I don't own anything. It all belongs to JRR Tolkien and this is but a fanfic, written to celebrate Shirebound's birthday.

FANG

Frodo hesitated at the gate and Sam leaned in to open it for him. "He knows we're comin', so the dogs will probably be fastened in." Even as he spoke, a chorus of barks could be heard issuing from behind the strong wooden door of Bamfurlong Farm.

"They don't frighten me as much as they once did, but they are still rather large and ferocious." Frodo walked half a step behind Sam. "And a bit unpredictable."

"You stay with me, Frodo. I'll not let anythin' happen to you," cam Sam's stout reply.

The Deputy Mayor squared his shoulders and stepped up to walk beside his friend. Sam had done so much already. "Come on, Sam. It's time I let go of this last fear."

The stout blue door was opened by a smiling Farmer Maggot. "Good day to you, sirs. Come away, in. It's a cold mornin' to be standing about and you've had a tidy walk from the Hall."

Frodo led the way, but could not resist the urge to look about for the dogs. He found them, tucked into a corner by the hearth, beside a large box. They eyed the newcomers then, having obviously decided that they were not worth eating, lay down with noses upon huge front paws.

Mrs Maggot smiled from across the wide kitchen where, from the delicious smells, she was cooking bacon. "Come in and sit down, sirs. It's a long walk you've had so I thought you'd like some elevenses. These bacon and mushroom sandwiches won't be long and there's a pot of tea on the table. Help yourselves to a cup."

Her guests needed no further persuading and settled upon one of the benches beside the long kitchen table. Soon, guests and hosts were munching upon fried bacon and mushrooms, so numerous that they were barely contained between fat slices of thickly buttered bread. There was silence as the snack was consumed and greasy fingers washed. Then Mrs Maggot led the way to two long settles by the hearth.

When cushions had been distributed and pipes lit, Farmer Maggot spoke up. "It was good of you to come callin' Mister Deputy Mayor. Tis a long time since we've seen a Mayor in these parts."

Frodo smiled. "The Brandybucks do such a good job of keeping the area safe, that I don't expect past mayors have felt the need. But I was visiting Merry and thought it would be a good opportunity to show my face."

"Well, it's still good of you, Mister Deputy Mayor. After all that trouble it's nice to know we aint forgotten."

"You were never forgotten, Farmer Maggot. And you used to call me Frodo. Frodo will suffice again."

"I used to call you Frodo, and more besides!" Maggot replied with a wink. "But I'll call you Mister Baggins if that will suit you better. I don't feel right being so familiar as to call you by your first name, you bein' deputy mayor and all."

His comment was greeted with a chuckle. "I'd like to think I'm no longer Frodo, the Terror of Brandy Hall. Mister Baggins will suffice, if Frodo will not."

"Thank you. Is it business that's brought you to Buckland, or just a family visit?"

Frodo drew on his pipe, using the opportunity to glance toward the dogs . . . just in case they had moved. They had not, but now he frowned as he noticed something that he had not earlier. The box they guarded seemed to be filled with old blankets, and now those blankets were moving. Trying to appear unconcerned he replied, "A bit of both. Saradoc and Merry said they had the border under control, but I thought it would be good to check on the outlying folk, like yourself. And Saradoc does set a good table."

Maggot laughed. "He does that! But you don't need to go worryin' about me and mine. We've always known how to look after ourselves. There was a big fella, tried to steal some mushrooms last week. I say, 'big', but for all his hight he looked half starved. I was goin' to leave him be, but one of the Bounders saw him off before I could say anythin'." His face darkened. "Besides, even those ruffians the other year left us alone, once my dogs drew blood."

All eyes now turned to the two huge dogs, who's ears pricked up when they found themselves the centre of attention. Frodo was trying to discern whether there was still any blood upon those muzzles, when the blankets moved once more, accompanied by a soft little grunt. He could contain his curiosity no longer. "If I may ask . . . what is in that box?"

Mrs Maggot set aside her tea and bent to twitch aside the blankets. There, blinking in the daylight, were five round little puppies. "I think it's time you stopped being worried about dogs, Mister Baggins," she announced. Both adult dogs looked on as she gently lifted one squirming little bundle of fur and deposited it in Frodo's lap, before stepping back to watch.

At first he froze, but then he had to move to prevent the inquisitive little creature from falling off his lap. That first touch was what did it. Beneath soft, warm fur, Frodo could feel a flittering heartbeat, and a tiny wet nose snuffled at his hand. Sam, who had been about to rescue his friend, watched Frodo's eyes soften as he stroked a plump little body.

"I had no idea dogs were so warm," Frodo murmured as the puppy worried at his shirt front. Having found a small gap between buttons the puppy tucked his little wet nose against Frodo's waist and settled down for a nap. "I thought your dogs were . . . well . . . dogs."

Having supervised the introduction, Mrs Maggot sat down again. "Bless you, no. Fang is a bitch. We've been handin' over their get to folk on the borders for years." She raised an enquiring brow at her husband, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. "If you want one for yourself, Mister Baggins, that one is still lookin' for a home."

Frodo smiled down fondly, then shook his head. "Under other circumstances I may have considered it, I have to say. But my work won't allow me the time to train a puppy, and my home is in the centre of the Shire. I am well protected."

Farmer Maggot grinned. "That's a pity. That one seems to have taken a shine to you and Fang don't seem too worried neither. Dogs know when someone's not right. That Ted Sandyman, now, he asked for one from the last litter, but as soon as she saw him my Fang bared her teeth. Dogs are a good judge of temper." He sniffed. "She was right about him at least."

"She need have no fear of him now," Frodo replied softly, his eyes still upon the little puppy, nestled in his lap. Even though Ted was much chastened nowadays, it broke his heart to think that this gentle little creature's older siblings could have fallen into his hands.

Sam spoke up for the first time, his hazel eyes sharp. "His new mill was torn down. He didn't like that, I can tell you, and serves him right. If not for his family we'd have sent him packin', but Mister Frodo is too soft. He said as how it weren't their fault, so folks got together to help him build again. This time it's a proper water mill, as should be."

Frodo shook his head, sadly. "If a job's begun in love it's more likely to stay that way, and everyone else had help to rebuild. Besides, the West Farthing still needs a mill and, despite what you may think of him as a person, he is the best miller we have."

Sam's lips thinned against further comment but, looking about the room, he could tell that the Maggots were of a similar opinion to him. Ted Sandyman should have been whipped from the Shire for his part in recent events.

Now the puppy blinked open sleepy eyes and let out a little snuffling squeak. Fang trotted over to investigate at once, and Frodo found himself looking into warm, liquid brown eyes. Gently, he lifted the puppy from his lap and held him out to the waiting mother. Fang nipped at the loose skin at the scruff of her babe's neck and carried him, swinging gently, back to join his siblings in the box. Then she clambered in neatly herself and settled down to let her litter suckle.

Frodo was surprised to feel suddenly bereft. Had he not an appointment to keep in the Woody End in a few months time, he would have changed his mind there and then, and asked to keep the puppy after all. As it was, he sighed. "It is time we were off, I'm afraid. I have one or two other farms to visit this morning."

-0-

"Come on, Pippin," Frodo called in some exasperation. "You've never yet managed to catch a rabbit."

The bracken swayed and a small, rather round, little dog bounded up to her master's side. Frodo reached down. "Now you're going to look a mess, and we shall be late for tea with Lord Elrond and the Lady Celebrian."

The dog just panted, pink tongue lolling as she pranced upon the spot, defeating all attempts by her master to flick twigs and grass from her wiry coat. Finally, Frodo gave up trying, straightening with a chuckle. "Never mind. I should have called you Strider, for you look just as disreputable as he once did. Come along."

Frodo set off along the cliff top path, laughing at the antics of Pippin, who spent her time yapping at butterflies and running merry circles about her master's feet.

END