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Hobbits have always used magic, the simple ordinary kind for disappearing from sight, and for helping along the growth of all things green and good.
Bilbo Baggins was only slightly different, in that he spoke to plants, a rather strange habit of his he learned from his mother.
This was enough to have marked him as odd, but his sudden return in the middle of his funeral auction from an adventure of all things, had made quite a few Hobbits question his integrity let alone his respectability.
But even with these rather unsavoury habits, of adventures and talking to plants (as if conversing with Hobbits wasn’t good enough!), the Hobbits of the Shire may have been able to forgive him his strange ways, especially with the incentive of his many riches.
Except that he had turned up alone in the middle of his household auction, and within a span of six weeks, two burly dwarves had shown up to live with him. In his house. Why, the whole Shire had been aflutter with the gossip, but everyone was a little afraid of the dwarves, particularly the bigger menacing one. They were shapeshifters, the sort that were rarely seen in the Shire. Even though they could change any time, they rarely did, but the possibility was always there! This blatant disrespect from Bilbo to every resident of the Shire was particularly evident when Bilbo and the dwarves were caught necking on Bag End’s front stoop.
Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had immediately attempted to hold a protest, demanding that Bilbo had gone mad and that he (and more importantly his home and possessions) should be put into her care. But by then the two dwarves had begun blacksmithing for many of the town’s residents, and no one was keen to give that up.
And so the batty old Hobbit and his two dwarves continued living in Bag End, doing goodness knows what and suitably shaking up much of the Shire’s residents.
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The moonlight shines down on Bilbo, and he flexes his toes in the good dark earth beneath him. It’s an auspicious evening, the night before the full moon, and all sorts of currents are pulsing through the ground and in the air.
When Bilbo reaches out a hand to a tree, he feels the power running up and down it, stretching through the ground beneath his feet to its brethren on either side. When he whispers a little thanks to it, the trees sway above him.
You are right to share your gratitude, little Hobbit. For that, we will warn you of the wolves that watch your steps.
Bilbo shivers, looking behind and around him, but he doesn’t see anything. The currents by his feet don’t alert him to anything, only the sound of his breath and the pounding of his heart.
He steps lightly, but the second he moves he sees the moonlight shining off a pair of eyes to his right.
Bilbo runs.
He gasps, burning in his lungs as he ignores the twigs snapping against his arms and the thud of his feet against the forest floor. He can hear his pursuers, two big shapes on either side, and as the run goes on he wonders if they are toying with him. Letting him wear himself out to make their win all the sweeter.
Just as he breaks through the treeline into the little glade he likes to picnic in, he is taken out, his legs ripped from underneath him as he is tumbled end over end and then pinned.
A wolf towers over him, long black hair and giant blue eyes and teeth that are about half of his forearm (he measured).
“Alright, Thorin, the two of you caught me.”
The wolves tongue lolls out his mouth, and he leaps off of Bilbo to run an excited circle around Bilbo and the other wolf. Bilbo pulls himself up as the two wolves tussle, wincing a little as he feels a few scrapes on his arms and calves.
The smaller of the two wolves looks small and whimpers but Bilbo waves him off.
“Not a worry, Thorin. I know how excited the two of you get at this time of the month. I’ll be right as rain by the time I wake up tomorrow.”
The two wolves’ crowd close around him anyway, and he gives them scratches behind their ears as they growl happily. The urge to puppy talk is strong, but Bilbo manages to restrict himself to a light cooing to Dwalin, who looks as sheepish as a wolf can as his tail wags.
Eventually Bilbo gets tired, and sore, and he rubs once more beneath their chins.
“Let’s go, lovelies.”
The two wolves flank him as he turns to home, yawning a little as he wipes his feet on the front mat. As he turns the two wolves behind him are transforming until two dwarves stand before him.
“Bilbo! Are you hurt badly?” Thorin and Dwalin surround him, manhandling him to inspect his scrapes and bruises.
Bilbo blushes, convinced he’ll never fully become accustomed to having two large naked dwarves on his front step.
“I’m perfectly fine, both of you! Get in the house before we shock the neighbours even more.”
Thorin and Dwalin grumble but allow Bilbo to usher them into the house. As per the norm for this night, the two of them are in high spirits and not terribly talkative, tussling and chasing each other up and down the hallways of Bag End as Bilbo has his bed time snack.
Cold tea and some almond cookies hit the spot, and he goes to gather his dwarves for bed.
He finds the two of them, still naked and Thorin having pushed Dwalin up against the wall.
Bilbo is, as ever, always pleased to see how gentle Thorin is with Dwalin, who is always so brave to be so vulnerable in front of his alpha. Thorin is huffing at Dwalin’s chin, eyes half-closed as he kisses and nips over his neck. Dwalin’s eyes are screwed shut but as Bilbo walks closer Dwalin squints at him, reaching out an imploring hand and letting out a rather pitiful mewl.
“Silly boys. Shall we off to bed?” Bilbo murmurs, kissing Dwalin’s scarred knuckles.
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The sunlight was just barely shining through the round window of Bag End’s master bedroom when Bilbo awoke, his bed empty save for himself.
He groans as he rolls over, stretching his arms out all the way and luxuriating in a mostly empty bed.
All too soon his belly and bladder make themselves known and so he rolls out of bed, sliding on his slippers and puttering through his home.
He eats his fill of breakfast, poached eggs and toast with a thick raspberry jam and a mug of hot tea while he contemplates his day.
His garden is calling to him, somewhat literally, but just as strong is the desire to sit on the front porch with his pipe.
He eventually decides on the garden, if only to quiet the little tomato plants that are calling to him so desperately.
All plants speak to him, at least somewhat, and the second he steps into his back garden they all begin to call out to him. Tomatoes are high pitched, and sound as best he could describe, a bit round when they call out for him, where cabbages and other leafy plants sound like gravelly whispers. And it’s not quite words, either, as he has tried to explain to Thorin and Dwalin many a time, more like concepts and feelings. The bigger and more complex a plant is the more Hobbit-ish their speech is.
He pulls out a few weeds who yell loudly and meanly until he tosses them over the fence to their brethren. Bilbo's garden is surrounded by weeds, all of them grateful not to be dead, who pass along information to their brethren not to spread into the garden. Despite dear Hamfast’s attempts, Bilbo’s garden had been quite overrun in his absence, and he had had to cull quite a few before he settled back in.
Bilbo is startled out of his musings by a rapping on his fence.
“Bilbo, have you been out here all day?” Thorin calls, pulling the latch and letting himself into the garden.
“Goodness no, only a few hours.” Bilbo wipes his forehead off with his wrist and stands up. “What are you doing here, at this time of day? Is everything alright?”
Thorin smiles and shakes his head. “Everything’s fine, Bilbo. Just had to make a delivery over to Bree, thought I’d stop in before I went back to the smithy.”
Bilbo smiles back when Thorin raises an eyebrow and laughs as Thorin sweeps him up into his arms, spinning around before planting kisses all over his face.
“You know, this happens every month and I still never fully expect it.” Bilbo chuckles when Thorin puts him down, and runs his fingers over hi slowly growing beard. “Will Dwalin be jealous when you get back?”
Thorin laughs, leaning their foreheads together. “To be honest, I’m sure he’ll be happy with it.”
A loud tutting sound comes from their left, and they break apart to see a matronly looking hobbit shaking her head and covering her children’s eyes as they walk past.
Most of the month, Bilbo would just ignore her but Thorin pulls Bilbo closer, letting out a low growl.
The hobbit goes pale and hurries off, and Thorin tries to capture Bilbo’s mouth once more.
“No, none of that Thorin, thank you.” Bilbo puts his hand in front of Thorin’s mouth and ignores the literal puppy eyes he has as he continues, “I can’t go ahead and reward you for growling now, can I? Go on now, back to the smithy with Dwalin, and I’ll expect you both home for supper.”
Although Thorin tries to tease a few more kisses out of Bilbo, (and mostly succeeds because they had been in Bag End’s garden and the lady had been rude), Bilbo manages to spend his hour on the front step surrounded by clouds of pipe smoke before laying out a lovely spread.
He’s putting the last of the cheese out on the table when he is suddenly grasped from behind.
“Ugh, you reek. And you’re soaked.” Bilbo mutters, his arms squeezed to his front by the large Dwarf behind him.
“You love it.” Dwalin grunts, planting a kiss on the side of his neck and then releasing him. “But I will be off to the bath in order to preserve your most Hobbit-ish of sensibilities.”
“I dare say my sensibilities are rather universal, thank you very much.” Bilbo does plant a kiss on Dwalin’s cheek which seems to mollify him, and the two dwarves come from the bath together, smelling clean and fresh, and with several fresh bite marks on Thorin’s neck.
It isn’t until the sun sets that his dwarves start to get antsy, not napping by the fire as they usually do but instead pacing back and forth, resting their eyes on nothing for more than a few seconds.
They barely acquiesce to Bilbo painting a few sigils on their arms and chests, the two of them having dropped their shirts hours ago, and Bilbo ties bags of protective medicine plants around their necks.
“Will you follow, Bilbo?” Thorin grunts, staring out into the night from the open door.
“I will, Thorin. You and Dwalin get your blood flowing and then I’ll be out.” Bilbo pats them both, “Now get going, I’ll see you soon.”
Thorin’s smile is wide and reminiscent of his nephews as he tugs Dwalin out the door, and they yip and howl as they run.
Luckily it’s the middle of the night, too late for even a few drunken hobbits stumbling from the pub to see the Shire’s blacksmiths running stark naked toward the woods.
Bilbo follows soon after, his favourite walking staff in one hand, a gift from a tree that he had spent much of his childhood climbing up. They’re easy to find now, the two of them too loud and eager on the night of the full moon to be very subtle.
Dwalin even howls, but Thorin is the only wolf to respond. The Shire is protected by the two of them, and even the wolves who used to occasionally come down from the hills know not to come within their boundary.
The night seems short, as ever, his dwarves, his wolves reveling in their chance to be their full selves. Bilbo walks through the forest, laughing as Thorin and Dwalin shove one another and run circles around him. He stops to speak to a few small pine tree saplings, whispering some promises for their growth and asking the nearby trees to defend them as best they can.
Too soon, Bilbo whistles for them to follow him home, but Thorin and Dwalin follow obediently.
Bilbo has always found that the full moon affects him, the currents of magic and promise all tangling up to make him rather… aggressive with his two dwarves.
That night, his dwarves curled together beside him, love bites and scratches from each other and himself, Bilbo says some prayers to the energies of the moon. Not only thanks, but requests, to keep his dwarves safe and happy. Bilbo finds a comfortable warmth growing in his chest and knows that those prayers will be answered.