12. A Long Ride?

The moment that Belle set foot out the front door she knew that it was going to be an interesting trip. Elmas perched on the roof of the carriage trying to tie up the last of the baggage while Largo bellowed orders and tossed more rope at him and Frodo held the heads of both ponies. Apple, the carriage pony, was already hitched up and appeared to be quite calm, but Strider, a lovely sleek pony with a shining grey coat and a spirited look in his eye, was dancing about impatiently. Frodo appeared to be murmuring reassurances to them both, but especially to the grey. As she approached the carriage she heard him say firmly, "Steady, lad." He threw a glance up at the roof and called to Elmas, "Are you all right up there?"

"I'm fine, sir," Elmas called back sturdily, looping the rope around a piece of luggage. "This is th' las' bit here."

"All right," Frodo returned. Strider whickered impatiently, which set the other pony whickering back, and Frodo winced at the noise.

"Hey, Strider, hey," he shushed soothingly. "We'll be on our way soon."

"Need a hand?" Belle chuckled.

Frodo looked at her and breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, please. If you could just hold Apple." He handed the dun off to her and put a firm hand to his own pony's neck. "Hey, lad," he crooned. "We'll be off in a minute, and then you'll be trotting all day. Don't fret now, my lad." The pony whuffled impatiently and Frodo smiled. "Sedho, mellon nín," he lapsed into the Elvish tongue, murmuring gently and stroking the pony. To Belle's surprise Strider began to calm down at the strange words.

"Does he understand you?" she wondered.

"I don't think so." Frodo's voice rose and fell with the same calming cadence that he was using on his pony. He continued to face the grey. "I know very little of the Rohirric language though, and will often speak to him in Sindarin instead. I think that he just responds to the tone of my voice. After all, we've travelled a long way together. Haven't we, lad?" The pony whickered in response and nuzzled his master's dark hair.

"He really is a beautiful creature," Belle observed, trying to quash the odd sense of jealousy at the bond between hobbit and pony, for goodness sake. "Where did you ever get him?"

"Rohan," he answered, "It's a lovely country of rolling plains and grassland far to the east and south of the mountains, and they cherish their horses -and ponies- as family."

Belle's eyebrows rose at that odd notion. Did Frodo approve of the idea as well? He certainly seemed to regard other aspects of Men's culture highly enough. "What where you doing there?" she wondered.

"Coming home," Frodo smiled. "Our path led through there."

Belle appraised the pony mentally, being one who had a good eye for ponyflesh. The creature must have cost a fortune. "He seems rather impatient to leave," she noted.

"He would be," Frodo smirked, reaching up to scratch the pony's forehead. "He never enjoys the waiting. In fact, there's nothing that he likes better than a good run. Is there, my lad?"

This last was directed at Strider, who leaned hard into Frodo's hand, appearing to enjoy the rub. "Today will be rather hard for you, won't it," Frodo sympathised, rubbing harder, "trotting behind a carriage all day?"

Belle smiled at the pair. "How fast is he?"

He glanced at her, a mischievous look in his eyes. "You'd be surprised," he answered mildly.

"Oh?" Belle challenged. "Perhaps you could show me his paces sometime."

"Perhaps," Frodo said with a shrug, but his eyes were still gleaming.

"I think that's the last of it," Largo announced, bustling over importantly as if he had been the one on the carriage roof. "If you'll just hitch up your pony we'll be on our way." Both grey and dun snorted at him.

"There now," Frodo crooned, gently patting Strider's nose. "Didn't I tell you? Come on then," and saying this he led Strider around to the back of the carriage.

Largo grinned at his little sister. "Your carriage awaits, my lady," he said with a sweeping bow.

Now that the time was upon them Belle suddenly felt hesitant. There was still so much that they didn't know or understand, like Rohan. He'd been with them a week and had never once spoken of Rohan. Or where he was journeying back from, for that matter. In fact, he'd barely spoken of himself at all, it seemed. "Largo," she murmured in an undertone, "do you really think that this will work?"

He straightened from his bow, shrugging. "All we can do is try," he murmured back. "It's too late to back out now. Isn't it?" He eyed her as if offering a way out, but Belle was having none of it.

"Absolutely," she said firmly and swept past him into the carriage. She had just finished settling in when Frodo climbed in and lay a large leather satchel on the seat opposite her.

"Left it again," he muttered and began rolling up the stiff canvas covering which hung over the window. Light and a gentle breeze both streamed through the hole at once, freshening the air in the carriage. Belle gave the satchel a disgruntled frown, having intended to take the seat beside Frodo if possible.

"I thought that you had your luggage on top," she commented, trying to sound careless.

He glanced at her before continuing his self-appointed task of tying up the shade. "I do," he answered. "This is just my—"

"His book!" Largo announced as he climbed into the carriage. "His absurd, irrational piece of drivel which has cluttered up either his seat or saddle for the past week!" Belle rolled her eyes at her brother's comments. The slightest mention of "the book" goaded Largo into unspeakable rudeness, it seemed. He now sat down in a huff beside her and banged on the roof three times, signalling Elmas to start.

Frodo, who had barely finished with the window, hastily took his seat as well, muttering, "Quite so," under his breath as the carriage lurched forward and then began moving steadily down the road toward Michel Delving.

Once they were moving Belle gave Frodo a curious look and said, "Your book?"

Frodo nodded. "Yes, Miss Belle. I am writing a book."

She cocked her head at him in interest. "What's it about?"

"It's an account of my journey last year," he answered. "My cousin tasked me with writing it down for him.

Belle smiled."So it's about your adventures?" she clarified.

A closed look came over his face. "Yes," he murmured, glancing out the window. "Mine and a few others."

With an encouraging smile at him she drew out her piece-bag, murmuring, "It sounds fascinating."

He ignored her, or perhaps he didn't hear as he watched the world pass by outside, one hand stroking the gleaming white jewel around his neck and the other absent-mindedly fingering the brass clasps of his satchel, a small furrow in his brow. With a small sigh to show her discontent she withdrew some patches from the piece-bag and began to work out a pattern and colour scheme for her next quilting project.

The three rode in silence this way for some time, Largo reading over some legal nonsense or other, Belle designing, and Frodo silently gazing out of the window. Belle would glance up at Frodo from time to time to see how he was getting on, but he never seemed to take any notice of her. Slowly though, as first the minutes and then the miles passed by the crease between his eyebrows began to smooth itself out, and a gentle, somewhat wistful smile started playing at the corners of his mouth. Gradually Belle became aware that he was humming and murmuring something under his breath. It sounded almost like the Springle-ring, but it was far more gentle than usual. Belle's sharp ears managed to catch the words, "Sturdy and steady they stand." Largo gave an over-dramatic moan of pain and curled himself tightly into his corner, burying his face in his papers. Belle grinned. It served him right, after all the grief that he'd given Frodo that week.

Frodo's voice rose just a little and he sang softly:

"Sit by the firelight's glow
Tell us an old tale we know
Tell of adventure strange and rare
Never to change
Ever to share
Stories we tell will cast their spell
Now and for always"

Belle smiled at the change. "What are you singing, Frodo?"

"Just a little song that Sam made up," he answered quietly, turning to face her for the first time since she'd inquired about his adventures.

Belle's smile froze. Sam. Why does everything always go back to that 'Sam'?

"It sounded like the Springle-ring to me," Largo muttered.

"It should," Frodo agreed. "He put a few fitting words to the tune."

Belle's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Sam writes songs?"

Frodo smiled warmly. "Of the very best kind," he answered. "No overly fancy words or phrases. Just simple truths put to melody."

"Probably all he knows." Largo's mutter was nearly inaudible even to Belle, but Frodo drew himself up sharply, his eyes suddenly glinting dangerously.

"Indeed," the hobbit snapped. "Tell me what you know of it.

Belle looked at him, startled, and Largo appeared taken aback as well.

"What?" he wondered.

Frodo's tone was icy. "You don't even know Sam. What right do you have to judge him like that?"

Largo was certainly agitated. Belle could tell that from the way his eyes kept darting about.

"I only meant that he didn't have much schooling, I'm sure," he blustered.

Frodo's eyebrows rose. "Oh?" he murmured, his tone dangerously quiet. He gave poor Largo a hard look and her brother shifted uneasily. Frodo continued in a louder tone, "If you ask me he had the finest teacher in the Shire. The same as mine. Bilbo Baggins." He enunciated the name very carefully and then watched coldly as the siblings tried to absorb this new information.

"Really?" Largo asked after a long pause.

"Yes." The word was clipped, and Belle winced. The Baggins was definitely angry.

Largo grimaced. Bilbo might not have been the most shining example of hobbitry, but now was certainly not the time to bring that up. "Well," he admitted, "no one could ever say that Bilbo Baggins didn't know how to use words, so I suppose I take it back." He turned away, and Belle felt relieved that the battle was over. Until she caught sight of Frodo's glare. The intensity of it sent shivers down the hobbitess's spine. Just like Sterday night.

It took longer for Largo to acknowledge the stare, and then he snapped, "What?"

"You suppose," Frodo muttered, then in a louder, scathing tone added, "How very generous of you." Largo glared at the Master of Bag End who continued with a sigh, "Mr Bracegirdle, I'm certain that you are aware of the many times that I've spoken to you of Sam and Rose this week."

"It has been several, yes," Largo returned coolly.

Frodo eyed his companion sternly. "Do you remember anything I said?" He paused as if waiting for an answer. When none was forthcoming he added in a hard tone, "Such as regarding insulting them?"

"That wasn't an insult," Largo returned defensively. "I was making an observation, and you weren't supposed to hear it," he added indignantly.

Belle winced at that bit of foolishness. As if Frodo Baggins of the Sharp Ears was going to miss a mutter that she herself plainly heard. Frodo's jaws ground together, and an angry blue flame leapt up in his eyes as he snapped, "You have disparaged and belittled Sam all week, and I've had quite enough of it. Sam is my brother in all but blood, and I will not stand for you speaking so of him any longer. If I hear you say one more thing against him, or Rose, or any of his family, then I will be happy to find you both a room at the Green Dragon, where you can stay as we conduct our business."

The Bracegirdles stared at him in shock. Largo's jaw was slightly agape as he goggled at the Baggins. "You'd do - what?" he finally gasped.

Frodo clenched his jaw tighter. "I will be forced to withdraw my invitation to Bag End."

"Your reputation would be ruined," Largo returned with some amazement. Good manners were not just cherished in the Shire; they bordered on solemn ritual at times. The formal extension of an invitation to visit was one of those instances. Once given, under no circumstance save illness, injury, or death could it be revoked. To do so was considered an irreparable breach of etiquette. A hobbit who did so was often shunned and looked upon with suspicion for years afterwards unless he had a flawless reason for doing so, and even then he would be subject to gossip and speculation for months. The logic was that no hobbit would ever extend an invitation if he didn't mean it.

The Baggins never flinched. "What is the ruin of my reputation, such as it is, compared to the wounds you would inflict upon my brother?" He paused, and his tone became softer. "You know nothing of Sam. He has far more worth than you give him credit for." He turned away from them to look out the window, the jewel on his necklace clenched tightly in his fist. His voice was barely audible as he murmured, "He gave up everything to follow his master in his witless wanderings, even knowing that he may never come back. A family, a home...a bride. My dear, dear Samwise," he whispered, and Belle suddenly realised that he wasn't talking to them at all. "You knew what the cost of following could be, but you still-" he paused as if overcome, and then continued, "and how great that cost has been to you. I've seen it in your eyes, and heard it in your voice at night. Oh, Sam, you could have been happy and free, never knowing of battle or peril or-" He broke off suddenly, leaving Belle to wonder what sort of 'or' could cause such pain in Frodo's eyes. She longed to reach out and lay a comforting hand on his knee-nothing more than that-but it was as if there was an invisible barrier between Frodo and the Bracegirdles, miles wide and tall as a tree. Reluctantly, Belle returned to her pillow design, pondering Frodo's strange words as the carriage ride dragged on.

After several more unending miles the carriage slowly came to a halt and soon Elmas' round face was peering in Largo's window, politely informing them that they'd somehow missed elevenses, and it was now noon and just the right time for an early luncheon, if'n y' don' mind, Mr Bracegirdle, sir.

Frodo chuckled softly at the words and turned toward the others, memory softening his eyes and a quiet half-smile, almost sad, playing about his lips.

"By all means!" Largo exclaimed, hastily gathering his papers together and exiting the carriage. "How is Apple holding up?" Belle heard him ask as the pair walked away.

"Oh, y'know Apple, sir," the tween replied. "She's a lovely mare, but-" they moved out of hearing distance. Across from her Frodo was stretching his shoulders back and drawing a deep breath as if coming out of a long reverie. Come to think of it, he was.

She gave him a casual smile. "Are you hungry?

He came out of his stretch with a smile of his own. "Yes, I believe that I am." He slipped past her and out of the carriage, and then turned and politely offered her a hand down. She accepted.

-jfjfjfjfjfj-

After luncheon, a quiet affair marred only by Elmas' incessant chatter (an unfortunate trait of the Turnbarrel family), the travellers resumed their journey. Belle was still tense as the carriage began jolting away, but Frodo, by contrast, seemed more relaxed than she had seen all day. He had withdrawn a few sheets of paper, a writing stick, and a thin board from the leather satchel which now lay open beside him on the seat, and now he was busy scratching away at the paper and humming a sprightly little tune under his breath as he worked. Every so often words would spill out of him as if he couldn't help but sing. The thought made Belle smile in spite of her anxiety. Was this yet another side to Frodo Baggins? As of yet she couldn't really connect all of the Frodos that she'd seen this week in a comprehensive picture; there were still too many pieces missing. But perhaps he was unconsciously giving her some more clues.

How she longed to ask what he was doing, or what he was singing, but what kind of chance would she be taking if she did so? After all, she had to get to Bag End and see what she was up against before she could try to conquer it, and the only way to do that was to ensure that Largo didn't make any more offensive comments, and Belle was beginning to fear that if 'Sam' came up again Largo wouldn't be able to restrain himself. Silently she withdrew the first two dark green squares for the patchwork pillow and a needle and began to sew them together.

It wasn't too many miles before she gave it up. A hobbitess can only take so many references to bright blue jackets and yellow boots, cats fiddling, and tall ships and kings before she bursts from curiosity, she justified herself as she gazed at Frodo across the carriage. He was silent at the moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. Belle smiled at the picture he made.

"Writing or drawing?"

He looked up at her, still frowning. "I beg your pardon?"

"Are you writing or drawing?" she repeated.

He nodded in understanding. "Drawing, of course. I'm afraid that I can't think well enough to write anything at the moment." He gave her a reassuring smile as he said this, and Belle felt herself reciprocating in kind.

"May I ask what?"

He eyed the paper critically. "It's supposed to be a picture of my cousin Merry and a Haradri sailor's monkey. I don't draw very well, though."

Belle frowned. "What's a 'mung-key'?" she wondered.

Frodo graced her with a very small laugh at that. "A monkey is a small animal that lives in the Southern parts of the world. They're little things, barely taller than a faunt, but they can cause more mischief in five minutes than the combined efforts of a Brandybuck and a Took." He frowned thoughtfully. "They have long, thin arms and legs and lithe bodies that can slip right between your fingers if you're trying to catch them, and thin snake-like tails which they will often swing by from anything that happens to be convenient, be it a sailor's arm or the awning of a tent. He was very loyal, though, the one that we met. His master had only to whistle a certain tune and the little creature would come scampering back to sit on his shoulder, chattering and scolding in his own tongue."

Belle frowned. "Is it...another...sort of folk?" she asked hesitantly.

"Stars, no," Frodo chuckled. "Although he did sometime act like a mischievous child. You see, monkeys have paws that are almost like hands on both their front and back legs, so they can grasp things and climb quickly, and this one was always trying to steal orange fruits and nuts from the bins -for we met them at market- or tugging on his master's ear ring and then scampering away and chattering to any who would hear him about how he was being mistreated-"

"A man wore an ear ring?" Belle interrupted.

"Yes," Frodo nodded. "We were all quite taken aback ourselves, at first, but apparently it's a common practice in Harad, which is where the sailor is from. We were actually quite surprised at first when we saw him there, for the Haradri fought in the war on...on the other side, but apparently he swore allegiance to Gondor many years ago. In fact, his ship was among those running supplies to us while we were in resting in Ithilien, although we didn't meet him until that day in the market." Frodo smiled at the memory, a sad, faraway sort of smile, Belle thought. "He was so eager to meet us," Frodo continued. "He kept bowing and smiling. It was rather disconcerting to have a great mountain of a man like that bowing to us, of all the peoples of Middle-Earth!"

"Why did he?"

"I expect that at least part of it had something to do with his culture, and the other likely had to do with the fact that we were hobbits and he had never seen one before. Most people actually thought that Pippin was a prince." He gave her a knowing smirk and Belle's eyes bugged.

"Peregrin Took? The Thain's son?" At Frodo's nod of confirmation she shook her head. "What were they thinking?!"

"I suspect that it has something to do with how casually he addressed everyone, whether they were mighty rulers or normal guards. In Gondor rulers are addressed with respect and called by titles, rather than their first names. Our dear Pippin though went on his merry way calling the Steward, Denethor and the Captain of the Rangers, Faramir and our belovéd King Elessar he called Strider!" Frodo actually laughed at this, his teeth showing and joy in his eyes. "So Merry and I concluded that it must have come from that," he finished. He shook his head fondly. "Dear, dear Pippin," he murmured, looking back down at his drawing.

"All right," Belle said, settling herself in. "Tell me about it."

He looked up at her curiously. "About what?"

"Everything!" she declared. "Strider and Farmir and Hairad and the munkey and everything." There's a joy in your eyes, Frodo Baggins, that I haven't seen there all week, and I would do anything right now to keep it there. "Please?" she added. "I'd love to know."

He gave her a wry smile. "You don't know what you're letting yourself in for," he warned.

"Try me," Belle grinned.

-o-o-o-

Translations:

Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.
Na elyë hiruva. Namárië!

Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar.
Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!

Lasto bith nîn, Strider. Sedho = Listen to my voice, Strider. Be still

A/N: The idea of monkey came from Larner, although (as far as I can remember) that events surrounding it are mine.

Frodo's song, Now and for Always is from The Lord of the Rings Musical. If you wish to listen it's on youtube. Great music. :) If at all possible, if you do listen, watch the actual video that goes with this. It's only the second half of the song, but it's still charming.