Learning to Ride

by AngieT

Frodo learns to ride.

Title:

Author: AngieT

A Marigold Challenge fic

No profit, no gain, no ownership; only wishing and longing and dreaming.

Shire reckoning 1382. According to Mr Tolkien Frodo is 14, Merry is still kicking his poor Mum from the inside, and Sam is off in Hobbiton gumming rusks and probably just enduring potty training.

Frodo sat on the top rail of the paddock fence and looked at the new pony. The new pony chewed grass, moved around a bit but generally ignored the young hobbit. She was a pretty creature, the colour of buttermilk with a darker mane and tail – but still, the last thing Frodo wanted was to be on top of her back – and that was exactly where he was going to find himself.

He had spent several summers now dodging the offered riding lessons Saradoc kept issuing. There was always some good excuse. At first the excuses had been genuine – lessons, a new book from Bilbo to read, a trip to visit relations, a boating party, but in the last couple of years he had even faked illness to get out of it. The truth was that he did not want to learn to ride, and since his parents had died he almost had a horror of being forced to do so.

This time though there was no getting away with it. Saradoc had come home from the last pony fair with four new animals and this pretty little mare, which was to be a gift for Esmerelda once their child was born. Meanwhile, he announced over second breakfast, the mare would prove the perfect mount for Frodo to start learning to ride on.

Frodo had almost choked on his omelette. He tried to plead a headache, a letter to write, chores to do, but it had all fallen on deaf ears. Appetite gone, he excused himself. Saradoc told him to meet him in the paddock once he had changed.

Shuffling along the corridor to his room Frodo did not hear the exchange between his Aunt and Uncle.

"Are you sure dear?" Esmie had asked. "He seems to worry so."

Saradoc nodded. "I think it will do him good. Since .. well.. since we lost Prim and Drogo he's been mooning around, turning into a tear-away."

"He's lost his self-confidence," Esmie stirred honey into her tea and leant back in her chair stroking the ample bulge of her stomach.

"All the more reason to start him riding sooner rather than later." The Master smiled at his wife. "I mean it kindly Prim."

"I know you do, love," his wife smiled back. "He needs to get his confidence back. Just go gently with him."

"'ey up lad."

Frodo turned at the friendly greeting to see Rolf, Brandy Hall's stable manager coming across from the stables towards him with an arm load of tack and a saddle over one shoulder.

Despite his trepidation Frodo smiled at his friend. Rolf settled the saddle on the gate before swinging it open and walking in with a chucking noise to the mare. "ey up lass." Ponies and hobbit lads held the same place on the ladder to Rolf – with maybe the ponies coming slightly higher. "'ere Frodo, get off that fence an bring us the saddle."

Frodo obeyed, though his feet felt as though their foot hair had turned to stone.

Rolf went on talking to the pony as he approached her, fed her a carrot slice and took hold of her halter. "Who's my pretty lass," he told her stroking her nose and the pony butted at him in greeting.

Frodo crossed the few feet of grass as though going to his death. The saddle felt awfully flimsy in his arms. How on earth was he expected to stay on it? The top had been polished to such a sheen he could almost see his face in its chestnut depth. He would slip off it before he could even get astride.

Rolf relieved him of the saddle and handed him a palm full of neatly sliced carrot circles. The pony saw the exchange, or smelt it, and switched her attention to the lad.

"What's her name?" Frodo asked, and was proud of the fact that his voice did not shake. He held out his hand and a warm, wet pony nose caught out the treats and consumed them, liberally coating Frodo's palm with saliva.

"This little lady 'ere is Marigold," Rolf said. "As sweet a nature as I've ever 'ad the pleasure of. Put with Satin she'll make the prettiest foals this side of the Brandywine. Won't you lass?"

Carrot consumed Marigold butted at Frodo's jacket.

"Oy! Be a lady now!" Rolf scolded. Marigold tossed her head and blew hot breath into Frodo's face.

Frodo took a step back to allow Rolf to put a leading robe onto the ponies halter. Then the older hobbit picked up the saddle and settled in onto the ponies back.

"Hold her head would you lad," Rolf settled the saddle and adjusted the girth, then pulled down the stirrups.

Frodo did as he was bid. Much as he liked Rolf he rather wished for him to be taken by some sudden illness about now, or maybe it would rain. Frodo looked up hopefully but the sky was brilliant blue and cloud free. There was no rain to be had. Maybe the pony would go lame. Instantly Frodo felt guilty for the thought. He would not want some innocent creature to suffer for his own cowardice. Pull yourself together, he told himself, you're a Baggins! He stroked the soft nose in apology.

"All set," Rolf stood back. "Lead her over to the stump."

The mounting block in the paddock was the stump of an old oak tree that had been struck by lightening before Frodo had been born.

Frodo's mouth was dry, while his palms were sweating.

"Hands here, foot there, bend your knee, give a push off an swing your other leg over."

'I can't do this. I can't do this!' Frodo thought, grasping where told, putting his foot where told, bending his knee, pushing off, swinging his leg round, scrabbling like a cat up too high a fence but with only half the grace. Grabbing onto the saddle for dear life. Feeling a hand on his breeches boosting him up. Foot hitting the mare's rump till she snorted indignantly. Then there he was, lying face down over the pony's neck, legs astride, Rolf calmly walking round to put his right foot into the stirrup.

"Sit up then."

Frodo lay over the mare's neck trying to catch his breath. Slowly he straightened up, hands out on the front of the saddle to steady himself. Oh – it was high up, and the mare's neck seemed a long way beneath him. This was not at all like the proud prancing rocking horse from nursery days – with its high held head he could hold onto.

"Keep your heels down an your back straight," Rolf instructed. "Grip with your legs – don't clutch saddle like that."

Frodo slithered around for a few moments like a drunken hobbit in a barrel race at sea. He had no idea what such a thing was but had heard Uncle Merimac use the expression and it seemed to sum up his current situation rather well.

He took a deep breath and straightened his back.

"That's better," Rolf approved. "Now grip on tight with your legs."

And to Frodo's utter horror the next thing he knew was that Rolf had taken up the lead rein and was moving Marigold off across the paddock. Frodo squeaked and clutched the saddle again as his balance thrown wildly off. He righted himself and sat unsteadily. 'Grip with your legs?' his legs were trembling with the effort already.

"Feel her move, Lad, an go with it."

'What was that supposed to mean?' Oh help! He just knew he was going to fall off.

Rolf looked back and up. Taking pity on his charge's white face, flared nostrils and wide eyes he moved along side and reached up a hand to steady Frodo in the small of his back.

"Your like an over starched sack o potatoes," he commented. "Relax."

"If I do I will fall off!" Frodo was getting nearer and nearer to panic.

Rolf drew Marigold to a halt. "Lad, take a breath and relax. You're too tense by half."

Frodo took the required deep breath but he could not relax. How could he, with the ground so far away?

"You can do this," Rolf said with confidence. "I know you can. It'll take time but you'll get there."

"Do you think?" Frodo's voice sounded small.

"By the time the Mistress is bought to term we'll have you riding out to spread the news."

Frodo managed a faint smile. "All the way to Hobbiton?"

"All the way to Hobbiton. Give your Cousin Baggin's the biggest surprise of his life since he claimed that Wizard knocked on his door."

With that Rolf led Marigold on again.

Frodo was met in the hallway by Esmerelda. She smiled at him, her hands to the small of her back. "There's a bath drawn for you. Then come get something to eat."

Frodo smiled his gratitude. He was stiff and sore and rather muddy from a couple of falls. He dropped his rather pony smelling clothes on the floor of the bath room and stepped into a steaming tub in which he could smell lavender. He sent a silent thank you to his Aunt for her thoughtfulness as he eased himself back into the water.

Muscles he did not know he had were making their presence felt and he dared not think how he would feel in the morning from this unusual activity. All in all it had not been so bad. One a couple of occasions he had even felt brave enough to release his death grip on the front of the saddle and pat the ponies neck and she moved quietly along.

Frodo closed his eyes and leant his head back onto eh rim of the tub.

The next morning Frodo was rather sore and stiff from the unused to activity. He had past a bad night mostly filled with nightmares that he was riding on top of a barrel which kept pitching and rolling beneath him and threatening to spill him into the fast flowing river beneath.

He knew he was expected out in the paddock again so he went out early, via the kitchens and presented Marigold with a bright red apple. The mare greeted Frodo softly and gobbled up the apple in a mess of sliva and pulp. Frodo wiped his hand on the leg of his old breeches and stroked her nose. "I think you and I should come to an arrangement," he told her. "I bring you an apple or a carrot each day, and you go nice and steady and don't throw me off."

Marigold tossed her head.

"I'll be taking that as a yes."

"Making friends?"

Frodo turned swiftly round to find Saradoc standing a little distance away. He smiled at his Uncle. "Yes."

"I'm glad to hear it," Saradoc came to stroke the mare. "I had a letter this morning from Hobbiton. Bilbo's coming for a visit in a few days. He says he has restless feet and fancies tramping about a bit."

Frodo's smile lit up his face, "That's wonderful news!"

"I though you might think so." Saradoc smiled at the lad's enthusiasm. "And I came out to make a deal with you."

"Yes Sir?"

"You stick to this riding, and, if by the end of the week you can trot with out a lead rein I shall talk Bilbo into taking you with him for a few days." Frodo's smile exploded into a grin and his eyes danced. "A few days only, mind," warned Saradoc. "I don't want to get a message saying you've been eaten by trolls in the Misty Mountains."

Frodo just laughed, speechless, but his delight shining clear on his face. He turned to grin at Rolf as he approached, doffing his cap respectfully to the Master. "Will you teach me to trot today?" he asked.

"No," said Rolf placidly. "But I might let you take the reins yourself for a bit."

Frodo found his second riding lesson a lot less fearsome than the first. He was still rather aching but he had managed to stay reasonably upright on the pony and learnt how to signal direction to her. True to his word Rolf had let Frodo take the reins himself. Frodo urged Marigold forwards and tried to make her do a circuit of the paddock. But the mare, sensing the inexperience of her rider took them instead to the shade of the apple tree, dropped her head for windfalls and refused to raise it again until Rolf came to rescue a mortified Frodo.

After his bath and meal Frodo came into the little front parlour and found Esmie sitting in a sunny spot, her knitting on her lap, humming a little tune to herself and the baby. She looked up at Frodo's entrance and smiled. "Come and sit with your old Aunty," she smiled, moving to make room for him on the sofa.

Frodo went gratefully to her. He had long outgrown the stage where he could sit on her lap, and her lap had now outgrown its ability to hold him, but he liked to be near her comforting motherly presence. She knew, with out words ever being needed, how much he missed his mother's comfort. When the pain dug at him most deeply she would instinctively be there.

Pulling up his legs Frodo leant lightly against Esmie.

"Your little cousin has been restless today," she said. "He is eager to be out in the world."

Frodo rested a hand on Esme's amble swell. The two of them sat so for a moment until Frodo felt a little kick beneath his hand. Entranced he leant over until his head rested against the spot. "Hush little baby," he whispered. "Hush."

Frodo rose the next day even more determined to get on well. He was earlier yet at the paddock – with two green feather topped carrots in offering to his steed. Rolf must have been expecting him for the stable hobbit soon arrived with the saddle and bridle and handed them to Frodo. Frodo looked at them blankly.

"Got to learn to tack your own mount," Rolf said and went on to explain the intricacies of harness and girth.

That evening Esmie knocked on the door of Frodo's little room and pocked her head around the door. "How did it go?" she asked. She had been in bed resting when he had come in from his ride and he missed telling her about it.

"I fell off twice," he grinned ruefully. "But Rolf makes me get straight back on."

"Quite right so," Esmie came to sit on the side of his bed. She looked tired and had on a dressing gown over her nightgown. Frodo could see little forget-me-knot embroidered ribbons at her throat. "I quite forgot to give you these," she said and put down a pair of soft brown leather gloves on the counterpane.

Frodo picked up the subtle material, soft and a little warn. "Riding gloves!"

"I hope you don't mind they were once mine, you have such small hands still."

"They're beautiful," Frodo smiled.

"I remember rubbing my fingers raw on my first couple of lessons."

Frodo held out his own hands. "Marigold does like to pull sometimes." There were red rubbed marks between his fingers where the reins had rested. Laughing at each other Frodo and Esmie hugged.

"Under the covers with you," Esmie commanded at last. Frodo burrowed down and she pulled the covers up and made a show of tucking them in under his chin. "Night nigh, sleep tight, mind the bed bugs don't bite." She kissed his forehead. She smelt of violets and powder.

"Thank you," said Frodo, meaning not only the gloves.

By the forth day his aches were quite fading. He arrived in the paddock to find not only Marigold waiting for him but also the older and sturdier form of Blossom, the pony usually used to pull the little carriage. Rolf was placing a saddle on Blossoms broad back.

"Time to leave the paddock," he said at Frodo's questioning look. "We'll hack up the lane away and see how you do."

A triumphant Frodo walked his mount back to the paddock. Not only had he trotted but also he had also not fallen off once.

Esmerelda was leaning against the paddock fence and watching his progress down the lane. Frodo sat up straighter and smiled at her. Rolf had taken off the leading rein on the way home and Frodo was quite in control of the pony himself.

Rolf doffed his cap to the Mistress and then took both the ponies reins. "You see Mistress in," he said at Frodo's questioning look.

Frodo waved his glove-covered hands at Esmerelda as he came to meet her. "You look well," he said. "How is my cousin?"

"Napping," she smiled, taking the arm he offered her. She was wearing a voluminous smock of the sort favoured by hobbit ladies in her condition. Her hair was in a loose plat down her back and she looked very young. Proud though he was of his achievements of the day Frodo thought his Aunt must be even prouder. What was learning to ride a pony compared to producing the next Master of Buckland. He caught himself in the middle of the thought. He seemed so sure that the baby was to be a boy.

There was one of those sudden thunderstorms in the night. It crept up with out warming and event eh most weather conscious of the old women in the Hall – who complained days before any storm of pains in their bones, had not predicted it. All of a sudden the sky was a lowering leaden grey and then the clouds opened with rain. A half hour into the down pour there was a hurried knocking at the door and then a blast of cold, wet air which could be felt all the way to the parlour.

After a while a wet and dripping Bilbo was shown into the family room.

"Keep back," he warned when Frodo would have dashed to him. "I am wetter than a dwarf in a barrel," he said. "Let me change and get warm."

Frodo acted as valet as his Uncle bathed and changed and then went to the kitchen himself to fetch a tray of tea and soup, and seedcake. He took the tray back to the parlour and found Bilbo sitting across the fire from Esmie warming his hands and toes at the grate.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, my lad," Bilbo greeted. "And Esmie tells me you have been charging off all around the countryside on horseback. I am amazed to find you home and not enlisted with the Riders of the Rohairrin."

"Honestly Bilbo. You do talk a lot of rot," said Saradoc good-naturedly from the other side of the parlour where he and his pipe had been banished too.

"What are the Riders of the Rohirrim?" Frodo wanted to know at the same time.

A clap of thunder overhead caused Esmie to drop her knitting and clutch at her heart. "O," she laughed faintly. "That was a close one."

Saradoc knocked out his pipe and came to his wife's side. "Bilbo, will you think me dreadfully rude if I take Esmie to bed."

"Not at all, not at all," Bilbo waved them aside with his mouth full of seedcake. "Frodo lad can keep me company. Not afraid of thunder are you my boy?"

"No," said Frodo. "And I want to tell you about Marigold."

"Hum?" Bilbo sipped his tea. "You're a bit young to be chasing the lasses yet Frodo."

Frodo giggled. "But Marigold is very pretty, she has big brown eyes, long eyelashes and golden hair."

"And a fondness for carrots," Saradoc spoilt as he helped his wife to her feet.

The storm raged long into the night sounding as though it would bring the Hall in about their ears. No one got much sleep that night, excepting maybe Bilbo – who could sleep through a dragon's rage it was said, and Frodo, warm out by his day's riding.

Certainly no sleep was had by the Master and the Mistress, nor the Midwife.

By morning the storm had blown itself out and the world looked like it had been washed anew.

Though there would be no riding that day Frodo was down in the stables keeping his promise and greeting Marigold with a carrot. "I've some special news," he told her as he stroked her soft nose. "The storm did more than drop thunder and lightening." Marigold chewed at Frodo's shirtsleeve experimentally. "I have a new little cousin. His name is Meriadoc Brandybuck."

Frodo cantered his pony down the lane. It was a fine summer day and his mount had itchy hooves for a gallop. They were heading back for home now. As the roof of Brandy Hall came into view Frodo slowed the pony to a trot and then a walk so they would reach home cool.

Starlight, sensing home and paddock ahead wanted to speed up but Frodo controlled and slowed him. Still, they covered the ground quickly and soon were in the environs of the Hall. Out playing in the daisy strewn grass between the paddocks and the Hall were the usual bundle of hobbit children, nursemaids and mothers. This year the Mistress of the Hall was out with them, trying her best to keep up with the four year old heir whose golden curls seemed to dart and flash around the field.

"Frodo!" Merry spotted the pony and rider and made a dash for them. Laughing Frodo halted Starlight and dismounted.

"Hello Merry, what have you been doing?"

"Up!" Merry demanded. "Up! Up!"

Knowing what was expected Frodo lifted up the future Master of Buckland and swung the little lad up to sit in the saddle. "Hold on now."

"Hold on," Merry repeated. Frodo kept a tight hold of the back of Merry's breaches as Esmie puffed up, slightly out of breath, but rosy cheeked and smiling. She and Frodo were now of a height. She took position on the other side of her precious son and they walked together round to the stables.

Returning son to mother Frodo took his pony into the stalls. Marigold looked up from her hay bag and whickered a greeting to her own son. Rolf had been right; Marigold and Satin had produced fine foals.

With Merry dangling between them Frodo and Esmie walked back to the Hall.