Chapter 9: Welcome Home

Over the splatter of the storm, Frodo heard the old wooden clock on the mantle. His captors passed in front of it several times as they paced the room, peering through the window now and again. While Frodo admitted the siblings were dangerous, he didn't fear him as he did orcs or goblins or even the older and war-hardened Ruffians who carried out Saruman's will. He saw them as children, wild reckless children with misplaced anger and suffering. But they were not altogether evil and that thought alone kept him from cowering or trying to flee. He trusted them to keep him alive—for what remained of the next hour, at least.

"Get away from the window, Flint!" Fern cried in exasperation. "All that peaking! Someone's bound to see you."

"Relax, no one's out in this storm." Despite his words, he stepped away from the window, drawing the curtain shut behind him. "He should be here by now."

"I think you're underestimating the distance," Frodo said. "It's a fair walk to Bag End. We hobbits are shorter than you, and take longer to get places, especially in such foul weather."

"No one asked you," Flint snapped.

"He's right," Fern agreed. "There's no need to worry yet."

"Oh take the prisoner's side why don't you!"

"I'm not taking anyone's side, Flint, I'm just using common sense." Fern huffed. She pulled a wooden chair from the table and dropped into it, barely fitting between the armrests. "If Pa were here, he'd say wait. Running in hot-headed will do no good, he'd say."

Flint snorted. "That wasn't Pa, that was Ma. Pa always said do the dirty work quick and savor the fruits of it."

"That doesn't help us at all at the moment."

The two turned away from each other in silence. Frodo glanced from one to the other, than spoke slowly. "Your father seemed like a wise man." Receiving no response, he continued. "What was his name?"

"Rob," Fern turned to him with a glazed look in her eyes. "His name was Rob and he was wiser than I ever gave him credit."

"And your mother? She seemed wise as well."

Fern nodded. "Her name was Claire."

"That's a pretty name. I imagine she was very upset by the news of your father's death."

"She died six years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Frodo spoke sincerely though he had predicted as much. Recent years had proved difficult for even the wealthiest families. The death toll was countlessly higher on the poor. He remembered what it was like to be alone, orphaned. "Is there anyone else you could go to? Any aunts or uncles? Friends of your father's? Anyone who might take you in for the winter?"

"No," Flint said.

Fern looked thoughtful. "There's that squirrely woman, what's her name? The one with the three-legged cat."

"We haven't seen her in years. She's probably dead by now. Even if she isn't, she wouldn't recognize us."

"Where have you been living then?" Frodo wondered. "Since Saruman's downfall, I mean. On your own?"

Fern stuck her chin up. "We're not helpless! We can take care of ourselves."

"I didn't mean to insinuate you couldn't. I was just surprised that you had to, is all. It's tough to have to face the world alone."

"We don't have to," said Flint. "We have each other."

"And once you avenge your father, what then? Where will you go?"

Flint shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

"But it does," Frodo insisted. "A death is no small matter in the Shire. There are warriors in these lands now, Knights of Rohan and Gondor. Some in particular who are on good terms with Farmer Cotton and would suffer his passing greatly."

Flint met his eyes for the first time since Rosie left. "If they have such a distaste for murder, they should have thought twice before killing our father."

Frodo saw the anger in his eyes and remained quiet until the rage seemed to ebb. Then he said in a quiet voice, "I'm sorry your father died. Truly, I am. I'm sorry for all the deaths that occurred in the Shire, and I wish they needn't have happened. But that is the price of war: death. It destroys under the guise of glory. And there is no victory, not fully, for war continues long beyond the battlefield, as you've shown today. The war is over, won or lost, and yet the fighting continues."

"This has nothing to do with war," Flint said. "This is about avenging our father."

"Why did he fight, do you think?"

Flint slammed a hand against the table. It trembled under his strength. "I'm tired of your questions."

Fern turned to Frodo and answered softly, "He just wanted to protect us."

"Then he succeeded," Frodo said. "At least for the moment. If you leave here now, you're under no danger. You're free to go and do as you please beyond the borders of the Shire. But once you take a life in cold blood, fail or succeed, you'll lose that protection. You'll be murderers, outlaws, not just here but all over the land. Is it really worth risking everything your father died for to seek vengeance?"

Flint and Fern looked at one another. The clock on the mantle continued to tick. Fern bit her lip. "He's right, Flint. Him and the girl, they know what we look like."

"Well then," Flint leaned over Frodo menacingly, staring him in the eye. "We'll just have to kill them too."

The door rattled and everyone straightened at once. Fern ran to the window and peered out towards the porch. It had stopped raining but the clouds lingered, brooding overhead in thick grey streaks that sent slivers of light across the floor. Flint ran through them as he leaned over his sister's shoulder. "It's him! It's Farmer Cotton."

Fern hurried towards the door but Flint grabbed her wrist and shook his head. He nodded towards the shadows and Fern sunk back in them in a gloomy sulk. Flint waited until she was hidden before he opened the door. There, on the front porch, stood and old hobbit, drenched and shivering beneath an old cloak. He scowled. "So it's true. My house has been invaded by vermin."

Flint's face-hardened. "Come inside, Mr. Cotton."

"I'll decide when I will or won't go into my own house. You just let my son out first, then I'll come in."

"If you want to see your son, you will come inside, now, and we'll settle this like men."

"I think you'll find that quite difficult, considering I'm a hobbit." The hobbit stepped inside and turned towards the living room. A pale ray of light fell across his face as he caught sight of Frodo. He nodded in greeting.

To Frodo's awe and immediate horror, he saw it was not Farmer Cotton stepping towards him as he had expected, but none other than Paladin Took. What brought the Thain of the Shire all the way from Tookland, he couldn't fathom, but his surprise was clear on his face.

Luckily, his captors mistook it for fear. "Shut your eyes, boy," Flint said. "This won't be a pretty sight. Choose a weapon, old man. We're fighting to the death."

"If it's my death you wish for, you'd be better of killing me outright. I think you'll find me a more skilled warrior than you anticipate." Paladin removed a long silver dagger from his belt.

"Perhaps so, but there's two of us and one of you." There was a moment's silence before he glanced to the shadows. His sister stepped slowly forward, her sword still sheathed.

"Maybe they're right, Flint," she said. "Maybe we should let them go."

"Don't go soft on me now. Leave if you want, or stand by me while I avenge our father. It matters little. I won't fail." He held the tip of his sword to Paladin's throat. "You'll suffer for what you've done."

The Thain raised an eyebrow. "Will I, now? That's funny. From where I stand, it looks like you'll be the one suffering."

At that moment, an arrow whizzed from the back corridor. It flew over the dining room table and landed in Flint's outstretched arm, directly above his elbow. He cried in pain. Paladin seized the moment to tackle the boy, pulling his injured arm behind his back and grasping the other close to his side.

At the same time, the halls were flooded with footsteps. Hobbits appeared at every entrance: Merry, Mr. Cotton, and Sam came running in on the left, while Pippin, Robin, and Rosie charged in on the right. Merry returned his crossbow to his belt where he retrieved a long silver dagger instead. Pippin brandished a similar dagger, while the others had sharp and sturdy tools. Even Rosie, who had never seen battle, stood fiercely in place with a shovel raised steadily towards the intruders.

Those on the right surrounded Fern. She crouched as if preparing to strike. Then, with a final glance at her brother, she dropped her sword and shied back in the corner in surrender. Her brother whimpered as Paladin shoved him on the ground face first. The hobbit brought his dagger up behind him in a flash.

"Spare him!" Frodo cried, getting to his feet. His hands were still bound but he met Paladin's eyes with a fierceness of that of a warrior rather than a prisoner. "Paladin, please, we've made it this far without any blood shed, let's not start now."

Paladin frowned. "He tried to kill us, Frodo. He would have, if our friends hadn't intervened."

"If we punished based on 'if's' we'd all be guilty of murder."

Paladin scowled, but sheathed his weapon. He stepped rather forcefully on the boy's back, holding him in place as Merry bound his wrists. "You're a lucky one, boy. If it was really my son you'd threatened, you would be headless by now."

Sam ran to Frodo's side, begging to know if he was alright and apologizing profusely for leaving him there in the first place.

"Yes, Sam, I'm unhurt," Frodo said with a weary yet genuine smile. "Though if someone doesn't help me get these ropes off my wrists in a few seconds, I do believe my hands will go numb."

Sam saw the ropes were removed immediately. Rosie tossed them into the fireplace to be burnt with the next batch of kindling and moved to the pantry, where she riffled through her mother's medicine cabinetfor an ointment to sooth the red scrapes that covered her and Frodo's wrists.

When she returned, Fern and Flint were standing in the hall with their wrists bound behind them, a hobbit on either side of them. Merry stood across from them, his dagger sheathed, crossbow on his back, hands folded across his chest. Paladin stood near the door with Frodo across from him. All in all, the seven hobbits and two Men formed a rather cramped circle around the hall.

Merry was frowning at Frodo, shaking his head. "With all due respect, Cousin, we can't just let them go. They threatened the Deputy Mayor and the Thain of the Shire!"

"And as Deputy Mayor, their judgment ultimately falls to me. Never before has the Shire dealt out death as punishment, and I won't let it begin under my watch."

"I understand the position this puts you in, Frodo," said Paladin. "But what alternative do we have? Turn them lose so they can strike again when they have an army, when their anger has cooled and they have more wit to their plans?"

"They should be exiled with the others."

"Exiled!" Paladin scoffed. "These are cunning ones. They bribed hobbits to find out about Farmer Cotton and his whereabouts. They broke into his home! What's to keep them from returning and killing us all?"

"We could blindfold them," Pippin suggested. "Take them over the boarders and turn them loose in Bree."

Merry shook his head. "They've already found their way in once, Pip. It doesn't matter where we lead them, they'll surely find their way back."

"Excuse me, Sirs," Rosie stepped forward uncertainly. "I know I don't have a rightful say in the matter, but I have an idea that might work, if you want to hear it."

"Of course you have a rightful say, Rosie," Frodo said. "It was you who suffered most at their hands, after all."

Rosie tried to keep from blushing. "Well, I was just thinking, if they can't be killed and they can't be let go, why don't you see it they get someplace they can go and stay put, if you follow."

Frodo nodded and remained silent a long moment. Just when they thought he wasn't going to reply, he said, "We could send them with the next messengers to Gondor."

"Are we to ship all our prisoners to the king then?"

"Not as prisoners. As workers. They're young, barely tweens by our reckoning. What they need is a place with structure, shelter, provisions… a home."

That was too much for Paladin. "Frodo, lad, I'd heard you'd gone soft, but we can't go making homes for murderers!"

"The children aren't murderers, Paladin. They're lost, confused, and homeless. Their father was their only anchor to the world and with his death, they felt they'd lost everything."

Sam looked to Frodo questioningly. He couldn't help but wonder if Frodo's past was clouding his judgment. His Master was no stranger to losing a parent, both parents. Of course, it must be difficult and perhaps even reason to excuse certain rash actions, but that doesn't extend to murder.

"We can send them to Bree," Merry said. "If it's your wish. Mind you, if they make a single attempt to escape, I'll see to it the guards have no trouble killing them."

"I suppose it will do," said Frodo. "Farmer Cotton, it was, after all, you they were after. Would this punishment satisfy you?"

"I can't say I wouldn't like to see them dead," the old hobbit said, shaking his head slowly. "But you spent more time with them then I did. If it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me."

"Pippin?"

The younger hobbit looked up with the faintest hint of a smile. "I think it's a wonderful idea!"

"That settles it then. Merry, will you inform our prisoners of their sentence?"

Merry returned to the parlor and did as he was asked. Rosie then led Frodo to the small sitting room they'd lent him as a study for the time being and saw that his hand was tended to. The burn marks weren't as severe as hers, for he hadn't struggled, but the skin was still raw and would take some days to heal.

She was just beginning to bandage the burns when Pippin came in. "Hullo, Frodo! Da told me to tell you they're leaving now. He and Robin are escorting the prisoners to Buckland as we speak. Mr. Cotton's sent word to have an escort meet them at the boarder. From there, Merry's arranging for someone to escort them to Bree. He's writing a letter to Butterbur as we speak."

"Good! That will do those children well. I do hope they don't try to escape."

"They won't. Father told them if they put a single foot out of line, he'd shoot them in the back before the second one caught up. He used his intimidating voice too."

Frodo laughed. "I imagine they'll stay put then! Your father can be quite commanding when he wishes."

"And a good thing too! Better scare the kids with threats than have to follow through with them."

"Indeed! We couldn't ask for a finer Thain."

"Or Deputy Mayor," Pippin exclaimed. "I must say, I'm impressed, Frodo. You can actually see the improvements in these parts."

"I'm glad to hear you had such little expectations of me."

Pippin shook his head. "You know that's not what I meant. I saw the progress they've made up at Bagshot Row. Bag End will be fixed up in no time and things will be back to normal."

"Yes," Frodo's voice grew quiet as a far off look crossed his face. "I suppose they shall."

"Cheer up, old friend! I'd have thought you of all hobbits would have had enough of adventures. We could all do with some time to relax and savor our food and drinks. Speaking of which, fancy a drink at the Green Dragon? I'm starving."

Frodo laughed. "Some things never change, do they, Pip? Let's rejoin the others and see what they're up for."

Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay! There will be one more short chapter to wrap this up, then the story will be complete! Reviews are, as always, welcome and much appreciated. Thanks to all of you who have stuck around long enough to read this far!