Clover stormed out Bag End in a huff. She banged the door shut
behind her, but as usual, slamming it didn't make her feel any better. She
stalked down the lane, glaring at all who passed. Most hobbits got out of
her way, but Lotho Sackville-Baggins made the mistake of approaching the
angry hobbit girl.
"Hullo, Clover-lass," he called with what he thought was immense charm as he stepped into her path.
"Move it, Pimple. I'm in no mood to deal with you just now," Clover snarled, not even pausing before him.
"Aw, come on, now, lass, don't be like that," Lotho purred, moving to block Clover's progress. He was deeply in love with Clover Proudfoot, or thought so this week, at any rate. She, however, could not stand the sight of him. Lotho was slimy, stupid, unattractive, self-serving, and he had a tendency to treat girls as inferior beings. Frodo may be irritating, but he was at least intelligent, articulate, and respectful. "And good- looking…" a quiet voice inside Clover pointed out. She did her best to ignore it, focusing her anger instead on Lotho.
"What part of "Move it, Pimple" didn't you understand??" she demanded, not about to waste courtesy on any Sackville-Baggins, least of all this one.
"Oh, Clover, my lass, you know you don't mean that," Lotho said smarmily, sliding up to Clover and slipping an arm around her waist. He told himself he was being friendly, that his lass was obviously upset and in need of comforting. He just didn't get what a truly low opinion of him Clover had, despite the fact that she called him Pimple to his face. She used to even called him Pimple to his mother's face, until Lobelia talked to Citrine Proudfoot and put a stop to that nonsense. Lotho wanted to believe Clover loved him, that she was just playing hard to get, and nothing was going to convince him otherwise.
Not even when she hauled off and belted him across the face. He yelped and let go of her, so she shoved him out of her way. Already off- balance, he sprawled in the dirt. Clover glared down at him, more angry than ever.
"I am NOT 'your lass'! I never have been and I never will be! Get that through your thick stupid Baggins head!! Don't ever talk to me, and don't ever touch me. If you do, I swear I will break your arm in so many places, Mother will never be able to repair it so you can use it again! Have I made myself clear???" she bellowed.
Lotho nodded. Basically cowardly, he had no intention of pressing his suit with Clover just then. Besides, she was part Took, and a friend of Mad Baggins. Everyone knew her mother was odd, too. By the time Clover was out of sight and Lotho thought it safe to get up, he'd convinced himself that he'd broken the girl's heart, and she'd just have to get over him as best she could. Lotho's self-delusion knew no bounds.
Clover knew nothing of Lotho's ego-building at her expense, nor would she have cared did she know. She wasn't truly upset with the slimy little pipsqueak, just disgusted by him. "No, Lotho is not the Baggins I'm so angry at," she told a passing bluejay. "Bilbo is."
As Clover's brain caught up with her mouth, she realized that didn't sound right. "Wait, it's Frodo I'm mad at," she corrected. "I wonder why I said Bilbo?" she asked the bird. The bluejay squawked an answer.
"Yes, you're probably right," Clover agreed, not actually understanding whatever the bird said, just replying to her own thinking-out- loud. "I probably AM angry at Bilbo for going and getting sick and putting us all in this position. I've seen this reaction before, but I've never felt it. It's very odd…..to be mad at a person you love for something that's not their fault. It makes my stomach hurt."
The bluejay called again, then launched himself into the sky. Clover watched the bird fly off, wishing very much that she could join him. But her place was here, in the Shire, assisting her mother with her patients. Especially when the sickest of those patients was Uncle Bilbo. Still, Clover was not ready to go back to Bag End. She sighed heavily and continued on her way.
In due time, she reached her destination. She ducked under the draping branches of the old willow, and settled down on her Thinking Rock. She'd been coming to this small, secluded stream for years, since before she was little Merry's age, even. It was very peaceful here. The water chattered merrily over the stones, headed wherever it was streams headed once they left the Shire. It was not too cold, just chilly enough to refresh weary feet. Little silver fishes could be seen darting in and around the stones, flashing in the dappled sunlight and tickling Clover's toes. A family of sparrows that lived in the willow sang out their joy in being alive. The Thinking Rock was coated in soft moss, inviting tired bones to settle there and stay awhile. The sweet fragrance of water-loving herbs wafted on the breezes that blew down the stream. It was pleasantly cool, pleasantly shady, a good place to soothe a heart-sore spirit. Sometimes, if a hobbit quieted down and was still long enough, the stream had wisdom to impart. Not today, however.
Today Clover's heart was too full of conflict to be soothed, even by the ancient stream. Too many discordant emotions ran through the hobbit, confusing her and preventing the stillness needed to hear the stream properly. She was still angry, yes, angry at Frodo for blowing up at her when she was trying to help him, and at Bilbo for falling ill in the first place, but there was more to it than that. She felt guilty for her anger, and her harsh words to her cousin. She was brutally disappointed in her mother's inability to diagnose the illness, let alone cure it. Clover had always been convinced her mother knew everything about every illness. That Citrine did not scared her witless. The idea that Bilbo may die also frightened her, as did her strange reaction to Frodo's closeness earlier today.
"I don't have any control over the situation, that's what my problem is," Clover informed the stream. "I can't think clearly, can't see the forest for the trees. How am I to help Mother heal Bilbo if I can't focus?? So, the question is, how do I regain my focus? I came here to do that, but it's not working! All I can think about is Frodo. My mind keeps going back to him. This won't do at all! I'm no good to Mother or Bilbo, or even Frodo, if I'm mooning about like some lovesick Bracegirdle from Hardbottle! And I'm too young for this sort of thing, anyway! I want to go abroad, have adventures, learn about the world before I even start looking at lads like that. And Frodo, of all hobbits!!! Frodo the Flighty. Frodo the Annoying. Frodo who's always looking down on me because I can't tell stories and don't speak Elvish! I'd rather wait for Merry to grow up. I'd rather stay a spinster forever! Frodo….yeesh," Clover vented her troubles to the faithful willow. The tree didn't reply, nor did the stream, but the lass felt much better. She didn't have any solutions to the Frodo Problem, but at least she had identified it. From a nameless confusion, it was now a surmountable obstacle. Knowing the nature of her battle would make fighting it that much more doable.
Her mind at ease, Clover stood. Dusk was falling. It was past time for her to get back to Bag End. Mother would be worried, if not actively upset. She also wanted to know if there was any change in Bilbo. She dusted off her skirt and left her Thinking Rock, heading back to the smial.
"Hullo, Clover-lass," he called with what he thought was immense charm as he stepped into her path.
"Move it, Pimple. I'm in no mood to deal with you just now," Clover snarled, not even pausing before him.
"Aw, come on, now, lass, don't be like that," Lotho purred, moving to block Clover's progress. He was deeply in love with Clover Proudfoot, or thought so this week, at any rate. She, however, could not stand the sight of him. Lotho was slimy, stupid, unattractive, self-serving, and he had a tendency to treat girls as inferior beings. Frodo may be irritating, but he was at least intelligent, articulate, and respectful. "And good- looking…" a quiet voice inside Clover pointed out. She did her best to ignore it, focusing her anger instead on Lotho.
"What part of "Move it, Pimple" didn't you understand??" she demanded, not about to waste courtesy on any Sackville-Baggins, least of all this one.
"Oh, Clover, my lass, you know you don't mean that," Lotho said smarmily, sliding up to Clover and slipping an arm around her waist. He told himself he was being friendly, that his lass was obviously upset and in need of comforting. He just didn't get what a truly low opinion of him Clover had, despite the fact that she called him Pimple to his face. She used to even called him Pimple to his mother's face, until Lobelia talked to Citrine Proudfoot and put a stop to that nonsense. Lotho wanted to believe Clover loved him, that she was just playing hard to get, and nothing was going to convince him otherwise.
Not even when she hauled off and belted him across the face. He yelped and let go of her, so she shoved him out of her way. Already off- balance, he sprawled in the dirt. Clover glared down at him, more angry than ever.
"I am NOT 'your lass'! I never have been and I never will be! Get that through your thick stupid Baggins head!! Don't ever talk to me, and don't ever touch me. If you do, I swear I will break your arm in so many places, Mother will never be able to repair it so you can use it again! Have I made myself clear???" she bellowed.
Lotho nodded. Basically cowardly, he had no intention of pressing his suit with Clover just then. Besides, she was part Took, and a friend of Mad Baggins. Everyone knew her mother was odd, too. By the time Clover was out of sight and Lotho thought it safe to get up, he'd convinced himself that he'd broken the girl's heart, and she'd just have to get over him as best she could. Lotho's self-delusion knew no bounds.
Clover knew nothing of Lotho's ego-building at her expense, nor would she have cared did she know. She wasn't truly upset with the slimy little pipsqueak, just disgusted by him. "No, Lotho is not the Baggins I'm so angry at," she told a passing bluejay. "Bilbo is."
As Clover's brain caught up with her mouth, she realized that didn't sound right. "Wait, it's Frodo I'm mad at," she corrected. "I wonder why I said Bilbo?" she asked the bird. The bluejay squawked an answer.
"Yes, you're probably right," Clover agreed, not actually understanding whatever the bird said, just replying to her own thinking-out- loud. "I probably AM angry at Bilbo for going and getting sick and putting us all in this position. I've seen this reaction before, but I've never felt it. It's very odd…..to be mad at a person you love for something that's not their fault. It makes my stomach hurt."
The bluejay called again, then launched himself into the sky. Clover watched the bird fly off, wishing very much that she could join him. But her place was here, in the Shire, assisting her mother with her patients. Especially when the sickest of those patients was Uncle Bilbo. Still, Clover was not ready to go back to Bag End. She sighed heavily and continued on her way.
In due time, she reached her destination. She ducked under the draping branches of the old willow, and settled down on her Thinking Rock. She'd been coming to this small, secluded stream for years, since before she was little Merry's age, even. It was very peaceful here. The water chattered merrily over the stones, headed wherever it was streams headed once they left the Shire. It was not too cold, just chilly enough to refresh weary feet. Little silver fishes could be seen darting in and around the stones, flashing in the dappled sunlight and tickling Clover's toes. A family of sparrows that lived in the willow sang out their joy in being alive. The Thinking Rock was coated in soft moss, inviting tired bones to settle there and stay awhile. The sweet fragrance of water-loving herbs wafted on the breezes that blew down the stream. It was pleasantly cool, pleasantly shady, a good place to soothe a heart-sore spirit. Sometimes, if a hobbit quieted down and was still long enough, the stream had wisdom to impart. Not today, however.
Today Clover's heart was too full of conflict to be soothed, even by the ancient stream. Too many discordant emotions ran through the hobbit, confusing her and preventing the stillness needed to hear the stream properly. She was still angry, yes, angry at Frodo for blowing up at her when she was trying to help him, and at Bilbo for falling ill in the first place, but there was more to it than that. She felt guilty for her anger, and her harsh words to her cousin. She was brutally disappointed in her mother's inability to diagnose the illness, let alone cure it. Clover had always been convinced her mother knew everything about every illness. That Citrine did not scared her witless. The idea that Bilbo may die also frightened her, as did her strange reaction to Frodo's closeness earlier today.
"I don't have any control over the situation, that's what my problem is," Clover informed the stream. "I can't think clearly, can't see the forest for the trees. How am I to help Mother heal Bilbo if I can't focus?? So, the question is, how do I regain my focus? I came here to do that, but it's not working! All I can think about is Frodo. My mind keeps going back to him. This won't do at all! I'm no good to Mother or Bilbo, or even Frodo, if I'm mooning about like some lovesick Bracegirdle from Hardbottle! And I'm too young for this sort of thing, anyway! I want to go abroad, have adventures, learn about the world before I even start looking at lads like that. And Frodo, of all hobbits!!! Frodo the Flighty. Frodo the Annoying. Frodo who's always looking down on me because I can't tell stories and don't speak Elvish! I'd rather wait for Merry to grow up. I'd rather stay a spinster forever! Frodo….yeesh," Clover vented her troubles to the faithful willow. The tree didn't reply, nor did the stream, but the lass felt much better. She didn't have any solutions to the Frodo Problem, but at least she had identified it. From a nameless confusion, it was now a surmountable obstacle. Knowing the nature of her battle would make fighting it that much more doable.
Her mind at ease, Clover stood. Dusk was falling. It was past time for her to get back to Bag End. Mother would be worried, if not actively upset. She also wanted to know if there was any change in Bilbo. She dusted off her skirt and left her Thinking Rock, heading back to the smial.