit rushed off, leaving Thorin to ponder. A Wizard… Could this be the one Gandalf mentioned? He followed the hobbit at a distance, careful to remain unnoticed, for he had no desire to make a poor impression on the fourteenth member of their company.

Soon, Thorin found himself standing before the same round green door he had passed earlier. As he examined it closely, he noticed a symbol etched discreetly upon its surface. He nearly groaned aloud—he had walked right by the very place he sought. So much for my directional sense.

He watched as the hobbit entered the house, and Thorin, unsure of his next move, sat quietly on a small bench nearby. For a moment, he allowed himself to breathe in the stillness, the tranquility of this place. A fleeting thought crossed his mind—could he one day live in such peace? Perhaps, when Erebor was reclaimed and his crown secured, he might retire to a small home here, far from the weight of the throne. The idea brought a rare smile to his face.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the Shire, Thorin rose and approached the door. He knocked firmly, and after a moment, it creaked open to reveal a hobbit, staring up at him with wide, startled eyes.

"Uh—who—"

"Thorin Oakenshield," he introduced himself with a small nod. "And you must be the hobbit."

The hobbit blinked in confusion. "Hobbit? Well, yes, I am indeed a hobbit, but... do we know each other?"

"Not yet," Thorin replied with a faint smirk. "You haven’t given me your name."

"Ah, yes! Bilbo Baggins," the hobbit replied, offering his hand hesitantly. Thorin took it, his grip firm.

"Now we know each other," Thorin said. "May I come in?"

Bilbo stepped aside, still clearly flustered. "Well, I suppose so, though I must apologize—I’m not expecting any visitors, and my dinner preparations—"

Thorin stepped inside, shedding his cloak and handing it to Bilbo. The hobbit took it, unsure of where to place it, before hanging it on a nearby peg. Thorin surveyed the hobbit-hole, his first impression upended. Despite being under a hill, the walls were not earthy, but lined with polished wood, the air warm and inviting. It felt... homely.

"You have a fine home, Master Baggins," Thorin said, genuinely pleased.

Bilbo, still a bit taken aback, smiled faintly. "Thank you."

"Where’s your kitchen? I might lend a hand."

Bilbo hurried after him, protesting. "No, no, you’re a guest—uninvited, perhaps, but still a guest!"

Thorin ignored the remark, already inspecting the small kitchen. "You’ll want to prepare more than this, Master Baggins. There will be more guests later this night."

Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up, his voice rising in pitch. “More guests? Who—? Wait! Wait! That’s the pantry!”

Thorin, undeterred, had already begun rummaging through the pantry, pulling out supplies with the practiced ease of a man accustomed to hard work. “Bombur alone could devour half this larder, so you might want to prepare more than this block of cheese.” He placed items on the table. “I’m no master chef, but I can manage slicing and dicing.”

Bilbo stood frozen for a moment, mouth agape, before throwing his hands up in resignation. “Fine! Fine! I suppose you're right.” With a deep breath, he took charge of his kitchen once more, pointing Thorin toward a cutting board and handing him a knife. “Slice these vegetables—thinly, mind you—and mind the pots while I prepare the bread.”

Thorin obeyed, a rare smile playing at the edges of his lips. There was something oddly pleasant about the hobbit’s kitchen, about Bilbo himself, in fact. For the first time in years, Thorin felt the weight on his shoulders lift, if only for a fleeting moment. He worked with surprising ease, the rhythm of the kitchen a welcome distraction from darker thoughts of dragons and distant mountains.

As they worked, Bilbo’s flustered chatter filled the room, though Thorin found it rather amusing.

“What is this even about?” Bilbo finally asked, stirring one of the simmering pots. “I’m preparing a meal for a gathering I know nothing of, and for strangers, no less! Forgive me, but I barely know you, Mister Oakenshield!”

Thorin chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I take it Gandalf neglected to inform you.”

“Gandalf?” Bilbo exclaimed, nearly spilling the soup. “That old wizard! He did say something about an ‘adventure’ this morning, which I very clearly declined.”

“Declined?” Thorin’s brow arched in surprise.

“Yes, declined! I don’t imagine anyone west of Bree has much use for adventures. Certainly not me! Do I look like the sort to go gallivanting off into danger?”

Thorin looked him over appraisingly, eyes twinkling with mirth. “No, if I’m being honest, you look more like a grocer.”

“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” Bilbo muttered, though he couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t look like a grocer! I could be an adventurer if I wished. Did you know that my great-great-great-great-uncle Bullroarer Took was so large, he could ride a real horse?”

“Is that so?” Thorin indulged him.

“Yes! In the Battle of Green Fields, he charged the goblin ranks, swinging his club with such might that he knocked the Goblin-king’s head clean off! It sailed a hundred yards and landed down a rabbit hole, and thus the battle was won, and the game of golf invented at the same time!”

Bilbo’s pride in the tale was evident, and Thorin couldn’t help but smile, amused by the hobbit’s sudden enthusiasm for adventure—despite his earlier protests.

“Here, taste this,” Bilbo said, interrupting Thorin’s thoughts as he offered a spoonful of the soup.

Thorin leaned in, tasting the broth, and hummed appreciatively. “That is fine soup, Master Baggins.”

“Family recipe,” Bilbo said, clearly pleased with himself.

As the preparations continued, Bilbo busied himself with more tales, and Thorin, to his own surprise, found that he enjoyed listening. It was peaceful, listening to the hobbit’s stories of a life so far removed from his own. Here in this little kitchen, with the warmth of the fire and the simple task of preparing a meal, Thorin felt a rare contentment.

At last, when the table was set and the food prepared, Thorin turned to Bilbo, his tone more serious. “Master Baggins,” he began, startling the hobbit from his task, “I would tell you my story now.”

Bilbo blinked, then nodded, taking a seat as Thorin gestured for him to do so. Thorin sat opposite him, the flickering firelight casting long shadows across the room.

With a deep breath, Thorin recounted the tale of Erebor—of the dragon Smaug, of the desolation wrought upon his people, and of the long, bitter years spent in exile. As he spoke, he watched Bilbo’s face change, amusement giving way to concern, and finally, fear. He couldn’t fault the hobbit for his reaction; it was a story filled with loss and peril.

“I cannot guarantee your safety,” Thorin admitted solemnly, his voice low. “Nor will I be responsible for your fate. But if you are to be what Gandalf believes you can be, we will need your help to reclaim what was stolen from us—our home.”

For a long moment, Bilbo was silent, his small frame hunched under an invisible weight. Thorin could almost see the thoughts turning in his head, the quiet struggle within him. Though they had only just met, Thorin found himself liking the hobbit. He was unsure yet whether he could trust him fully, but if they had met under different circumstances, Thorin thought he might have enjoyed getting to know Bilbo better. Perhaps, in time, they could even have been friends.

��I—I don’t know,” Bilbo stammered at last, his voice shaky. “I’ve never left this place, not once.”

Thorin nodded, thoughtful. He understood the appeal of the Shire, its charm, its tranquility. He even envied it. For all his efforts to make the Blue Mountains his home, they had never truly felt like one. And though Erebor was his birthright, the truth was he no longer knew if it would ever feel like home again.

“At least hear the others out when they arrive,” Thorin said, offering a small smile. “I will not hold you to anything if you choose to decline.”

When Bilbo remained silent, Thorin found himself continuing, his voice tinged with a longing he didn’t quite understand. "But in other circumstances, Master Baggins, I would love nothing more than to sit here, share a cup of tea, and listen to your tales for hours on end.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, the doorbell rang. Both hobbit and dwarf turned to the door.

“They’re here,” Thorin said, standing from the table. He crossed the room and opened the door to greet his company, his expression turning more serious.

As the others filed in, filling the quiet of the place with noise and movement, Thorin found himself wishing for a little more time—just a bit longer with Bilbo, in the peace of his home. But the road ahead called him, with all its dangers and responsibilities. Such peace, he knew, was too much to hope for.

---

So this was inspired by my own musing. Once I have more ideas, I'll probably turn this one into multiple chapters. But for now, I hope you enjoyed this one! ---

Now posted in ao3 as well! xoxo

[bitkahuna]

“Hmm. Well, Frodo, be careful with that information. Your cousin Bilbo was just offered a very important job in dwarven society, and should be accept, his and your hands in marriage may become important political tokens.”

Frodo smiled. “I appreciate the thought, but I doubt it. Nobody wants to marry simple Shirefolk.” It was then that he fully registered what Dís had said. “I’m sorry, did you say political tokens?”

- chapter 8 excerpt

[veryace-ficrecs]

The hobbit fic recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

as sunshine falls on the wretched by KivrinEngle - Rated G

Bilbo Baggins, the newly appointed Master of Bag End, has just reached his majority. He lives alone in his fine house, managing his estate, and ignoring the people of Hobbiton as much as they avoid him. When a storm lands him with an unexpected (and unwelcome) little visitor, all Bilbo wants to do is find the baby Dwarf's missing family so he can get back to his own life. That's not what happens.

dig your roots ('fore the sun goes down) by GuardianofDawn - Rated T

It isn't that Shirefolk - one Bilbo Baggins included - go out of their way to keep their gifts a secret. They just don't consider any of it abnormal or gossip-with-strangers worthy. Hobbits can pass unseen and unheard when they wish, because hobbits are children of the earth and growing things. Hobbits will say it is because they don't clod about in steel toed boots. Hobbits can choose to grow their children in groves, like prayers granted by Yavanna. Hobbits, if questioned, would mildly ask why else you would call growing trees a 'nursery'. And sometimes, as all hobbits know, a grove born hobbit may have been twice-grown. Shirefolk will comment that such a hobbit was born knowing a shortcut to mushrooms, and count their blessings when Gandalf Greyhame does not make himself involved in the matter. (They weren't so lucky as that last with Bilbo.)

First Impressions by BeautifulFiction - Rated G

‘Do we not feed you enough, Master Baggins?’ Bilbo rolled his eyes, glad that his back was to Thorin. By the Valar, the dwarf knew how to make even a simple question into a challenge. He found flaw in everything, and Bilbo was sorely tempted to throw the apple he had picked at Thorin’s head. Only the grumble of his belly and the tattered remnants of his good manners stayed his hand. They did not, however, control his tongue.

The 'H' Word by Trixylune - Rated G

For a Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt: Lets say that the term 'halfling' is an extreme insult to Hobbits. and during the Journey, Bilbo doesn't realise that the Dwarves don't know what the term actually means and doesn't understand why they are being so vulgar towards him. Lets also say that Gandalf was riding too far ahead or something and doesn't realise what's going on until dinner one night when he hears one of the dwarves (Bofur/Ori? Plz?) jokingly call Bilbo 'Halfling' and is furious. Gandalf:"BOFUR! Do NOT use that word in my presence again!" Dwarves:??

How To Win A Hobbit's Affection by Tehri - Rated G

There are a few key differences in how hobbits and dwarves court. These differences can lead to a good deal of confusion, and while Thorin is certainly not the image of a subtle dwarf, Bilbo is still utterly confused about what is going on.

Let your colours bleed (And blend with mine) by Xenomorphic - Rated T

Hobbits glow whenever they are happy. Of course Gandalf forgot to tell the dwarves.

The Age of Miscommunication by SilverSkiesAtMidnight - Rated T

“It’s got such a presence to it, even from a distance,” Bilbo says softly, and there’s a general murmur of awed agreement from the others. “Why, in all my fifty years, I never thought I’d see such a thing, and we haven’t even arrived yet!” Thorin’s sword hits the ground with a clatter, and Balin chokes on his pipe. The hobbit doesn’t look at Thorin, too busy thumping Balin on the back. Once the dwarf seems able to breathe again, he looks up, to find thirteen wide pairs of eyes fixed on him. “What?” he says defensively, though he’s not sure what he’s defending. “You’re how old?” Kíli squeaks. Bilbo frowns at the young dwarf. “I’m fifty years old. Well, fifty-one, come springtime. Though it is not very polite to ask someone their age so bluntly,” he tells him primly. Fíli makes a choked sound, and Nori lets out a vicious string of swears in Khuzdul.

Beauty Weeps the Brave by LaoraRyn - Rated G

None of the dwarves understand why bouquets of flowers adorn these tombs in the catacombs of Erebor. But then, none of them ever really understood Bilbo Baggins, either.

You Got Me by drunkonwriting - Rated G

The Company shows their affection for Bilbo in accordance with dwarvish tradition. Bilbo... has no idea why everyone keeps giving him gifts. (Dwarves give gifts of craft to start friendships or romance. Everybody lives AU, canon-compliant through the first movie.)

A Pretty Face by panickyintheuk - Rated G

Bilbo does his best to prove that he isn't completely shallow. The Company doesn't seem convinced, for some reason.

One Hobbit Against Five Armies of Stupidity by driedupwishes - Rated G

Bilbo Baggins was tired, dirty, and had had it up to here with everyone's ridiculous stubbornness. He swore when he got his hands on Gandalf the Grey, he was going to bloody strangle him. That would be after he knocked some sense into that damn gold crazed dwarf first, however. That was, of course, if he lived through the experience of letting Thorin Oakshield know he had the Arkenstone.

The Road Goes Ever On And On by myredturtle - Rated G

Being dead doesn't stop Bilbo Baggins from wanting to solve riddles and set out on adventures

The Ladder by Milliethekitty27 - Rated G

Inspired from a post made by wheeloffortune-design on tumblr. Tired of his lonely kitchen in Yavanna's Garden, Bilbo Baggins wonders if the dwarven love of being underground is true in death. If so, maybe his dwarves are living (ha ha) under the very land Bilbo is weeding. With that thought, Bilbo goes and asks Hamfast for a shovel.

Arkenrocks by Cimila - Rated G

The thing Gandalf neglected to mention when he assured Thorin Oakenshield and Company that Bilbo Baggins of Bag End would be the perfect thief for their mission was this: A Hobbit wouldn't be able to tell a diamond from a pearl, or from an Arkenstone - no matter how hard they try. This leads to some confusion, on Bilbos part. And some frustration, again on Bilbos part. (What sort of a description was 'heart of the mountain', anyway? A useless one, that's what.)

dine with the blood on my hands by aHostileRainbow - Rated G

What if the dwarves did break one of Belladonna Took's prized dishes? [Another AU snapshot of Bilbo Baggins losing his temper and being a BAMF about it.]

The Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy by Ingi - Rated G

Conkers is a game of skill and fun, a perfect way to let off steam to prevent many in-families assassinations from ocurring, and most of all, training. Because in Hobbit culture, many things are sacred, but very few as sacred as generosity and constraint. And sometimes, of course, a hobbit becomes overly greedy. It happens even in the best of families —Bilbo's, even, has a perfect example, coughLobeliacough—, and so, the hobbits long devised a solution: the Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy for Greediness. It works nine times out of ten, and the one that doesn't is usually due to death or severe injury meddling in the process.

To Love Is To Live by erikaehm - Rated G

Twist on the 'Bilbo takes in a dwarf' stories.

Bilbo does take in a dwarf … but not Thorin, Fili, Kili, or Ori.

He takes in Bifur.

On Omelettes by icarus_chained - Rated G

Bilbo interrupts an argument between Bombur and Dwalin to explain the hobbit approach to ancestral weaponry, and the insanity of more or less the entire Took line. Or: why frying pans are a hobbit's weapon of choice.

Listen by Neyiea - Rated G

Bilbo's always had a good ear for languages, so with a little bit of effort on his part, and a small amount of help from an unlikely source, he begins to learn Khuzdul.

[cycas]

I saw three ships go sailing out On New Year's day, on New Year's day; I saw three ships go sailing out On New Year's day in the morning.

And who sailed in those ships all three, On New Year's day, on New Year's day? And who sailed in those ships all three, On New Year's day in the morning?

The fair folk off to Faerie On New Year's day, on New Year's day The fair folk off to Faerie On New Year's day in the morning.

(Shirefolk Traditional, lyrics recorded by Meriadoc Brandybuck). A varient uses 'Eressee' in place of 'Faerie'.

Happy Elves New Year 28th March! (Yestarë)

[nimium-amatrix-ingenii-sui]

Do you like hobbits (well, "Shirefolk", because this is an inofficial and unlicensed project)? Do you like cooking? Do you like hobbit cuisine? Then I'd like to invite you to have a look at this Kickstarter for... dun dun dun... a cookbook inspired by hobbit cuisine! The English translation of that cookbook which has already been published in German, to be exact. The Kickstarter runs from July 21 to August 6, 2023, so there's a couple of days left to jump on board!