1. Scone of Stone
She was perfectly nice, Bilbo thought, sipping from his cup of tea as she chattered away across the table from him, but that was just the problem.
Old Bungo would have loved her, he thought dismally as he put his cup down. She was pretty and plump and pleasant and all sorts of things beginning with "p"...
...but that was all she was.
There was as much substance to her as you'd find in a summer breeze, as much spark to her as you'd find in a firefly. She was solid and sensible and stoic and everything a hobbit-lass should be, her family were perfectly rich and respectable, their reputation as pure as the driven snow...
...but that was the problem.
Bilbo sighed and reached for a scone. She'd made them herself, and had been particularly proud of them- it was only polite to try one, after all.
Such a shame then, he thought as he took his first bite, that they were rock-hard.
A bad cook, an even worse conversationalist, as banal as a whole coven of goodwives... Bilbo could only imagine the disapproving looks Belladonna would have given the girl across the table.
This was not the sort of girl to have adventures, not by a long shot- the mere mention of Elves or Goblins or Dragons would probably have sent her scurrying out of the door like a startled squirrel. This was the sort of girl whose idea of fun was an evening spent darning doilies, Bilbo thought, the sort of girl whose world began and ended at the Bridgefields Wall, and although he might once upon a time once have jumped at the chance of marrying such a girl...
...he was no longer such a boy.
Bilbo took another bite from the horrible scone and wished for the umpteenth time that afternoon that Belladonna had been there. She would have known what to say- would have known what to do- would have known exactly the right way to let the poor girl down gently. It had been a mere eighteen years since her death, and yet it seemed like eighteen hundred- eighteen thousand since his return from his Adventure. Oh, mother, he thought, swallowing the mouthful despite the urge to spit it into the nearest pot-plant, why couldn't you have stayed a little longer?
Bilbo sighed again, and took another bite of the horrible scone.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.