Many Meetings and Umbrella Whacks

by request of Tinuneth (and also including Saiorse7's request for the meeting between Lobelia and Gimli)

*/*/*/*

Lobelia was none too comfortable, sitting at the table with all these elvish folk and that Strider, not to mention the dwarves. She had been placed right beside one dwarf; he had an immense beard and apparently thought showing off his riches would impress people. The gold chain around his neck, and the gold rings set with diamonds, didn't impress her a bit, though. She tried not to look at him as she ate. The food would have been much better if she didn't feel as though everyone was looking at her with those sly looks; elves were the worst for sly looks and supercilious glances.

Well, she wouldn't bother about them. If they didn't want her here, then they should have just said so. She would certainly never have had them to tea in her home. She sniffed and took a bite of the chicken dish (at least, she thought it was chicken; hard to tell with these outlandish dishes covered in all sorts of herbs she'd never heard of).

"And so you are a … relative of Bilbo's?" The dwarf was talking to her. She rolled her eyes ever so slightly (and felt a bit of pride that she could do so without it being noticed) and turned towards the speaker. She kept her nose tilted up as she looked at him.

"Yes, I am a Sackville-Baggins," she said, with entirely pardonable pride. "The Sackville side has a long and respectable history. If you'd like, I could recite the family tree twenty generations back, beginning with Bogtho Sackville. His mother was a Hardbox; that family has died out now; it ended with the most unfortunate death, by lightning strike, of Drolo Hardbox before he had married, and having no brothers or cousins to carry on the family name, naturally that line became extinct at once. But back to the Sackvilles …"

"It's all very interesting, I'm sure," the dwarf said in a patronizing tone. "But to tell you the truth, I was most interested in what brought you here with your … ?"

"My son." Lotho might be a bit of a fool, but he was worth ten of these dwarves, that was certain. "We came with Gandalf, the, er, the wizard." She had been about to say 'the old meddler' but had thought better of it at the last second. "On important business. I can't speak of it right now."

"Ah, your son." The dwarf smiled, his smile even more condescending than his tone. "I have also brought my son with me. His name is Gimli. I am rather proud of him, though, between the two of us, I think he has just a bit too much temper. Shall I introduce you?"

Lobelia nodded as regally as she could. The dwarf (was his name Bloin or some such; she couldn't remember, nor did she care) motioned to the other dwarf, who sat a ways down the table.

Gimli came closer with a foolish look on his face that she couldn't read, nor did she want to. Dwarves were an alien species and most likely didn't have hobbit emotions to speak of.

For the next age-long hour the dwarves plied her with utterly nonsensical questions, most of them relating to Bilbo. She answered as coldly and politely as she could, but her temper was rising. Her hand itched for her umbrella, which she had foolishly left in her room. The tipping point was Gloin turning to her just as the dessert was served.

"Did Bilbo leave his nephew, Frodo, in good health?"

"Good health!" she snorted. "It's been many a long year since the Bagginses were in good health. Thanks to you dwarves, who dragged him off on that adventure, where he left all his wits and good sense behind in some cave I suppose. I do assure you that I am here under extreme duress and in no way desire to be the subject of an adventure."

Here she found that the entire dinner party had stopped talking and eating and was watching the exchange with expressions of interest and amusement. All except Gandalf, whose brow was positively thunderous. Well, let it be.

Troin looked at her. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation … at a later date?" he suggested. Probably trying to be tactful, and even more probably not wishing to continue at any further date.

"Of course," she said, and then with immeasurable grace, "I hope that I did not offend with my words."

He did not reply. Everyone went back to eating. The sly, superior glances became much more apparent.

*/*/*/*

The gardens in Rivendell were not much to Lobelia's liking. They were too grand and airy. But Lobelia walked in them anyways, anxious to escape the atmosphere of the dinner party. She kept her umbrella hooked over her arm and pointedly ignored every elf who happened upon her.

Around a bend she suddenly came upon the two dwarves. Their names slipped from her mind again, but her dislike for them grew. The older one frowned and walked away, but the younger one stayed. He happened to be right in her path.

"Excuse me," she said. "I am out for a stroll … alone."

He did not move away, but gave her his arm. "I have always wished to hear more about Bilbo," he said in an eager tone. "My father has told me much about his adventures, but you knew him before he went away, and afterwards too. Would you greatly mind telling me some things about him? He's a legend amongst the dwarves, and I never thought I would meet someone who was related to him. In fact, except for when Bilbo visited us some years ago, I have never met a hobbit."

Lobelia let him go on in this insufferable manner, but the umbrella was handy this time.

"Gladly," she said through gritted teeth. "Nothing delights me more than singing the praises of my intolerable cousin." With a deft movement, she slipped her arm from Gimli's (ah, yes, that was his name), unhooked her umbrella, and dealt him a swift blow to the side of the head.

He was a bit taller than Frodo, so she didn't quite get the temple; but nevertheless he dropped like a stone (a large, hairy stone), out cold.

Lobelia could hardly help laughing. The oaf, apparently he hadn't the sense to know when to get out of her way as his father had.

She slipped the Ring on and walked down the path a ways so as to be free of suspicion. After all, a blow to the head would most likely knock all memory of the event out of his mind.

*/*/*/*

The Council of Elrond had gone on and on and on. Lobelia stole a glance at Gimli. He had a nasty bruise on the side of his face, where you could see it underneath that ridiculous beard. He kept giving her suspicious glances. She shrugged. Soon he would be gone, back to his home, and she would never have to see him again.

"We must send the Ring to the fire!"

Elrond's words pulled her out of her own thoughts. The fire? What fire was he talking about? Gandalf had said no fire could harm… ahhh, they must mean that mountain of fire, the one way out East where the Ring was forged.

She turned her attention back to ignoring the council until Gandalf said,

"But surely Lobelia cannot go alone."

"Certainly not." Elrond gave her a hard stare. "Though she has no right to expect help from any one present, with the behavior she has displayed, this quest is greater than she is."

"One moment." She had obviously missed something important. "Do you mean that I am to go to the … the mountain? Look at all these strong young elves, surely one of them can do it. I refuse to go a step further. I'm too old for all this, even if I wanted to go on adventures, which I don't."

The elves all recoiled in horror at her words. Cowards, the lot of them.

"Do you then give up the Ring?" Elrond asked.

"Well." She ran her finger around the edge of the Ring in her pocket. "Your house is safe enough. Why should the Ring go anywhere else, I should like to know."

Elrond's face was as eloquent as an eye-roll. "We have been speaking of this matter for hours," he said, in a tone far too patient. "We must destroy the Ring or this place will no longer be safe."

"So you want me to risk my life so that you can stay here in comfort, is that it?"

"Lobelia," Gandalf warned.

"Look at me!" she went on. "I am in my nineties. Oh, that may not sound old to all you long-lived folk, but I practically have one foot in the grave. I have already taken at least ten, perhaps twenty, years off my life just getting here in one piece. And let me tell you …"

"Lobelia!" Gandalf's tone was more insistent. She ignored him.

"I don't know where this mountain is. Nor could I climb it if I did. I'm a Sackville-Baggins. We don't go in for adventures, like some I could name whose blood is tainted by Tooks or Brandybucks. Yes, Bilbo, I mean you, you old fool."

"LOBELIA SACKVILLE-BAGGINS!" Gandalf thundered.

He had interrupted her one too many times. She turned on him, righteous anger sizzling in her veins. He had risen and was coming towards her. Without a second thought she took her umbrella, stood on tiptoe, and thwacked him full on the forehead.

It was not a very devastating blow, as she could not leverage the full weight of the umbrella at such a height, but it stopped him in his tracks. The whole assembly grew quiet as Gandalf drew his hand across his brow and brought his fingers away wet with a few drops of blood. That umbrella-tip did have a sting.