1. The Burial
20 Thrimidge, 1420
Hardbottle
She knew him the moment he first arrived. Apart from the height, the unusually dark hair, and those startlingly blue eyes that Aunt Lobelia had always complained about he had a quiet air of authority and dignity which seemed to set him apart from every other hobbit there. She watched as he and his companion threaded their way through the masses of Bracegirdles, Hardbottles, Toesys, Hornblowers, and countless other relations and claimed a pair of empty chairs along the far wall. How everyone glared at him with that special Bracegirdle glare reserved especially for Frodo Baggins, who'd denied Lobelia's claim to Bag End for so long. His companion glared angrily back at them as if daring anyone to make them move, but Frodo never even appeared to notice, instead staring at the plain oak box not five feet to his left.
Belle felt her hazel eyes welling with tears at the thought of that box and impatiently brushed them away. She'd already cried for three days, today she wanted to have some self-control. At least until after the burial, she thought.
She brushed away more tears and then resumed her study of the Master of Bag End. The hobbit's face was almost white, making his strange eyes even more obvious. Even his lips were pale and she noticed that he appeared to be speaking to the coffin. With a wry smile he turned to his companion and whispered something. His friend shot him a look of concern, but he deflected the look with a word and a careless wave of his hand. The friend resumed his overprotective glaring, but now he gently rested his hand on Frodo's shoulder and every so often looked at him in concern when he thought Frodo wouldn't see it. Belle found herself wondering about the other fellow. He looked like a normal enough hobbit -honey brown hair, stocky, sun-browned and sturdy- probably a common Harfoot from all indications. There definitely appeared to be a close bond between the pair though. Could this be the magnificent Meriadoc whom everyone talks about? she wondered.
Of course, from what everyone said Meriadoc was the son of the Master of Buckland and should be more used to wealth and opulence than this nervous hobbit seemed to be. He almost looked as if he was afraid to put his full weight on either the chair or the carpet. On the other hand, who knew what things were truly like on the wrong side of the Brandywine. Maybe they weren't really as wealthy as everyone thought.
A hand rubbing her back brought her out of her musings and she looked up to see her brother Largo gazing down at her, his brown eyes filled with compassion and his gingery curls in a terrible disarray. He must have been pulling at his hair again. Belle smiled in spite of herself.
"How are you holding up?" Largo whispered.
She gave him a crooked smile and said, "Well enough."
"What were you looking at?" He followed her gaze across the room and his eyes narrowed at the sight of the pair. "So," he muttered, "he did have the audacity to show up."
"Well, you did invite him," she whispered. Largo snorted softly.
"Who's that with him?" Belle asked. "That's not the Meriadoc that everyone talks about, is it?"
"Hardly," her brother answered. "That's just his servant."
Belle raised her eyebrows in surprise. "He dresses rather well for a servant," she defended herself, but she did see the roughness and commonness beneath that fine waistcoat now that Largo had mentioned it.
"So Baggins brought his servant," Largo mused aloud. "I think that I'll go have a talk with him. Excuse me, my dear."
Belle watched as Largo made his way over to the outsiders, and then a bothersome cousin came over to visit and she didn't see anything more of Mr Baggins for what seemed like hours except for a very brief time when he had taken her left hand with his own and told her that he was "truly sorry about Lobelia's death." She just knew that he was laughing at her behind that white mask that his face had become and had glared at him through her tears. His hand had been icy cold to the touch.
Now he stood before Aunt Lobelia's grave. As head of the Baggins family he was to be one of the first to throw a handful of dirt onto the coffin. Through her tears Belle saw that Frodo's servant was standing close behind him, as if to catch him if he should fall. Frodo peered down at the coffin and then, in the softest of whispers she thought that she heard him say, "I should have come home sooner. I'm sorry, Lobelia." He dropped in a wreath of purple and white flowers and then a handful of earth and quickly stepped back. Belle sobbed. A few others stepped forward and offered their wreaths and dirt. Then Largo took Belle's hand and they took their places at the grave. Largo threw in his lily wreath and handful of earth and quickly turned away. Belle, however, went more slowly. She let her own lily wreath fall, but gripped her dirt tightly, remembering. Remembering...
Twenty-three year old Belle came bouncing into the roomy kitchen of Sackville Place, chestnut curls flying, hazel eyes dancing with merriment, and found her dearest Aunt Lobelia seated at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes for supper and wishing that she had a maid for such tasks. She didn't hear her niece and Belle surprised her with a hug, laughing as she slipped the paring knife out of her startled aunt's hand and sat down to peel the potatoes instead. Aunt Lobelia watched her for a moment and then smiled and asked if she had enjoyed her stroll through Hobbiton.
"Oh, yes, Aunty," she answered. "I think that I saw Mad Baggins's lad. You said that he was uncommonly tall and thin, didn't you?"
Aunt Lobelia stiffened "That brat? Was he bothering you?" She looked Belle over anxiously.
"Oh no, he was at market with a younger lad." The lass giggled, "Doesn't he have the queerest eyes? So blue."
Her aunt sniffed disdainfully. "That comes from his conniving Brandybuck mother. No self-respecting Baggins would have eyes that outlandish colour."
"Perhaps not," Belle agreed. Then with a sly smile she added, "But he is handsome, isn't he? He can't be older than twenty-nine."
Aunt Lobelia lifted her chin defiantly. "He isn't even twenty-five yet," she said coldly.
Belle was startled by this revelation, but went on as if she hadn't heard a word. "And he was so polite too. The lad with him couldn't have been but half his age, but he was still so kind to him." Belle had four brothers and considered good manners something to be valued.
"His personal servant, the Gamgee brat, I'm sure."
"He's mannerly even to his servant?"
Aunt Lobelia shook her head. "Queerest lad I've ever had the misfortune to meet."
"And be related to," Belle added. "Would you introduce me?"
Her aunt's gaze was almost enough to freeze the lass. "You want to meet that- that boy?" she demanded, her voice shaking a little with anger.
"Now, now, Aunt Lobelia," Belle said hastily, "he is a lad, after all, and just my age too. He deserves more respect than that. Besides," she added defiantly as her aunt spluttered, "I like him. I want to meet him."
Aunt Lobelia gaped. "Belle Bracegirdle!" she finally shrieked, "Don't you dare tell me that you've been bewitched by the likes of that- that Brandybuck!"
"Oh, no, no, no, Aunt, not a Brandybuck at all," she gazed at her aunt in a calculating manner for a moment and then said, "I've set my cap for the future Mr Baggins of Bag End, Underhill."
The older hobbitess stared at the younger one.
"Just as you tried to do with Mad Baggins sixty-some years ago," the lass added.
Slowly understanding crept across Aunt Lobelia's face. "You would marry him for position," she stated flatly.
"Well, he is the most eligible lad in the Shire. And the wealthiest. Do you know how jealous every lass in the Shire would be?"
Aunt Lobelia eyed Belle sharply. "And what if Otho should succeed the madhobbit instead?"
Belle shrugged. "From all you've said Frodo Baggins has enough wealth of his own to easily support a wife -even without the old coot's favour. I'd get by." Trying a different tack she gently took her aunt's hand. With a smile that was half wistful, half hopeful she said, "I'd finally be making something of myself, Aunty. Just like you."
The two hobbitesses gazed at each other for a long time. Then a slow, rather devious smile spread itself across the older hobbitess's face. Taking Belle's other hand she said, "Well, my dear, if you can manage to land your fish I shall dance at your wedding and send dear Frodo a present of a dozen silver spoons!" She laughed with pleasure at the thought and Belle joined in, their laughter ringing through Sackville Place and out into the street.
"Belle!"
Belle Bracegirdle came out of her reverie to find her brother pulling gently at her arm. "Come on, Belle," he said. "It's someone else's turn. Let it go."
Belle squared her shoulders and dropped in her dirt, now a tightly packed ball. As it hit the coffin with a thump she murmured, "I'll do you proud yet, Aunty. Will you still send the spoons?"
-fjfjfjfjfjf-
During the meal that followed no-one seemed to be very interested in talking to Belle. Instead, the relations who lived nearby seemed more interested in catching up with more distant relatives from Willowbottom, Hobbiton, Scary, and beyond. So she had to content herself with observing the others. Not that she minded (much). She was always watching for interesting things that other hobbits did. So she watched as Uncle Nils fell asleep in his fourth dish of mashed potatoes. She saw Olin Hardbottle coax some of the younger cousins out for a pipe or two. She chuckled at the antics of Alda Toesy's faunt and noted that Cousin Hilda's lads seemed to be the only ones willing to talk with Frodo Baggins. Mostly though, she watched Frodo. He ate very little and seemed content with being ignored, instead scribbling on a scrap of paper when he wasn't staring vacantly ahead. Once they made eye contact as he looked up. Belle smiled and nodded pleasantly and he did just the same, but then ducked again as if he was forbidden to look at her and scribbled something else. This irked her. She'd waited for that moment for over twenty years and now a piece of paper stood between them?
What are you writing, Frodo Baggins?
When his head came back up again she tried to catch his eyes, but a flash of pain crossed his face and for a brief instant he looked...what is that? Ill? Hurt? Sad? Whatever it was, his head went back down before she could identify it. He spoke with his servant briefly and then they both got up and began making their way towards Belle. Or rather, she realised, to the door which was just to her right. She nudged Largo and her brother quickly got up and intercepted them just as they passed Belle's table.
"Leaving us so soon, Mr Baggins?" he asked.
"I'm afraid so," Frodo answered with an apologetic smile. "We thought that we might go settle ourselves at the inn."
Largo appeared surprised at this news. "You're not staying for the reading of the will?"
A look of pain crossed Frodo's face, but he answered, "I doubt that will be necessary. Lobelia and I never got along with each other."
"Ah," Largo responded. "Well, you may want to stay, all the same."
Frodo eyed him sharply, and Belle was surprised at the keenness of that look, but then he nodded in acquiescence. "Very well," he said, "but do I have time to step outside for some air?"
"For a few minutes," agreed Largo.
"Thank you," Frodo said quietly. As he and his servant slipped silently out of the door Belle saw something small and white fall to the floor and went to investigate. She wasn't at all surprised to find that it was a well folded piece of paper covered in a flowing script, but as she picked it up she was surprised to hear the voices of two hobbits talking in the passage.
"-need an hour or two at the least, an' today of all days especially, beggin' your pardon, Mr Frodo."
"I'll be fine, Sam. I just -couldn't breathe. It's too crowded in there."
A snort. "Well, if'n that's how you're puttin' it. Ouch!"
"Here, let me do that." A pause. "It wasn't actually today. It will be Trewsday." A deep sigh, and then softly, "Forty years ago...on Trewsday."
"I'm sorry, Mr Frodo."
"Do you think that they know what happened?"
"I'm sure I don't know, sir. I don't know how they would."
Silence.
"D'you think he'd notice if'n we just left?"
A mirthless chuckle. "He's probably watching for us to make sure that we don't. Ah, well. Ready?"
"Right behind you, Mr Frodo."
The door clicked shut on the pair of voices and Belle made her way back to her spot, raising one eyebrow at her brother who, just as Frodo had predicted, was standing at the window, and presumably keeping an eye on Mr Baggins. Once she regained her seat she unfolded the page and smoothed out the wrinkles, and then began to read.
Elen síla lúmenn omentielmo
Do you remember that day? It was my first definite memory of you. I was six years old and Bilbo taught me those words over tea when I begged him to teach me some Elvish. While he and my parents visited I went outside, eager to say them to someone. When you happened along I thought that I was the luckiest lad in the Shire. I was shocked when you boxed my ears and dragged me inside to be punished for my impudence. Though only a faunt I vowed that day that I would never say those words to you again.
Elen síla lúmenn omentielmo
As a youngster I feared you and hid when I heard you coming. I remembered your wrath the day that I fought Lotho. Even from inside my room I could hear you screaming that I should be beaten, and I cowered in Mother's arms.
Elen síla lúmenn omentielmo
At fifteen I learned why we moved to Woodhall, and I hated you for it.
Elen síla lúmenn omentielmo
In my tweens I avoided you at all costs. You were the thief, the talebearer, the liar who had me constantly defending my parents. Your son was a bully who enjoyed trying to browbeat both my friends and myself. How often I would be hiding in a tree as you walked under it, you will never know. Before Bilbo's party I thought that the look on your face when he vanished was going to be one of the most amusing sights that I had ever seen. It wasn't that amusing at all.
Elen síla lúmenn omentielmo
Until I turned fifty you were the bane of my existence. I disliked you the day that I sold you Bag End. I loathed you the day that I moved. On the first morning out I wished my tree-root pillow upon you.
Elen síla lúmenn omentielmo
How much I regret that wish. I learned what the true bane of my existence was out there. I blessed you for giving me a little bit of a head for heights. I longed to see your face again, for that would have meant that I was home. When I couldn't remember your face in the tower, I wept.
Elen síla lúmenn omentielmo
I was shocked to hear of your arrest, but more so when I heard why. I mourn that I was too late to save Lotho, and I dreaded bringing you the news. When I saw you in the cell I almost wept -for joy that you were alive, for pain at what you suffered. I was proud of that independent, fiery spirit as you hobbled out. When you gave me back Bag End my pleasure was tempered with sorrow at your loss. I mourned to learn of your death.
Elen síla lúmenn omentielmo
Perhaps if you were not as you were I'd have stayed in the Shire. Perhaps Otho would have been Bilbo's heir, or Lotho. Who can fathom the ways of Illuvatar? Perhaps the world would have fallen. Perhaps the difference between what is and what could have been lies not with the actions of a fellowship, but rather in what one hobbitess was like. I vowed once never to say this to you again, but now, too late, I break my vow.
Elen síla lúmenn omentielmo, Lobelia. Namárië, mellon nin. May you pass through
The writing stopped abruptly, as if the writer had been interrupted, and Belle jerked the letter down with an angry snap, her ears burning with rage. Liar? Thief? Bane of his existence!? How dare he say such foul things about her beloved aunt?
"Largo!"
Her brother saw the fire smouldering in her hazel eyes and hurried over. Leaning over her chair he asked, "What is it?" Wordlessly she handed him the paper and he read. His jaw clenched in anger and his face went scarlet up to the roots of his ginger curls. "The arrogant pig," he spat. "No wonder she hated him."
"What do you suppose that phrase means?"
"Nothing good, I'll warrant. Do you understand any of that last paragraph? 'Perhaps the world would have fallen'?"
"Unintelligible gibberish," she sniffed, "He needed that beating."
"I'll wager he didn't get it."
The two siblings stared at each other. Slowly the first flame of rage cooled from their faces, and finally Largo said quietly, "Do you still wish to do it?"
Belle laughed shortly. "I can't think of anything more fitting," she retorted. "but first we find out what this means. Tonight." She jabbed a finger at the offensive gibberish.
"Quite so," agreed her brother, a malevolent gleam in his eyes.
"Largo!" a new voice bellowed. The pair jumped, and then guiltily turned to see Mungo Bracegirdle frowning at them.
"Yes, Uncle," stammered Largo.
"Don't you think it's time that we read the will and let everyone go home?"
"Oh, yes, of course," Largo answered in a relieved tone, but then added, "Just wait 'til I get Baggins, will you?"
The muscles in Uncle Mungo's neck tightened visibly but he managed to growl out, "Certainly." Largo hurried outside and Uncle Mungo stalked back to his seat. Belle tucked the paper inside her bodice and waited anxiously for Largo's return. She sighed in relief when she saw him coming back with Frodo Baggins in tow.
"Mr Baggins," she called out. Several heads turned to look at her in shock and 'Mr Baggins' himself had a rather surprised look on his face as he approached her.
"Yes, Mistress?" he said.
She waved her hand carelessly in dismissal. "'Mistress' my foot! It's Belle Bracegirdle, thank you sir, at your service." She chuckled, "I'm not even married yet, sir."
Frodo still appeared surprised, but offered her a bow. "Frodo Baggins at yours and your family's," he said, "Forgive me, Miss Bracegirdle. I fear I just assumed-"
"Think nothing of it," she interrupted him. "I just wanted to offer you a place to sit." She patted the seat beside her.
Frodo hesitated. "Thank you, but no. Sam and I will just go back to our own seats."
"You can't," Belle said bluntly. "My cousin Lavender and her husband took your place just after you left."
Frodo looked across the room and Belle held her breath, hoping that Lavender was still there. Apparently she was, for he eyed the single seat on the bench beside her and then held a whispered conversation -argument might have been the better word- with his servant as Largo, who was Aunt Lobelia's barrister, began the reading of the will. It took a bit, but in the end Frodo sat down next to her and the servant disappeared.
The reading of the will was long and tedious as Aunt Lobelia had a last word and a gift for almost everyone in the family. Many of the hobbits grew restless, but not Frodo. Only twice did she see him fidget, and both times were near the beginning. The first time he'd slipped his hand quietly into his jacket pocket and a look of alarm had washed over his face. He'd quietly searched his pockets, but when he didn't find what he was looking for he'd begun fingering a magnificent white jewel which hung on a silver chain around his neck and sat there with his eyes fixed on Largo. He hadn't even moved when his servant returned and had stationed himself behind his master, laying a hand on his shoulder in a most familiar manner.
The other time was when Aunt Lobelia bequeathed her two second-best dresses and a collection of silver spoons to Belle. Frodo had started and turned to see Belle smiling pleasantly at him. He'd clenched the white gem in his fist and hastily turned his attention back to Largo. That impudent servant had looked at her too, and had the audacity to give her a rather vicious glare. She could barely keep from slapping the fellow, but she managed to restrain herself and had returned her own attention to Largo, who really was in fine form.
Two hours later they were finally nearing the end. Largo had done splendidly up to this point. Now, just finish strong, she thought encouragingly.
"'To Ela Hornblower I leave my best silver tea service, my claret-feathered hat, and the blue and white quilt that you so admired.'
'Finally, to Frodo Baggins I leave all of my money and property, and all that remains of Lotho's—'"
"What?!"
A general babble of voices drowned out Largo's as every hobbit in the room leaped to his feet with an exclamation of anger or shock. Every hobbit but three, that is. Belle had known what was coming and had been watching Frodo. When his name had been said he and his servant had both gone as still as stones, and as the babble erupted she watched his eyes widen in shock.
"Lobelia?" he gasped.
She smiled archly at his astonishment, and then he got up and began making his way towards Largo, his servant right behind him with a worried expression on his round face. Belle grinned. It was one of the most exciting things that she'd ever seen (excluding almost anything having to do with the ruffians, but she didn't count that). Folks were pushing and shouting, eyes were blazing and tempers flaring, Frodo (and the servant) were pushed towards the front of the crowd, and Largo was having a regular shouting match with Uncle Mungo. Finally Frodo reached the front, and he was shouting too.
"Mr Bracegirdle! Mr Bracegirdle!" she heard him yell.
"Go sit down, Mr Baggins!" Largo bellowed.
"Baggins!" roared Uncle Mungo, turning towards the newcomer. Belle could see the fury in his eyes from where she stood.
"But I don't want it! I don't need it!" Frodo appeared almost frantic.
"You haven't heard everything! Go sit down! Uncle Mungo, please-"
Uncle Mungo was yelling something up into Mr Baggins's face, but she couldn't hear what it was and then that meddlesome servant shoved himself between the pair and roared into Uncle Mungo's face, "Who are you t' say what my master deserves?!"
She couldn't hear what Frodo said -although she certainly could hear the wretched servant's protests- but it was enough to make that servant release Uncle Mungo's weskit. The creature followed Frodo back to the bench (forcing their way back through the crowd) and -of all the audacity- sat down beside him.
"It ain't right," he said with some heat. "Them sayin' such things about you an' all. It oughtn't to be allowed, and 'specially after everything you've done."
"It's fine, Sam," Frodo said hastily. He looked rather pale and tired, as if the tussle had worn him out. "It's only natural, I suppose." He shook his head. "Although I can't imagine what Lobelia was thinking to leave anything to me -let alone her wealth?"
"Well, Mr Bilbo did leave her them spoons."
Frodo quirked a smile at the thought. "Yes, but that was to make a point."
"True." The servant looked thoughtful. The pair was silent for a moment and then the servant mumbled, "Don't they look like orcs, now. All pushin' and scrabblin' like. It's enough t' make a body sick."
"Don't even think of it," Frodo murmured breathlessly. Both hobbits fell silent again watching as the melee continued, both lost in thought. Frodo resumed his fingering of the white stone. After a few minutes the servant began chuckling to himself.
"What?" asked Frodo, coming out of his reverie.
"Oh, I were just a-thinkin' that even if'n you stood up an' shouted, 'The Corsairs of Umbar are comin',' they wouldn't notice right now."
She and Frodo both stared at him, but to her confusion Frodo began to smirk. "You could probably sing full Quenya verse and they wouldn't notice," he grinned.
"What if'n ol' Strider hisself were to come in, in full court dress," added the servant with a cheeky grin of his own, "D'you think they'd even see him?"
"Sam, I doubt that they'd notice if an oliphaunt strode past the window at this point!" laughed Frodo.
"I've got it! I know what'd do it," the servant cried eagerly.
"What?" Frodo demanded, still chuckling.
"Sing the one about the man in the moon."
The two hobbits stared silently at each other for a moment, and then Frodo burst out laughing, quickly joined by his jester. The sound was loud and clear and free, and Belle found herself wiping away tears at the sounds of joy that she hadn't heard for many weeks in the hole. Some of the other hobbits turned around and glared at them, but the merry pair didn't seem to notice. They were still chortling as Belle slipped out the door and hurried to her bedroom. She'd been given a flute once, and it just might serve the purpose...
Things were still in an uproar when she re-entered the great dining hall. Folks around the edges of the group had begun to settle down, but in the centre the fray was even worse than before. It'll take you an hour at least to calm everything down, Largo, she thought.
She boldly mounted the table, drew out the flute, and blew the loudest, shrillest, longest note that she could muster. At her feet she saw her intended clap his hands over his ears with a look of pain, but she paid him no mind. She had to blow the note twice more before she finally had the attention of everyone. She lowered the flute with a little flourish and called out, "Would you all please sit down? Largo is not finished, and we won't be able to have any tea until he's done."
She stayed up there until the knot of hobbits began to disperse and only then did she climb down. Largo caught her eye and mouthed 'thank you.' She smiled back and then sat down next to Frodo.
He turned to her with a half-smile and said, "Well done, Miss Bracegirdle. That was well thought of."
She turned to smile at him, but whatever she had intended to say vanished completely from her mind at the sight of that pale face. He suddenly looked very old and...and there was that expression again. It wasn't pain or sorrow or tiredness, it was all of those, plus something else; something unidentifiable. He looked away.
"Thank you," Largo boomed. "Now then," he raised the last page of the will again and read in a loud, clear voice,
"'Finally, to Frodo Baggins I leave all of my money and property, and all that remains of Lotho's wealth as well. All money and profits are to be used for the restoration of homes and property to those hobbits which were made homeless during the Time of Troubles.'" (By this point silent tears were flowing unchecked down Frodo's pale cheeks. Belle also noticed that his servant was wincing as if in pain.) "'Bless you, lad, and forgive an old hobbitess for never seeing past your blood to you.'
'Being in my sound mind I, Lobelia Bracegirdle Sackville-Baggins, do solemnly adjure that this is my right and correct will and final wishes.'"
"The document is signed by Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. It was witnessed by Nordo Chubb, Largo Bracegirdle, Mungo Bracegirdle, Alister Hardbottle, Benlo Toesy, Alda Toesy, and Belle Bracegirdle."
Largo began gathering and straightening all of his papers as the babble of voices broke out again. Disbelief seemed to be the prevalent theme, Belle noticed. She turned towards Frodo with a smug smile on her face. The master of Bag End was still staring at Largo in shock, tears streaming from those blue eyes. Abruptly he stood up.
"Sam," his voice cracked with emotion, "I-I need a few minutes to myself."
Belle was a little surprised at the depth of compassion on the servant's face as he said, "O'course, Mr Frodo. You take all the time y'need. I'll take care of anythin' as comes up. If'n you need anythin' though, I'll be right here."
Frodo smiled weakly through his tears and placed a hand on his servant's shoulder. "I know you will, Sam," he whispered. Then he quickly left the room.
Belle hurried to the kitchen and gave orders for the tea to be set out, and then slipped out the side door, intent on following Frodo. She found him kneeling beneath a large spreading oak, rocking back and forth, one arm wrapped around his body as if hugging himself, his other hand pressed tightly over his mouth as muffled sobs and moans convulsed his body. Astonished by the depth of grief this hobbit showed for the one he'd so insulted earlier she felt her own grief retuning and silently fled to the kitchen. She remained there, fighting her sorrow, until most of the guests had left.
When she finally came out the only remaining guests were the Toesys, who were planning to leave the next morning; Uncle Mungo, who was still pouring over the will; Cousin Hilda and her children -apparently that Seredic Brandybuck couldn't be bothered to show up- she noted; and Mr Baggins with his ever-present, over-bearing servant.
She found them all in the second best parlour (after holding the coffin this morning the best parlour would need a proper cleaning before it could be used again) quietly visiting. The fire blazed merrily on the hearth casting a warm red glow over the entire room and making things seem more like the after-hours of a party rather than a burial. Adding to this effect were the youngsters playing quietly in the corner and the mugs of beer or cider that everyone seemed to have.
Just as she entered the room she heard Largo say, "Good. I'll just let the servants know of your decision."
"You're sure it won't be an inconvenience?" queried Frodo from where he stood by the hearth.
Largo clapped a broad hand down on the taller hobbit's thin shoulder. "No trouble at all," he declared, "Truth be told, Belle and I knew that this was coming and we were both hoping that you would see this as an opportunity to cut two fields in one day as it were. Although," he added with a wry chuckle, "I must admit that we weren't expecting you to bring your servant. Still, I think we could find a corner for him to sleep in."
Frodo's features seemed to harden at his words. "I believe that I told you before-"
"Oh, yes, yes," Largo growled. "Fine. I'm sure we can find a corner for Mister Gamgee to sleep in."
"Pray be certain that he has a bed," the master of Bag End said stiffly, "Sam has slept on the ground more than his share for one lifetime." The servant laid a hand on his master's shoulder as if to restrain him.
"Of course he'll have a bed," Largo blustered, slightly taken aback, "I'll see to it myself."
The ice never left Frodo's gaze as he said, "Thank you."
Largo turned to go, but then caught sight of his sister lurking in the doorway. "Belle, my dear," he said in a relieved tone, rushing to her side. He muttered in her ear, "Try to warm him up, will you? He's as stiff as an icicle," then said in a louder tone as he escorted her over to the fireplace, "Baggins, I want you to meet my lovely sister."
"We've already met," Frodo smiled politely, bowing. "Miss Bracegirdle, I'm pleased to see you again." With a sudden, mischievous twinkle in his sky-blue eyes he added, "I fear that in all of the excitement earlier I neglected my manners most shamefully. Allow me to introduce Master Samwise Gamgee, my dearest friend."
To Belle's utter confusion that servant stepped forward and bowed, red-faced up to the ears.
"Samwise Gamgee at your service, miss," he mumbled.
Belle curtsied deeply, certain that her ears were as red as his face. "Belle Bracegirdle at yours and your family's," she murmured back.
Largo scowled. "I thought that you were a servant, Master Gamgee." The blushing hobbit snapped erect, his face turning a deeper shade of crimson, but he didn't back down. Belle noticed an angry glint in Frodo's eyes.
Mr Gamgee eyed Largo. "No, sir," he answered sturdily, "I'm not. I'm his gardener. I take care of the garden up at Bag End an' watch out for Mr Frodo as best I can."
"And what sort of watching out for might you be in need of, Baggins?" demanded Largo.
Frodo glared and the gardener's jaw set. "Beggin' your pardon, but I don't know as that's any of your business, sir," the gardener said coldly. He laid a hand protectively on his master's shoulder. Belle narrowed her eyes in disdain.
Clearly a servant no matter how he chooses to look at it.
"Are you going to let him speak for you, Baggins?" Largo challenged.
The insolent gardener turned a third shade of red.
"Why should I say any more?" Frodo returned stiffly. "I was going to tell you the same thing." The master of Bag End stalked over to an empty couch along the far wall and quickly sat down. One of Hilda's tweens, the youngest one, Celandine, ran over and stole the place beside him, and his servant took the other side. Indignant both at losing a seat beside Frodo and at having curtsied to a servant, Belle stiffly took an armchair by the fireplace as Largo left to make the necessary arrangements.
Celandine snuggled against Frodo -brazen little imp- and said, "Does Merry know you call Sam that?"
Frodo smiled gently -almost tenderly, Belle thought enviously- at her and said, "Oh yes, Merry knows all about Sam, and he agrees with me."
"Hmm," the lass mumbled, "Poor Merry."
Frodo looked at her, startled. "What?"
"Well, Merry was your best friend before, but now it's Sam," she explained. "Doesn't he mind?"
"No, because we don't see it that way," Frodo answered slowly. "The way that I see it, I have three best friends: Merry, Pippin, and Sam. But Sam is especially dear to me, much as Pippin is to Merry, in case you haven't noticed." He chuckled at something.
Celandine nodded as if she was a little exasperated with the two absent hobbits. "Oh, I've noticed," she grimaced. Then she glanced up at Frodo. "Why?"
"Probably because you can't help but see it."
"I did not mean that and you know it, Frodo Baggins."
"Then what did you mean?"
"I mean, why is Sam so dear to you?"
An excellent question, Belle thought.
Frodo glanced down at her. "You sound like Pippin," he teased. Belle thought that it sounded like he was trying to change the subject.
"I most certainly do not sound like that Took." Celandine retorted indignantly.
"Oh, no?" Frodo sounded amused "With all these questions I'm starting to think that I'm talking to him."
The tween grinned at him. "Maybe we're turning him into a sensible Bucklander, then," she laughed, "but you're not getting away that easily, cousin. Why is Sam so dear to you?"
"Celli-"
"Frodo," she interrupted, with a reproachful look.
He fell silent, fingering that white jewel again. Finally he said slowly, "Let's just say that I learned the true measure and worth of Sam Gamgee on our journey." With a gentle smile at the gardener he added softly, "And it was greater than the value of the whole of Middle-Earth." The little gardener blushed again and great tears were shining in his brown eyes as his master looked down at his jewel for a few moments and then clutched it tightly in his right hand. Belle stared, frozen in horror. Does he only have four fingers on that hand?
Celandine had noticed too. She gently touched her cousin's clenched fist and asked quietly, "What happened to your hand, Uncle Fro?"
Frodo's eyes -which had been closed- flew open at that light touch and he stared, first at her, and then at his hand, an enigmatic expression on his face. For a time he sat silently, his left hand wrapped protectively around the wounded one. Finally he mumbled, "I lost it due to my own stupidity," He was silent for a moment and then added, "and selfishness."
"That ain't true," the little gardener protested. Frodo shot an angry look at him and both hobbits fell silent, their eyes dark with memory.
"What happened?" Celandine ventured, but Frodo shook his head.
"Not tonight, Celli," he said, "It's too dark out."
The trio sat silently again for some time and Belle watched them, but no-one else in the room seemed aware of what had been happening. She surreptitiously withdrew the stolen writing from her bodice and re-read it. Try as she might she could not make the harsh writing and the mournful hobbit that she had seen all day fit together. Perhaps that phrase isn't as terrible as Largo and I think. Yet, that didn't change what had been written in Westron, and that had been merciless. Of course, she never liked him either...
"All right, Mr Baggins, I have the rooms all arranged, I sent Elmas to the inn for your things, and your dear Sam is even in the room right next to you." There was a slight sneer in Largo's last words. Frodo glanced up at him briefly.
"Thank you, Mr Bracegirdle," he said quietly. Largo appeared slightly bewildered at the lack of fight and the pervading air of gloom which the quartet shared. "So, what did it mean?" he asked Belle.
"What?" asked Belle, puzzled.
Largo gestured at the paper in Belle's hands. "That phrase."
"Oh!" Belle suddenly felt embarrassed by the idea of asking about something that was obviously so private. She frowned. What was wrong with her? Hastily she answered, "I haven't asked him yet."
Frodo glanced up at them sharply, but held his tongue.
"What sort o' phrase?" the impudent servant demanded.
"Nothing that you would understand, I'm sure," Belle returned haughtily.
This time it was the servant silently giving her sharp glances, but Frodo said sternly, "Unless it was written in something other than the common tongue I'm sure he would understand it fine."
"Can he read?" Belle gaped. Frodo stiffened visibly.
"Yes, miss, I can, as Mr Bilbo taught me when I was just a lad," the gardener returned, just as stiff as his master. "I could prove it if'n y' don't believe me," he added rather rudely.
"You needn't prove a thing to them, Sam," Frodo cut in.
"Well, I'm a-thinking as we might-a found your letter, Mr Frodo," the gardener explained, not even looking at the indignant siblings. "If'n this phrase is written in sommat like Elvish-"
"I should have burned it up when I had the chance," Frodo muttered.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but y' didn't have one," the servant pointed out. The siblings exchanged a look.
"We found it on the floor by the front door and read it to see if we could figure out whom it belonged to," Belle explained casually. It wasn't a complete lie -she had found it on the floor.
"It appeared to be one very long insult," Largo added pointedly.
"I see," was the only comment that the master of Bag End made, but Belle felt as if his gaze could see right through her skin.
"Do you know what (she squinted at the paper) 'Ellen silla lum-en o-men-till-mo' means?" she queried innocently. Frodo's face drained of colour.
"Elin seelaloomenn omenteelmo," he corrected her. The words seemed to roll off of his tongue like a waterfall. "It's a Quenya greeting," Frodo continued, ignoring the odd look that the servant was giving him. "It means, 'a star shines upon the hour of our meeting.' It was one of the first Elvish phrases that I ever learned. Although," he added with a steely gaze, "I believe that you already know that."
Belle could feel the tips of her ears burning as she re-read the first section. "And she boxed your ears," she whispered.
Frodo laughed shortly. "Not one of my fondest memories, I can assure you," he returned as he rose to his feet to claim his paper.
"Not so fast," Largo ground out icily. "What does that last part about the world ending and all that nonsense about 'what is and what could be' mean? It doesn't sound as if you were calling Aunt Lobelia or anyone else 'friend'."
A blue flame blazed up in the other hobbit's eyes. Belle felt herself shrinking at the very sight of it; this raging, consuming fire which held behind it a very palpable, barely controlled fury. Undaunted, Largo glared back, refusing to retreat an inch. Belle hastily laid the paper in Frodo's outstretched hand and shrank behind her brother in case that hand should decide to strike. Frodo clenched the paper tightly, griping it in his fist until his knuckles turned white.
The servant had risen to his feet and was standing close behind Frodo, his own brown eyes smouldering and fists clenched. Looking at him Belle felt that if his master only said the word the gardener would kill them. The entire room was staring dumb-struck at the confrontation between her brother and the master of Bag End. Belle held her breath, waiting for one of them to attack the other. She tugged on Largo's arm, silently begging him to sit down, but he gave no sign that she was even there.
After several tense, silent moments (during which Belle was almost praying that nothing happened) Frodo spat, "I don't believe that's any of your business. Excuse me."
He nodded shortly, turned on his heel, and quickly left the parlour. His servant gave the pair a venomous glare and then, as if they weren't worth wasting his breath on, he deliberately turned on his own heel and followed his master. Largo wordlessly growled under his breath, but the rest of the company remained silent; every eye in the room stareing after the departed pair. After some time Uncle Mungo commented, "I believe that you've put your foot into it this time, Largo Bracegirdle." Largo only snorted.
"I think he might be right," Belle mumbled, but of course her brother chose to ignore her.
"Mum?" Celandine asked softly, going over to her mother, "What was that?"
"I...I don't know, Celli," Hilda answered hesitantly, "I've never seen him act that way in his life." Belle's sharp ears pricked up at those words.
"Why did Frodo do that, Mum?" Hilda's younger son, Ilberic, asked.
Hilda just shook her head. "I'm not sure, lad," she murmured.
-o-o-o-
Translations:
Elen síla lúmenn omentielmo - A star shines on the hour of our meeting
Namárië, mellon nin - Farewell, my friend
A/N: Credit for the funeral style goes to Larner, as well as the reason for the move to Woodhall. Lobelia was spreading rumors that Frodo was the illegitimate son of Bilbo.