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WEll, folks, for those who've been wondering what Flinn and Frerin have been up to...

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Chapter 185

~X~

Even though the war was officially over, back in the Shire, Flinn's uneasy feeling only grew. He, Torin, and Frerin had been keeping a watchful eye on Lotho, also enlisting the help of Paladin, Saradoc, but even they were unable to pin him down to any wrongdoing. The dwarves blamed it on the quiet and stealthy nature of hobbits, remembering that this was why Bilbo had originally been chosen as their uncle's burglar. Yet reports of strangers on the edge of the Shire and the scarcity of pipe-weed was becoming a concern.

"Do you think he's smoking it all himself?" Frerin asked one day while the two brothers were walking down the lane. "I mean, I know he bought up a lot of the land in the Southfarthing where they grow the stuff, but what is he doing with it all? Is he stockpiling it, in hopes of driving up the prices and then make a killing off his stash?"

"Who knows, but something's up and I can guarantee that Lotho Sackville-Baggins in right in the thick of things," Flinn huffed. "I just hope Frodo gets home soon, then he, Sam, Merry, and Pippin can set things to right."

"When do you think they'll arrive?" Frerin questioned, having enjoyed their stay in the Shire, but recently began to miss their home very much.

"I'm not sure, but Frodo's last message said sometime in late fall, early winter," he related. "We'd be foolish to try and travel back to Erebor in the snow, so we'll more than likely remain here until spring. Is that soon enough for you, Naddith?"

"Hey, I'm here for as long as you need me to be," he laughed, aware that Flinn had apparently picked up on the younger dwarf's desire to head home. "We came together…we'll leave together. Though with Sauron defeated, I would hope by then the roads would be a bit safer to travel."

"True, but war or no war, safety is never a guarantee," Flinn pointed out. "There's always been danger in one form or another in this world, and while one may be vanquished…there are still plenty out there who might wish to do us harm."

"Well, aren't you a little ray of sunshine today," Frerin laughed, slapping his brother on the back. "Keep it up and you'll be giving old Gandalf a run for his money in the ominous speech department."

"Oh, Mahal," Flinn gasped, taking on a look of mock horror. "I hope not!"

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And so the summer continued on, with nothing of consequence happening…or at least nothing that anyone was aware of. Until, in the last few days of September, the extent of Lotho's treachery became painfully clear to all.

Flinn and Frerin were just leaving Bag End, heading down to the market to do a bit of shopping, when Duff Cotton came running up the path, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Fear, Fire, Foes…Awake!" he called as he went, nearly crashing into the two dwarves as he flew by.

"Hold up!" Flinn ordered, grabbing the frantic hobbit by the arm. "What's this about?"

"Ruffians! A whole passel of them just came up from the Southfarthing!" he explained between gasps for breath. "They claim to be taking over, shoving folks around like they own the place. And their boss, whom they call Sharkey, well, he's taller and scarier than any of them. When I left to spread the word, Mayor Will Whitefoot had tried standing up to them, but they laid hold of him and a few others, trouncing them something terrible. I've got to alert the Thain and the rest of the Shire!" And off Duff ran, screaming at the top of his lungs "Fear, Fire, Foes…Awake!"

"Well, I guess we no longer have to wonder what mischief Lotho has been up to," Flinn seethed, knowing he should have cornered that wretch long ago and beat the truth out of him…but that was not how he had been raised. "But now we need to round up our soldiers, and hope those hobbits we taught can do more than just stab at scarecrows and shoot apples off fences with their bows and arrows."

And so, rushing down to find Torin, the three raced about, locating as many of their students as possible, making sure they were well armed and ready to fight if needs be. They were joined by a handful of others, including Saradoc, Hamfast, and Paladin, the last of which having recently inherited the position of Thain from his late uncle, Ferumbras Took.

When they at last encountered the mob of ruffians near the Bywater Bridge, the foul group was being led by Lotho and a tall man dressed in a long, white robe. Flinn, Frerin, and Tor, had rounded up a total of sixty-eight battle-trained hobbits, and some that weren't trained at all, but each one was willing and prepared to fight. Yet when they got a look at how many they were up against, Flinn worried there might not be enough of them. The mob was an odd bunch, a mixture of burley men, Dunlendings, and even a few that looked like they were part orc. They were brandishing clubs and crudely forged weapons, yet their grim and gnarled faces made them look more formidable than they probably were.

Yet one stood out among the group, a greasy dark-haired man, with rotting teeth and a sallow complexion, hunched over and slightly cowering behind the man in white. He had the look of a dog who had been beaten one too many times by his master, yet still feared to leave his side. Flinn almost felt sorry for him…almost.

The war was supposed to be over, the dwarf prince thought to himself as he sized up their opponents. Yet here they were, faced with a battle nonetheless. Still, Flinn had promised Frodo that he would protect the Shire, and that was exactly what he planned to do.

"Lotho!" Flinn shouted as he drew near. "What's the meaning of this?"

"It's no business of yours, you interloper!" the pinch-faced hobbit stated, pointing his finger at the dwarf in an accusatory fashion, yet even Flinn could see his hand was shaking in fear. It made him wonder if it was due to the hobbits Lotho now faced…or perhaps the gang behind him. "No one wants you, or your kind, here! And I…I aim to see you tossed out on your ear, dwarf!"

"Oh, you do, do you?" Torin growled, hefting his ax in a threatening manner. "And who died and made you the boss around here?"

"No one has died yet, Master…Hobbit?" the tall man stated, looking at Tor with a questioning eye, as if not quite certain of his race. "Yet if you and your friends do not submit to our authority…I can guarantee that there will be bloodshed."

"And just who might you be?" shouted Paladin Took. "As acting Thain, it is my duty to see that the Shire is protected from outside threats such as you!" And while everyone knew that the Thain hadn't truly wielded any significant political authority in many, many years, it now being more of a hereditary position, Paladin nonetheless stood his ground.

"Well, Master Thain, my comrades call me Sharkey…though I have gone by many names in my time," the white bearded man informed them. "The young dwarves here might know me by the name of Saruman the White."

Flinn and Frerin did indeed recognize the name, for Gandalf had spoken of him quite a few times over the years. So this is the wizard who turned traitor and locked up Gandalf in his tower as a prisoner, Flinn thought to himself. And now, here he was wishing to instigate a battle over the ownership of the Shire!

"Ahhh…I see from your expressions that you have heard of me," Saruman said with a sinister smile. "Good, then perhaps we can dispense with this foolishness and all be…friends? As I said, if you do not resist us, we will not be forced to kill anyone." He then drew himself up to his full height and his face grew almost pleasant looking. Yet it was his voice, which came out almost honey sweet, which drew everyone's immediate attention. "Lay down your arms, little hobbits, and go about your business as usual. We will be taking over management of the Shire…all you need do is follow orders. Understand?"

Flinn just stared at the strange wizard, not at all understanding why he thought they would ever agree to such a thing. But to his horror, a few of the hobbits surrounding them actually did just that, laying their swords and bows down on the ground and turning to leave, as if in some sort of trance.

"NO!" Flinn cried, grabbing hold of the nearest one to him and giving him a bit of a shake. "What's wrong with you? Snap out of it! He's tricking you…somehow making you obey him! Stop, all of you…don't listen to him!"

This thankfully had the desired effect, and they did indeed act as if they were waking from some kind of sleep. With looks of anger, they picked their weapons back up and stood firm, ready to defend their homes and families.

"Why are they not listening, Master?" the hunched over man with the sallow complexion asked, cowering back in fear.

"Silence, Grima!" Saruman barked, shoving at the man in anger. He then turned back to Flinn, his expression now hard and irritated. "So…it would appear that your Master Gimli is not the only one immune to my persuasive powers, dwarf," he snarled, recalling how the short, red-bearded member of Gandalf's company had not been affected by his words at Orthanc. He had hoped it was only a chance occurrence…but apparently, dwarves in general are more difficult to sway than simple minded men…or hobbits. Still, Saruman had one final trick up his sleeve…Lotho. So, leveling the now cowering hobbit a stern glare, he prodded him none too kindly with the end of his walking staff.

"Listen…friends," Lotho began, clearing his throat and trying to sound more confident than he was. "I think…I mean, I believe it would be best for all…if we simply did as they say…and…and…give them what they want. No one wants to get hurt, do they?" He then snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye, flinching slightly as he noted the cold look Saruman was still giving him. "Please…please, just do as he says."

"Got yourself into a right good pickle, didn't you, Lotho," Paladin grumbled, recognizing just how afraid the troublesome hobbit appeared. "Not exactly what you originally bargained for…is it?"

"It would be in your best interest to listen to him," Saruman told them all in that eerie sing-song voice of his. But thankfully, the hobbits were now wise to his tricks, and shook off the urge to obey. Thus, when no one made a move to comply…the tall, white-haired man gave a sigh of resignation. "So be it. You can't say you were not warned." And raising his hand, he flicked his wrist, commanding his mob of ruffians to attack.

"STAND FIRM!" Flinn yelled as the vile men charged forward, their weapons raised. "Remember your training…and don't give in to fear!"

The words were barely out of his mouth when the first of the ruffians swung a club at his head. Ducking just in time, the dwarf prince countered with a swing of his own, felling the man in seconds. Frerin was battling as well, with his bow at first, taking out over half a dozen before the battle became too close, and then switching to a sword like his brother. Torin was at their side, proving to all that even though he was a gardener at heart, his father had taught him to use an ax with amazing skill. Dwalin would be keenly proud of his son this day.

Paladin, Saradoc, Hamfast, and the rest of the hobbits were holding their own as well, making the most of the training Flinn, Frerin, and Tor had given them over the past year. Yet, even though they were a bunch of brave lads…the dwarves could see the fear and horror on their faces.

Hobbits were peaceful folk, and battles such as these were nearly unheard of in the Shire. In fact, that last time they were required to take up arms was nearly three-hundred years ago, during the Battle of Greenfields. Yet that fight had been against goblins, where Bilbo's great-grand-uncle, Bullroarer Took, had knocked the goblin king's head off with a wooden club. Legend says that it sailed a hundred yards through the air and rolled down a rabbit hole, thus winning the battle and inventing the game of golf at the same time. Yet this was no game, and Flinn only hoped that the hobbits would come out victorious a second time.

As they continued to fight, striking down foe after foe, the dwarves were dismayed when they spotted several hobbits lying on the ground to their left and right, either wounded or dead. Yet still their brave little soldiers battled on. Their actions had attracted quite a bit of attention, and whether it was from a sense of loyalty, or from Duff Cotton's call to arms, many of the other hobbits began to join in, brandishing pitchforks, axes, and shovels. Some of the braver lasses even picked up handfuls of rocks and began pelting the ruffians from a safe distance, causing them great pain, and distracting them so that their opponents could attack.

Flinn kept a close eye on his brother, knowing that Frerin was no slouch when it came to a fight, but he was not about to let his naddith get hurt. He had always protected Frerin…and he was not about to stop now.

The battle went on for what felt like forever, yet in truth it was over rather quickly. The ruffians had not expected the hobbits to fight back, and some even turned tail and ran when they saw that their forces were becoming depleted. Through it all, Saruman stood to the side, letting the others do his work for him. Yet when things began to go ill for his side, even he began to swing his wooden staff left and right, fending off the ever advancing Shirelings.

In the end, as the last of the ruffians fell, and the only ones left standing were the dwarves, hobbits, and the now enraged wizard, a hush fell over the meadow.

"Surrender, Saruman!" Flinn ordered, breathing hard from the energy he had just expended against their foe. "You have lost."

"Oh, how little you know of my kind, dwarf!" the vile man spat out. "I am of the Istari…I cannot be defeated."

"Well…I hate do break it to you, chum," Frerin stated, looking around at the men who were lying around him, most dead, but a few still moaning from their wounds. "But it looks like you are."

"I say you best hike up that skirt of yours and high-tail it out of here, if you know what's good for you," Torin instructed, pointing his ax at the strange fellow.

For a moment, it looked like Saruman would comply, his eyes darting to and fro, as if looking for any means of reprisal. Yet all he had left in his arsenal was his voice…and that had no effect on the dwarves. Then, his eyes narrowed, and he seemed to become even more enraged, if that was at all possible.

"You think you've won?" he spat. "You have no idea what awaits you and all your kind. The Dark Lord might be vanquished, but I will never surrender!" And before any could even blink, Saruman drew a small blade from beneath the folds of his cloak, and threw it directly at Flinn.

The dwarf prince had amazing reflexes, but even he was unable to fully avoid the missile heading right for him. Jerking to the side, he managed to avoid taking the dagger to the chest like it had been intended, and instead felt it imbed in his shoulder, causing him to drop one of his blades as he stumbled backwards.

"FLINN!" Frerin cried, rushing to his brother's side and grabbing him around the waist to steady him.

"I'm…I'm all right," he hissed through clenched teeth, doing his best to focus his eyes on the knife sticking out of his flesh. He was seeing spots, and the pain was quite intense…yet he knew he had to hold it together.

The hobbits around him had moved forward, pointing their blades and spears at the assailant, angered by his cowardly attack on their dwarf leader. Some might have even struck him down for the offense, but one word from Flinn stopped them.

"Enough!" the wounded prince cried out. "No more killing!"

"You choose to show me mercy?" Saruman questioned, looking at Flinn as if he were some insignificant bug he wanted to squash. "That is rather unusual for your race, is it not? Dwarves are not known for the forgiving nature."

"Oh, trust me," Flinn seethed, stepping out of Frerin's hold and facing his attacker with hate in his eyes. "Dwarves never forgive, and they never forget. Yet I'm willing to give you one final opportunity to walk away alive. I hold no loyalty to you, but I'm willing to let you live out of respect for another of your kind…for Gandalf. Killing you now might cause more trouble than you're worth, and I would prefer to let a member of your own order deal with you." Flinn lifted his good arm and pointed his blade at the villain. "You have spilled both hobbit and dwarf blood this day, and though my friends are normally peaceful in nature, I promise that you will find no further clemency here…from anyone. NOW GO!"

This time the wizard heeded the dwarf's words, knowing that he was beaten. And whether Saruman was even then planning some other form of retribution, or simply wished to slink off and lick his wounds, Flinn and the hobbits never found out. For as the wizard turned to leave, a hand came out from among the fallen ruffians, grabbing hold of his long robes.

"Master…please…help me," came the raspy voice of the one called Grima, who was now lying among the slain. He had one of Frerin's arrows sticking out of his chest, and from the looks of him, he would not survive for long. "Don't…don't leave me…master."

"You are food for the birds, Grima," Saruman sneered. "You have always been a disappointment to me, and I have no further use for you." And as if to emphasize his words, he kicked the man's hand away, a look of disgust at the sight of the bloody print he had left on his robe.

As the dwarves and hobbits watched, something inside Grima seemed to snap, and with what Flinn could only assume was his last ounce of strength, the wounded man rose up on shaky legs and lunged at his former master. All who were standing around grimaced in horror as Grima pulled the bloody arrow from his own body and leapt onto Saruman's back with a snarl, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his head back with a violent jerk. Before any could even think to stop him, Grima brought the head of the arrow across the wizard's throat, slicing it open and leaving his former master to jerk and twitch as he fell to his knees, his life's blood quickly draining from the open wound.

Frerin - ever a doctor at heart - made a lunge for the dying man, but Torin held him back, knowing that with a slice that deep, there was no way to save him. It had apparently been Grima's final act, for as he rolled off of Saruman's back, he fell to the ground and never moved again. Yet, oddly enough, he died with a grim smile upon his face, having paid his master back for every foul deed he had ever committed against him.

However, the body of Saruman began to shrivel and shrink, withering like a grape in the sun until even his bones had turned to mere dust - which blew away with the lightest breeze. Yet where his blood had stained the ground, all the grass and vegetation began to dry up and turn black, looking as if it had been scorched by a devastating fire. As the hobbits and dwarves watched the area grow, they all began to step backwards, unwilling to let such a blight touch them. Finally, after covering a patch of ground several yards in every direction it ceased, at last coming to a halt. A foul odor rose up from it, causing everyone to turn away in disgust. It was an ugly reminder of what had just taken place, yet that was nothing compared to the sight of the injured hobbits around them…or worse yet, the ones that would never move again.

"Well…it is done," Flinn stated in a sad voice, wincing as he held the blade still imbedded in his shoulder. "We need to see to the wounded." He could not tell how many were dead, or merely injured, but he prayed that the number of the slain was low.

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Many of the other hobbits had begun to search through the fallen, helping the ones up who could still stand, while calling for litters to transport the others that couldn't. Doctor Boffin and Drogo Baggins arrived quickly, and began tending to the wounded, while another group respectfully removed those beyond help to a nearby shelter, with sheets placed over the still bodies. All in all, they had lost a total of eight, which was far less than expected with having been pitted against such a fearsome foe. But Flinn, Frerin, and Tor had trained their recruits well, and thankfully, skill won out over strength this day.

Paladin and Saradoc appeared to have come through with only a few minor cuts and scratches, but Hamfast had taken a club the his leg, causing the older hobbit to now be among those requiring medical attention.

Among the dead ruffians, they found Lotho, curled up into a ball and covering his head with his arms as he shook with fear. One of the dead men had fallen on top of him, and more than likely that was what had saved the poor hobbit's life. When it was determined that he was uninjured, the traitorous hobbit was quickly taken to the jail house, along with any of the ruffians who had not been slain. They would contact the magistrate in Bree and request that he come take the big-folk off their hands. But Lotho Sackville-Baggins would be spending a very long time in the Shire's lock house, repenting of his sins and making restitution for the harm he had caused. Even Lobelia found that she couldn't stand to look at her own son, turning her back on him when he reached out to her as he passed. For the first time, in as long as anyone could remember, the hobbits found a reason to be proud of Lobelia's behavior.

"Come on, Flinn," Frerin begged, at last getting his brother to leave the battlefield and easing him down against a nearby tree. "Let me take a look at this."

"No, I can wait," he insisted. "Help the others first."

"You're my brother, for Mahal's sake!" Frerin fumed, pulling a knife out of his belt and cutting Flinn's tunic away so he could get at the wound. "If you think I'm leaving your side before I know for sure you're going to live, well, you don't know me very well, now do you?"

"Oh, I know you better than anyone, Naddith," Flinn chuckled, regretting it when the action jiggled the blade in his shoulder.

"Then shut your gob and let me do my work!" the younger dwarf ordered.

"Fine…you can patch me up," he agreed, leaning his head back against the tree trunk, shutting his eyes. "Just please…do me a favor, Frerin," he all but begged.

"Of course," the younger dwarf agreed, looking at his brother with concern in his eyes. "Anything."

"Don't tell Ama about this," Flinn said, a bit of a grin touching his lips. "If she finds out, she'll kill me for sure."

"And deservedly so, I should say!" Frerin grumped, taking hold of the blade with one hand and bracing Flinn's shoulder with the other. "Now hold still, this is going to hurt…a lot."

Unfortunately…Frerin didn't lie.

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Two days later, most of the Shire turned out to honor those who had perished in what they were now calling the Battle of Bywater. Even Mayor Whitefoot had recovered enough to speak a few words over the fallen. Flinn and Frerin stood off to the side, allowing those who knew and loved the deceased the best to gather up front. It was a somber time for the usually boisterous hobbits, a single funeral for this great a number was relatively unheard of, and many left the graveside weeping over the loss.

Flinn, Frerin, and Torin stood there long after the others had shuffled back to their homes. They did not speak, and they certainly did not smile, they just stood there and tried to remember the faces and names of all they had just buried. Ned Proudneck, Morton Took, Bernie Burrows, Will Bracegirdle, Carl Took, Rowan Brandybuck, Olo Chub, and Hugo Bolger - the last being the youngest of the three brothers who traveled to Erebor to learn the art of metal-work. The rest who had sustained injuries in the battle would eventually heal…or at least their bodies would. Flinn began to wonder if one ever truly got over such a tragedy.

"Their deaths are a blow to everyone," Torin stated at last, breaking the silence. "Yet it would have been much, much worse if you had not been here to train and lead them, Flinn. You saved a lot of lives, as well as the Shire itself."

"It doesn't feel that way," he said with a sigh, his arm still wrapped in a sling, though Frerin assured him he would heal nicely. "I feel like I let Frodo, and everyone else, down. This was not supposed to happen."

"None of the terrible things that happen were ever meant to be," Frerin spoke up, laying his hand gently on his nadad's good shoulder. "But you can't blame yourself for that. All we can do is hold to our promise, to defend the Shire and keep it safe for Frodo when he comes home. And we have accomplished that."

"Aye, that you did, lads," came the voice of Hamfast Gamgee, limping his way up behind them, now forced to use a cane in order to walk until his leg healed. "Everyone is still broken up about what happened, but when they begin to think clearly again, they'll be thanking the three of you for the part you played in protecting them. It was no small deed, and we are very grateful to each of you."

"The Shire is my home too," Tor insisted. "Of course I would fight for it."

"And Frerin and I have loved your lands since we were dwarflings," Flinn told the older hobbit. "It would have been unthinkable to stand by and watch it being taken over by a crazed wizard and a bunch of ruffians."

"Still…we owe you much for your brave deeds," Hamfast assured them, placing his hand on Tor's shoulder for support. "Now…how about you help an old gaffer down to his home? Bell will be serving up dinner real soon, and you three are more than welcome to join us."

"While I'm happy to aid you to your home," Torin said with a smile. "I fear I must decline your kind invitation. Holly and little Fundin will be expecting me, but I thank you for the offer nonetheless."

"Very well, you're excused then," he said with a knowing grin. "Mustn't keep the wife waiting on ya." He then turned and looked at Flinn and Frerin. "How about you two lads, can't imagine either one wishing to cook this late in the day, especially with that bum wing of yours. Care to dine on a good home-cooked meal for a change?"

"I, for one, would be delighted!" Frerin stated, his mouth already starting to water at the thought of Bell Gamgee's freshly baked rolls and creamy churned butter. "How about you, Flinn?" he asked, looking at his brother hopefully.

"I…I think an evening among friends would do me good," he agreed, forcing a smile to grace his lips. Flinn knew it would take more than one night of good food and conversation to get him out of his melancholy state…but it was a start.

And every long journey begins with a single step.

And there we have it folks, the Scouraging of the Shire...at least my version. ha ha.

I know that in the book, Lotho bought Bag End from Frodo when he left on his journey, and then he began to make everyone call him the Boss, brought in the ruffians, and used them to help him hold his power. He had been selling food and pipe-weed to the Saruman's men at Orthanc (remember the food and stuff Merry and Pippin found in the storehouses after Treebeard attacked it?) and that is how he became under the wizard's thumb. Saruman technically didn't show up till later, after Treebeard let him leave Orthank, but I figured that with Flinn and Frerin (and Tor) in the Shire, they would never have let Lotho get that far, or make such a mess of things before Saruman and Grima did arrive. So I ended up having it all happen at once. AND did anyone notice I let Lotho live, and NOT be eaten by Wormtongue? ha ha.

Now, since all the fighting is over by the time Frodo and the others come h ome, they can indeed ride into the Shire like the did at the end of the movie, all dressed up in fancy clothes with everyone just staring at them in shock. And that makes me much more happy than them coming home to a cut down party tree and Bagshot Row all dug up and Sam's Gaffer turned out on the street.

Guest Reviews:

Feu d'Argent: Ha ha, well, I'm not going to take all the credit for the Arwen and Tauriel thing...I had plenty of others who asked if I was going to touch on it. It was hard to find two who were not related too closely, so Raina and Pippin just seemed the perfect match. Merry is Raina's cousin by blood, while Pippin is only by marriage and distantly at that. Yep, Raina inherited her father's stubbornness and sense of direction. Ha ha, yes, I guess Raina and Pippin are covering hobbit, elf, dwarf, and men. ha ha. Too funny. There are just built in vilains...and the Sackville-Baggins is one of them. Thanks!

Guest: I didn't think of it till just recently either! But Raina and Pippin just work! Ha ha, maybe Thorin will like Pippin then BECAUSE he reminds him of Kili? Yes, having Raina in the Shire would be good for Thorin and Mari, and with Rose and Nain nearby. Yep, back to the Shire I went with this chapter. And Bergie needs to get her hands on BOTH her grandbabies! (as soon as the second one is born) Thanks.