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 who prefers to work behind the scenes.)
Thanks for the comments! How do you like your tea?
Aemilia Rose, it was sad. Frodo wasn't homeless, exactly, as he still had
Crickhollow. But Crickhollow wasn't exactly home.
Xena, it seems to me that re-setting broken bones, with the type of pain
control they had in their technology, wouldn't be a good idea right now. You're
right, Farmer Cotton has changed his tune towards Freddy, but then Freddy has
changed a lot as well, going from ne'er-do-well to bold freedom-fighter under
the ruffians.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone who will be celebrating on the morrow.
Another chapter of "Runaway" will be ready to post on Saturday, I think;
another is in the works and you'll see it as soon as we can get it finished
(Thanks, Jodancingtree!). We are very close to the end in that story, though I
cannot tell you if the chapter under construction is the last or not. Expect
another chapter of "Small and Passing Thing" the day after tomorrow, if all
goes well. Thank you for your patience.
***
Chapter
8. Suitable for Hobbits
Every hour they coaxed a bit more broth into Fredegar, though it was difficult
to get him to take more than a few sips.
Slow starvation is exquisite torture, Freddy thought. The wizard had
the right of it. The hobbit had
achieved a measure of peace where his belly no longer seemed to remember that
it needed feeding and he had drifted in a fog where nothing really mattered,
but the few sips of broth reminded him of the pleasures of eating and awakened
hunger.
'More?' his mother murmured encouragingly. 'Do have some more, Freddy.'
He turned his head away from the cup she held to his lips. He knew better than
to ask for more.
'Don't force it,' Finch said. 'He's got to get used to eating again, and you'll
only make him sick if you try to give him too much at once.'
Rosamunda set the cup aside with a sigh. 'I suppose you're right,' she said
softly. 'I just want to stuff him full of food, fill out his cheeks, wipe away
those awful hollows under his eyes.'
'One step at a time, my dear,' Odovacar said, patting her gently on the
shoulder.
They wrapped him up well, and each of his rebels laid a hand upon his shoulder
or a brotherly kiss upon his cheek in farewell. 'Bless you, Mr Freddy,' Budgie
whispered. 'We all got through and now we're going home.'
'Home?' Freddy whispered, and his mother stroked his forehead with a smile.
'Yes, my love, we're going back soon,' she said.
'Going back?' Freddy echoed, tears coming to his eyes. So soon? They
were going back to the Lockholes already? He fought the tears down. There was
little enough left to him, at least he could try to be brave, to continue on to
make a good end.
Tears in her own eyes, his mother said, 'Yes, my love, that's right.'
Freddy looked more like a hobbit going to a burial, Frodo thought, frowning
down at his cousin. With sudden insight he said, 'Freddy, we're not going back
to the Lockholes!'
'Not going back?' Freddy whispered, confused. He wished they would make up
their minds. Or was this part of the wizard's torment?
'We're taking you home,' Frodo continued, 'by way of Bywater.'
'Home?' Freddy whispered, closing his eyes, waiting for confirmation. He felt
Frodo squeeze his shoulder.
'Yes,' Frodo said firmly. 'Home. We're taking you back to Budgeford, by easy
stages. You'll be home in time for Year's End.'
Freddy sighed. It was finally finished. He saw now Sharkey's great wisdom, his
benevolent care, though the hobbit had doubted it before. They were taking him
home to bury him, just as the wizard had promised. He'd be home in time for
Yule, Frodo had said.
'Most suited to hobbits,' Freddy muttered.
'What was that, Son?' Odovacar asked.
Death by slow starvation is exquisite torture rang in Freddy's ears,
drowning out the loving voices surrounding him. They were taking him home to
bury him. He welcomed the end.
'Suited,' Freddy said again. No beating followed, so he must have got it right.
***
'Mr Baggins,' a Shirriff said, coming up to them as they prepared to depart. 'I
have a note here for you.'
'A note?' Frodo said, surprised. There wasn't even a Mayor at the moment, for
old Will was too ill to take up his office at present. How had the delivery
service resumed already?
The Mayor's wife had insisted on conveying him home to feed and cosset him.
'I'll let you know when he's ready to be Mayor again,' she'd said decisively.
'You go find yourself another Mayor until then!'
'Perhaps you ought to act as Mayor, Frodo,' Merry had jested, and Frodo hushed
him.
'Don't put ideas in folks' heads,' he warned. 'That wasn't funny.'
'No, it wasn't,' Farmer Cotton said. 'As a matter of fact, it makes quite a bit
of sense.' He regarded Frodo solemnly. 'The Shirefolk look up to you and Mr
Merry and Mr Pippin, and Samwise, for bringing those ruffians down and getting
rid of their Boss,' he said.
'Then you be Mayor,' Frodo said to Merry. 'It was your idea, after all.'
'So sorry, cousin,' Merry said, though he did not sound at all regretful. 'Pip
and I are going to be busy sweeping the rest of the crumbs out the door. It's
up to you and Samwise...'
'Go on, Mr Merry!' Sam said in alarm.
'Very well,' Merry said, taking pity on Sam. 'It's up to you, Frodo. It's your
civic duty and all that.' He brightened. 'I have an idea, cousin! If you'd
rather not be Mayor, just call yourself "Deputy Mayor"!'
'I don't know how to thank you for putting my mind at ease, cousin,' Frodo
retorted, and Merry laughed.
'Give it some thought at least,' Farmer Cotton said, and Frodo reluctantly
agreed to at least do that.
He was brought back to the present moment by the respectful Shirriff. 'Yes,
sir. I was given this note to give to you ere you departed for Bywater.'
'Who gave it to you?' Frodo asked. The Shirriff shrugged. He thought it had
been a hobbit from South Farthing, just from his manner of talking, but the
hobbit hadn't given a name and just as the Shirriff took the note someone else
had claimed his attention and the hobbit had melted away in the crowd.
Frodo turned the note over in his hand, finding his name writ large on the
front in bold, handsome copperplate, vaguely familiar. Alarm stirred in the
back of his brain. Was Lobelia already going back to her old ways? He thought
of all the nasty, pointed, sharply-worded notes she'd sent to him in the past,
suitable for starting fires in more ways than one.
Ah, well, he'd faced Shelob. Surely Lobelia could be no worse. He opened the
note.
Merry, seeing him pale, put a steadying hand on his arm and said, 'What is it,
Frodo? Bad news?'
'Lobelia's given Bag End back to me,' Frodo said faintly.
'At a "bargain price", I'm sure,' Merry said dryly.
'No, freely given,' Frodo repeated in wonder.
'Give me that,' Merry said, taking the note from Frodo and perusing the
contents. He whistled low. 'Just what did those ruffians do to her?'
At Sam's enquiring look, Frodo said, 'She says she'll spend the rest of her
days with her people, the Bracegirdles.' He shook his head, blinking away a
tear. 'She apologised for the sorry state of the smial, offered to pay
to have it restored.' He took a deep breath and let it out again. 'When first
I'd come back to the Shire, I feared that the ruffians had ruined everything.
Now I see that Shirefolk have changed, and not all for the worse.' He
looked to Merry. 'There will be a Shire again,' he concluded.
'Of course there will be,' Merry said stoutly. 'We'll see to it, of course. No
doubt about it.' Sam nodded. He was in full agreement.
