Notes to Readers:
Please be sure to leave a review! They are very motivating, and each review you
leave entitles you to a free cup of cyber-tea in the parlour (The Muse and I do
try to make our guests feel welcome). What you are seeing here is the edited draft.
(Thanks to my editor—you know who you are! And welcome back from your break, I hope you're ready to get back
to work...)
Thanks for the comments! How do you like your tea?
Aemilia Rose, yes, Lobelia could hardly be evil, being a hobbit. Cranky,
perhaps, but never evil.
Bookworm, hmmm, stories of avenging elderly hobbits. An interesting thought.
Xena, Lobelia reminds me of an elderly teacher's aide I knew who was always
grumpy and took no nonsense from anyone, but had a soft heart deep down where
it was seldom seen and appreciated. Well, a whole army of Tooks drove out the
ruffians, so that must have been quite an unpleasant experience for the poor
misguided souls.
Mistress Morticia, welcome to the parlour, have a cup of tea. Lobelia is a
hoot, for sure. I'd imagine she'd chuckle in private, but never let it show in
public...
lisa, a cup of tea for you as well? Am glad you are enjoying the story. As a
whole it is not short, by any means, running to 70 chapters at the moment, and
hopefully about to be finished. My chapters tend to be short, like my attention
span. I can do long projects in short bursts...
FantasyFan, to answer your question, I don't know how influenced I am by the
movies. I try to write strictly in book canon, though if I can give an
occasional nod to Peter Jackson's efforts without stepping out of book canon, I
will. I think, mostly, I took JRRT's description of the Fallohides being "fairer
and taller" and thought of them as perhaps a bit narrower in the face as well,
so it would describe Pippin and Frodo (and possibly Merry, being half Took and
his Brandybuck side descended from Tooks, though the Brandybucks probably
mingled some with the other hobbits in their area—what a story that
would make! The move from Tookland to
Buckland...), though the average hobbit has broad cheeks and a good-natured,
rather than handsome, face.
Another chapter of "Runaway" is in the works and you'll see it as soon as we
can get it finished (Thanks, Jodancingtree!). Thank you for your patience.
***
Chapter
3. Evil, Personified
Taking
her dinner, Lobelia returned to Fredegar Bolger's side. He was sleeping
peacefully, she was glad to see. It was probably the first time in weeks that
he had a blanket and a full belly. She sipped her swill and chewed her crust while
considering her next move. She'd have to keep a close watch on the ruffians,
she decided. They were not at all trustworthy, to her thinking.
Accordingly, she settled down just inside the doorway of Freddy's cell and
arranged herself comfortably, propped up against the wall with a clear view of
the corridor. She'd see any ruffians coming in, especially since they
apparently kept the torches burning at all times, day or night.
She dozed, finally.
Old hobbits are light sleepers, wakening easily at the smallest sound. In
addition, they don't seem to need much sleep at night, although the daytime
naps might account for this. In any event, Lobelia was awakened by a soft
footfall in the corridor outside.
Lifting her head, she saw the ruffian chief stop outside the cell opposite,
duck inside, and emerge with a small figure in his arms. He walked softly down
the corridor, heading inwards. Lobelia walked more softly behind him, umbrella
at the ready. He stopped at the hole leading down to the next level, and she
realised he was going to drop the limp hobbit into it.
'STOP!' she shrieked, her voice echoing through the corridor. 'IF you drop him,
I'll RUN you THROUGH!' she continued, poking her umbrella into the tender part
of his back, right about where one of his kidneys would be found.
He had nearly dropped young Robin Smallfoot anyhow in his shock, but he managed
to keep hold of the hobbit tween, just barely.
'I will not even ASK what you think you are doing,' Lobelia snarled, 'for I
have a very good idea. You were dumping a hobbit like refuse, when I can
clearly see he still lives and breathes.'
The chief stood silently, still holding Robin, uncertain as to his course.
'I won't tell anyone what I just witnessed,' Lobelia said, 'if you take him right
back to his cell. I'd imagine even Sharkey would take a dim view of his
prisoners disappearing down a hole when he'd not got his full measure of
gloating in.'
The chief shot her a startled glance. The old biddy didn't miss a thing, he
gathered.
'That's right,' she said. 'I know he keeps them here as pets, like dogs that he
may come and kick whenever he likes. You have some ninety-seven hobbits here, I
understand. He keeps count, you know. I've heard Him talk.'
The chief had no doubt that she had heard Sharkey talk about his captive
hobbits. The Chief did come around on occasion, just as she said, visiting the
creatures and taking pleasure in their wretchedness.
'Let this be a warning to you,' Lobelia said. Meeting her stare, the thought
occurred to the chief ruffian, and not for the first time, that Sharkey might
have sent Lotho's mum to the Lockholes in order to spy on the Men there. He'd
better watch his step. Noticing his hesitation, she snapped, 'Put him back!'
The chief ruffian nodded, admitting defeat, and returned Robin to his cell,
Lobelia hobbling along behind him, umbrella handy.
Coming out of the cell again, he found Lobelia standing, umbrella at the ready.
'Now how about those blankets?' she snapped.
'Coming right up,' he answered, and went to keep his promise.
***
The next morning, Lobelia bathed Fredegar's hot face with more cool water, then
decided to sponge his body for good measure. She pulled his shirt open and
barely suppressed a gasp, seeing the festering wounds there from half-healed
whip slashes. There was bruising, as well. He had evidently suffered more than
one beating. The wounds would have to be cleaned or the infection would kill
him. As gently as possible, she dabbed at the injuries, crooning softly
whenever he winced at the touch.
His right hand, too, was worrisome, the fingers twisted and bent in ways
fingers ought not to be. She used some of the rags to wrap the hand gently,
giving the poor distorted fingers support, to keep them from catching on the
blanket and causing him further pain. Even her gentlest ministrations were not
gentle enough, wringing from him a moan, and tears came to her eyes.
She sniffed, and raised her head to see a ruffian in the doorway with a bucket.
'Tea,' he said uncertainly.
'That had better be HOT,' she retorted.
'Yes'm,' he said meekly, advancing into the room to fill both cups. Steam rose
reassuringly from the bucket and the cups, and she grimly nodded thanks.
'Here, lad,' she said, holding one of the cups to Fredegar's lips. 'They call
this "tea". It's hot, at least, so drink up.' She managed to get the whole
cupful into him, and as he let his head fall back, he sighed.
'There's a lad,' Lobelia said. 'They tell me you gave the name "Sandy", so that
is what I'll call you.'
'My name is Number seventy-four,' he whispered. Her eyes widened with horror;
they'd taken away the hobbits' names? Even the made-up name Fredegar had
assumed, they'd taken that away and given him a number to call himself?
Abominable!
'Sandy,' she said firmly.
He reached weakly to grasp her arm. 'They'll beat you,' he said desperately.
'My name is Number seventy-four.' His worry for her was pathetic, and
shattering. He wasn't afraid of the consequences for himself, but beside
himself that she would come to harm, for calling him by name, a proper hobbit
name at any event, and not by a ridiculous number.
She snorted. 'I'd like to see them try, the ninnies! Don't you worry your
fevered head about me, Sandy. You'd do better worrying about those louts of
ruffians. Why, when I get through with them...' She was completely and utterly
disgusted with Sharkey and his Men, and she intended to give him a piece of her
mind next time she saw him. Perhaps she'd give him a piece of her umbrella, as
well.
However, Sharkey seemed to be busy about other things. It was some time before
he came to gloat over his helpless prisoners, and Lobelia made good use of the
time.
By dint of constant supervision and much badgering, Lobelia saw to it that each
prisoner had a blanket and twice the food he'd been consuming previously. She
moved from cell to cell with impunity, though most of the hobbits would not
talk to her. She understood why when she'd been conversing quietly with a
hobbit, and after leaving the cell and working her way down the corridor, she
heard him cry out.
Racing unsteadily back to his cell with avenging fury lending speed to her
feet, she found a ruffian administering a beating, snarling at the hobbit that
he'd broken rule number twenty-six, about maintaining peace and quiet.
'I'll give you PEACE and QUIET!' she shouted, applying her umbrella where it
would do the most good. It did not take her long to drive the ruffian away.
After that, she had a little talk with the chief, and the beatings stopped. She
did have to promise, however, that the other hobbits would stay tight inside
their cells, and not talk unless she were talking to them. These conditions
being a great improvement over what had gone on previously, she conceded, for
the nonce.
Fredegar Bolger was improving slowly. Lobelia held him and fed him, making sure
he took all the food allotted him, and when she finished with him, she'd move
to help another hobbit eat, and then another, any who did not have the strength
to feed himself. She found herself spending much of her time with Fredegar,
however, talking to him, trying to bring him back to full awareness.
He was opening his eyes more, these days, and responding to her talk, though he
said very little himself, and still insisted that his name was "Number
seventy-four", despite all her efforts to get him to say otherwise. She didn't
know if he was still trying to protect her, or if he were truly deluded.
Then came the day that she was sitting on the floor of his cell, his head in
her lap, coaxing him to eat of the bread she'd soaked in "soup", and the light
from the torches in the hallway dimmed. A chill seemed to surround her, and she
looked up to see Sharkey standing in the doorway. He appeared as a kindly old
man, grandfatherly, benevolent, but something unpleasant glinted from his black
eyes and she stiffened. He spoke, and his Voice seemed to wrap itself around
her, trying to take hold. 'I'm told you do not care for the facilities here.'
She answered bravely, though her voice quavered with fear. 'The food is
abominable, not suitable for sustaining life, and your ruffians...'
'The food is not intended to sustain life,' his Voice said, amused,
condescending, quite pleased at the opportunity to enlighten this creature, to
make obvious to her the depth of wretchedness she could anticipate. He smiled
kindly, shook his head gently, dismissing her as a naughty little hobbit lass,
ungrateful to her generous and loving benefactor. 'It is merely intended to
prolong life, for a time, in the greatest misery possible. Death by slow
starvation is exquisite torture, would you not say? And most suited to hobbits,
in my opinion.' Fredegar stirred in her arms. Her breath came short, her eyes
were wide as she fought to throw off the spell woven by his words.
Her arms tightened about the hobbit she called "Sandy" as she sat tense and
silent, enduring the scrutiny of the wizard's intense gaze. Finally, the wizard
released her from her thrall, smiled warmly, patted her head with his hand, and
glided silently away. She sat stiff a moment more, then relaxed, bowed her
head, and let fall the tears she had held back since her first sight of the
Lockholes and the hobbits buried alive there.
When she found her voice again, all she said was, 'Evil. Pure evil that one is.
I pray he comes to a fitting end.'
She took a shaky breath, and then said in her normal tones, 'Come now, lad,
this bread is going wanting.' She clenched and unclenched her fist until it
stopped its trembling, picked up some sopping bread, and touched it to
Fredegar's lips. 'Come, take another bite.'
After she'd finished feeding him, she laid him down, tucked the blanket
carefully around him, and got up. She peered cautiously from the door, but
there was no sign of the wizard. He was well gone, then, and good riddance. She
emerged into the corridor, squaring her shoulders, resisting the urge to creep
along the wall like a frightened mouse.
Lobelia visited several more prisoners, and then settled again by Fredegar's
side to eat her own supper. Some time after finishing, her head dropped onto
her chest and she began to snore, though her hand kept a tight grip on her
umbrella.
Ruffians silently entered the cell,
taking up the drugged hobbit, carrying her to an empty cell far down the
corridor and laying her within. Lobelia didn't waken at the sound of the hammer
blows. When she did waken, hours later, still clutching her umbrella, she was
at first confused, thinking the torches had gone out. She felt her way across
the floor, not finding Fredegar as she'd expected. That was odd. She fetched up
against a wall and felt her way along to a rounded corner. She kept going along
a shorter span to another rounded corner. This was very odd indeed. She felt
her way along another wall of smooth stone, to fetch up against the roughness
of splintery wood. Feeling upwards and down, then side to side, she realised
what had happened. Boards had been nailed across the entrance of this cell, a
cell empty except for herself, not even food and water left to her. She was
alone in the dark, and there was no way out.
