10. Highday, part 2 - Secrets Discovered

"Largo, are you finished packing yet?" Belle queried as she peered through the study door.

It was just past nightfall. After supper (it had been surprisingly good considering that it was broccoli soup -usually one of those rare foods that Belle did not enjoy) Frodo had vanished into the depths of the study with Largo, just as he had yesterday. She had joined the pair last night and enjoyed a quiet book while the gentlehobbits wrote, and would have loved to join them again tonight, but thanks to darling Lilla there had been far too much left to do before tomorrow and so she'd spent her evendim packing and preparing the smial for the trip.

Largo didn't even look up from the document he was perusing as he mumbled vaguely about finished, home, and "long before that Lilla."

Belle nodded hesitantly at this information, hoping that she understood him correctly. "Could you give me a hand then?" she queried.

"No." The answer was so blunt that Belle was taken aback.

"Why not?"

Largo waved a vague hand at the scattered papers across his desk. "Olongot's will. Want to finish this draft before we leave-and that should say 'generations,' not 'ancestors.'

Barrister talk. Of course. "All right, have you seen Frodo anywhere?"

Largo's head shot up, and for the first time Belle realised that her brother wasn't just being rude. He was angry.

"The kitchen," he snapped. "He just left. Claimed he had a headache. That's a Baggins for you. Just leaves all the work for someone else to do while he goes off gallivanting somewhere."

Belle's eyebrows rose. "Those aren't even his deeds," she said pointedly.

Largo waved the remark away angrily. "Not the point."

"Oh? Then what is?" Belle demanded frostily.

Largo, brown eyes smouldering, jabbed a thumb at a nearby armchair, where several papers lay jumbled together on the seat. A quill, blotter, a bottle of black ink, another of red, and a pair of steel pens all sat on a small table beside the chair. His voice shook a little with rage. "Do you know what he does when he leaves early at night? What he's been doing all week, in fact! It's no wonder that he keeps nodding off..." Largo's voice trailed off into mumbled growls.

Belle gazed at the papers, her curiosity aroused at the sight. "Writing?"

Largo snorted derisively. "Brilliantly done, little sister, but do you know what he's writing?"

Belle bristled at her brother's tone. "I don't know. Letters, maybe?" she snapped.

"No. Not letters or mayoral duties or any kind of copying for anyone. No, nothing useful. He's writing a book! And not just any book, oh no. This is a book all about his madcap adventures last year. Lazy, inconsiderate, irresponsible-"

"Hush, he'll hear you!" And all my work this afternoon will be undone.

"What if he does? He thinks the same of us Bracegirdles. All Bagginses do, even if we do something productive with our time instead of running off and wasting it on pointless adventures. To think that I got out the pony trap for him-"

"He hasn't treated us like that," Belle argued.

"No? How many people did he talk to at the burial?" Largo sneered. "Oh, and Hilda really doesn't counts because she's a Brandybuck. She married a Brandybuck, she is a Brandybuck."

"They wouldn't talk to him," Belle growled. "I was watching, all day, unlike you, I might add. So don't even try to take that tone with me, Largo Bracegirdle. Besides, if you haven't noticed, he's in mourning, even now."

"Mourning?" Largo scoffed, "Him? For Aunt Lobelia?"

Belle snorted at her brother's obtuseness. "You must be blind," she snapped. "He almost feels her death as deeply as we do."

Largo snorted back. "That'll be the day," he retorted. He glared up at his little sister. "I don't like him."

"That's been obvious from the beginning," Belle almost spat the words.

The pair glared at each other. Belle was the first to break.

"I don't have time for this," she sniffed haughtily. "I need to get into the linen cupboard. If he returns before I do, keep him here."

Largo chuckled mockingly. "Why, did you freeze last night?" he taunted.

Belle stiffened at the derisive tone. "No, but you might during this trip if I can't get any packed," she snapped, " 'Never forget the bedding,' remember?"

Largo gave her a smug smile. "Don't worry. I'll take care of him."

"Thank you," Belle returned sarcastically and hurriedly quit the room before he could draw her back into the pointless argument, but it still continued in her head as she made her way to the linen cupboard. Why had she and Largo of all people been arguing? If it had been Elbin she could have understood, or Torgo, but she and Largo were more like best friends than siblings and had been since they were eight and ten and she had dropped a frog down Lotho's shirt after he'd been teasing Largo so miserably. They'd always stood together, through their tweens, the deaths of both their parents, three unwanted suitors, Lilla, and the Time of Troubles. They'd worked together on their plan to bring the master of Bag End to his knees, and yet now, when they were so close he was going to throw all of their hard work away, not to mention all of Belle's dreams. It wasn't fair. Was she going to have to choose between her brother and her intended?

That thought abruptly ended the mental conversation and, with a hasty glance up and down the empty passage, she slipped into the 'spare bedroom', closing the door quickly behind her.

Someone had already lit the hearth and the firelight threw a cosy glow over the little room. The slight gust as she opened the door caused little shadows to dance across the wall. She was surprised to see how tidy the place was. Out of all her brothers only Torgo, three years younger than her, had ever shown the slightest inclination to pick up after himself, and she had always assumed that all males were the same. Apparently Frodo wasn't, for the room appeared untouched except for his grey cloak draped over a wooden-backed chair which sat in the middle of the room, and a very large book with red covers on the desk.

Belle felt a thrill of curiosity race through her at the sight of that book. According to Largo in that book, sitting so innocently before her, were the answers to her every question...and Frodo didn't even know that she was in here.

She struggled with herself for a moment, and then the thought of Frodo being stalled by an impatient Largo crossed her mind -and what Largo might say in his current state. Suddenly it wasn't that difficult to restrain herself after all.

The door to the actual linen closet stood only a few feet from the fireplace, having been a later addition to the little room in an attempt to solve the problem of, "where to store all of the linens that these well-meaning relatives keep sending four motherless children for Yule?" The aunts, unfortunately, refused to take them back and for a long time they had just piled up in the little windowless room. Finally Elbin, who wanted to be a carpenter and a delver, dug out the closet, furnished it with shelves, and had stuffed all of the blankets, towels, sheets, tablecloths, and everything else into it. The blankets which spilled out at her feet as soon as she opened the door made Belle wonder if Frodo had tried to open it.

The travel bedding was further back in the closet than she thought and it took her some time to re-straighten everything once she was done. Just as she was finishing the slight snick of a turning knob sent her scrambling as far into the closet as she could (much further than before now that the shelves had been put to rights). She pulled the door nearly shut behind her.

In the warm semi-dark all of her senses seemed sharpened. She caught the scent of chamomile tea and heard an exhausted sigh, shortly followed by the clink of glass and then metal being placed on wood. Then silence fell. Belle strained her ears to hear anything, but in vain. After a few minutes of this almost palpable silence she could stand it no longer and risked a peep through the slight crack she had left.

Frodo Baggins, young, desirable Frodo, the loveliest bit of hobbit-flesh to ever be born in the Shire, stood near his bed gazing at the fireplace and looking...ancient. Belle stared in astonishment. She'd never seen a hobbit look so old in all her days; old and tired; even a little ill. He kept clutching at his chest as if feeling for something and then hastily pulling his hand away, and his eyes stared at the fire in hollow despair. Belle felt her own eyes bulging out of her head, but couldn't make herself look away. What was this? What had happened to the mischievous prankster or the mournful little lad from earlier? Even the scrupulously polite Master would have at least been familiar. Who was this creature standing before her fireplace and looking out of her Frodo's blue eyes?

With a shudder Frodo twisted away, grabbing at his jewel and muttering some sort of Elvish babble under his breath. Belle held her breath as she watched, suddenly feeling rather concerned about what would happen if she was caught. After a few minutes Frodo began singing in a low, rather desperate-sounding voice. The music was almost haunting, somehow both hopeful and sorrowing at once, and tears were pricking in the corners of Frodo's eyes. Belle found herself intrigued and enchanted by the soft tune and wondered what the words were. Something foreign no doubt, perhaps Elvish. Frodo moved out of Belle's line of view, still singing.

Now that the more pressing problem had been removed from her sight Belle began considering her situation. Gracious! She hadn't meant for things to go this far! She'd just lost her head when she heard him coming. He was supposed to be in the study, for goodness sake! Was Largo trying to get her killed? Because if the Baggins caught her lurking in the closet that was probably what would happen. She remembered the ferocity in those blue eyes on Sterday night -and shivered at the idea of such a gaze directed at her again. And the miserable thing was that she hadn't even done anything! She'd just panicked!

With these gloomy thoughts passing through her mind she peered anxiously through the crack again. She could hear sounds of splashing coming from the far corner, as well as mumbles of songs, but thanks to her limited view she couldn't see anything. However, if he's washing himself for bed he probably has his back to the door...could I make it before he turns around?

She stifled a sigh and pressed the heel of her hand firmly against her forehead, trying to weigh her options objectively. Of course, there was that little problem involved in getting the bedding out of the room with her. After all, what had Mum always said? 'Never stay at an inn without a clean set of sheets. You never know when those blankets were last washed. Thrimidge Bracegirdle, are you listening to me? You must never forget the bedding.'

The bedding. The bedding! Oh gracious! The bedding was sitting in a tidy pile just to the left of the closet door. If Frodo was observant at all he'd notice it, and how long do you expect it to take before he notices the door after that?

She noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced up hastily. Frodo, waistcoat off and braces hanging, walked over to the bed where he carefully laid out a fine nightshirt. She scrutinised what she could see of it. Well, that appears to be a very fine nightshirt, indeed. In fact, she almost would have wagered that it was made of silk. If the master of Bag End can afford such a shirt -what would the garments of the Mistress be like? Truth be told, part of her (the coward's part, she was certain) sometimes gave a slight quail at the thought of actually marrying Frodo in the light of everything that she had -and hadn't- learned about him. Today, though, had done so much to silence that little voice, and now this! This nightshirt quelled all doubts. She would marry Frodo and be the wife of the Baggins, just as Aunt Lobelia had wanted for so many years. She would become the mistress of Bag End and no one was going to stop her -especially not Largo.

She watched greedily as Frodo slowly removed his shirt. After all, she argued with herself, there's no harm in watching, is there? If I'm careful I can probably sneak out once he goes to bed and he'll never be the wiser. But...what are those dark stripes on his shoulders?

He threw the shirt casually upon the bed, braced his feet against the wood, and quickly yanked the undervest up over his head -and Belle almost fell out of the cupboard in shock. Scars. Deep, ugly scars the like of which she'd never seen before tore vividly through Frodo's white flesh, thickly criss-crossing his shoulders and back and even going down into his breeches. Unconsciously she drew in a sharp breath.

At the sound Frodo paused with his arms stretched over his head, the vest twisted around his wrists for a moment, and then he hastily pulled the vest back down. His head turned one way and then the other as if he were looking for something, no doubt me, she thought, and then he turned toward the cupboard. Belle shrank back into the shadows again, her mind chanting, please don't see the door, please don't see the door, like a mantra. She tried to muffle her breathing behind one hand as she waited. Outside there was a slight sound that she couldn't identify and then silence. A heartbeat passed, and then another.

With a dull thump something collided with the cupboard door, throwing Belle's already dim world into blackness. A scraping noise followed immediately and she heard the doorknob jiggle, and then the sound of someone quietly panting. Belle lunged for the door, grabbing at the knob that Elbin had installed "just in case someone ever got shut in." It turned and she pushed against the door desperately, but it refused to move.

"Frodo?" she called. There was no point in hiding now, she was definitely caught. "Frodo Baggins! You let me out of here this instant!"

"Miss Bracegirdle," came the muffled reply, "I might have known. Forgive me if I inconvenience you for a moment." The sharp tone did not escape Belle's notice.

"Let me out," she snapped.

There was no answer.

"Frodo?" Belle pressed her ear against the door listening intently for any sound.

"Forgive the observation," came Frodo's sharp voice, "but you don't take very well to imprisonment, do you?"

"Let me out!" she retorted. "Largo will kill you for this."

"Will he indeed?" the tone became dry. "I advise him to go into hiding soon after."

"Frodo!"

"Please be patient, madam," he returned. "I shall let you out momentarily."

"But...it's dark," she begged, shamelessly playing on his own fear.

There was an odd silence for a few moments and then Frodo's muffled voice returned quietly, "Not as dark as it could be."

"Please?"

Silence.

Feeling defeated, Belle slumped back against the closet shelves. In truth, she didn't fear the dark; she had only hoped to find some sympathy with her ploy. Now that it was used up she needed to think.

-fjfjfjfjf-

Frodo Baggins set his jaw firmly and drew in a deep breath through his nose as he hastily buttoned his shirt. He had to calm down. He didn't dare open that door until he was calmer. "It's dark," she said. It's dark?! The very words grated him. What could you possibly know of the dark, Miss Bracegirdle? What do you know of the true dark? Of a world so dark that it seems there was never anything but black? Of the cloying death seeping into your bones and into your breath? Of the blackness stealing over your mind and blinding your-

No. He had to stop. He was going to drive himself mad remembering. He had to calm down.

His right hand curled tightly around Queen Arwen's jewel until his knuckles turned white. Why? he begged silently. Why this? Why now? He drew another slow, deep breath and began putting on his waistcoat.

A. Aragorn, Anduin, Andúril reforged anew.

B. Bilbo. He smiled at the memory. Bilbo, Boromir, Boromir had been a good companion on the quest. For the most part... Frodo shook himself and continued his little cool-down exercise. Bombadil.

C. Celeborn, Cel...ebdil, Cirith Ung- He growled aloud at that one. No, not that. There was absolutely nothing good about that. He cast his mind frantically about for another 'C', before the memories became any clearer.

"Frodo?" Belle's muffled voice begged, recalling his attention to the problem at hand.

"Another moment if you please, Miss Bracegirdle," he returned. He couldn't, and wouldn't, explain it to her, but he couldn't leave it at two 'C's. He'd be trying to solve the problem in his head and wouldn't attend to business. Rapidly he scoured his memory for another answer. Names, places, and titles from the quest tumbled through his head. Unfortunately, the only other thing that he could think of at this point was 'Caradhras', also entirely unfitting.

With a frown he looked down at himself, taking mental stock of his appearance. Shirt tucked and buttoned, breeches dusted off, waistcoat...present. It wasn't brushed or pressed, but it was properly buttoned. It will do for this, at least. Foothair... not the best, but decent, coat on, cuffs properly turned...Cotton, of course! Frodo almost smacked himself in the head. Sam had married Rosie Cotton! What could be a better 'C' than that?

With a smirk at his foolishness for not remembering 'Cotton' sooner he turned to the problem in the closet and removed the chair which he had wedged beneath the doorknob. How foolish of him to think that his intruder had been anyone dangerous. How, well, vain, of him. One would think that you believe that the world of evil revolves around you, he scolded himself. 'Danger' wouldn't have gasped at the sight of his back; it would have grinned. A curious hobbit, on the other hand, would react just as Belle did; be sensible if only for a minute, Frodo Baggins, he mentally scolded himself. He frowned. How was he to protect the Shire from learning the horrors of evil if they were going to do this to him? There are reasons behind the things that I do, Miss Bracegirdle.

With that thought in mind he drew himself up and, with a firm set of his chin, resolutely opened the closet door.

The maiden blinked and shielded her eyes from the sudden light as the door swung open, trying to peer at the backlit figure framed in the doorway. "Frodo?" she queried, a hesitant vulnerability in her tone.

He couldn't answer her for a minute, but just stood there looking. He remembered that vulnerability, that uncertainty of 'what will happen to me?' He'd unfortunately had his questions answered. On occasion his back still throbbed with the answers. When he spoke his voice was softened.

"Come out once your eyes are accustomed to the light." A kindness they hadn't afforded him.

Belle squinted up at him, cocking her head to one side, but Frodo stepped out of sight before she could ask anything. He could feel his resolve crumbling slightly. Why did she have to look at me like that? He sighed and gathered himself up again as she came out.

-fjfjfjfjf-

Belle took one look at the firm-set jaw and steely blue eyes and had no doubts that she was now in the presence of The Baggins. There was a stern disappointment on his face that almost hurt to look at. "Frodo," she began hesitantly.

The Baggins held up one hand as if to check her words and she fell silent. He looked at her for a time, and then said quietly, "What are you doing in my room, Miss Bracegirdle?"

Belle nervously licked her lips. "Forgive me," she corrected, "but really, it isn't your room. It is a spare guest room attached to the linen cupboard, which I needed to get into." She stressed the words 'linen cupboard' slightly.

Frodo nodded sternly. "I see, but you have given me permission to make this my room for several days. Therefore, I expect you to afford me some privacy. Have you often entered this room while I have stayed here?"

The words were delivered with an icy precision that stung in contrast to his earlier warmth and Belle felt her temper coming to lend her some assistance. "Certainly not!" she snapped back haughtily. "I merely needed to get some linens for the trip tomorrow. Until this night I have never entered 'your' room."

Frodo drew himself up more sternly at her tone. Belle couldn't have known it, but through his head had shot the name, 'Lobelia'. "Very well," he returned. "Why then were you hiding in the cupboard?"

Belle glared back at him, nostrils flared. "I knew that you would overreact if you found me in here," she answered frostily.

"Did you?" he returned.

"I most certainly did," she snapped. "I've done nothing. I came to gather bedding for tomorrow and had to straighten the cupboard because someone left it a perfect mess the last time it was opened. You can see my pile there." She gestured to the small stack of linens to her right. "I wasn't expecting you and I panicked because I knew that this is what you would think if you found me in here. That, Mr Baggins, is why I was hiding in a linen cupboard." She glared defiantly up at him.

He gazed at her for a few moments as if he were weighing her words, and then the set of his jaw softened, although his eyes remained wary. "Forgive me, Miss Bracegirdle," he said quietly. "I have always been a very private person, and I fear that upon catching you in here I assumed the worst. I apologise for wrongly accusing you."

The apology set Belle back on her heels for a moment. Did he mean it? She stared at him suspiciously for a few moments. The Baggins stared back, his eyes guarded. There were secrets hiding there. Definite secrets that he wouldn't willingly disclose. Well, perhaps she could coax him into sharing a little more. She allowed her own eyes to soften and murmured, "I accept your apology, and I must apologise for my temper as well."

He gave her a queer half-smile that didn't reach into his eyes and nodded. "And I accept yours as well," he murmured. She smiled and nodded her thanks, but the Baggins had turned away toward the linens and didn't see it.

As he bent to pick them up for her she asked gently, "What happened to your back?"

The Baggins froze for a moment, and then said in a quiet voice, "Please pardon my rudeness, but I don't believe that's any of your concern."

"None of my concern?" Belle stared at him, aghast. "Frodo, I know what those marks are. I have four brothers who routinely earned themselves a thrashing from the farmers for scrumping, but none of them still have the marks. Who beat you?

"That's none of your affair," Frodo repeated, rising to his feet and drawing himself up stiffly. "and I ask that you keep what you've seen to yourself. I'd prefer it if the entire Shire was not discussing me."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Belle reassured him. "They won't hear a word from me, not even Largo." Although I am going to kill him for this, she added mentally.

If anything the Baggins appeared more uncomfortable than ever by her words. He eyed her warily.

Belle gave him an abashed smile and dropped her casual demeanour. "I mean it, Frodo," she said firmly. "I promise I'll never tell anyone. I swear." What possessed to add the last two words she couldn't guess, but she meant all of it.

Frodo gave her a long, searching look, and then finally nodded, as if satisfied. "Thank you," he murmured.

He turned toward the laundry again and Belle waited until he was kneeling on the floor this time. As he reached for the pile she gently began running her fingers soothingly through his hair. He grew very still and tense.

"Frodo," she whispered, "please tell me. What happened?"

"It isn't any of your business, Miss Bracegirdle," he returned firmly, but beneath her fingers she could feel him trembling. Interesting. He can hide his feelings behinds his voice, but his body will betray him.

"Those marks on your legs," she murmured, still gently teasing his curls. "That wasn't dirt on your legs on Trewsday night, was it?"

"Please leave me," Frodo said.

"Someone beat you," Belle was horrified. "They tried to beat you to death, didn't they?

A tremor shuddered through the hobbit and he pulled his head away from her touch. "You are mistaken, Miss Bracegirdle," he said calmly, scooping up the laundry as he did so. "No-one attempted to beat me to death. I am fine." He rose and handed her the stack of linens. She was surprised at the expressionless look on his face as he continued, "Would you please leave? I must prepare for the trip tomorrow."

Oh ho, so that was his game, was it? She planted her feet adamantly even as she accepted the load. "Frodo Baggins, my cousin Rose was beaten by the Ruffians when they took her husband, but even they weren't this ruthless. I would know. I tended the wounds myself. Did someone take care of you? They weren't poisoned, were they?"

Frodo sighed. "Yes, Miss Bracegirdle, they were tended by the finest healers in the land. Now, would you please leave?"

"Were they poisoned?" Belle demanded.

"No." He walked to the bedroom door and held it open for her.

She stared at him from her position by the closet, something in the back of her head screaming that everything was wrong, but she couldn't explain why. Frodo stared back. In the silence that stretched between them Belle thought that she heard a barely audible "Farmer...Fang horn...F...F..." She tucked it it in the back of her mind and moved toward the door.

As she exited she bade Frodo goodnight. He swept her a polite bow and returned, "I bid you a most pleasant and restful sleep as well, Miss Bracegirdle, with no foul dreams to trouble you."

He closed the door firmly upon her retreating figure even as she turned back to correct her name, and through the door she heard him say -though certainly not to her, "I thank you, my Lady. I-I- Four Long, of course! Blast this..." the voice died into mutters.

Belle shook her head, wondering what had just happened. Then she remembered her forgotten wrath at Largo's betrayal and marched to the study, intent on getting an explanation for her brother's conduct.

-0-0-0-

A/N: Perhaps I should explain what Frodo was doing with A, B, C, etc. One of (my) Frodo's tricks that he uses to try avoiding or escaping the unpleasant memories from the quest is to remember the good things that happened and the good people that he met. Because hobbits enjoy word games he makes it a game. For each letter of the alphabet you have to remember three good things, events, or people from the quest. They must remembered in alphabetical order and may not be repeated. For example, this is why he didn't use Arwen as part of his three good 'A's; he was saving her for 'U' (Undómiel), lest he end up with Ungol, Ufthag, and Ungoliant's get. It's a bit of a silly trick, but it does help at times.

A/N2: Frodo is not and was not falling for Belle at any point thus far. Belle is merely reading what she wants to see into the relationship. As always.