Evendim - hobbit for evening

3. The First Evendim

Mistress Baggins

Belle Baggins

Belle Bracegirdle Baggins

Belle and Frodo

Mistress Frodo Baggins

Mistress Belle Baggins

Mistress Belle

Belle looked up from her daydreaming scribbles to glance at the mantle clock. 'Six fifty-three,' the timepiece read. It seemed to mock her anxiety with its monotonous tick, tick, tick. Wonderful, she thought, five minutes later than the last time I looked. Where are they!?

Largo was never this late to supper, not even when rain was pouring down and he was coming from Sackville, which was a good thirty miles away. She was starting to feel a little anxious. Largo enjoyed his meals too much to skip them for any reason, and he knew how important this night was to her. He had promised to retreat to his study after supper, leaving her alone with Frodo Baggins for the first time in her life. It was a night that she had dreamed of since she was a tween, and she planned to make a good impression-and perhaps erase the one from last night.

She tugged gently on her left ear, mentally running through her work list again. She'd had every room in the smial cleaned and aired, she'd prepared the best bedroom for its proper occupant -she still could not believe that Largo had put that odious, above-himself servant in the best bedroom instead of the master of the wealthiest hole in the Shire- and she had carefully prepared one of her best meals, certain that it would help impress Frodo's stomach, along with a lovely pie for afters. She had no doubts that it would be a most wonderful evening -if her guest (and her brother) ever arrived, that is. The pie was going to be cold before those two showed up.

Belle frowned at her paper. Surely this wasn't a precursor to what the rest of their time would be like, was it? If it was Largo would be livid. He'd been mad enough when that servant of Frodo's hadn't left until ten in the morning.

She felt her temper rising again at the thought of that - that - well, miserable fool seemed to fit rather well. The creature had done nothing but argue all morning. He'd argued over what should be done with Frodo's pony, that it was Largo and Belle who ought to apologise for the scene last night, and not Frodo at all, why "it ought t' been Mr Frodo in that big bedroom an' not me, sir," and even how much breakfast his slender master should have eaten (which was the one point Belle agreed with whole-heartedly).

Most of all though, he had tried to change Frodo's mind about sending him home. The stubborn creature had harped on it until Belle had felt ready to scream. The astonishing thing was that Frodo had allowed it -nay, he'd even encouraged it with his little smile and some of his comments, as if he were bantering with a friend. In the end Frodo had won, of course, and the impudent wretch had stalked away saying, "I've heard it afore an' I'll say it again. If'n Mr Frodo Baggins ain't th' stubbornest o' hobbits-"

Largo had been watching the entire thing and had at this point made some offhanded comment about how docking part of the gardener's pay might take care of that attitude. The gardener had stopped in his tracks and flushed red up to the ears, looking back at his master with chagrin. But Frodo had given Largo a steely glare that silenced him, and then escorted his scarlet-faced servant out of the kitchen, saying in a voice loud enough that all present could hear, "And that, my dear Sam, is precisely why I don't want you to stay here with me."

"-telling you, Baggins, that was an opportunity and you missed it."

"That was not an opportunity. That was a young couple looking for the hope and security necessary to-" The slam of a door drowned out the rest of Frodo's answer. Then Largo's angry baritone cut in again.

"And this is a hopeless romantic with no head for business!"

Apparently the lads had finally arrived. Belle hurried to the front hall where she knew the two travellers would be hanging up their cloaks.

When she reached the coat hooks she had to correct herself. Largo was hanging up his cloak. Frodo still had his firmly clasped about his shoulders. The pair appeared to be having a rather heated debate.

"You let it go for a song!" Largo roared.

"The lease I offered is more than fair," Frodo countered, more than a touch of steel hardening his voice.

"Yes, for whom?" Largo demanded, "You won't be taking care of any clean-up or reparation claims with a miserable thirty silvers a quarter!"

"At the same time we'll hardly be helping the Shire if we are robbing one family to pay for the next," Frodo swiftly retorted. "They are a young couple with limited resources in a Shire that's still recovering from the Time of Troubles last year."

"Limited resources?"

"Farming and carpentry. I examined some of his work. They will be able to afford thirty a quarter and still be able to make a living. They would not be able to afford forty-five."

"You only sold it to them because you heard that lass singing. Admit it!"

My brother sounds like a whining child, Belle thought.

Frodo sighed. "I will admit that I enjoyed her singing, but nothing more."

"Don't give me that, Baggins," Largo returned, "I saw that look in your eyes. What did she remind you of? Your mum?"

The determined stubbornness in Frodo's face froze over into an icy glare that would have stopped even Lotho Sackville-Baggins in his tracks. "Enough," he said quietly, yet to Belle his voice seemed to ring with authority, "This argument will serve no purpose except to drive a wedge between the two of us. I have made my decision." He turned to Belle and his gaze softened. "Forgive me, Miss Bracegirdle," he said, "but I believe that it would be best if I spent the night in my room. I fear that I'm entertaining a headache."

"You must be throwing quite the party, then," Largo muttered, not entirely cowed.

The muscles in Frodo's jaw worked visibly. "Quite so," he said shortly, "Excuse me." He picked up a large leather satchel which had been leaning against the wall (and so had escaped Belle's notice), slung it over his shoulder, and began making his way towards the small room that he'd slept in the night before. His head was erect and he held his shoulders back stiffly.

Belle was dismayed. She could just see all of her carefully laid plans crumbling, and rushed down the passage after him. "Wait, Mr Baggins," she called.

He stopped and turned back towards her, his expression polite, but resolute.

"Yes, Miss Bracegirdle?"

She caught up to him. "Please excuse my brother. He sometimes speaks without thinking." She shot a glare back at her brother as she spoke, who didn't have the decency to look ashamed. Turning back to Frodo she continued, "Don't let his poor manners scare you off, though. He'll only be around for supper and we don't discuss business at the table."

"Thank you, but-"

"She's quite right, Baggins," Largo interrupted, striding purposefully towards the pair.

Belle noticed the wariness that appeared in Frodo's eyes and grimaced inwardly. Lovely. I'll have to overcome his impression of Largo, too.

"I have some work that I need to finish," Largo continued, "so I'll be retreating to my study after supper."

"And trust me," Belle added, glaring at her brother, "we will not be discussing anything which happened today during the meal."

"No, no," Largo agreed, "In fact I won't say another word about it. You clearly have your mind made up." His voice dripped sarcasm, as usual.

"You're quite right," Frodo said stiffly. "I have."

The two hobbits eyed each other as if they were a pair of cocks looking for a fight.

"So then," Belle said hurriedly, "it's settled. Just give me five minutes to set everything out."

Frodo was already shaking his head. "Thank you both, but I'm really not that hungry-"

"Oh, come off it, Baggins," Largo interrupted again, "You barely ate anything all day. I'd be starving. I am starving! So, why don't you stop stalling and we'll enjoy some supper, and then I'll leave you two troublemakers alone for the evening." He sniffed the air appreciatively. Frodo opened his mouth, but Largo threw up a hand. "No, don't speak," he commanded, "just smell." The three of them silently inhaled the fragrances wafting from the kitchen. "Braised pork," Largo murmured, an expression of bliss wiping the scowl from his face. "Oh, Mr Baggins, you are in for a treat tonight. Nobody makes braised pork better than Belle." He cocked his head at her. "And I'll wager that there are potatoes?"

Belle nodded, feeling quite pleased. "Yes, of course, mashed potatoes with plenty of butter and rosemary, and just a hint of garlic for you." Both hobbits made small moans of pleasure. She smiled and continued, "There's also a nice green salad, fresh bread, glazed carrots," she gave Largo a sly look, "and onion soup."

"Stars above," Frodo murmured.

Largo's eyes widened. "You didn't," he whispered dreamily. Turing briskly to Frodo he said, "Baggins, I give you five minutes. If you aren't at that table by then I will drag you there by your braces. Belle, I could kiss you for this," he called as he rushed to his room.

"I'd like to see you try," Frodo muttered, a defiant glint in his eyes. It took Belle a moment to realize that he meant the threat of being dragged about, and not the kiss.

She gave him a concerned look. "You will come, won't you?" she asked, "I did make it especially for you."

Frodo smiled down at her. "With an invitation such as that how could I possibly refuse?" he replied gallantly. "Just give me a few minutes to put my things away."

"Certainly," Belle smiled back. Frodo then turned and went to his room. Belle stood for a moment watching him, and then hurried to set out the meal.

-fjfjfjfjfjfjf-

Frodo washed and groomed himself as quickly and neatly as he could (paying careful attention to his foot hair), donned a fresh waistcoat, and hurried to the dining room, but he was still two minutes late. He tried to apologise, but Belle waved it aside carelessly.

"Don't even think about it," she advised him, her hazel eyes dancing with mischief. "I don't mind if you're a little late, and Largo will never know if you don't tell him." She gestured at the empty seat at the head of the table and added conspiratorially, "Between ourselves, he won't even be here for another three minutes. Five minutes always means ten to Largo."

"I see," Frodo murmured. He warily eyed the covered dishes that were spread out across the table, and then turned to face the West -which in this case was facing the fireplace at the back of the room. As he observed the Standing Silence he could feel Belle watching him curiously, but she said nothing, for which he was grateful.

After a few moments he sat down across from her and offered a polite smile. She immediately beamed back at him. "You've no idea how glad I am to find someone who admires it besides me," she confided. "My mother always hated it, and she would have gotten rid of it years ago except that it was a gift from the Old Took himself to my great-grandfather. It's been handed down through the family ever since."

Frodo gave her a puzzled look. "I beg your pardon?"

Belle frowned. "Why -the painting, of course. When I was a lass I used to wonder what was around the bend. I always fancied a small farm or perhaps a village like Hamtown."

Still slightly bewildered, Frodo turned back to the fireplace, and then understood. Above the mantle hung a painting of a quiet Shire road winding its way between a gentle green hill and a silvery lake just beginning to be kissed with the rays of the setting sun. It was flanked by two white birches on the hill side and a simple split rail fence beside the lake. The road disappeared around the bend of the hill, leaving the observer to wonder what lay beyond it. He smiled, reminded of Bilbo's old walking songs. The hobbitess was still speaking.

"-of course it's all nonsense, but still, my mother insisted that it was far too adventurous for any sensible hobbit and ought to be locked up. Thankfully though, my father left it up because it was a gift from old Gerontius, and a mathom of sorts."

"Admiring that old picture, Baggins?" Largo's voice broke in, drawing their attention to him. "You can have it if you like."

Frodo smiled. "Thank you for the offer, but I wouldn't wish to deprive Miss Belle of it."

"Too bad," Largo returned. "I'd like to be rid of it."

"You're right on time," Belle said, abruptly changing the subject. "We were just about to start without you."

"Well, I'm very glad that you didn't," returned Largo as he took his seat. "Once old Baggins tastes that soup there won't be any left. In fact," he added with a wink at Frodo, "I wager that you'll want to marry her just so that you can have the recipe."

A familiar thrill of resentment washed over Frodo, but he forced himself past it. He raised an eyebrow sceptically at his host. "Is it really that good?"

"Just try it," Largo chuckled, ladling a generous portion into Frodo's bowl. He set it carefully down in front of his guest and then began filling his sister's bowl. Frodo eyed the brown liquid before him. It certainly smelled wonderful. His stomach clenched as he was suddenly and rather violently reminded of Aragorn's disastrous snail soup, which had also been brown and had smelled wonderful.

"Are you well, Mr Baggins?" He looked up to see a very worried pair of hazel eyes staring at him from across the table.

"Yes, of course," he lied hastily, hoping that his face wasn't turning green as he spoke. "It smells delicious." She still gazed at him suspiciously so he took a mouthful to convince her. His eyes widened with pleasure and any association -real or imagined- to the fateful Gondorian escargots immediately fled. The soup was marvellous; creamy with a delicate flavouring, strong enough that he could tell that they were onions, yet not so strong that they would come back to haunt later. He eagerly -though still cautiously- 'tucked into his meal,' as Sam might have said. The glance of satisfaction which his two hosts gave each other did not escape his notice.

-fjfjfjfjfjfjf-

Spider-bite, poisons, months of deprivation, near starvation-

"Don't you like it, Baggins?"

Frodo looked up from the plum sauce that he was absent-mindedly stirring around into Largo Bracegirdle's overly-cheerful face. He forced himself to smile back. "Like it?" he echoed, "How could any self-respecting hobbit not like it? I think that it's delightful. The whole meal has been."

"Ah." Largo glanced at the plate that was still a third full of potatoes, carrots, and meat, and gave his guest a suspicious look. "Then why aren't you eating?"

Frodo gave his meal a regretful look, trying not to let the resentment he held for his stomach show. "Well, I'm afraid that I'm not very hungry this evendim. It has been quite good though, especially the onion soup, Miss Belle -although I don't think that I'm quite ready to marry you yet." He managed to give her a crooked grin.

"Oh, what a shame!" Belle exclaimed, a teasing smile dimpling her cheeks. "I suppose that we'll have to seal it over a strawberry-rhubarb pie after supper."

Largo continued to eye Frodo's plate. "You weren't hungry earlier either."

Frodo felt his temper returning, but squashed it down with an effort. He took a moment to finger the white jewel, and then admitted, "I fear that the recent circumstances have taken away my appetite."

"Recent circumstances?" Belle gave him a curious look.

Frodo could feel his headache returning full force. "Lobelia's death," he said softly. And other things. His hand tightened on the white jewel.

"Oh." Belle Bracegirdle fell silent, a pink flush stealing into her cheeks. Largo also reddened, and both siblings busied themselves with their meals. After a few minutes of awkward silence Belle began to make small talk and slowly the hobbits worked their way through the dinner. Before it was over Frodo had managed to finish half of what was left on his plate.

Largo got up from the table stretching and rubbing his belly. "Oh," he groaned cheerfully. "That was the best meal I've had all week."

"That isn't saying much considering that it's only Sunday," Belle shot back good-naturedly. She gave Frodo a hopeful smile. "Did you enjoy it, Mr Baggins?"

He smiled at her concern. "I thought that it was all delicious, Miss Bracegirdle."

"You still didn't eat much," Largo pointed out, but now it was in a friendlier way.

Frodo turned towards him, pretending to give him a severe look. "I still relished every bite, in spite of the fact that I took few of them," He chuckled at the look on Belle's face and she smiled in reply.

"Well, I'm off," Largo announced. "Call me when you have the pie ready." He nodded to the pair and strode from the room.

Belle gave Frodo a cunning smile. "He's gone," she whispered conspiratorially.

Frodo inclined his head in acknowledgement. "So he is."

Belle looked at him sideways from under her lashes. "Would you care if we made our way to the parlour? It might be more comfortable to talk there than at the table."

Frodo considered her offer for a moment and then inclined his head again. "Lead the way, madam."

-fjfjfjfjfjfjf-

As Miss Bracegirdle led the way to the parlour Frodo had the feeling that he was being set up. He was certainly no stranger to the well-meaning attempts of his cousins to find him a wife, or to the tricks that certain females had played on him over the years, and the fact that he and Miss Bracegirdle would be alone in a room together did not escape his notice. Nor had the excellence of the dinner or the fine dress which Miss Bracegirdle was wearing. He had very little doubt that this was just another in a long series of attempts to wed and bed the Master of Bag End. He grimaced at his hostess's back, but determined to be polite. It wasn't as if fending off these attacks would be anything new.

A cosy fire had already been lit before they arrived, causing the entire room to smell of apple-wood. A fine settee had been placed before the hearth and, much to Frodo's dismay, the other chairs had been pulled far enough back that it would be seen as rude to take any other seat. A vase of hawthorn and crab-apple blossoms graced the mantelpiece in the same place where he and Largo had leaned against the hearth yesterday discussing plans for the week, and on a table next to the pokers sat a silver platter on which rested two teacups and a large kettle waiting to be placed over the fire. Oh, yes. This plan had been well thought out.

"Please sit," Belle invited him, gesturing to the settee. Reluctantly he sat down, but immediately stood back up as Belle Bracegirdle began bustling about.

"May I help you with anything?" he offered.

"No, sit down," Belle laughed, "I'm nearly finished with this and then I'll join you." She shooed him back towards the settee and continued with her preparations. He gingerly sat back down and began tracing a finger through the gold velvet of the cushions as he watched her disappear into the kitchen. She emerged in a few moments triumphant and balancing a large plate of biscuits and other tea things on one hand and a golden pie with the other. "Now," she laughed breathlessly as he leaped back up, "if you'll just take this I shall put on the kettle and the pie. Do you prefer tea or coffee? Or perhaps something a little stronger?" she gave him a wink, but he took no notice of it.

"Tea, please," He carefully took the tray, giving the biscuits and sandwiches a dismayed look which Belle did not see as she turned towards the fire.

"Just set it over there," she directed him, nodding to her left.

"Over where?"

"There, of course," she repeated, as if that answered everything. Frodo frowned in bemusement, but then placed the tray on a nearby footstool and sat back down. The soft velvet of the settee certainly was a welcome relief after riding around all day and listening to Largo Bracegirdle insult his decisions. He rubbed his forehead, trying to rid himself of the headache which still had not quite dissipated, in spite of his hosts' fine care and an excellent meal. Belle's dress rustled cheerfully as she put on the kettle. The firelight gleamed and danced off of the hobbitess's curls and the purple dress, making her look as if she were wearing a dress of fire and wine. He shook his head to get rid of the image, and then stared at the glowing flame reflecting off of the dress. Where have I seen that before, and off of this dress? Slowly a long-forgotten memory, swallowed up by a wheel of fire, floated to the surface.

"Was that Lobelia's dress?"

Belle gave him a look of surprise and flushed. "Yes, it was," she admitted. "I thought that it was appropriate for tonight."

Frodo nodded slowly. "I believe that I remember it."

Belle kept looking at him with a mixture of surprise and bemusement. "You couldn't have," she said. "Aunt Lobelia hasn't worn it in years. It didn't fit her for a long time, until after the Time of Troubles. We almost decided to bury her in it, except that she insisted on the green one. She said that it was more appropriate somehow."

"No, I've seen it before, once, at the Free Fair," Frodo countered softly. "The firelight glowed off it the same way."

"Not recently you haven't," Belle retorted.

"No, not recently," Frodo agreed. He stared for a few more moments, remembering a happy Free Fair night and a lad who was prancing with excitement.

Papa and Mama swung into the dance while Uncle Bilbo minded Frodo. Uncle Bilbo leaned down and whispered, "Your mama looks like one of Gandalf's fireworks tonight."

Frodo laughed and demanded a dance with his favourite uncle. They were trying to dance the Springle-ring when a hobbitess in a purple dress said loudly, "Oh look! The father and son are dancing together!"

"Where, Uncle Bilbo? Where?"

Frodo spun around looking for the two hobbits that were dancing, but Bilbo had put his hands protectively on Frodo's shoulders and glared at the noisy purple hobbitess. She'd hurried away rather quickly.

"Mr Baggins? Is something wrong?" Frodo found himself dragged out of his memories to the sight of Belle Bracegirdle's worried face. He hastily blinked back the tears that he could feel forming and gave her a smile.

"No, just some old memories," he assured her.

She looked relieved. "Oh really? Do tell," she said coyly.

He just shook his head, holding his lost memories close, and more than a little unwilling to share such an unkind memory with Lobelia's self-proclaimed favourite niece.

Belle seated herself on the settee and cocked her head at him. "Oh, come on," she smiled beguilingly, "I can keep a secret."

"I'm sure that you can," he returned politely, "but I would rather not discuss it."

She looked at him for a minute as if wondering how to unlock his tongue, but then gave him a tight-lipped smile that reminded him of Lobelia's before he had left. "Of course, if you don't wish to talk about it we don't have to," she said in a voice which seemed sickeningly sweet.

"Thank you," he answered firmly.

She looked away, but not before he caught sight of her perturbed frown.

-fjfjfjfjfjfjf-

So that's how he wants it to be? He mentions a memory of Aunt Lobelia and then won't tell what it is? Well, we'll see about that, Belle thought. She turned back to her guest and twirled a loose curl around her finger, smiling teasingly. "Is there anything that you do want to talk about?" she asked.

A light flush crept into his pale cheeks and he had the grace to look embarrassed. "That was an excellent dinner," he mumbled.

Aha, the standard first topic of polite conversation, and a compliment to try and smooth things over. Should she accept? She wondered how often he spoke with females -if ever. He certainly did seem awkward. She graciously decided to let it slide. "Thank you. I'm glad that you enjoyed it." His look of relief was almost amusing, but she wasn't really interested in comments on food tonight. Not with the Frodo Baggins sitting next to her on the settee. For a moment she almost felt shy. "Tell me, did you enjoy your ride today?" No, no, no, that was not what she wanted to ask!

Frodo gazed at the hearth. "It was enlightening," he said quietly. "I had no idea that Lobelia and Lotho owned so many properties. I don't know that I would have sold them Bag End if I had known."

"Oh?" Belle was indignant. She hadn't expected a reaction like that. "Why not?"

"They didn't need it."

"And why did you sell it in the first place?"

Frodo's right hand strayed to that magnificent white jewel that hung around his neck. "I needed to sell it quickly and I knew that she wouldn't ask very many questions." His tone grew softer, "And she always did love the gardens. I was certain that she would treasure them the way that Bilbo and I did-" his voice broke and Belle gave him a look of surprise. A tear was trickling down his cheek, and even in the ruddy glow of the fire he seemed abnormally pale. His gaze went to the ceiling and his chin set determinedly. When he looked back down the tears were gone and he smiled at her, although there seemed to be something missing from it. "Were you ever able to stay there when the gardens were - still there?"

She caught the hesitation and winced. She had heard -everyone in the Fourfarthings had heard- how the Ruffians had tried to destroy Bag End. How the garden had been filled with sheds, and the orchards and vineyards had been cut down and made into a great bonfire, and how the hole had been filled with filth and trash. Belle was sure that there wasn't a hobbit in the Shire who didn't in some small measure feel sorry for Frodo Baggins; even as they said that he got what he deserved for selling his hole to the Sackville-Bagginses. That memory made Belle grit her teeth. Poor Frodo, everyone said, but Aunt Lobelia? They had shunned her and blamed her for everything. Why couldn't you control that Lotho? Why couldn't you stop your son? That's what they'd all said. Frodo had gone mad and Lotho was as evil as a goblin, and Lobelia . . . Lobelia was the old hag who'd planned the whole thing. No one had ever come out and said it, of course, but everyone thought it. She could see it in their eyes. And the Master of Bag End was the worst of the lot. Pretending to be so sorry about Aunt Lobelia and mourning her death, and all that time he was probably laughing up his sleeve at her. Him and his grubby little gardener. The words he'd written yesterday afternoon sprang to her memory.

In my tweens I avoided you at all costs. You were the thief, the talebearer, the liar who had me constantly defending my parents. 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.

Well, she thought, we'll just see who's laughing at the last, Mr Baggins. She glanced over at him, having quite forgotten what the question was. Apparently he had too, for he was staring blankly at the fire as if to smother it with his heavy gaze. She put on her brightest smile and said in her most interested tone, "Tell me about yourself."

From the look that he gave her he had forgotten that she was even there, but then he smoothed it over. "There really isn't much to tell," he answered politely.

Modest, aren't we? she thought sarcastically. "Oh, come," she said, snuggling closer as she spoke, "Even the most boring person in the world has a few good stories about themselves, and from what I've heard all my life you certainly aren't the most boring person in the world." She felt him stiffen and hid a smile of triumph. She would have to be cautious if she didn't want to scare him off before she had him hooked. "What was your childhood like? Or your parents?"

"I would prefer not to speak on that subject, thank you." The quiet answer felt like the equivalent to a door being slammed shut. She gave him a surprised look.

"Oh. All right," she searched her brain. "What about growing up in Buckland? Did you have a lot of playfellows?"

"Not really," he answered quietly. "My cousins were all either older than me, or else much younger."

Belle pondered that for a moment. "Did you ever do anything interesting?"

Frodo was silent for a moment, but then said, "Nothing that you haven't heard before, I'm sure. Swimming, scrumping, climbing trees...camping," a small smile crept across his face at the memory.

"Really?" Belle was more than a little surprised at this. "Did you sleep outside, or would you go back home at night?"

A noise that might have been a chuckle came from Frodo. "Oh, no. We stayed out all night. My cousin Bilbo would take me."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes. We'd fish and talk and hunt for mushrooms, and Bilbo would tell stories and teach me the stars. As I grew older he taught me everything that he knew about camping. He always said that you never knew when such knowledge would prove helpful."

"I never heard of such a thing," she teased.

Frodo's smile became soft with memory. "That's what all of my relations said, but Bilbo never paid them any mind."

"I'm sure he didn't," Belle said wryly. Then she smiled. "Did you enjoy being his ward?"

Frodo's eyes lit up for the first time that evendim. "It was a dream come true," he said. "I'd been wishing to live with Bilbo since I was twelve and he took the time to listen to me. He was the one who was most able to help me through my grief after my parents died, and made sharing a room with my cousins much easier. Merry and I both loved him dearly, not only because of his stories, but because he truly cared about us. When he asked me if I wanted to come live with him at Bag End, well . . ." Frodo's smile became almost dazzling. "You might say that I jumped at the chance."

"I can see that," Belle chuckled "What was it like?"

Frodo's smile became soft with nostalgia. "I-I can't really explain it."

"Well then, what did you do?" Belle persisted.

"Everything," Frodo chuckled. "My upbringing was - I was considered weak at Brandy Hall and was...protected. Most of the time I felt so 'protected' that I thought I would go mad. When Bilbo adopted me I was finally allowed to do almost anything. I helped mend roofs and assisted the neighbours when they needed it, and Sam and the Gaffer would let me help in the garden and with the harvest." He had a dreamy look in his eyes. "We would make wine in the autumn, just the way that Bilbo said Uncle Bungo used to, and Bilbo always had me climb the trees in the orchard to get the apples at the very top. He taught me everything that he knew. History and languages were my favourite lessons, but I loved natural history, too, and we would go walking through the fields and woods for hours, and of course there were the proper hobbit subjects."

"Letters, cooking, genealogy, etiquette," Belle offered

Frodo nodded. "Arithmetic, gardening, and dancing," he added.

"You never needed to learn a trade, of course." Belle murmured, glancing up at him from under her eyelids.

"Oh, but I did," Frodo smiled, "Bilbo taught me bookbinding and copying."

Belle felt slightly scandalised. "That's hardly a normal trade," she ventured.

She saw Frodo shake his head with a smile. He was laughing at her! "No, but Bilbo rarely did anything normal, bless him," he answered in a voice brimming with love for the cracked old hobbit.

Belle's mind was reeling. Frodo had worked? And at such a disreputable trade, no less! Surely the rumours of wealth weren't just rumours. Surely there was something substantial behind them. She found herself asking, "But, surely you just worked for the fun of it, didn't you? I mean, you didn't need the money."

His smile faded and that pair of brilliant blue eyes regarded her with an unfathomable gaze for a moment. Belle felt as if Frodo Baggins was reading her every plan for him, but then he looked back at the fireplace. "No, Miss Bracegirdle," he murmured. "My cousin used to say that it was how he made sure that he had enough money for his pipeweed."

"Oh, well-" Belle began, but then fell silent.

"Yes?" he prodded, his keen eyes coming back to her.

Belle felt a bit pressed upon and fumbled around a bit. "Did you ever copy anything interesting?" she finally asked.

"We would copy books of Elvish tales, or of poetry, and any that were sent to Bilbo from outside of the Shire," Frodo answered. "Sometimes the Thain or the Master would want them. If a hobbit did write a book we would make any extra copies that he -or she- wanted." His soft smile returned. "I remember one winter when my aunt wrote a book on manners. She wanted seven copies made of it, too." He took a moment to chuckle at the memory, and then continued, "Bilbo and I had our hands full that time. For the most part though we would copy invitations and important documents -or at least those that were considered important." He chuckled again.

Now, here was a subject that Belle could warm to. Who cared for stuffy books or Elvish tales? She preferred some action. "Did you copy the invitations for your coming-of-age party?" she asked by way of a lead in.

"Bilbo and I did together," he answered.

She fairly beamed up at him. "I thought that they were beautifully done from the moment that I first saw ours. I'd never seen anything written so fair in all my young days. The page was like pure snow, and the gold writing gleamed like buttercups in an open field. I wanted to tell you how much I liked it when I saw you at the party, but you always seemed to be surrounded by others."

Frodo grimaced. "Yes, I fear that's the price one must pay for throwing a party," he said dryly.

"I always wondered -when I was a lass of course- if the ink was real gold. Was it?"

He glanced at her briefly for a moment, and then looked away. With a frown at the crackling hearth he mumbled, "I don't remember." He paused and then his frown deepened. "I don't even remember the invitations."

"That's a shame," Belle sympathised, "They really were lovely." She was not about to admit that she still had the family one from years ago. She had treasured it, along with the little flute and the pair of gloves which had been her gifts that magical night, in a special box reserved for mementos of her future husband.

"Are we related?" he mumbled, looking a bit like a tween lost in his genealogy lessons. She couldn't resist teasing him a little.

"What, Frodo Baggins?" she grinned, "Can't you remember your family tree?"

That unnerving gaze pierced her again, but this time he appeared to be searching for something. She stared back, but quickly found that she could not match his gaze. Finally he mumbled, "I'm afraid that I don't remember your family at all." His gaze fell to his lap and Belle noticed that he was fumbling with the white jewel which was hanging around his neck.

Relieved that he had looked away Belle rambled, "It's not likely that you would. I don't know of any connection between our families, and my father was certainly surprised when we got the invitation. He'd met your cousin Bilbo a few times, but he never thought that anything would come of it. At first he thought that it was a joke and we almost didn't come, but then Cousin Hilda showed us hers and we all knew that it had to be real. So, Father accepted your invitation and we all piled into the carriage and came to Hobbiton and stayed with Aunt Lobelia and Uncle Otho. They almost didn't come, either-"

"I don't doubt it," Frodo muttered wryly

"-but when they saw how splendid the invitation was they simply had to come. I stuck close to her side at first, let me tell you." Belle chuckled. "I'd never seen so many hobbits in one place before in my life and felt very shy. You were so polite though. Even in the midst of all your guests you came over and bowed very politely and invited me into the games. You even complimented my dress." This was a complete fabrication. Aunt Lobelia had finally had to tell her that no one was going to come near her until they were drunk as lords unless she got away from Aunt Lobelia. "We danced a set together, too," she added. That part at least was true. She'd felt as if she were floating rather than dancing when that had happened, and he had complimented her dress at that point.

Frodo was frowning at her with intensity, one hand rubbing his forehead, the other tightening around his jewel. She caught his gaze. "What?" she demanded, feeling rather daring. "Don't you believe me?"

He kept frowning.

"I was the one in the flame-coloured dress, remember? You said that I looked like firelight, and then you spun me around..." Her voice trailed off. He didn't remember her. She had been hoping all these years that he hadn't married because he was looking for her. She'd even kept a piece of the dress safely in her box, for part of her wedding garments. Now he didn't even seem to recognise her.

"I'm sorry," Frodo finally said, looking a bit stricken, "I can't remember it at all."

He looked so ashamed that Belle almost felt sorry for him. "Never mind, then," she said as kindly as she could manage, "I'm sure that you danced with a good many lasses that night. I was probably just another face."

"And I was a bit preoccupied," he muttered, his knuckles whitening from the grip he had around the jewel, "but still, I ought to remember," he went on a bit viciously. "If I can recall a memory of Lobelia from when I was three I should remember a flame-coloured dress, at the very least!" The last words came out in a hissing snap and he immediately looked repentant. "Forgive me, Miss Bracegirdle," he murmured. "Perhaps it would be best if we changed the subject."

A bit dismayed at the turn that the topic had taken, she agreed.

"Why don't you tell me about yourself, Miss Bracegirdle?"

She laughed a bit at that idea. "Well, unlike you there really isn't that much to tell." She snuggled a little closer to him until their thighs touched. She felt him stiffen at her side and bit back a smile, but then tried to compose her thoughts. "Let's see...I am the middle child in my family, and the only lass. Elbin and Largo are older than me, and Torgo and Gandis are both younger. I've lived in this hole all of my life, and the farthest that I've ever travelled was Hobbiton to visit my relatives. My mother died when I was twenty-five, and Father followed her when I was forty-"

"I'm so sorry," Frodo murmured.

Belle paused and gave him a soft smile. "It was a long time ago. It doesn't really hurt any longer."

"Not with a sharp pain, but a dull ache still lies underneath." Frodo said softly, almost as if speaking to himself.

Belle gave him a sharp glance and then looked hastily away. "Sometimes," she admitted.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and then the tea-kettle began whistling. Both hobbits started out of their reveries, and Frodo clapped his hands over his ears with a look of distress.

Belle felt relieved. The air in the room had been getting far too close. "How silly of me," she laughed, "I forgot completely about our afters. You must be starving." She batted playfully at his hands as she rose to remove the kettle. "Oh, come," she teased, "surely it isn't that loud." She began to pour the tea into the porcelain teapot, but kept one twinkling eye on her guest. Slowly his hands slid off of his softly pointed ears and he gave her a shame-faced smile.

"Is there anything that I can do to help?" he offered.

"How gallant," Belle teased. "Well, you could remove the pie. I think that it's hot enough. That would give me time to call Largo."

Frodo rose and took the towel that she had used to remove the kettle, and Belle went to the parlour door. "Largo," she called down the passage, "Largo, pie's ready!"

A garbled yell from the study echoed back in reply.

"What?" she demanded.

"He said that he would be here in a minute." Frodo answered quietly from his place by the hearth.

Belle shot him a startled look, but he was backlit by the fireplace and she could see nothing except a dark figure kneeling by the hearth and rubbing his head. "You could hear that?" she gasped.

The figure froze. "Yes."

Belle was gaping. "How could you possibly...?"

The dark figure was now squirming just a bit, "I'm afraid that I have... extremely sharp hearing."

Belle came back to the fire. "Well, I must say that I'm impressed," she told the kneeing figure. "I have never known such a good pair of ears existed." Now she could see his face, and clearly he was embarrassed.

"They're really more of a curse than a blessing," he muttered awkwardly. "I can hear almost anything, even the slightest whisper in a room. Conversations among several groups end up giving me headaches."

"Oh, but think what you could hear," Belle said, wonder in her tone.

"Oh yes, just think of it," Frodo retorted sarcastically, a look of contempt on his face. Immediately it was replaced with one of contrition. "Forgive me," he murmured. "Often this...seeming gift is not worth the price at which it comes."

"What price is that?" Belle asked curiously.

"I have to be constantly on my guard or I find myself eavesdropping," Frodo explained. "I don't wish to bring any embarrassment on someone that way."

"I suppose that does make sense," she admitted reluctantly, "but still-"

"Where's the pie?" exclaimed a loud, boisterous voice from behind the settee. Belle jumped.

"Largo, you miserable wretch," she gasped. "What do you think you're doing?"

Largo's grinning face popped over the back of the furniture. "I was trying to frighten Mr Baggins over here, but apparently my evil scheme has backfired." He turned to Frodo. "Don't you startle, Baggins?"

"Not when I can hear you coming," Frodo returned gravely.

"Impossible!" Largo declared. "I was moving as quietly as any hobbit ever could."

"Nevertheless, I did hear you," Frodo repeated.

"He has very good ears, Largo," Belle put in.

Largo cocked his head to one side. "How good?"

Two red spots crept into Frodo's cheeks. "If I wish to, I can hear the slightest whisper in a room. I'm afraid that you didn't frighten me because I heard your footsteps."

"Impossible!"

"If only it were," Frodo mumbled.

"You came in here hunting for pie, I believe?" Belle tried to interrupt.

"How well can you hear?" Largo repeated, ignoring her.

Frodo looked up at him for a minute with that sharp, piercing gaze that Belle already didn't like, and then he drew a hissing breath and deliberately replied, "I believe that it was last night as you were leaving to find spare beds for Sam and I you whispered in Miss Bracegirdle's ear, 'Try to warm him up, will you? He's as stiff as an icicle.' "

Both siblings gaped at him and an uncomfortable silence filled the room.

"So, what about that pie?" Belle finally asked. Both hobbits accepted the offer, Largo loudly and eagerly, and Frodo with a quiet word and silent gratitude for the change of subject which Belle could almost feel. The trio forced themselves to make small talk and discussed the food, weather, small Shire doings, and the events of the day. Again, Belle noticed that Frodo ate far less than either she or Largo, but he was so polite and agreeable in every other area that she decided to let it pass. Slowly the atmosphere in the room began to regain a semblance of camaraderie.

It was as Frodo was finally managing to finish his slice of pie that Largo, with a friendly smile on his face but a stubborn gleam in his eye, said, "So, Baggins, have you thought any more about my proposal?"

Frodo, who had just stuck a forkful of strawberry-rhubarb filling into his mouth, shrugged and gave Largo a quizzical look.

Largo frowned down at him in reply. "It's not like it's that much," he growled. "It's exactly what Aunt Lobelia was asking for the place."

Frodo struggled to swallow the filling. "Do you mean the GreenWood thmial?" he asked thickly. He hastily took a drink of tea to wash it down.

"What else?" Largo demanded. "Did you have a different property in mind?"

Frodo eyed the other hobbit over the rim of his cup for a moment, and then placed it on a nearby footstool. When he finally spoke his tone was studiously polite. "No, Mr Bracegirdle. I simply wished to clarify the subject before attempting to answer your question. The answer is, no, I have not considered the matter further. I understood it to be closed."

"Why?" Largo demanded. With dismay Belle realised that his notorious temper was starting to flare a little. "Why do you insist on letting the place for thirty silvers? Are you trying to prove something?"

"No, I am not," Frodo answered, still polite, but the friendly tone from earlier was replaced by one with a bit of an edge.

Belle suddenly had the feeling that she was witnessing what had happened every time the ponies were within shouting distance of each other that afternoon.

"No? Why do you see the need to challenge every price Lobelia suggested then?"

"She was assessing the property from the standpoint of the past," Frodo answered gravely. "Two years ago it may have been worth forty-five silvers a quarter, or perhaps even more. I don't know. I, however, am evaluating it from the perspective of what is acceptable now. Until those trees grow back the property won't be worth more than thirty. It may only be worth twenty-five," he added as Largo's face became an alarming shade of red.

"Twenty-five, are you mad?!"

"No, I am not. I am merely saying that it was far worth more before the war than it is now."

Largo looked to be on the verge of an apoplectic fit. "What war?"

"Oh, stars!" Frodo groaned. He rubbed his forehead as if it ached and regarded Largo for a moment. Drawing a deep breath he said, "I know that you haven't forgotten the Time of Troubles or the Battle of Bywater last year. At the same time that the Shire was in so much trouble the rest of Middle-Earth was also at war. We fought against - a terrible enemy - until nearly Astron. After that all the lands of Middle-Earth were recovering from the damage that had been done."

"From the great battle that you and your travelling companions were all a part of, am I right?" Largo's voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"Yes." Frodo's voice was quiet.

"And you dallied around doing who-knows-what until Blotmath while your own folks suffered? You couldn't find it in your heart to come back and help out sooner?" Before Frodo could answer Largo added, "Oh, wait, that's right. You're the one who stood back and watched, aren't you?" His barb seemed to hit home, for Frodo turned white and for a moment Belle feared that she would have to step in and intervene, but no rage built up in those blue eyes, only pain and sorrow, and something odd underneath that she couldn't place. With a start she realised that it was that strange look from yesterday. She stared at him in a most un-hobbitlike display of curious fascination, but then he seemed to pull himself into a shell, leaving his eyes devoid of all expression.

"I did not draw sword in the battle, no," was the quiet reply.

Largo appeared to take this as a sign of surrender, for he snatched two sandwiches from the platter and bit into one with a satisfied smirk. Frodo sat silently for a few minutes, staring into the fire and ignoring all of Belle's attempts to draw him back into the conversation. Abruptly he rose to his feet, murmuring, "If you will excuse me I believe that I will go to bed."

"Go ahead. Goodnight." Largo returned brusquely. Frodo turned to leave.

Belle frowned at her brother and said, "Oh, Mr Baggins?"

Frodo turned back to them. "Yes, Miss Bracegirdle?"

"I had the best bedroom properly aired and put fresh linens on the bed. If you would like to escape that linen closet that my brother put you in you are more than welcome to change rooms."

Frodo gave her a tiny smile. "Thank you for the offer, but I believe that I shall remain in my present room. I find it quite pleasant. I do wish to thank you for putting Sam in the best bedroom last night though. It was an honour that he well deserved."

With that Frodo went to the door, leaving a fuming Largo in his wake. At the door however he paused and turned back. Placing one hand on his chest he said politely, "I thank you both for the hospitality which you have shown me this night, and I regret that I must leave your company so soon. I bid you a good night and deep and pleasant dreams." He bowed to his surprised hosts and then slipped out of the room.

Once both were certain that he would be out of earshot Belle poked her brother in the ribs and whispered, "That was horribly rude of you. You told him that it wouldn't come up again."

"That was during supper, not after."

"Cheater. He and I both thought that you meant ever again."

Largo shook his head disdainfully. "Of course not. And he hasn't heard the last of it yet. That smial is worth far more than he is appraising it at."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you taking his side?" Largo was incredulous.

"Of course not," Belle hissed under her breath. "But when your brother plays such a mean trick on your soon-to-be betrothed you find yourself wondering. Especially when your betrothed is so polite about it."

"Polite? Ha!"

"You would have forgotten your manners entirely and stormed out of the room in a huff if someone had done that to you. And that was terrible of you to bring up his involvement in the battle."

"You mean 'war'?" Largo mocked.

Belle was exasperated. "You know what I mean."

Largo only snorted. "Belle, everything that I said was true. You'll notice that he didn't even bother trying to deny it."

"Maybe so," Belle shot back, "but you broke your word, Largo. You promised him that it wouldn't come up again. Period."

Largo gave her a disdainful look. "Belle, you have bigger things to worry about than my social abilities, I assure you."

"What do you mean?" she snapped.

Largo rose to his feet, a condescending smile pasted onto his face. "You might consider asking yourself 'What else did he hear?'" Belle gave him a puzzled look and he leaned down and whispered into her ear, "Or should I say, 'what did your betrothedhear'?" He smirked as Belle's face drained of colour and quickly left the parlour, leaving Belle staring into the fire.

-o-o-o-

Translations:

Astron - Shire equivalent of April

Blotmath - Shire equivalent of November

-o-o-o-

A/N: More credits! Copying books for pipeweed money and Aunt Dora's manners book came from Larner, the exchange of "Set it there." "Where?" "There!" is a tribute to Macphee in C.S. Lewis's That Hideous Strength (somebody, please read it!), and snail soup is a nod to Budgielover's A Lesson on Hobbits.