#thilboweek23

@bagginshieldweek23 ;

Day 1 June 4th: Fairytale AU | Domestic 

We’re less than a week away from the beginning of Bagginshield Week 2023, keep reading to find out everything you may need to know and remember!

This is a new piece I did for the Bagginshieldweek23 event here on Tumblr! I chose the June 9th prompt, flower language, and combined it with the errant blacksmith prompt!

I've posted it to A03, link in the title!

Bagginshield {T}

by Ticklesivory (dedicated to @shantismurf)

Rated: T for violence

For Bagginshield Week 2023

A short little Bagginshield fairytale inspired by this Tumblr post:  (2) Ticklesivory on Tumblr  

Happy Bagginshield Week everyone! 

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Once upon a time in a small village that lay just outside of a dark forest lived a hobbit named Bilbo Baggins.  He was a kind hobbit who lived alone and kept to himself.  He enjoyed cooking and would often take food to his friends and neighbors whenever one of them had taken ill.

One of his oldest friends, who had been a close friend of his grandfather’s, was known throughout the village as Gandalf the Gray because he wore a gray cloak and hat.  After his grandfather’s and parents’ deaths, Bilbo took it upon himself to visit the old man regularly.  He would often take him food and drink, and ease his own conscience by checking on the old man’s health.    

At least once a month, Gandalf would ride in his small carriage which was drawn by a sorrel pony with a blonde mane to the village to visit Bilbo as well.  When the old man’s visit was delayed, Bilbo sent a messenger to Gandalf’s cottage that had been built in the middle of the forest. 

The messenger brought back word that Gandalf was suffering from a bad cold and was confined to his bed.  Immediately, Bilbo began gathering items to take to his oldest friend.  Before he left, the messenger tried to warn him.

“Do be careful, Mister Baggins,” his neighbor, Mister Gamgee said.  “I met a woodsman along the way, and he told me there were wolves in the area.  One is particularly large.  It is the white wolf that was attacking Farmer Maggot’s sheep last winter.”

Bilbo continued to gather supplies and poured a pot of chicken broth into a small crock to take with him as well as several biscuits and a jar of blueberry jam he had put up last summer. 

Gandalf may be known for his gray cloak, but in the village of hobbits, Bilbo was known for his dark red jacket.  He wore it often and there were those who called him The Hobbit in Red, though not to his face. 

On his way out his door, he donned his red jacket and grabbed his favorite walking stick.  He promised Mister Gamgee he would stay on the path through the forest which was traveled often by hunters and woodcutters and was considered the safest route to Gandalf’s.  He thanked the messenger for his service and paid him the agreed wage, waved goodbye, and set off down the road. 

The woodland realm beyond his village was dense with foliage that blocked out the sun.  The ground was covered in shadow and occasionally, Bilbo would hear the trill of a bird or the cry of a rabbit.  What he was listening for was a deep growl, heavy paws breaking sticks, or even a glimpse of white fur.

An hour into his journey, not having seen anything to be alarmed about, Bilbo relaxed and began to enjoy his surroundings, only to be suddenly so badly frightened that he nearly spilled his basket. 

“Forgive me.  I didn’t mean to startle you.”  A deep voice told him that was coming from a very handsome stranger who stepped out from the heavy brush.  “I am Thorin Durin, a woodcutter by trade.  I don’t believe it is safe for someone of your station to be walking through this forest alone.”

Bilbo took offense.  He was a full-grown hobbit and could take care of himself, thank you very much!

“I will be all right, but thank you for your concern.”

The dark-bearded axe-wielder stepped onto the path right in front of Bilbo and gazed down his sharp nose at the traveler.  He was slightly taller than the hobbit, a dwarf, Bilbo believed based on the size of his hands and feet, but he wasn’t about to be bullied by him!

“You’re not even carrying a weapon,” the woodcutter told him with a smirk that Bilbo found to be surprisingly attractive, as was the clothing he wore – which consisted of coarse dark tweed and leather.  Not at all to Bilbo’s taste, but they looked remarkably well on the muscular dwarf. 

In Thorin’s hand was a long-handled axe he no doubt used to chop down the trees required to sustain his livelihood.  Bilbo gripped his tall, thin stick a bit more tightly.

“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself,” he informed the dwarf proudly.  “And I have no intention of straying from the path.  I won’t be fooled by the wit of any wolf, white or not.”

The dwarf gazed at him with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes Bilbo had ever seen.  “The pale wolf travels on and off the path where he wills, and he disguises his appearance.  Sometimes he’s a wolf, sometimes an elf or an owl.  Be careful who you talk with in these woods and the things you say.”

Bilbo nervously shuffled his feet.  He usually wasn’t shy around people, but he found the dwarf incredibly attractive and was considering asking if he would escort him to Gandalf’s cottage.

As if reading Bilbo’s thoughts, the woodcutter smiled and stepped forward, eyeing Bilbo up and down before gazing into his basket of goods. 

“What’s in your basket?”

“Just a few things I’m taking to a friend,” the friendly hobbit replied.  “To Gandalf the Gray.  Perhaps you know him?  He lives beyond the north meadow in a brown cottage overlooking the Long River.  He’s taken ill I’m afraid and needs some looking after.”

Thorin’s dark brows furrowed.  “How do you know I’m not the white wolf in disguise?  You’ve just told me everything I need to know to set a trap not only for you but your friend as well.”

Bilbo lost his smile and shut his mouth.  He had no doubt that Thorin was just a woodcutter, but he needed to be more careful.

“I just know, but I will be more careful from now on.  I promise.”

“Good,” the dwarf said.  “I would hate to discover you were dead.  Not before I get to know you a little better.”  The smirk had returned which made Bilbo blush hot beneath the collar of his red jacket.

“Thank you for your concern.  Perhaps we shall meet again.”

“Perhaps so, Master Baggins.  Be careful and do not speak with any more strangers.”

Bilbo nodded and watched as the woodsman disappeared into the shadows created by the dense canopy of the forest. 

He continued on his way with a bit of a skip to his step as he recalled how the dwarf’s eyes shimmered and how big his muscles were, and the thoughts reddened Bilbo’s cheeks. 

Some time later he came to a game trail crossing the path and watched with delight as a few small brown rabbits scurried across it.  They were saying in their tiny, nervous voices, “Do not step on us!” as they hopped away and soon disappeared.

Bilbo didn’t always encounter animals within the forest, but it always surprised him just a little when he heard them speak.  For you see, the forest outside of his village was not only dangerous but enchanted.  Almost all of the creatures that lived inside of it had the ability to communicate with others.  Some Bilbo found quite entertaining and witty, while others were slow-witted and not very intelligent.  Much like the hobbits in his own community, he thought to himself with a chuckle. 

Along the way, he watched a turtle move slowly beside the path who greeted him with a ‘good morning,’ in its slow tortoise drawl.  At a turn, he spotted an owl in a tree.  Bilbo said good day to the bird, though it did not look very pleased to have its rest disturbed.  As a whole, Bilbo found owls believed themselves to be a bit superior and above the concerns of, well – everyone else. 

Bilbo continued on, his feet never straying, his eyes carefully taking in everything he could see.  At this point, he was halfway through his journey, and he stopped to drink from a stream running nearby and to take a nibble or two from one of the seed cakes he was taking to his friend.

As he lifted his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he saw movement in the trees on the other side of the water.  Much to his surprise, a beautiful white stag stepped into view.  Its striking, icy-blue eyes viewed Bilbo cautiously before it stepped into the water and crossed the stream.  Bilbo stepped back to allow the animal room to move onto the bank and to stay clear of its broad set of antlers. 

“Good day,” he announced to the animal who lifted its head to gaze down at the hobbit.  “You are the prince of the forest, are you not?”

“That I am,” the large animal told him with smooth and deep vocalizations.  “Are you alone in these woods?  It is not advised for someone so small in stature.”

Bilbo tried not to take offense to that statement.  He knew how tall he was and that this creature towered over him!

“I’m not long on this journey,” he exclaimed.  “In fact, I’m headed straight to my friend’s home in the woods.  I’m nearly halfway there and should be able to make it back home by nightfall.  If not, then I shall spend the night there.”

The stag’s eyes widened as he tilted his head.  “Perhaps you should keep your business to yourself, Master Hobbit.  There are those that walk within these woods that would take advantage of such a helpless creature as yourself.”

Helpless!  That was the second time today someone had questioned his abilities! 

“I’m not afraid to walk through these woods,” he stated firmly while standing up tall and straight. “I’ve done it many times in the past and have never required bow, axe, or sword.”

The creature didn’t look that impressed.  “I am sorry to hear about your friend.  There a great many things that may happen to those who choose to live here and who do not belong.” 

What was that supposed to mean?  “Well, Gandalf has lived here for many years, and he does just fine.  It’s just a trifling cold he’s picked up.  You know, with that last late snowy spell we had, I know many a hobbit who are suffering from the same thing.  I do what I can to help since I never seem to catch anything.”

“That is good to hear,” the mighty stag told him.  “I will leave it to you then Master Hobbit.  Be safe on your journey.”

Bilbo watched with some fascination as the powerful muscles of the beast carried him upriver and out of the hobbit’s sight.  He just then noticed that to get a drink from the stream, he had strayed from the path.  It wasn’t the first time, however.  He had often stopped to get a drink here.  He found the water to be cool and refreshing.  No harm had ever come from it.

The path wasn’t very far away, and soon, Bilbo’s feet were back upon it.  A narrow gap in the canopy above him allowed a stream of sunlight to peer through and Bilbo glanced up to allow the warmth to shine down upon his face.  That was when he heard the snap of a twig on his left and he spun around, holding his walking stick out to protect himself if it was required.  He was relieved to find it was only the woodcutter again, the sight of which brought a smile to the hobbit’s face.

“Are you following me?” Bilbo said, half-jokingly.

“No.  Why would I do that?”

The words Thorin had said didn’t quite match the dwarf’s expression.  Embarrassment was evident on his handsome face and Bilbo found it to be quite charming. 

“I’m on my way to work in the clearing which I believe is just west of your destination.  If you wouldn’t mind, I could walk with you for a while.”

The invitation was well received and increased Bilbo’s smile.  “Of course, I wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re making good time,” Thorin noted after a moment.  “You should reach your friend before noon I should think.” 

“Yes, I’ve been lucky on this journey,” Bilbo told him.  “There have been times when I’ve twisted an ankle or the weather changed so quickly I had to turn back.  Today is a beautiful day, don’t you think?”

The woodcutter only grunted in reply and kept his eyes on the road.  “You’re from the village of hobbits, are you not?” 

“I am,” Bilbo answered, his brow lifting curiously. 

“And is that where…I mean…do you live alone?”

Bilbo smiled shyly at Thorin’s question, though not nearly as hesitantly as his new friend.  For someone so obviously strong and fierce, finding Thorin was a bit bashful wasn’t only surprising but endearing, and it caused his heart to flutter. 

“I do live alone, although just recently.  My parents passed a couple of years ago and left the property to me.  Do you live close by?”

“Not exactly,” Thorin explained.  “I’m from the dwarven realm of Erebor at the foot of the Lonely Mountain some ways from here.  I come here during the spring and summer to find work.”

“Ah, I see,” Bilbo exclaimed, trying to recall the distance from his village to the mountain.  If he was assuming correctly, it was just a few hours’ journey by carriage.  An easy trip he just might have to take in the near future. 

“If I were to say…wish to come visit you at your home…Maybe I could provide you with some firewood or perhaps we could…”

“Share a meal or enjoy a cup of tea over delightful conversation?”  Bilbo suggested trying to be as helpful as he could be and ease some of the dwarf’s discomfort.

“Aye,” Thorin responded with yet another pink blush on his face. 

“I’d like that.  Really, I would,” Bilbo answered back, while secretly observing the small smile that spread the woodsman’s mouth. 

“Good,” Thorin replied.  “For now, I will leave you to your walk.  I should return to work.”

“It was a pleasure talking to you, Thorin,” Bilbo told him as he began to walk away. 

“We shall speak again soon, Bilbo,” the woodcutter said in a way that caused a wave of delight to sweep across the hobbit’s skin.

“That we will,” he whispered as a promise to himself just before continuing along the path. 

Following another two hours, the road curved and opened into a small field, wherein sat a small stone cottage with smoke coming from its chimney.  He had made it to Gandalf’s house and Bilbo hurried down the path to come to the wooden fence and the sturdy gate before it.

It was unusual to find the gate ajar, he thought before brushing any worry aside.  Gandalf was ill and he probably didn’t have the energy to secure his property, Bilbo decided, only to become even more concerned when he found the carved wooden door on the front of the cottage wasn’t latched either.

He stepped slowly inside, pushing the door back on its hinges, and called out.

“Gandalf?  Are you here?  It’s me, Bilbo Baggins!  I’ve brought you some goodies from home that will hopefully make you feel better!”  He waited for a moment and listened carefully, unable to hear a reply.  “Gandalf?”  Bilbo called out once more before stepping further in and shutting the door behind him. 

The cottage had four rooms, and the one directly opposite him was the main bedroom.  Bilbo had been inside the home plenty of times and he didn’t think Gandalf would consider this an intrusion, so he continued on and pushed back the curtain divider. 

There, on the four-poster bed beneath piles of handsewn quilts, he saw a form, and Bilbo sighed in relief.  But then he noticed it wasn’t moving and hurried over to make sure his friend was actually all right.

Gandalf looked a little more pale than usual upon first notice, but he was breathing, which settled Bilbo’s nerves.

“Gandalf?”  Bilbo repeated the name softly, trying to rouse his friend to make him aware of his presence without frightening him.

The old man’s blue eyes shuttered open and his smile became broad.  “My dear fellow,” he said with a rasp that sent him into a coughing fit.  Bilbo immediately grabbed a pitcher and filled a glass on the bedside table to offer the man a drink.

Gandalf took a few sips and then waved the offer away.  “Thank you,” he said.  “What have you brought me?  Is that broth I smell? And perhaps some of your delicious biscuits?” 

Bilbo had never been an overly cautious hobbit.  He was trusting to a fault.  In the past, that had led him into a variety of dangerous circumstances.  He was trying to learn, and the woodcutter’s warnings replayed in his mind. 

How could Gandalf smell the broth he had brought if he was suffering from a cold, which should make that feat entirely impossible! 

“Ah yes,” Bilbo replied, trying not to gather suspicion.  “I brought some broth, a little wine, as well as some biscuits and jam.  I sent Mrs. Hardfoot earlier this morning to check on you after you hadn’t shown up for a few days.  I was worried about you.   Did you find her company soothing?”

The ill man eyed him and the smile that followed was unusually forced.  “Oh, yes.  Mrs. Hardfoot is a delightful woman.  So full of cheer and such good company.”

“Well, that would be quite miraculous,” Bilbo replied, just before he took a step backward.  “Seeing that she died two winters ago.”

Gandalf’s blue gaze narrowed, and his typical pleasing smile turned malicious. 

“You should’ve listened to the woodcutter,” he said in a voice that didn’t belong to him.  “Even I, myself, tried to warn you of the dangers of the forest, but you hobbits think you’re so smart and cunning.  We see who the most cunning is now, don’t we?”

Bilbo recognized that deep voice and watched with some stunned fascination as the man upon the bed transformed into a large, white wolf. 

“Azog,” Bilbo uttered, fear causing his voice to tremble.  It was the one he had been warned about time and time again – the shape-shifter, the enchanted creature who could change from any creature he desired.  “You were the white stag!  Where is my friend Gandalf?”

“I have placed him in safekeeping for now until I am ready for him.  He is old and will be tough to chew, while you, on the other hand, are far more delectable.  Young and plump.  I shall enjoy this very much.”

With those words, the wolf leaped up from the bed to attack Bilbo, but the hobbit moved out of the way quickly, causing the wolf to stumble and crash into the armoire.  The door burst open and Gandalf, bound from head to toe, bruised and battered, tumbled out onto the floor. 

The white beast slashed its giant claws in Bilbo’s direction and he had been too concerned about Gandalf to move out of the way fast enough.  The claws stripped through his dark red jacket and pierced his skin, creating bloody marks across his back.  He cried out in pain as well as terror and hurriedly glanced around the room for some type of weapon.  Nearby, he had laid his walking stick and he grabbed it, swung it as fiercely as he could toward Azog. It came in contact with the beast’s nose. 

The impact didn’t even cause the wolf to blink, and he dropped down on all four paws to stare at Bilbo with a deadly and hungry gaze, saliva dripping from his razor-sharp teeth.  Bilbo backed away until he bumped into a table, on which was a kerosene lamp. 

Just as the wolf pounced, Bilbo  broke the lamp, grabbed the largest shard, and plunged it into the beast’s throat.  The wolf howled in pain but wasn’t the least deterred, knocking Bilbo down onto the floor, to hover over him.  Now, not only was the wolf’s spittle dripping down onto Bilbo, but its blood as well. 

“I’m going to enjoy every last bite of you,” the creature hissed before opening its mighty jaws. 

Bilbo slammed his eyes closed.  If this is the way he was going to die, he really didn’t want to watch it happen.  He waited for the excruciating pain, but it didn’t come.  After a silent moment, he glanced up to find the wolf’s mouth was indeed open, but out of it came only a small squeak. 

Before Bilbo realized what was happening, the wolf was knocked off him and it slid across the floor. 

Bilbo sat up, his heart pounding, his eyes wide with fear, and yet there was hope.  It had come in the form of a handsome woodcutter who was wielding his axe.  The blade of the weapon was now covered in the animal’s blood, which was streaming from the wolf’s side.  The beast cowered in the corner, hissing and growling at Thorin, who seemed entirely focused on nothing but him.

The hobbit watched in growing alarm as the woodcutter approached Azog, embedded his axe into him not once or twice, but three times.  When he was finished, the wolf lay very still and Bilbo closed his eyes to block out the sight.  Regardless of its attack on him and his friend, he didn’t enjoy witnessing violence against any creature for any reason.   

Suddenly, there were gentle hands cradling his scalp. 

“Master Hobbit.  Bilbo.  Are you all right?”

That was Thorin’s voice and Bilbo forced his eyes open, doing his best to avoid looking at anything but the tender and concerned gaze searching his own.

“I’ve got some scratches on my back, but I’ll live.” 

“Come,” Thorin said, gingerly assisting Bilbo to his feet.  “Let’s leave the creature behind for a moment and help your friend.”

The two of them freed Gandalf and entered the common area where Thorin immediately insisted that Bilbo remove his jacket and shirt. 

With a solid red blush, the hobbit complied, hissing in pain to discover the blood-soaked material was sticking to his skin.

“There is some salve in the corner cupboard,” Gandalf told Thorin from a chair he had sat down heavily on, his breathing raspy, his voice hoarse.

Thorin retrieved the ointment and applied a generous amount to Bilbo’s injuries.  For such a strong dwarf with incredibly thick fingers, his touch was surprisingly gentle, the hobbit thought.

“I’m afraid your lovely red coat is ruined, as is this shirt,” Thorin informed him as he began ripping cloth he apparently found as well and started wrapping it around Bilbo’s chest. 

Once he stood in front of him, Bilbo realized how very close the woodcutter was  to him, and it caused his skin to turn ruddy and his breath to come out in pants. 

“Are you sure you’re quite well?” Thorin teased, a smirk lifting up the corner of his mouth.

“Just scratched up is all, I assure you,” Bilbo answered back as Thorin tied the ends of the bandage over his ribs. 

“I’ll be at your house in three days to check on you and make sure your wounds haven’t become infected,” the dwarf informed him. 

Bilbo would like to say there was no need for that, but he couldn’t think of anything more pleasant than spending additional time with such a lovely dwarf. 

“I’d like that.”  His words had come out much quieter than he had intended, and it caused Thorin to lean in.  Oh, if only they were alone, Bilbo would close the distance to thank the dwarf properly. 

But Gandalf was sitting close by, huffing and puffing, and staring at them quite incredulously. 

“What about the wolf?”  the old man asked once the tender moment had passed. 

“I’ll drag it into the woods as a warning to others who may have the same idea.”

Bilbo swallowed hard.  “You mean…there are others?”  he squeaked. 

“Oh aye,” Thorin replied.  “As I told you, these woods are full of dangerous folk and you would do well to…”

“Not speak to strangers,” Bilbo chuckled.  “I get it.  But if I hadn’t, then I would have never met you.”

A dark brow lifted on Thorin’s face.  “In that case, consider yourself lucky, as do I.” 

“Pardon me,” Gandalf cut in.  “But is there anything in that basket you brought Bilbo, or do I have to look for myself?”

“Oh!  Of course, of course there is.”  Bilbo replied, his thoughts quite distracted by the magnetic blue eyes that were following his every move. 

“I’ll take my leave now,” Thorin announced.  “And I’ll take the carcass with me.” 

Bilbo stepped aside, grimacing at the trail of blood that was being spread across the floor.  Before the woodsman left, however, all Bilbo had for him was a smile, and he did his best to make it one worthy of remembrance. 

Once they were alone, Bilbo returned his attention to Gandalf and proceeded to warm up some broth and pour him some of the watermelon wine he had brought.  Then, he went about the task of scrubbing away the blood from the worn, wooden floors.

It occurred to him as he rinsed out the bucket and brush and listened to the old man slurp that there were better ways to go about doing things.  He had never wanted a housemate, but having Gandalf closer would certainly be more convenient and free up a lot of his time.  And if he paid his neighbor, Master Gamgee, to look in on the old man from time to time, Bilbo could even manage to take a trip.  Maybe as far away as Erebor. 

He dropped the scrub brush back into the bucket of clean, sudsy water and smiled innocently at his old friend.  “Gandalf, my old friend.  Perhaps it’s time we consider relocating you to the village.” 

@bagginshieldweek23​;

Day 5; June 8th: Ghibli AU | Hobbit Culture

Rules | Bagginshield week Masterpost | Day 1,  2, 3 a / b / c , 4, 6, 7 

@bagginshieldweek23​;

Day 6; June 9th: Erebor Never Fell | Flowers/Flower Language &  Regular Alternate Prompts: Meeting the Family 

Rules | Bagginshield week Masterpost | Day 1,  2, 3 a / b / c, 4, 5, 7

“So I heard you had a run in with Lobelia yesterday”

Bilbo sighs and continues refilling their teacups.

“I daresay it’s become rarer for me to have a day without having some kind of tiff with Lobelia, but yes. She was particularly vitriolic yesterday”

“She was running her mouth all day to anyone who would listen, too. I didn’t stay to hear what she was spewing this time”

“Oh, you should have. She’s in fine form. Did you know, I quite made my whole adventure up? Not only that, but I’ve fabricated all of my friends”

Prim gasps “She didn’t!”

“She most certainly did. She also reckons I’ve falsified my entire courtship - that I’ve slipped money under the table to Hal Knotwise in Bree and that I’ve been sending things to myself!”

His gaze travels to the bouquet Thorin had sent him - Bilbo has no notion of how Thorin has learned flower language quite so well as he’s certain there’s blooms there he’s never explained to him, but he’s outdone himself.

@bagginshieldweek23 ;

Day 3 June 6th:  Pride & Prejudice AU | Blade/Sword ( Part 1 Orcrist | Part 2 Sting | Part 3 A matching set )