Chapter Rating: G
Chapter 8: News from the Mayor
December 15th
"I hate going out on nasty days," Iris Proudfoot thought as she lowered her head slightly to keep the icy rain from stinging her face. She was on her way to look in on Will Whitfoot, Mayor of Hobbiton. She had made a house call yesterday after her meeting with Frodo. The Mayor's house was not far from hers, but the weather was incredibly bad, making her short journey extremely wretched. It was only early afternoon, but already it looked like dusk. Dark grey clouds laden with freezing rain pounded the dead grass and bare trees, as well as the lone hobbit on the road. Iris tried to keep her thick woolen cloak tightly clasped against the wild wind, but was hampered by her heavy medical bag. There were drawbacks to being the only physician in Hobbiton.
By the time she knocked at the Mayor's doorstep, she was thoroughly wet and miserable. Mistress Whitfoot opened the round yellow door and quickly brought the shivering hobbitess inside the warm hallway.
"Oh, you poor dear," clucked Amanda Whitfoot. "Let me take your cloak and get you warmed up." The senior hobbit-wife removed Iris's soaked traveling wrap and brought her into the study. Much to Iris's comfort, a well-tended fire was already roaring in the large fireplace. Mistress Whitfoot scurried off to another part of the house while Iris set down the medical bag and warmed her freezing hands. Mistress Whitfoot returned shortly with a fluffy towel and a steaming mug of tea. Iris gratefully accepted the tea first, then dried her dripping hair with the towel.
"Amanda? Who is it?" a voice from somewhere deep in the house boomed.
"It's the new doctor, Will," the hobbitess yelled back. "You remember. You've got a check-up today, dear." Turning to Iris, Mistress Whitfoot excused herself and said she would fetch Mister Whitfoot directly. Presently the Mayor shuffled into the study, only slightly leaning on his good wife's arm. Iris stood up and bowed slightly to the aged politician. It was, after all, the polite thing to do, even if the Mayor was not active in Shire politics at the time due to his illness. Frodo Baggins was currently the acting Deputy Mayor. But hobbits are a polite race and are ever respectful of their elders.
The Mayor settled himself into a comfortable leather chair by the fire. Amanda Whitfoot lovingly draped a warm green shawl around his shoulders and then disappeared into the kitchen.
"My dear Miss Proudfoot," said the Mayor. "Thank you for coming out on this dreadfully nasty day. I really did not expect you to make a house call in this type of weather. You could have waited until the rain stopped you know."
"Oh, your honor," Iris said, "It was no problem. I'm used to traveling at odd times of the day and in all types of weather. Now, how are you doing?"
"Oh, getting better and better. Slow and steady as they say. My Amanda spoils me. She's fattening me up like the proverbial Yule Day pig. She's a real jewel, you know?" The Mayor's fondness for his wife was quite evident.
"That's wonderful to hear," Iris said. "Looks like you've managed to regain a bit of weight thanks to your wife's cooking. Walking better too, I see. But let me take a look at your hands and knees."
The Mayor suffered from severe arthritis. It had affected his knuckles prior to his imprisonment in the Lockholes. But the disease had flared up quite badly during his incarceration. He needed a cane to get around, and had trouble getting up and down without help.
"How are you doing with that tea I gave you yesterday?" Iris asked as she examined his swollen knuckles.
"Not exactly the best-tasting tea I've ever had," he complained, "but it does help with the pain."
"Good. Have you noticed any problems with your stomach after you've had the tea?"
"No," he said, "No, can't say as I've had any problems with it at all, once you get past the first swallow."
"You are really doing quite well," Iris said. "Let's continue with the tea. Take a full cup with first breakfast like you've been doing. But let's also try another cup with dinner. That might help you sleep better through the night. Here's some salve. Rub it on your joints. It will bring warmth to the joints and help sooth them. And I hope you're not exerting yourself too much with your Mayoral duties. I know Mister Baggins has been over here on official business, but I don't want him tiring you out."
"Oh no, my dear," the Mayor protested, "Young Mister Baggins is not wearing me out. I'm grateful he's taken over all that bothersome planning during my recuperation. Frodo Baggins has always been such a polite and serious young hobbit. Why, I've known him ever since he was a tiny thing living out with his wild cousins in Buckland. Shame about his parents, isn't it?"
"I don't know Mister Baggins all that well," she said as she put away her medical instruments and settled into the guest chair. Part of her bedside manor included listening to gossip in hopes of obtaining background histories on her patients. And Frodo Baggins was a particularly interesting case. "Weren't his parents killed in some sort of accident a long time ago?"
"Oh yes," continued the Mayor. "Quite a tragedy. So young and full of life. Did you know that Frodo's father, Drogo Baggins, was originally from Hobbiton? He was the tailor here, and a good one too. We were very sorry when he moved away. He married a Brandybuck and moved in with them at that great hall they have over in Buckland. Frodo's parents were killed in a boating accident. Boating! Now what hobbit in his right mind would take his pregnant wife out boating? Ah well, that was a difficult funeral to do. Frodo couldn't have been more than ten years old at the time of the accident. Maybe even younger. Took it real hard too. Well, who wouldn't?"
"Is that when he came to live with Mister Bilbo?" Iris asked.
"No, no. That was much later," the Mayor said. "Those know-it-all Brandybucks thought the lad should be brought up out there in the wild with them. You know – not separate him from his cousins and whatnot. Silly thinking. There's so many Brandybucks at that big hall out there that young Frodo only got passed around from one aunt and uncle to another. Never really had a proper foster parent. I heard he started to get into some trouble when he was about eighteen or so. I don't cotton onto such rubbish talk, myself. I always thought it was Master Meriodoc Brandybuck who started all the trouble out that way, and Frodo was the one that got caught. Anyway, that's about the time Master Bilbo Baggins finally asserted family prerogatives in the matter. Mister Bilbo always did get along well with the Brandybucks and Tooks…had something of a peculiar streak in 'im which runs contrary to normal Baggins sensibilities. Master Baggins went over to Buckland and convinced the Master of Brandy Hall to let him adopt Frodo and finish raising the lad back at Hobbiton. Really, it did turn out for the best. Young Mister Baggins settled down once his uncle learned him proper Shire manners. He's a right fine young hobbit, adventures not withstanding."
Iris took a sip of her tea, pondering this information. The Mayor was in a genial talkative mood. Since he was the Mayor, he knew most of the gossip and history of all the families in the Shire. Perhaps he could tell her what happened to Frodo and Sam during the War.
"Yes, he is a fine young hobbit," Iris agreed. "But he's been gone on an adventure the last two years, hasn't he? Didn't he have something to do with the recent troubles down South?"
"Well, yes. He and Gardener Hamfast Gamgee's son, Samwise. Don't quite know what they actually did during the troubles, but they and their friends saved the Shire from that nasty ruffian, Sharkey. Surely you've seen the two young lordlings, Captains Meriodoc Brandybuck and young Peregrin Took? Can't mistake them. Couple of very tall hobbit lads. Ride around on big ponies all the time wearing these outlandish military garments. Rather ostentatious if you ask me, but the lasses all like 'em. I hear they got them by being in some battles in places down south. Someplace called Rohan or Gondor or Fanghorn or something foreign. Don't think Master Baggins or Samwise Gamgee were in the battles though. I do know that Master Baggins lost his ring finger while away on his trip. I heard a rumor that something wicked bit it off! Imagine that! Must have been some wild beast they have down in the south. But he won't talk about it to anyone. Master Frodo's very closed-mouthed about what he did while he and the others were away.
All four of them are thick as thieves, but they are good lads and well- mannered. They rescued all of us out of the Lockholes, and rousted the ruffians from the Shire. Great lads, those. That Peregrin Took will be Thain someday, mark my words. Captain Brandybuck's already taken over the Shire-muster. Good lads. Hope they settle down soon. Find a nice lass and raise a family."
Iris took her leave of the Mayor, gathered her bag and fastened her cloak against the freezing walk home. As Mistress Whitfoot softly closed the door behind her, a gust of wind whipped her hood off her head. "That was worth the drenching," thought Iris as she tramped down the hill towards the lights of the little homes of Hobbiton on the Water.
Chapter 8: News from the Mayor
December 15th
"I hate going out on nasty days," Iris Proudfoot thought as she lowered her head slightly to keep the icy rain from stinging her face. She was on her way to look in on Will Whitfoot, Mayor of Hobbiton. She had made a house call yesterday after her meeting with Frodo. The Mayor's house was not far from hers, but the weather was incredibly bad, making her short journey extremely wretched. It was only early afternoon, but already it looked like dusk. Dark grey clouds laden with freezing rain pounded the dead grass and bare trees, as well as the lone hobbit on the road. Iris tried to keep her thick woolen cloak tightly clasped against the wild wind, but was hampered by her heavy medical bag. There were drawbacks to being the only physician in Hobbiton.
By the time she knocked at the Mayor's doorstep, she was thoroughly wet and miserable. Mistress Whitfoot opened the round yellow door and quickly brought the shivering hobbitess inside the warm hallway.
"Oh, you poor dear," clucked Amanda Whitfoot. "Let me take your cloak and get you warmed up." The senior hobbit-wife removed Iris's soaked traveling wrap and brought her into the study. Much to Iris's comfort, a well-tended fire was already roaring in the large fireplace. Mistress Whitfoot scurried off to another part of the house while Iris set down the medical bag and warmed her freezing hands. Mistress Whitfoot returned shortly with a fluffy towel and a steaming mug of tea. Iris gratefully accepted the tea first, then dried her dripping hair with the towel.
"Amanda? Who is it?" a voice from somewhere deep in the house boomed.
"It's the new doctor, Will," the hobbitess yelled back. "You remember. You've got a check-up today, dear." Turning to Iris, Mistress Whitfoot excused herself and said she would fetch Mister Whitfoot directly. Presently the Mayor shuffled into the study, only slightly leaning on his good wife's arm. Iris stood up and bowed slightly to the aged politician. It was, after all, the polite thing to do, even if the Mayor was not active in Shire politics at the time due to his illness. Frodo Baggins was currently the acting Deputy Mayor. But hobbits are a polite race and are ever respectful of their elders.
The Mayor settled himself into a comfortable leather chair by the fire. Amanda Whitfoot lovingly draped a warm green shawl around his shoulders and then disappeared into the kitchen.
"My dear Miss Proudfoot," said the Mayor. "Thank you for coming out on this dreadfully nasty day. I really did not expect you to make a house call in this type of weather. You could have waited until the rain stopped you know."
"Oh, your honor," Iris said, "It was no problem. I'm used to traveling at odd times of the day and in all types of weather. Now, how are you doing?"
"Oh, getting better and better. Slow and steady as they say. My Amanda spoils me. She's fattening me up like the proverbial Yule Day pig. She's a real jewel, you know?" The Mayor's fondness for his wife was quite evident.
"That's wonderful to hear," Iris said. "Looks like you've managed to regain a bit of weight thanks to your wife's cooking. Walking better too, I see. But let me take a look at your hands and knees."
The Mayor suffered from severe arthritis. It had affected his knuckles prior to his imprisonment in the Lockholes. But the disease had flared up quite badly during his incarceration. He needed a cane to get around, and had trouble getting up and down without help.
"How are you doing with that tea I gave you yesterday?" Iris asked as she examined his swollen knuckles.
"Not exactly the best-tasting tea I've ever had," he complained, "but it does help with the pain."
"Good. Have you noticed any problems with your stomach after you've had the tea?"
"No," he said, "No, can't say as I've had any problems with it at all, once you get past the first swallow."
"You are really doing quite well," Iris said. "Let's continue with the tea. Take a full cup with first breakfast like you've been doing. But let's also try another cup with dinner. That might help you sleep better through the night. Here's some salve. Rub it on your joints. It will bring warmth to the joints and help sooth them. And I hope you're not exerting yourself too much with your Mayoral duties. I know Mister Baggins has been over here on official business, but I don't want him tiring you out."
"Oh no, my dear," the Mayor protested, "Young Mister Baggins is not wearing me out. I'm grateful he's taken over all that bothersome planning during my recuperation. Frodo Baggins has always been such a polite and serious young hobbit. Why, I've known him ever since he was a tiny thing living out with his wild cousins in Buckland. Shame about his parents, isn't it?"
"I don't know Mister Baggins all that well," she said as she put away her medical instruments and settled into the guest chair. Part of her bedside manor included listening to gossip in hopes of obtaining background histories on her patients. And Frodo Baggins was a particularly interesting case. "Weren't his parents killed in some sort of accident a long time ago?"
"Oh yes," continued the Mayor. "Quite a tragedy. So young and full of life. Did you know that Frodo's father, Drogo Baggins, was originally from Hobbiton? He was the tailor here, and a good one too. We were very sorry when he moved away. He married a Brandybuck and moved in with them at that great hall they have over in Buckland. Frodo's parents were killed in a boating accident. Boating! Now what hobbit in his right mind would take his pregnant wife out boating? Ah well, that was a difficult funeral to do. Frodo couldn't have been more than ten years old at the time of the accident. Maybe even younger. Took it real hard too. Well, who wouldn't?"
"Is that when he came to live with Mister Bilbo?" Iris asked.
"No, no. That was much later," the Mayor said. "Those know-it-all Brandybucks thought the lad should be brought up out there in the wild with them. You know – not separate him from his cousins and whatnot. Silly thinking. There's so many Brandybucks at that big hall out there that young Frodo only got passed around from one aunt and uncle to another. Never really had a proper foster parent. I heard he started to get into some trouble when he was about eighteen or so. I don't cotton onto such rubbish talk, myself. I always thought it was Master Meriodoc Brandybuck who started all the trouble out that way, and Frodo was the one that got caught. Anyway, that's about the time Master Bilbo Baggins finally asserted family prerogatives in the matter. Mister Bilbo always did get along well with the Brandybucks and Tooks…had something of a peculiar streak in 'im which runs contrary to normal Baggins sensibilities. Master Baggins went over to Buckland and convinced the Master of Brandy Hall to let him adopt Frodo and finish raising the lad back at Hobbiton. Really, it did turn out for the best. Young Mister Baggins settled down once his uncle learned him proper Shire manners. He's a right fine young hobbit, adventures not withstanding."
Iris took a sip of her tea, pondering this information. The Mayor was in a genial talkative mood. Since he was the Mayor, he knew most of the gossip and history of all the families in the Shire. Perhaps he could tell her what happened to Frodo and Sam during the War.
"Yes, he is a fine young hobbit," Iris agreed. "But he's been gone on an adventure the last two years, hasn't he? Didn't he have something to do with the recent troubles down South?"
"Well, yes. He and Gardener Hamfast Gamgee's son, Samwise. Don't quite know what they actually did during the troubles, but they and their friends saved the Shire from that nasty ruffian, Sharkey. Surely you've seen the two young lordlings, Captains Meriodoc Brandybuck and young Peregrin Took? Can't mistake them. Couple of very tall hobbit lads. Ride around on big ponies all the time wearing these outlandish military garments. Rather ostentatious if you ask me, but the lasses all like 'em. I hear they got them by being in some battles in places down south. Someplace called Rohan or Gondor or Fanghorn or something foreign. Don't think Master Baggins or Samwise Gamgee were in the battles though. I do know that Master Baggins lost his ring finger while away on his trip. I heard a rumor that something wicked bit it off! Imagine that! Must have been some wild beast they have down in the south. But he won't talk about it to anyone. Master Frodo's very closed-mouthed about what he did while he and the others were away.
All four of them are thick as thieves, but they are good lads and well- mannered. They rescued all of us out of the Lockholes, and rousted the ruffians from the Shire. Great lads, those. That Peregrin Took will be Thain someday, mark my words. Captain Brandybuck's already taken over the Shire-muster. Good lads. Hope they settle down soon. Find a nice lass and raise a family."
Iris took her leave of the Mayor, gathered her bag and fastened her cloak against the freezing walk home. As Mistress Whitfoot softly closed the door behind her, a gust of wind whipped her hood off her head. "That was worth the drenching," thought Iris as she tramped down the hill towards the lights of the little homes of Hobbiton on the Water.
