Title: Under Oak
Fandom: Doctor Who, The Hobbit
Rating: G
Length: 1200
Content notes: N/A
Author notes: Thanks go to Zana, Morgynleri & Icka for encouragement & sanity-checking. Photomanip by me, source images from others. (Bag End Oak is from here.)

Made/Written for who_allsorts prompt 'Oak' in the 3-prompt table 'Trees', and fan_flashworks challenge 'Together'.

Summary: The Tardis lands atop Bag End

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They — he and the Tardis — seemed to have arrived in the midst of some kind of party. The enormous oak on top of the hill behind which the Tardis had landed had a sibling in the field below, hung about with lanterns and streamers and whirligigs. People with curly hair, bright clothes and bare feet were bustling about with plates piled high, mugs and tankards with foaming heads. Snatches of song and cheerful voices floated on the air, and somewhere nearby, musicians were tuning stringed instruments. The blue of the Tardis seemed bluer than usual, and his own red brocade vest fit right in.

The Doctor certainly didn't mind, but it was a little mystifying. Especially since this was emphatically not Flane, nor the Eye of Orion, nor any of the other restful places he might find himself in. It felt like Terra, like Earth, only not quite, or extra, more Earthlike than Sol-3 itself did. It really was a puzzle. The Tardis was being no help at all in explaining where or when or why, just radiating a sense of 'supposed to be here' and 'enjoying the quiet while its here. You should too.' A tall blue-grey hat caught his eye as the wearer went along the path below him. Grey robe, long knurled staff completed the picture. The very pattern of a wizard. Ah. That would explain where he was. The land of fiction, or rather, the plane of myth and legend.

Where, after a fashion, but not why.

The tree the Tardis had materialized under was an old, well-grown specimen, with wide, strong branches, perfect for climbing. He could appreciate the excellence without wanting to climb up himself, though he could remember when he would have. For now it seemed right to simply lean against the trunk and look up at the slowly darkening sky, the lanterns being lit down below at the party on the lawn, and just be for a moment. He'd almost forgotten the last time he had landed some place this peaceful. But he couldn't doubt it. And it continued to feel very much like Earth, even to the constellations beginning to emerge in the twilight. Not just the Mythosphere, but a part of it that intersected with Earth in important ways.

Again, where, and something of when, but no hint of why. Only … possibility. This wasn't peace, though it was peaceful. It was the indrawn breath before something. Something big, something important, but also something terribly small, and this moment was somehow a pivot.

There was a rustle overhead, followed by a very small yelp, and as he looked up, a very small person lost their grip on the leafy branch they had been clinging too and plummeted down. Without the least thought, he reached out to catch the child before they could hit the ground.

Safe, the child was not at all distressed at having fallen, but not particularly eager to get down either. Enormous dark eyes looked up at him. "Are you a wizard?"

There had been those who thought him a wizard, and likely would be again, but, "No, I'm the Doctor. The Wizard is down there at the party."

The child wriggled in his arms, trying to look over his shoulder at the cheerful commotion below, so the Doctor turned to let him have a better view. As he did, a voice came seemingly from the ground below.

“Bilbo! Where are you, love? It's time we were going down to the party.”

The child — apparently named Bilbo — wriggled to even more purpose, and the Doctor set him down on the ground as he called back, "Here, mama! I've found a doctor-wizard! He helped me out of the oak tree."

"'Helped' as in caught you as you fell, I suppose you mean." The woman who followed closely on those words was as bright-eyed as her child, and dressed very like the people filling the field below. After a searching look, she shared a smile with the Doctor as the boy hid his face briefly against the brown wool of his trousers. "Thank you for that. He will climb higher than he knows how to get down, just like a cat. Oh! where are my manners?" She bobbed a graceful curtsey, "Belladonna Baggins, Took that was."

Bilbo broke in before the Doctor could return the courtesy, "That's Granda Took's party down there, its his birthday. He's a hundred and six. Mine's not till autumn. Then I'll be six too!"

"Excellent age, six, and a hundred and six as well." The Doctor said, before sweeping off his straw hat and bowing to Belladonna. "I'm the Doctor, very pleased to meet you and your son. Also very glad there was no doctoring needed." Indeed it seemed as though no Doctoring would be needed either, which was just as well. Unless of course he had managed to do whatever it was that had drawn him and the Tardis here in the first place. He didn't always know. Which was probably just as well, actually.

Bilbo was already tugging at his mother's skirts, eager to be away, but he grinned up at the Doctor, "Thank you," he said, "I'm glad I met you. Will I see you again?"

"Probably not, but I'm very glad I met you, too." Glad to have been standing under the oak tree, breathing in the peaceful air, still for once, able to catch him as he fell. "I expect my travels will take me far from here."

Belladonna smiled too, "Thank you. Truly."

"You are most welcome."

The Doctor watched them as they disappeared over the edge of the hill, and reappeared on the path below, joined by a cheerful fellow with chestnut curls and a splendid waistcoat his previous incarnation would have worn with glee. No doubt Bilbo's father. Down the path they went, two in close orbit, Bilbo a more erratic satellite, until they joined the throng of party-goers, and were lost to sight. He could go down, join in, eat and drink and laugh, but he didn't need to. Knowing there was such a party, and such people enjoying themselves was enough. He stood under the oak tree, enjoying the midsummer twilight, the snatches of song and laughter and music, storing up the the scent of the air, the murmur of leaves, the flicker of fireflies in the tall grass. He stayed until the sky was thick with stars, and a most astonishing fireworks display — the Wizard's delightful work, the Doctor was quite sure. Then as the last sparks were glimmering out, lost amid the lanterns and constellations, he went round the broad trunk to where the Tardis stood, and laid a hand companionably on the painted panel by the lock.

"Come on old girl, Skaro awaits."