~~~~~
At The Green Dragon Inn
In the Shire, the Green Dragon Inn was generally acknowledged as the place to hear and be heard. It is not surprising, then, that on the night following Bilbo's disappearance it was rather more crowded than usual; so full indeed that many of those who did not care to stand were obliged to find seats on the tables or the floor.
It was a large room, jolly, warm, well lit by candles and the fireplace, though the air was thick with the smoke of numerous after-dinner pipes. One of these was held firmly between the yellow teeth of a ruddy, grey-haired hobbit from just outside Bywater. His name was Bocar Bolger, and he was, at the present moment, the centre of attention.
"I always said he would end badly, Baggins would," he was proclaiming, with a sage shake of his head. "T'ain't natural for a body to live as he did - refusing to grow older, associatin' with all sorts of queer folk. Wizards and dwarves and the like." Murmurs of agreement rippled through the assembled crowd.
Bocar settled himself in his chair. "I remember one evening the Missus and I were driving back from visiting her sister in Frogmorton (the one as is married to Tobbin here's brother)" - a hearty slap on the back for Tobbin, seated next to the speaker - "when we come up on Mr. Bilbo, walkin' happy as you please by himself along the road. We slows down (so as not to be rude, you understand) and I says, 'Evening, Mr. Baggins.' He looks up at me, cheerful-like, and says 'Good evening, Bo. Fine night to be up and about, isn't it? Have you also been out enjoying the stars?'"
Here Bo threw his hands up dramatically. "Well, as you can imagine I was right tongue-tied. What is a body to say to something like that?" Sympathetic noises bubbled up on cue. "So I just come out and say that we're back from a-visiting Iris in Frogmorton. 'Frogmorton?' says he. 'I've just been up past that way, seeing the dwarves off.' Then he sort of sighed. He leans in, as if he's talking secrets, and says, "You know, I'm actually rather glad they're gone now, after all. They're terribly useful to have around while I'm writing my book, but they make such troublesome house guests!'" Shocked, disapproving sounds (and a few isolated chuckles) from the crowd.
"By now, natural enough, I'm wanting nothing more than to be off. But the Missus (she likes to keep on the good side of 'soci'ty') stops me and asks Mr Bilbo if he's wanting a ride into town. 'No thank you,' he says, 'I prefer to walk.' So we drive on, quick smart." Bo let out a low whistle. "Imagine that! Dwarves … and books! He was cracked, he was - I could hear him sort of laughing to himself as we drove off, for no reason at all. It's no wonder, I tell you …" There was a collective nod of solemn agreement.
"You can be sure it was those dwarves that got 'im in the end," put in young Rango Boffin from Overhill, gesturing with the tall tankard he held in his right hand. "They were wanting their treasure back, I'll wager. Tricked him into coming away with them, and then cornered him. And if he wouldn't tell…WHAM!" With the 'WHAM', the tankard came down heavily on the table - a little too heavily, in fact, resulting in more than a few splashes of ale assaulting those nearby. There was a general roar of laughter and applause, after which Rango finished sheepishly, "they'd lock him away in their mines."
Old Otho Sackville-Baggins slowly turned around from his position at the bar. "It wasn't the dwarves that were after his treasure, it was that dratted old wizard. He was trouble since he first whisked Bilbo away all those years ago." There were many calls of 'Aye!' and 'Too true!'. It appeared that the greater part of the crowd agreed with him.
"You saw the way Bilbo just disappeared," he continued, warmed up by the reception. "Like he was just spirited away. That was a wizard's doing, no mistake." Further sounds of approval filled the room. "Yes sir - spite, I'd call it. Why, that Gandalf has been trying to cheat me out of my inheritance forever. All I can say is I'm very sorry for Bilbo, because goodness knows what the sorcerer has done with him … deposited him in a dungeon, or left him to wander the desert, like as not. Though it was his own fault for ever trusting the old rascal in the first place. Look at the trouble it's caused - now the wizard has free reign over Bag End and all the treasure, which should by all rights belong to us. He and Frodo have free reign, that is." Here he inserted a very loud, very despairing sigh. 'Tis a sad business - a mightily bad influence on the young hobbit."
The crowd shook their heads and "tsk tsked" at the distressing situation. Old Otho leaned in with a confidential air (or as close to one as he could achieve while addressing an entire inn-full of hobbits) and said: "If you ask me, the wizard somehow managed to get Frodo into league with him. It was a conspiracy between the pair of them to get the treasure, or I'm not a hobbit…"
"No," a sudden voice rang out, silencing the sensational whispers beginning to run through the crowd. "You … have no … no claim to call yourself one, talkin' of Mr. Frodo like that." All eyes turned to the corner, where Sam Gamgee was standing unsteadily. He had been quiet all night, with his back turned, but was now slowly (and clumsily) attempting to stand on his stool (ale in hand) in order to see Otho over the crowd. "It's mean … and … and … false … and … untrue …Mr. Sack ... Sackville … Baggins …(hiccup)" He slipped, and was only just caught a couple of his neighbours, while he spilled his drink on the floor. The tense silence relaxed as it was realised that Sam had had a drop or two more than was good for him that night. There was cheering and laughter and calls of "You tell 'im, Sammie-boy!" while those around him good-humouredly helped him back to his seat. Sam solemnly raised his (empty) tankard with an imprecise nod, and the company toasted him merrily in return.
But as he turned his back once more, a sour voice lifted itself above the others: "Well, young Gamgee, what do you say happened to your master then?" It was Otho, who was almost white with hidden rage. He intensely disliked being contradicted, insulted or overshadowed (particularly by his inferiors), so at the moment Sam alone had the full benefit of his wrath. The crowd waited for the answer with baited breath.
"Mr. Bilbo? Oh, Mr. Bilbo went away," Sam began, waving vaguely to indicate some distant place. "He went to … see mountains … and stars … and hear … stories … strange stories … and sing songs. He went off … with the elves."
The room erupted in laughter, and Otho sat back with a satisfied smirk. "Well, I don't know about being off with the elves, lad, but we know for sure he's been off with the fairies for a good time past!" The laughter increased.
Sam, amid the hilarity, jumped up, ready to fight. However, one of his friends (a Cotton who had arrived with him) suggested - insisted - they leave instead. And so Otho was revenged.
The last thing Sam heard as stumbled down the steps was someone beginning a song about Bilbo, set to a popular tune
A stranger tale there's never been told
From the dwarves it was stolen, (well that's what they say)
So let that be a lesson to all who would dare
Than that of a hobbit grown mightily old
Baggins by name, his claim to fame
Was the treasure that would be a sight to behold!
His fortune appeared to grow day by day!
But all was not right, for on one fateful night
A shady old wizard whisked him away!
To stray from the Shire without half a care
You'll find things that are bad, and they'll make you go mad,
Beware of the queer folk - beware, oh beware!