Walk On

Part 5: The Letter

Note: Perhaps I should call this chapter "The Long-Expected Update." I'm so sorry for the wait, guys! I promise that the chapters will be posted more frequently. :D As Alice Cooper said, "School's out for the summer!" Uh…anyway! Moving on….

Frodo and Griffo walked out of the grounds of Bag End. Frodo saw The Gaffer look up curiously from his garden, but he said nothing.

Frodo saw that Griffo had left his carriage a little beyond the neat dirt path that led to Bag End. Frodo hurried towards it, knowing full well that Griffo would be more than a little angry with him. However, once they were out of eyesight of Bag End, Griffo grabbed him by the shoulders.

"I think that we need to have a little talk about your deceitful, scheming ways, boy," said Griffo with a trace of malicious humour in his voice.

"I don't have any deceitful ways," Frodo said before he could stop himself. "I think that you're talking about yourself."

The humorous look in Griffo's eyes instantly darkened, and he hardened his grip on Frodo's shoulders. He lifted up his hand to strike Frodo for his cheek, but Frodo twisted away and ran. He did not have the time to think to run the opposite way to Bag End; he was instead thinking of how to get away from Griffo.

But it would not have mattered anyway. When he turned to run, his ankle was twisted and he fell over. A pain shot threw his foot instantaneously, and he could not move. He felt Griffo standing over him, but Frodo could only lie there and clutch at his ankle.

"So," said Griffo angrily, "you want to degrade me with your smart words. But it turns out that although you are learned, you are too stupid to even run. Such a shame!" He snorted. "Get up!" He pulled Frodo off the ground and put him on his feet. Frodo gasped in pain and he fell over again.

Griffo laughed and pulled him once again to his feet. "Come on, boy, walk! We have to get back to Bindbole before sunset, or my Daisy will worry. Hurry!" Griffo walked to the carriage, leaving Frodo hunched over in pain.

Frodo was thankful that he didn't try to harm him, for he was already in a great deal of pain. He knew, however, that neither Griffo nor Daisy would help him with his ankle, and therefore it would take a great deal of time to fully heal. He cursed his stupidity for running and falling over.

He limped to the carriage, feeling rather pathetic as Griffo continued to laugh at him. But inwardly he felt anger for being treated in such a way, and he knew that it couldn't last much longer. He went into the back of the foul-smelling carriage and collapsed onto its wet floor. He closed his eyes, and knew nothing more for several blissful hours.

He was awakened by the shaking of his shoulders. He saw that it was Griffo, and he also heard shouting, but he couldn't focus in on what the voice was saying.

"What?" asked Frodo blearily.

"I told you to get up, boy!" shouted Griffo. Frodo blinked drearily and saw Griffo's face floating over him. Frodo jumped to his feet and winced, feeling the pain of his hurt ankle spread through him.

"You've been asleep the entire ride!" shouted Griffo. Frodo flinched at the tone of his voice, and knew that he was in trouble yet again. For what, however, he had no idea. Perhaps it was for Griffo…just to have something to be angry at….

"What did I do wrong?" Frodo yelled, in a voice stronger than Frodo knew that he had. Griffo looked surprised. Usually Frodo didn't respond in such ways. Frodo himself was surprised…but the surprise faltered when he saw the glint of anger replace the surprise in Griffo's eyes.

"What did you just say to me?" Griffo screamed. The sound of his voice passed through Frodo's ears, and he was once again aware of the sharp pain in his ankle.

"I didn't say anything," said Frodo warily, wishing for no more pain, as the pain in his ankle was still increasing. He didn't know why; he had hardly trodden on it. Perhaps it was broken. It was too dark for him to tell.

"Liar!" hissed Griffo. Through the darkness he saw a hand rise, and he knew that it was rising to strike his face. It came down and Frodo ducked. It missed his face, and instead it hit the crate that Frodo had been leaning against. He heard Griffo roar in rage. Frodo toppled into the crates. He staggered to his feet. As soon as he stood he felt the pain in his ankle nearly double. Moaning in pain and reeling like a drunken man, he limped away. But Griffo had noticed, and Frodo was no match for him. Griffo quickly grabbed Frodo by the scruff of his neck and threw him down into the crates. They fell on top of Frodo's already broken body. He heard Griffo march over.

Frodo groaned and knew that it was over. He had lost again.

He felt Griffo's fist hit him in the small of his back. His unkind hands jerked him to back up to his feet, and the pain of his ankle and now his back nearly blinded him. He saw the glint of madness in Griffo's eyes before his hand connected with Frodo's face. He saw stars flash before his eyes as the slaps and punches continued. He knew that he fell to the ground. Griffo's feet, hands, everything… were hitting him…it seemed like it was all over…it had never been this bad before…he wondered what he had done….

The world disappeared from Frodo's eyes as he fell into darkness.

When he woke up, he was still in the wagon. It still seemed to be night. However, Griffo appeared to have left, and for that Frodo felt grateful.

He tried to sit up, but the pain all over his body was excruciating. "Well," thought Frodo wryly, "Perhaps I shall not have to work in the fields today." Somehow he doubted that.

He looked around for something to lean against, but the closest thing was the wall of the wagon, and that was too far away. He felt too tired to even crawl. He lowered himself to the floor of the wagon, allowing sheer exhaustion to creep into his veins.

Often before he had struggled with why Griffo beat him so mercilessly and not his other children…of course, he knew that it was because he was not Griffo's child. Griffo just didn't like him, and he didn't want to have him there. Why, then, had he taken him from Brandy Hall in the first place? Why did he not just send him back?

"Of course," Frodo had concluded, "Someone has to work his fields and fix his meals and clean his clothes." He was there to be a servant boy.

He beat him for particular things he did – at first it was for sleeping too late, forgetting to weed a flowerbed, the sort of things that a foolish child would get in trouble for. Then, it just got to be ridiculous. Sometimes he wasn't weeding fast enough, or the meal was too salty, or he had forgotten to pull a weed.

Then, he realised that not only did Griffo have a servant, but also a punching bag. He didn't know why Griffo was like that, but that was just how it was. There had been things in Frodo's life that he just had to accept, such as the death of his parents, and this was just another thing to accept as reality.

Frodo let tears slide down his cheeks and allowed himself to feel bitter. He wished that Griffo would die, and his stupid family too, so that he could go and live somewhere else. He hated Griffo's family for standing by and letting it all happen (although he had never stopped to consider if they were getting hurt as well).

He didn't think that he'd ever be able to stand again. But he knew that he'd have to. He'd face an even worse beating if he didn't. He had to stand up and face it, like a grown hobbit, just like his Uncle Bilbo would want him to do. Just like Griffo wanted. Just as he was expected to.

He raised his body slowly, the sharp pain searing through his body. If he just ignored it, it would be as if it weren't there. He thought of the elves, the dwarves, of Gandalf, whom he had only seen once, and found that he was standing. Ironically, he nearly fell over in surprise.

He shuffled out of the carriage and onto the soft ground. The Boffins's smial was just down the dirt path. It was still nighttime to most hobbits, but he could tell that it was nearing 4:00 in the morning. Griffo usually rapped on his door at 5:00. He figured that if he got an early start on some of the chores he would get done early… and then he could rest.

He walked to the shed. He had to finish the last vegetable patch and then the front flowerbed. That was all that he had to do outside, but he knew that since Griffo was angry with him, he would probably find more for him to do. It was not a pleasing thought.

He took the hoe off its hook and headed back outside. He decided to do the flowerbed first, since it was closer to the smial. He had to go back inside in about two hours to fix breakfast. Daisy fixed all the in-between meals, but Frodo was expected to fix all the major meals. Griffo's sons always laughed at him when he did and called taunted him (usually by calling him a lass). He rolled his eyes at the thought. He kneeled on the ground and began the tedious chore.

When it was nearing 6:00., he went into the smial. He had just finished with the flowerbed and he felt rather pleased with himself. His body still ached, but he had done it. (And, inwardly, he thought that there could be nothing that Griffo could find for him to do.)

He decided to make some flapjacks with some mix that he had made last week. He didn't feel up to making a new batch, since it would mean having to go to the coop for eggs. He buttered the pan and set it over the stove. He walked into the front hall and peered into the looking glass. He gasped at his reflection. His face was bruised all over. His face was paler than usual and his blue eyes were horribly bloodshot. He stooped to the ground and looked at his ankle. It was swollen and twisted in a rather grotesque position. He shrugged. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it was certainly worse than what he had thought it would be.

He padded back into the kitchen and started the flapjacks. It was not long before Tom, Griffo's youngest son, came into the kitchen. He was only seven years old.

"Hello, Frodo," he said quietly.

"Hullo, Tom," Frodo replied. Tom was actually quite nice to him, and he immediately felt guilty for wishing death upon the entire Boffin family.

"What're you makin'?" asked Tom shyly.

"Flapjacks," said Frodo, "For breakfast."

"Mummy said that she liked making breakfast when you were gone to Master Baggins's place. Did you have fun?"

"Oh, yes," said Frodo dryly.

'Why're ya back so early?" asked Tom.

"Your father came and picked me up," said Frodo. He placed a plate of flapjacks on the table. "You can eat now, if you'd like."

Frodo continued to slip flapjacks well after the entire family was in. He endured a few laughs from Griffo's sons, and Griffo came up to him and said, "I trust that you learned something from last night?"

"Yes, sir," Frodo muttered.

"And you have some work to do outside today," he said.

"I already finished most of it," said Frodo.

"What?" asked Griffo, astonished.

"After I woke up I went out and weeded the front flower bed," said Frodo. "All I have to finish weeding is the vegetable patch."

"Well, then you can come with me into town," said Griffo. "I could use some help at the market." Frodo's heart sank.

"I'm not really feeling up to it," said Frodo softly, but Griffo appeared not to have heard him.

Bingo, one of Griffo's sons that was about Frodo's age, said, "I'll go with you to the market, Father. Poor old Frodo don't look like he's up to it." For once in his life, Frodo felt grateful toward Bingo. He even ignored it when he muttered, "stupid girl" under his breath.

"All right," said Griffo finally. "I suppose you could come instead, Bingo-lad. You get off easy today, boy." He said, looking at Frodo with a cold stare.

"Yes, sir," said Frodo, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

"But I'll be working you to the death tomorrow!" he said warningly.

"Yes, sir," Frodo repeated. He hurriedly finished what little breakfast was allotted to him and ran outside to finish his work.

He finished three hours later. Daisy had made him wash the clothes, but after that she couldn't find anything for him to do, so she allowed him to have the rest of the day off.

He walked upstairs to his small room (which was really no larger than a closet, but he was grateful that he had his own personal space). He fell down on the small bed and closed his eyes. The pain that had been building inside him slowly crept over his body and he felt that he'd never be able to move again.

He had a sudden thought that he shouldn't just lie there, or his ankle would get very swollen, but he found that he just didn't care. He closed his eyes and thought of nothing for a long while.

Then, an idea came to his head. Perhaps while Griffo was gone for the day, he could write a letter to his Uncle Bilbo and send it out. Bilbo was always saying that Frodo never sent mail, so perhaps a letter would ease his worry. Then, remembering the slap that Griffo had given him in front of Bilbo, he knew that nothing would help to ease his worry. But it would be good to try anyway.

He pulled out his plain white stationery from under his bed, and his pen and ink from behind his lamp. He frowned, wondering how he should start the letter out.

Dear Uncle Bilbo,

All is well here up in Bindbole. I do hope that you're not too worried over the incident between Griffo and I – he was just angry -

He crumpled that piece of paper up and threw it into a corner. Bilbo would never believe that. Why did he have to lie so much to his own Uncle? He took out another piece of paper and (being angry) started to write.

Dear Uncle Bilbo,

I want to tell you that everything is all right with me (which I had just stated to do in another letter) but I can't. All is terrible. I can't lie to you any longer, and I can't lie to myself. I hate it up here, I hate Griffo, and I hate Saradoc for putting me here. Griffo was very angry with you (and I) for taking me on a hike. I never expected it, and I guess it is sort of my fault that I'm never going to see you again. I should have expected it. We got back and he beat me terribly…I suppose that I'm worrying you, and I don't want to do that. Maybe I should just start this letter over. Maybe I just shouldn't write to you. But, the fact is, I'll end up sending you this letter anyway. I love you and I miss you. I hope that I shall see you again soon, despite what Griffo said.

Much love,

Frodo Baggins

Frodo looked up from his letter…and he realised that it was horrible. He couldn't send that letter…it would make Bilbo feel horrible and it made Frodo seem so utterly selfish and helpless. He reached under his bead for another piece of stationary, but there was none left. He cursed under his breath and said, "I suppose this is it, or nothing." He looked back at his note and decided to add a postscript.

PS: I am very sorry for the crudeness of this letter, but I have not another piece of stationery to re-write it.

He frowned and decided that it would have to do. He folded the letter up and addressed it to Bilbo. He wondered how he would deliver it. Possibly he could go now, if he went quietly.

At that very moment, he heard heavy footsteps. It had to be Griffo. He wondered why…how…he could be back so early. He placed his ears against his bedroom door and heard him say, "…back early, Daisy dear. The trading was good, and I shall have the rest of the day to relax…" He pulled his head away from the door and shook his head. He couldn't go with Griffo at home. He would have to wait until the cover of darkness.

To Be Continued