A Most Unusual Specimen

AN: And another idea rises from the chasm of my hobbit filled mind. :P To be perfectly honest, I'm not actually sure who I am shipping Bilbo with….For now, I am going to assume Thorin, but…..that could change, and if it does, I will change the categories accordingly. I will be writing this in conjunction with What Peace Brings, which will be ending in a few of chapters anyway, sadly. But here is this! And I hope you enjoy it. :D

Disclaimer: I do not make any claim on any of Tolkien's works, nor do I make a profit from this story. Throughout the story, there will be times that I use dialogue from the movies produced by Peter Jackson. I will mark those with a slight * at the beginning of the section and ending it with the same. After the first couple of chapters, all dialogue will be mine. If I am using too much caution in this, let me know. I am simply trying to avoid breaking any rules. :P

Chapter 1

Bilbo Baggins was the perfect little hobbitling. Incredibly intelligent, intuitive, and curious, little Bilbo enjoyed running through the forests with his fellow hobbitlings, leading them on adventures to find elves or fight imaginary monsters. He would read all of his father's books and maps, trailing behind Bungo Baggins throughout the day and asking after words he does not understand, his eyes always wide and intense at the stories he read or heard.

Not to mention, he was just adorable.

With his bright curly gold hair and large bright green eyes, he would stutter his apologies and flutter his dark eyelashes whenever he found himself in trouble for trailing mud or trodding on gardens, and not even the most harden old mothers of the Shire could scold him for long. When his parents dressed him up in a bright green vest and dark maroon trousers, he would puff his little chest up and hold his button nose high and follow behind his father like a wee duckling.

He was the apple of his parents' eyes.

Bungo Baggins would beam at his little tyke whenever they were together, delighted at his son's intellect and gumption, though as Bilbo grew older he was becoming increasingly worried about his son's sense of adventure. Belladonna was delighted by this side, her little leaf's Took side, and had endeavored to nurture it while he was young, usually away from her husband's censuring gaze. After all, it would be quite some time before Bilbo needed to concern himself with the business of growing up into a proper gentlehobbit.

Or at least that's what Belladonna believed. The fates, it seemed, had other plans for young Bilbo Baggins.

It began as a little sprout of hair from the tip of her leaf's chin, at the tender age of twenty-one.

Most curious a thing. Belladonna had noticed it one summer night as she tucked him into bed after a long day of adventuring. She had touched it softly, tickling her leaf's chin and smiling fondly at his giggles. Later she had told Bungo about it as they readied for bed. He had started, rather shocked. A hair? On the chin of a little hobbit child? Preposterous!

She had insisted it was very true, and that he could look for himself, but Bungo Baggins was tired after a long day of business in Hobbiton and resigned himself to settle his wife's foolishness on the morrow.

When they woke the next morning and went to the nursery to wake their son, there were two new hairs joining the first on Bilbo's chin, both gold and curling.

Bungo and Belladonna were shocked to say the least. Hobbits, as a race, were a very hairless bunch, the largest wealth to be had could be found on their heads and the tops of their large feet. The last hobbit to have such hair was Belladonna's Grand Uncle, Bandobras "Bullroarer" Took, who had been the proud owner of large hairy side-burns that nearly reached all around his jaw. Bungo still privately thought that at some point in te Took line, a hobbit lass had mated with a dwarf, and that was the explanation behind Bandobras Took.

And now, it seemed that there little hobbitling was growing a beard like a dwarfling!

Bungo and Belladonna had debated long into the day and night about what to do about such a development while Bilbo had played in the forests, neither he nor his friends taking notice of the little hairs on his chin. Bungo wanted to remove them, sating that no respectable hobbit would ever have a beard! It was just not done! And his little boy was a Baggins, the most respectable of hobbit families. He would be taking over the Baggins name after Bungo was gone, and his father was determined to turn him into a proper gentlehobbit. And that would require having a hairless chin, like all the other hobbits!

Belladonna was fierce in her refusals of this. Her husband was most likely right; the Took line was known for its oddities and adventuring ways. Her blood was most probably the cause of this sprouting of hair on her leaf's chin. But that did not mean that they must cut them off! She did not truly believe that doing so would prevent any more growing, as hair was of that nature, and why on earth was that something to be ashamed of? Her great uncle had been revered throughout the Shire, side-burns or no. It was the actions of a hobbit that determined their worth, not their appearance! And her leaf was already an amazing little hobbit, intelligent, free-spirited, and bright. She would not Bilbo growing up as though his personality or appearance was something to be ashamed of!

They argued long into the night, long after they had eaten dinner and supper, long after Bilbo had been put to bed, wondering with a frown on his face what was the matter with his parents.

In the end, Belladonna agreed to an experiment; they would remove the scant hairs from his chin while he slept that night and see what resulted from that. Belladonna was still furious with her husband about this matter, but she had caved in when he had reminded her that Bilbo would likely become an outcast amongst their people, a weird hairy hobbit that the other hobbit parents would caution their children away from. Belladonna wasn't sure she believed this, but in the face of her little leaf's innocence and current happiness, she was willing to try this. Personally, she believed they would grow right back.

She was right, sort of.

When morning came, and they checked on their son as he slept, they found that not only had the hairs grown back, but they had doubled in number over night, now forming half a dozen tiny curls on Bilbo's chin.

Bungo had struggled with it for quite some time, retreating into his study for days, leaving his little son to wonder why his daddy suddenly seemed to hate him. When Belladonna had come across her little leaf's shaking, crying form in front of the door to his father's study, she had damn near throttled her foolish husband with her bare hands.

They agreed to talk about it with Bilbo, as that was really the only fair thing to do. Anxious at his father's recent disappearance and his disapproval, he had decided to shave the hairs off each morning and night, however often it took to be the proper gentlehobbit his father wanted. Belladonna had frowned severely at this but had not pushed. She knew eventually her leaf would decide to be his true self and let his hair grow from his chin and wherever else it happened to sprout up from, but for now the growing boy needed the approval of his father and the understanding of his mother.

And life continued on like this for the Baggins family in their confortable smial. Every morning, Bungo would carefully shave his son's chin, and after a while his upper lip too, which would grow a hearty ruff over night and once again after supper, all under the carefully neutral but slightly disapproving eye of Belladonna. A couple years into this pattern, Bilbo's chin would grow hair back so fast that he would often have to return between luncheon and afternoon tea to rid himself of the golden stubble.

As Bilbo grew older, he began to resent this constant shaving of his lip and chin and would sometimes deliberately stay out in the forests around the Shire in the afternoon, strangely proud of the rough stubble. He would come home with his nose turned in the air and his slightly furred chin held high, all the while ignoring the gossipmongers and the titters of scandalized hobbit lasses. His father would sigh wearily and look at him with censuring brown eyes. His mother always beamed at him from behind his father's back, immensely pleased by her son's actions.

When Bilbo came of age at thirty-three years, another most curious thing happened. The hair dusting his upper lip and chin became impervious to knife, blade, and razor alike. This had quickly frustrated Bungo Baggins, who tried everything known to remove hair, even attempting the use of fire, which had earned him a large bright pink handprint upon his cheek, courtesy of his wife.

The golden stubble grew quite quickly then, lengthening and lengthening, until Bilbo could tie it up with a leather thong above his chest. And though he was the scandal of all Hobbiton and beyond, he could not bring himself to feel any shame in his fast growing hair. His mother had commissioned a smithy in Bree to forge beads and trinkets for her leaf's golden beard, adornments she had seen upon dwarves that occasionally passed through the Shire on their way to the Blue Mountains.

Belladonna could not be prouder of her leaf than when he marched around the Shire as though it were his kingdom, showing off his now long curly gold beard, decorated with little flowers and suns fashioned from gold and silver, even a few gems she had gathered on the brief adventures of her youth and battered for in the markets.

Though the other hobbit parents of the Shire told their children to stay away from that odd Baggins boy, the other young hobbits, both lads and lasses, had taken to spying on the oddity that was Bilbo Baggins. They never approached him, though, not like they used to.

Bilbo had accepted his differences, even embraced them, but they did cost him a valuable thing. Friends. Not any of the other hobbits his age would hold conversations or companionships with him, fascinated though they were by the hair on his face. They did not want to catch whatever Bilbo must have that made him so weird, so unhobbit like. He was wild, adventurous, and beautiful like all Tooks are, like his mother was in her youth. But he was, at the same time, unlike any hobbit before. Had he not looked so much like Bungo, with his curly gold hair and warm cream complexion, albeit with Belladonna's leaf green eyes, the other gentlehobbits might have wondered if Belladonna had not committed some small indiscretion with a dwarf in the past that resulted in a hasty marriage and such.

It was a terrible day when, barely three years after Bilbo's majority, Bungo died quite unexpectedly.

The healers of the Shire could not fathom what had brought this early death upon a healthy male hobbit, barely making his strides into old age. All they could figure was that his heart had given out or that he had ingested something poisonous while on the road between Hobbiton and Bree, where Bungo traveled for business.

This prognosis did little to sooth Bilbo's or his mother's hearts. They locked themselves up in Bag End after Bungo's funeral, which all of the Shire was in attendance for as he had been a very prominent and well liked gentlehobbit, despite the idiosyncrasies of his son and wife. For days they remained in there, consoling each other and abstaining from the world outside their hobbit hole. At night, hobbits passing by their smial curiously could hear the beautiful meshing of Bilbo's tenor sounding voice and his mother's high soprano singing in the darkness the song of the mourning.

By the time they finally left their cozy hobbit hole and rejoined the world of the living, Bilbo seemed like a different hobbit altogether. He still wore his beard and such in much the same way as before, his clothing still fine and proper, but he seemed to have matured a great deal in the span of a few days. Belladonna also was changed, not smiling with the exuberance she once had and rarely leaving the hobbit hole that her husband had lovingly built for her so long ago. The mother and son often sang together at night, often a song that Belladonna had written after her beloved hobbit's death, a song about the Fading. It was a beautiful one but incredibly sorrowful.

A few short years later, when Bilbo was nearing the age of forty-four, Belladonna took also left this world, much the same way as her husband did, with little explanation. Bilbo had always believed that she had died of a broken heart.

And so, Bilbo Baggins was left alone in the vast and expansive tunnels of his family home, comforted only by his father's books and maps, his mother's tea set and lace dollies. Paltry reminders of the happy family he once had. Sometimes at night, Bilbo would sit on the bench outside his smial and sing his mother's song into the silence of the night, bringing tears to the eyes of any hobbit who happened to hear him.

When Gandalf arrived to disturb the repetitive schedule of Bilbo's life, the bearded hobbit wasn't sure whether to be agitated or grateful for a distraction from the aching loneliness he often felt in those days.

The old wizard had been shocked when he had journeyed up to Bag End and found a young hobbit, dressed in a gold vest and velvet tan trousers, smoking his pipe and stroking a long curly gold beard, magnificent in the morning sun with glittering gold beads and gems in the shape of small flowers and suns holding small weaving braids in place.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the older man, dressed in all grey with a silver scarf hanging around his shoulders, a large wooden staff in his hand and a tall pointed hat upon his head.

"Good morning," He said good naturedly, wondering at the strangeness of the gentleman.

*"What do you mean?" The old man asked with a raised bushy white eyebrow. "Do you mean to wish me a good morning? Or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not?"

Bilbo lowered his pipe, his mouth opening in incredulity and confusion.

The old man continued, "Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you stating that this is a particular morning to be good on?"

Bilbo gave him a strange look, wondering at the sanity of this tall man. "All of them at once, I suppose," He replied hesitantly, taking a pull from his handsome pipe.

The older man's expression suddenly became rather foreboding, and he fixed Bilbo with a searching look.

The young hobbit shifted a little nervously at that before asking, "Can I help you?" He dearly hoped this strange fellow would leave soon. He was making Bilbo quite uncomfortable.

"That remains to be seen," The old man hummed quietly. "I am looking for someone to share in an adventure." He said quietly and with great mystery.

An adventure?

Bilbo fixed the stranger with a look of utter incredulity and nearly dropped his pipe. "An adventure?" He repeated with no little amount of outrage. "No, I don't imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventures" He said with a shake of his head derisively.

Bilbo rose from the benched and checked his mail box for letters, muttering "Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. They'll make you late for dinner." He gave a little laugh at this, shuffling through his letters. His green eyes would dart up at the old man nervously, before he put out his pipe quickly and uttered another quick 'good morning' before attempting to retreat inside. He was stopped by the man's next words.

"To think that I should have lived to be 'good morninged' by Belladonna Took's son, as if I were selling buttons at the door,"* He said loudly with no small amount of irritation. "You are Belladonna Took's son, are you not?" At this, he surveyed Bilbo with a curious gaze, his grey eyes fixed most notably on the large golden beard. "Bilbo Baggins?"

*"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Bilbo countered rather defensively, the hand not holding his pipe running a self-conscious hand over his beard, making sure there were not hairs out of place or beads falling off.

"Well, you know my name, although you don't remember I belong to it." He swept his arms out and gestured to himself emphatically, shouting "I'm Gandalf! And Gandalf means…me."

Bilbo felt a sudden burst of recognition for the name. "Not Gandalf the wandering wizard who makes such excellent fireworks! Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve!"

At this, Gandalf straightened with pride, a small smile appearing on his wizened face, which quickly died at Bilbo's next words.

"No idea you were still in business." Bilbo coughed absently.

Gandalf's eyes narrowed. "And where else should I be?"

The bearded hobbit became a little flustered at this, muttering a few unintelligible things, before puffing his pipe rather sheepishly.

Gandalf sighed. "Well, I'm pleased to find you remember something about me, even if it is my fireworks." He gave a small nod of his head. "Well, that's decided. It'll be very good for you…and most amusing for me.* I had worried at first that you would not be welcomed, but well…" He once again gave a curious look at Bilbo's long beard. *"I shall inform the others."

Bilbo gave a start at this, protesting the willfulness of this strange wizard fellow. "Inform the who? What? No. —Wait!" He spluttered quickly turning back to the bright emerald door of his hobbit hole, gesturing wildly back at Gandalf and shaking his head. "We do not want any adventures here, thank you. Not today, not—I suggest you try over the hill or across the water. "

He gestured away from Hobbiton with a few waves of his pipe, before entering his home with a quick 'good morning!'

Bilbo slumped against his door, calming his nerves that had been set awry at the wizard's words. He wondered anxiously if he was still out there. He crossed to the window but quickly leapt back as Gandalf's face seemed magnified by the glass, one large grey eye looking within.

Bilbo could hear an odd scratching on his door, and he hastily looked out the window again, seeing the wizard headed away from his smial, off down Bagshot Row.

For the rest of the day, Bilbo found himself looking over his shoulder, expecting to see Gandalf or these ambiguous 'others' following him around the market or on his way back home. No one was there, however. And by the time supper arrived, Bilbo was once again quite at peace, alone in his comfy home and having quite forgotten about Gandalf's surprise visit.

He had just been about to dig in to his supper when his doorbell rang out of the blue. Bilbo was mighty confused. No respectable hobbit would come a-visiting during this time; it would be quite rude to intrude without warning upon another's meal.

He stood up from the table and walked quickly to the door, a little worried that there was an emergency or something dreadful like that. When Bilbo reached the door and opened it, instead of finding one of his neighbors or cousins, he found a dwarf. A giant of a dwarf, indeed.

The large, muscled man turned to look at him, folding great beefy arms the width of tree trunks across his broad chest and fixing him with a fearsome look in his dark eyes. The dwarf's baldhead was covered in faint tattoos, his large ears pieced with metal plates, and great iron armor encasing his forearms and chest. He had thick brown hair that haloed around the back of his skull and large tuffs below his great nose and the slim view of his mouth. A long leather cloak was draped over his shoulders and armor.

The dwarf opened his mouth to speak but then caught sight of the hobbit's beard. Bilbo watched surprised as a bright red flush worked its way up what little the hobbit could see of the dwarf's neck and face, his eyes becoming rather wide and bright.

Observant a dwarf as ever, Dwalin had noticed a few of the Halflings as he had journeyed through the Shire on his way to the meeting, but none of them had had any facial hair whatsoever. He had walked up to this brightly painted door with Gandalf's glowing blue signature on it expecting to find a small beardless Halfling, barely able to hold an axe or lift a sword.

Instead he had found a rare beauty with bright eyes like emeralds and long hair like streams of gold that danced in the flickering light of the candles inside the entrance. This hobbit, for surely that was what it was, living in the heart of this green land, had skin that looked as soft as cream and as smooth as the flat side of a blade, excellently crafted and forged with dwarven hands.

And his beard…

Dwalin could barely take his eyes from the long golden length. He imagined it was very soft, sliding easily through the fingers like rivers of gold. There were small braids interwoven through the curly mass, held together by delicate flowers of gold and emerald. Not adornments made by dwarven hands, the craftsmanship was not fine enough, but still…they make a fine sight for weary eyes.

"Dwalin," He bowed slightly, never taking his eyes off this small, beautifully bearded hobbit dressed in only a comfort robe and some linen wears. "At your service."

Bilbo started a little at the deep rough voice of the dwarf and hastened to belt his robe when he realized it was gaping open, revealing his nightclothes. "Bilbo Baggins, at yours."* He stuttered out hesitantly, a little in awe of this bear-like stranger. He stepped back and watched with much confusion as the dwarf lumbered in.

And so began the night that would ever change young Bilbo's life.

AN: Hope you enjoyed this first segment! :) More soon, if I can manage it. Definitely by Thursday, along with another chapter of What Peace Brings for whoever is reading my other Hobbit story. ;D

Next Chapter: Bilbo meets the rest of the company, who are quite fixated on his lustrous beard! ;)