11. The Morning After the Night Before
27 Thrimidge, 1420 S.R.
It was late before Frodo emerged from his little room the next morning. In fact, Belle, Largo, and young Elmas Turnbarrel, a tween who worked for the Bracegirdles as a hobbit-of-all-work and was to drive the carriage, were half-way through second-breakfast before Frodo finally entered the kitchen, his pale face full of apology.
"Well, good morning, sleepyhead," Belle teased cheerfully.
The two male hobbits looked up immediately, Largo with a scowl and Elmas with a grin.
"Hullo, Mr Baggins," the lad called brightly, raising a mug of milk in salute.
"It's about time," Largo muttered, casting a dark look first at Frodo, and then Elmas, who flushed and hastily took a gulp of milk to cover his embarrassment.
Frodo bowed his head humbly. "I do apologise," he murmured. "Forgive me for keeping us so late."
"Oh, don't apologise to me," Largo snapped. "It's your darling 'Sam' you've got to talk to." Frodo flinched and Belle stifled a groan. One of the things that had been discussed during supper last night was the fact that Frodo wished to be home within three days if possible. When Largo asked why Frodo had unthinkingly made the worst blunder possible and said that he didn't want to worry 'Sam' by being gone any longer than necessary. Largo had icily queried whether it was Frodo or Sam who was Master of Bag End. Frodo had responded in defence of the servant, and, well, the whole matter had gone downhill from there, both parties making some rather outlandish claims to defend their stands. Thinking back on the exchange now Belle realised that was when Largo's entire attitude had changed toward Frodo.
She pulled out a chair beside her, saying, "Come sit down and have some breakfast, dear. We've bacon and sausage, mushrooms, fried eggs, toast, and even some nice fried potatoes, and we still have some of the rolls and porridge and such from first breakfast if you'd prefer."
"We're a-feastin' like kings t'day, Mr Baggins! Beggin' your pardon, sir," Elmas added enthusiastically. Frodo gave the lad a small smile.
"So I see," he murmured, before turning his back to the party and facing west as he did before every meal. The siblings exchanged an exasperated look and Elmas' eyes grew wide before he hastily ducked his head and began eating in a subdued manner.
After a few moments Frodo turned back to the others and eased himself into the chair that Belle had drawn, surveying the table. There was still plenty of everything left.
"Is there anything particular that you'd like?" Belle asked, handing him a plate.
He quirked the barest hint of a smile at her. "Mushrooms."
She laughed and began passing all of the bowls and platters of food around the little table and everyone quietly served themselves a helping or two, although Belle did notice that Frodo skipped the sausage and the potatoes. Then the table seemed to fall into a wary silence which began grating on Belle's nerves within minutes. It was as if everyone was trying to avoid an impending storm. After a few minutes Belle had had enough, but surprisingly it was Elmas who spoke first.
"I'm right sorry, Mr Baggins," he burst out.
Everyone looked up at him in surprise and he turned bright red and glanced back down at his plate. Frodo (after a moment's hesitation) lowered his forkful of eggs to his own plate.
"For what?" he asked bemusedly.
"F'r 'ffendin' y'like," the lad muttered at his plate.
Belle's head snapped back to look at Frodo, who blinked at the accusation. "For what?"
The lad lifted his head now, and his brown eyes looked slightly wet, but he wasn't crying. "For offendin' y' like," he repeated. "I'm right sorry, sir, I didn' mean to."
Frodo gazed at him, looking puzzled. The expression was so comical and adorable at once that if the situation hadn't been so solemn Belle would have laughed.
"You - didn't offend me, lad," he said hesitantly. "What made you think that?"
"When y' firs' come in, like, I said as we was feastin' like kings, an' y'turned your back. So I thought as y' migh' - be mad at me." The last words were whispered, as if he didn't want anyone to hear them. "An' if'n y'druther be upset then y' can," Elmas rushed hurriedly on. "I jus' want'ed t' say I were sorry."
They all stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment.
Then Frodo suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, stars! No, lad, I'm not mad at you at all," he continued in a gentler tone. "I was observing a tradition in the kingdom of Gondor, far to the east and south of us. They call it the Standing Silence. Before every meal they will turn to the west and remember Númenor, their first home, and Valinor, or Elvenhome, and the Valar who dwell there. My companions and I all picked up the habit while we were there."
Elmas looked at him warily. "Y' did?"
Frodo gave him a reassuring smile. "Yes. I apologise for frightening you."
Elmas flushed again. "No need t' 'pologise t' me, sir. I was th' noodle what thought y' was offended.
Frodo smiled and shook his head. "Nonsense. I'd say that you're anything but a noodle, or a ninnyhammer if you know that one. Now, surely you're hungrier than that," he added, gesturing at Elmas' plate-full of half portions (which looks a lot like Frodo's own, Belle thought). "Eat, lad, and don't mind us old gaffers. A growing tween needs far more food than us." He gave the lad a wink and Elmas grinned back and served himself a few more pieces of bacon.
"Speak for yourself," Largo scowled. "I'm only fifty-four and still in my prime, thank you."
"I beg your pardon." Frodo smirked, giving the barrister a bob of a bow.
"As if," Largo grunted.
"Lads," Belle scolded. They both looked at her innocently and she gave Frodo a stern look. "I know one 'old gaffer' who needs to put a lot more into his mouth and stomach than he has yet."
Frodo gave her a mock-bow just as he had Largo. "As you wish."
"Really?" Belle returned exasperatedly. In answer Frodo popped a mushroom into his mouth.
The meal continued in silence for a few minutes, and Frodo was actually able to finish half of his helping before Largo demanded, "So tell me, why does a hobbit of the Shire feel the need to follow a custom held by Men?" His tone held a challenge, but for once it wasn't backed by open hostility.
Frodo, who had just taken a bite of toast, held up one finger to signify, 'wait.' After he finished chewing and swallowing he took a sip of tea and then answered, "For several reasons actually. The first one that comes to mind is that it is habit, for we have done it for several months now, and speaking for myself I tend to feel as if I have forgotten something if I don't do it. However, that would be the least of my reasons now. Another could be that we are showing that we respect the men of Gondor, in particular the king, and to show that we follow their traditions. Certainly this is why we first joined them in the Standing Silence, but for me the meaning goes beyond that, and I think for the others as well, for I have seen Merry and Pippin observing it privately, and Sam was the one who taught it to Rosie." He paused and took a slow sip of tea.
"I cannot speak for the others, mind you," he continued, placing his cup back on the table, "but for myself I am acknowledging the Valar and their interventions in my life. Many times I would be lost without them." Belle noticed that his right hand moved to his white jewel as he spoke and he began to stroke it absently, the fingers curled inward so that no-one would notice that he was maimed. "It is a sign of respect, too, and honour. They are, after all, the Powers, among the ones who sang the world into being. The Valar are the ones who left the presence of Ilúvatar, with his blessing, to watch-care over all of Middle-Earth, to shape it, and to help it not only to grow, but to thrive. There are fourteen Valar, and each one takes special care of different parts of Arda. Aulë cares for craftsmen and those who love to make things; Ulmo is Master of the Sea; Oromë is a lover of the hunt and all things related to that. Often I have thought that if the hobbits have a patron among the Valar it would be either Yavanna, who loves all growing things more than any hobbit ever could, or else Nessa, who delights in dancing and merriment, and no-one who has seen the outside world can deny that hobbits are merry folk."
His voice grew softer and his eyes seemed to see something far away, as if he were remembering something. "Even now they intercede in behalf of Middle-Earth: through the Eagles, a rainstorm bringing water to a thirsty traveller, a star seen high above the reek of clouds rekindling hope in a failing spirit," He grew silent and Belle waited breathlessly. He was talking. Actually talking! Even if it was rather strange-sounding it was still something, and she was going to twist the ears off anyone who broke this magic now.
After a few moments Frodo shook himself and turned to Largo, who had waited as silently as Belle. "Forgive me," he said. "You asked why a hobbit would follow a custom of men. My question would be: why don't all hobbits follow such a custom? The other free peoples of Middle-Earth have their own ways of honouring the Valar. The Dwarves may not honour many of the Valar, but they revere Aulë, whom they call Mahal. The Elves remember them in their songs, stories, and feasts. The Men of Númenor have their Standing Silence, as well as other customs and feasts. Why alone of all the free peoples should the hobbits forget the Powers, and the One who created them? For we also are Children of Ilúvatar, along with the Elves, Men, and Dwarves, and the Onodrim. Why do we, of all the peoples, who have such a head for our own genealogies, forget our first Father? For in honouring the Valar we also bring honour back to The One, to Eru Ilúvatar.
"Perhaps the Standing Silence isn't strictly the best way for a hobbit to acknowledge them. As you said, it is a custom of Men. For my part I would be glad to see the hobbits invent their own ways of honouring the Valar. Something definitely hobbity, with the proper amount of respect due, but until that day comes I shall observe the Standing Silence -and more than that, as a friend and a subject of the king of both Gondor and Arnor and as a companion of a Fellowship that went there and back again only by the grace of Eru Ilúvatar and the Valar I shall continue to observe the Standing Silence until the day that I leave Middle-Earth."
He gave Largo a look as if to say, 'that should explain everything' and then took a long drink of milk, closing his eyes as he did so as if talking so much had exhausted him.
The siblings were silent for a moment or two, looking bewilderedly from Frodo to their plates to each other and then back to Frodo. Finally Largo said, "You seem to have thought this out quite thoroughly."
Frodo, who had put down his mug, gave him a small, possibly forced, smile. "Well, I do have to answer that question almost every time that someone sees me doing it."
Belle frowned. "Why didn't you ever tell us this before?"
"You never asked," Frodo returned mildly.
The siblings exchanged a pointed look.
"We've been wondering about this standing thing of yours all week and you're saying that all that we ever needed to do was ask?" Belle was incredulous.
"In this instance, yes," Frodo answered.
"And if we asked you another question?" she countered.
"That would depend on the nature of the question."
Belle wanted to scream. "Frodo, to me asking about that would be the same as asking you about your nightmare."
His cheeks grew pink. "Which you did inquire about, as I recall, but I do thank you for respecting my privacy." The wry tone tone told Belle he was thinking something very different. She grimaced inwardly.
Largo folded his fingers together beneath his chin and leaned on them, elbows on the table, studying the Baggins. "So, it all depends on the nature of the question?" Frodo seemed to pick up on the calculating tone right away for he shot a suspicious look at Largo, who tipped his head innocently to one side. "What happened at the Burning Glade?"
The Master of Bag End grew very still, his face draining of colour and his gaze locked on Largo. The two sat this way staring at each other for a few minutes. Then slowly Frodo leaned against the table himself, imitating Largo's position except that he caught his jewel between his cupped hands and hid his mouth behind the interlocked fingers.
"Why?" he murmured stiffly through his fingers. "You saw what happened. I was sick."
Largo quirked a knowing eyebrow at him. "Yes, but why were you sick?"
Frodo's whole posture looked so vulnerable sitting the way that he was. He was silent for a minute, and then said firmly, "I suppose that question falls under the realm of things which I cannot answer."
"I see," the barrister murmured. He gave Frodo a hard look. "So, how are we to tell the difference between private questions and ones that you will answer? I would have thought that the standing question would be far more personal than the Burning Glade."
"Would you?" The question was very frosty and Largo grew quiet.
Deliberately Frodo turned - not to Belle, but to Elmas, who was chewing on the last piece of sausage.
"Tell me, Elmas, have you ever been to Hobbiton or Michel Delving?"
The tween shook his head as he struggled to swallow his mouthful. When he finally got it down he squeaked, "Nossir, but I c'n get y' there right th' same. I've seen lotsa maps, an' I've driven halfway there afore. M' brother Dan works in an inn at the hafway, an' I go there all th' time. I c'n get y' t' both Michel Delvin' an' Hobbitin right enou'."
Frodo smiled. How does a tweenaged lad elicit so many smiles from him? Belle wondered enviously.
"Well, that's very well, lad, but I was wondering if you have ever tasted Mistress Bunce's gingerbread pigs."
The tween gave him a puzzled look. "No, sir," he answered hesitantly.
Frodo raised his eyebrows, as if wondering how someone could have lived so long without tasting such a delicacy. "Then one of the things that you must do while you're in Michel Delving is go to Mistress Bunce's Pastry Shop and buy yourself a gingerbread pig. They're quite the best ones that I ever tasted, and only a copper apiece."
"Really?" The lad's eyes were huge, and quite hungry.
"Really," Frodo grinned. He turned to Belle. "And as for you, Mistress Bracegirdle—"
"Mistress Bracegirdle?" Belle squeaked out, almost offended.
He smirked at her. "Miss Belle," he amended cheerfully.
Realising that it was nothing more than one of the Baggins' games she smiled back. "No, I can't say that I've ever had a gingerbread pig made by Mistress Bunce."
"Well, then you must try one as well," Frodo said decidedly, "but truthfully, I was going to recommend her tarts for you. She has several different flavours, including a bilberry one I think you'd like, and a strawberry one which Mr Bracegirdle may well approve of," he added in a voice intended to carry to Largo's ears.
Largo glanced vaguely in Frodo's direction, and then looked away.
"Are there any other places in Michel Delving that you would recommend?" Belle asked.
Frodo gave her a rueful smile. "Well, I don't know much about where a lady would care to visit. I tend to keep my business between Mistress Bunce's, the market, and the Goodbody mercantile, with a side trip or two to the Silver Pig. I know that there's a cloth shop by the mercantile which may interest you. Other than that—"
"Well, what about you?" Belle interrupted. "Surely there are other places that you at least visit, even if you don't buy anything."
Frodo shook his head. "Not really. There's an old bookseller who owns what's probably the only bookshop in the Shire, but other than that I generally keep busy."
"You'd be amazed at how much work it is to officiate over banquets, Belle," Largo put in dryly.
Frodo's jaw tightened a notch. "Yes, sorting papers takes even more time," he returned in the same dry tone. He took a sip of tea and grimaced.
Concerned, Belle gave him a look. He smiled thinly in return.
"Cold," he said by way of explanation and took a longer drink this time.
"Comes of making impassioned speeches," Largo muttered. He downed the rest of his tea as well and stood up. "Well, whenever you're ready, Mr Baggins," he announced. "Where are your things?"
"By the front door," Frodo answered. "I'll be ready as soon as I'm finished."
Largo nodded and strode from the room, throwing a "Hurry up, then," over his shoulder as he left. Elmas followed immediately, stuffing the last of the bacon and toast into his pockets as he went.
Belle shook her head as she watched them go. "Lads," she muttered to Frodo, who just shook his head.
"He's still young," he said, looking at his eggs with distaste. "I believe that I am finished as well, Miss Belle," he added, rising to his feet. "I'm afraid that I talked so long that these are quite cold."
Belle glanced at his plate and then nodded. "I can't say that I blame you," she sympathised. "Just leave your plate there; I'll take care of it."
"Thank you—" Frodo began
"BAGGINS!"
Largo's bellow echoed through the smial announcing his presence long before he entered the kitchen and Frodo grimaced. Belle thought that she heard him mutter, "and so it begins," just before Largo entered.
"Would you mind helping us hitch your pony to the back of the carriage?" Largo growled. "He won't budge."
"No," Frodo returned quietly, "he wouldn't." He sighed and stood up. "Of course I'll come. Lead the way."
"Why wouldn't he?" Belle wondered.
The two hobbits glanced at her. "He's trained not to allow anyone he doesn't know to take him away," Frodo answered.
Belle smirked. "Well, that could be helpful," she teased. "Then you know that Largo won't try to make off with him."
Largo scowled. "Stubborn thing. As if I'd want it," he growled.
Frodo gave her a smile, but Belle thought that it looked sad. "I will admit, it's a helpful trait under the right circumstances."
"And now is certainly not one of them," Largo growled. "Can we please go?"
"Lead the way," Frodo said again. Muttering imprecations under his breath Largo led the his guest out of the kitchen.
Once he was gone Belle shook her head at the plate of half-eaten eggs and rejected bacon. What sort of hobbit skipped first breakfast and then only ate mushrooms, toast and porridge for second breakfast?