1. NOVEMBER THE THIRD, 1919 (S.R.): MORNING
A little before dawn, Frodo left the Cotton Farm quietly. He had no wish to disturb neither Sam nor the family. The previous day had been very hard and he foresaw so would be the forthcoming events. Everyone was in need of refreshment...
His thoughts went then to his cousins. Pippin had parted from them last afternoon, riding to Tookland to get reinforcements, and Merry was spending the night planning his strategy and organising the hobittry in anticipation of the clash with the Waymeet men.
Not only were the younger members of the Fellowship showing the courage and determination of seasoned warriors, but also magnificent leadership, that would make Aragorn himself proud. And this recollection put an affectionate spark in Frodo's eyes.
However, by the subtle light preceding sun-rise, Frodo felt a growing anxiety... He walked slowly, contemplating the fields, the hills, the copses that dimly emerged from the cold mist...the much cherished landscape of the Shire, that didn't show by there the scars of abuse inflicted by the Lotho´s ruffians. But, of course, there were deep hurts, invisible from this spot: felled trees, demolished houses, hobbits oppressed and put in jail...Wounds festering with fury, hate and fear. And he, too, was afraid. Not that he feared for himself, but for his beloved homeland.
He was aroused from his thoughts by the sound of hooves beating upon the road, and his eyes, that after the quest were too much able to see clearly in the dim light, distinguished a rider approaching by the Hobbiton road. He soon saw that it was Merry, and he moved away from the roadside. His grey frame melted immediately in the background.
When the pony almost overtook him, his voice rang out suddenly:
-What news from around, Rider of Rohan? – he said, smiling in memory of the tale of Aragorn and his companions meeting the Rohirrim.
-Frodo! – cried his cousin, surprised but skilfully halting his pony.-I thought you would be still enjoying old Cotton's hospitality.
In spite of his night of exhausting activity, Meriadoc overflowed with energy and determination. He updated Frodo on the preparations and added:
-The only thing I doubt is the timely arrival of Pippin with his people. If we don't show a clear superiority over these ruffians, I'm afraid we won't intimidate them, and the battle would be far harsher.
-But it's necessary to avoid more deaths, Merry! I don't want the Shire getting the infection of hate and revenge. It has been inflicted with too much suffering to endure also being blood-watered by us... - answered Frodo softly, focusing his clear sight in his cousin's.
Merry grew a little impatient.
-Dear Frodo, I know that you don't wish to kill anyone. But I will repeat what I said yesterday: you wont rescue our land just by being sad and sorry. These men are not going to loose the hold on their prey easily, so it will be necessary to fight. And, of course, I prefer the deaths to come from their ranks.
-Perhaps things must be so. But, Merry, you have the leader's responsibility in this matter, and I want your promise to keep your temper and hold your actions, until all possibility of a peaceful solution is spent. - Frodo's voice broke slightly, and he continued:
-I fear so much that neither the Shire could recover to health...
Meriadoc frowned a little, not understanding completely the Ringbearer words, but gave him a hug before resuming his ride, and said soberly:
-Don't worry, cousin. I promise you. Now, I must go to the other farms, but I will come back before ten hours, with the news.
When Frodo returned to the Cotton's, the family and Sam were already up and they shortly sat down to breakfast, everyone trying to hide their worry over the imminent confrontation. A courier arrived from Tookland at that moment, saying that the Thain had raised his country, and that Peregrin Took was coming back with a hundred of hobbits.
Finally, as he had promised previously, Meriadoc rode to the Cotton's Farm. The sun, faintly peeping out, shone on the steel of his helmet and lit the White Horse of Rohan on his tabard.
-The hour has come. The men of Waymeet and almost all the ruffians that escaped yesterday are heading to Bywater. The scouts told me that they are heavily armed and fire-raising as they come. Let's go stop them! – he said.
Tom Cotton, with grim face, and surrounded by his sons, that had collected axes, sickles and big knives, nodded:
-This lot is not going to heed reasons! It's clear that there will be a battle!
Quietly, the Ringbearer also prepared himself.
Sam brought the ponies over and, sighing, tightened Sting to his own waist. Then, he offered to Frodo the ancient blade of Westernesse, the one that he owned previously. But he already knew his master's answer:
-No, thank you, Sam. I'm not going to take a sword.
Samwise remembered then the terrible day in Mordor, when Frodo threw away all the orc arms he had and said: "I'll bear no weapon, fair or foul. Let them take me, if they will!...", and his eyes got blurred.
-But, Mr. Frodo - he insisted even though he lacked conviction - It will be dangerous. Maybe you'll need to defend yourself...
-Don't worry, dear friend. The mithril coat will be adequate protection, if necessary...- he answered with gentle stubbornness.
The group left to meet with the rest of volunteers from Hobbiton and Bywater. After a while, the Tooks also appeared, armed with bows and commanded by a young and bright-eyed Gondorian Guard, which was Pippin.
Then, Meriadoc made his final arrangements to improve his plans, taking into account the reinforcements of Tookland, and he ordered his small army to their positions, hiding in the hedges beside the road.
The only thing to do then was to lie in wait for them, silently, trying to calm down...
Shortly, the events began to speed up. A noisy hundred of men, armed with long knives, swords and spears, but looking undisciplined and clumsy, appeared by the bend of the road. The leader was a strong man, with a grim face crossed by a red scar, and an orcish look. The hobbits kept their peace until the first ruffians found in front of them a barrier that interrupted the way westward, and had to halt.
Pippin and a group of Tooks swiftly blocked the road in the east side, pushing up some hidden wagons, and stood behind, their bows ready for shooting.
Then Merry rose up above the bank and cried:
-You are trapped! Stop and lay down your weapons! Anyone trying to break out would be a dead man!
At his voice, all the contingent of hobbits stood up, the ruddy faces strangely menacing, and handing their arms.
The men looked around, astonished. Some of them got immediately frightened, and began to obey Merry. But the leader and those by his side burst out laughing with scorn...Since the ruffians had arrived in the Shire, they had never found an opposition worthy of the name. With very rare exceptions, the hobbits had allowed themselves to be intimidated, robbed and plundered with only feeble protests, some angry words or a badly coordinated resistance, easily quenched... No one was going to snatch so tasteful a prey from them, even though some travelling gentlehobbits had pretensions of being great warriors and were organising a row.
-Don't be stupid, halflings! Give up immediately and surrender these stupid fighting roosters, these ridiculous leaders of you, if you don't want to be punished! – growled the scarred man, handling his sword menacingly, and addressing the rest of the hobbits.
The few men that before had showed the intention of giving up, took up their arms swiftly, shamed by their companions insults. Then, five or six of them, that were closer to the rear barrier, wildly shouting, threw themselves against the Tooks that defended it.
Pippin leapt onto one of the wagons in a single bound, and removing his elven cloak, took hold of the sword:
-Gondor and the Shire! – he cried, as the badge of the White Tower shone on the black of his uniform of the Guard of Minas Tirith.
His companions then shot a burst of arrows and some men fell, pierced by them, howling in pain. But the others continued their run, roaring with fury. Pippin dealt a stroke to the first of them, who tried to knock him down with a big mace. The man stared at him, a surprised look in the face, as the blood gushed out from his neck, and his body slowly slid to the ground. By both sides of Pippin's position, a few ruffians got past the barrier, killing the defendants on the way, and scattered across the country.
Soon, the fight spread out, and the road and the fields around echoed with the howls of the men pierced by the sure arrows of the Took archers, or wounded by the axes, knives and sickles of the Shire farmers, who never before had done bloodier things than the slaughter of livestock... And the cries came too from the hobbits hit by the spears and maces of their enemies.
It was the horrific din of fear, and pain, and death.
Then, some men, headed by the leader, ran over to the hobbits that fought in the western end. Even though Merry's strategy was making easy enough to dominate the ruffians trapped in the road, those that followed the half-orc were beginning to badly harass the hobbits. Seeing that his people flagged, Merry called to Pippin for aid and confronted them. And then, as the ruffians' leader himself, despite his corpulence and savagery, was mortally wounded by the young Brandybuck, the other men's only thought was of killing and dying like cornered beasts.
Not only were the hobbits' number superior, but they also benefited from better organisation, and the result of the battle was obvious. But the men were in despair, and driven mad, and unable to stop fighting.
Sam, the farmer Cotton and his sons defended their positions with quiet determination.
Beside them, at first, Frodo kept himself expectant. Then, his fears of a bloody combat were confirmed. And, when he observed some hobbits loosing control, because of the hate built up during the past months and the rage felt for their dead companions, the Ringbearer also threw himself into the skirmish, with empty hands, followed by Sam.
During these everlasting minutes, the undeniable authority of his pale and stern countenance was often interposed between the vengeance of his fellow countrymen and the defeated men. He protected these when they yielded their weapons, shielding them with his body. So, he received a good number of frustrated and furious glances from the warriors-like farmers and peasants. Frodo ignored these, but the scene froze Sam's heart.
At last, the battle finished and the only sounds in the muddy road were the moans of the wounded and dying.
Then, Merry and Pippin rushed towards them. The excitement of the battle was still shining in their faces, but their eyes showed infrequent seriousness and restraint.
Frodo, with his blood-stained clothes, and Sam, hugged them wordlessly.
-Are you all right? Are you not hurt? – the young Captains anxiously questioned their cousin.
-No. It's not my blood...- he answered tiredly. His face showed great distress and his eyes were fogged with unshed tears.
Merry looked down and mumbled:
-I'm sorry, dear Frodo. I couldn't avoid the killing... You could see that they didn't want to lay down the arms. It was us or them.
The Ringbearer nodded and embraced them one more time. Then, he said:
-I will take the prisoners to some secure place, with the help of Sam, and the Cottons, and maybe a few more hobbits... But it's necessary to calm down our folk...Merry, Pippin, can you look after them?
-We'll do it, Frodo. And also we'll arrange the tending of the wounded and the burial of the dead... - said Merry, looking around and sighing softly.
And a cold rain began to fall over the fields and the road, washing away the blood drenched mud.