Chapter Nineteen: Arrested

"What do you mean, Frodo is under arrest?" Bilbo demanded, his grey eyes wide in shock.

Lobelia folded her arms. "Don’t act as though you don’t know," she said smugly. "Frodo stole something of my son’s." Lotho smirked.

"Lobelia, did you truly need to go this far?" Bilbo asked reasonably. "This is ridiculous!"

Lobelia frowned. "That Brandybuck is a thief and a liar," she said icily, giving him a glare that would’ve frozen water in the Cracks of Doom. "Stealing, no matter how small it starts, cannot be tolerated." Bilbo stepped outside and shut the door behind him, not wishing Frodo and Merry to hear the imminent argument.

The two Shirriffs nervously stepped back a bit. They had no quarrel with Mister Baggins, whether he was ‘mad’ or not, and neither could truly believe that Frodo would steal anything. "Why’d we get picked to go bring ’em to the Mayor, Tuck?" one of them asked the other, taking off his cap and twirling it in his fingers.

The other shrugged, also taking off his cap to reveal his auburn curls. "I dunno, Pim," he whispered. "Toly woulda been better for the job. But, as we have, we must do our best."

The one called Pim combed his fingers through his russet-brown curls and watched as Bilbo and the Sackville-Bagginses argued.

"My da is plowin’ today," Pim said softly. "I was s’posed to help ’im."

Tuck (short for Tucker) nodded. "Aye, my da is plowin’, too," he said, his green-gold eyes not leaving Bilbo, Lobelia and Lotho. "But he’s got Tim," he added. "Just turned thirty-four last week – two years older than me, and prob’ly about twice as strong, too."

Pim turned to look at him. "I didn’t know Tim was older ’an you," he said. "I thought you was ’round the same age."

Tuck grinned. "I look that old, do I?"

Pim smirked. "Nah, not you," he said. "It’s Tim as looks younger."

Tucker playfully nudged his companion and covered a chuckle behind his cap. "Aye, I know," he said. "He’s mighty young lookin’ for his age. Kinda like old Mr. Bilbo, there." Both pairs of eyes shifted to the hobbit, taking in his dark brown curls (without more than a small speckling of grey in the front), youthful energy, and face that didn’t look a day over fifty.

"Really, Lobelia," Bilbo argued. "We cannot go today! The poor lad’s not had even a fortnight to recover since he was bitten."

Lobelia sniffed. "And that is quite enough," she said haughtily. "Honestly, Bilbo, you should have more carefully considered your choice of an heir. He should have a stronger constitution – not to mention honesty… Like Lotho."

Bilbo sighed. "Lobelia," he said with strained patience, "as I’ve told you many times before, Frodo is my heir and that is final. He met all of my standards – exceeded them, even."

Lobelia narrowed her eyes. "And what standards would those be, pray?" she said. "They must not be anything too hard to meet if that Brandybuck has passed."

"Lobelia!"

In the kitchen, Frodo was washing the dishes, restraining thoughts of running outside to see what was going on. Merry kept up a lively stream of chatter while finishing up his fourth helping of breakfast. "…So Berilac shoved the vegetables into Merimas’ hands – you should have seen the look on his face! – and he grabs Pip and me and runs through the field. We could hear Merimas behind us, shouting so loud it’s a wonder he didn’t lose his voice. And behind him, Farmer Maggot’s dogs were hot on the trail, barking and making so much noise I thought they’d rouse all of Brandy Hall. We made it to the fence, and Berilac…"

"That’s your last helping," Frodo interrupted.

"All right," Merry said distractedly. "…And Berilac all but pitched Pip and me over it and then jumps over himself – just about landed on top of us." He stuffed the last bite of hotcakes into his mouth. "And behind us, Merimas is hollering and carrying on, wasting the breath he should’ve been using to run. Farmer Maggot’s dogs were right behind him now, so close I could see their colors: Grip is a kinda brindle color, and Fang’s grey, with yellow eyes. And Wolf, the biggest one, he looks like both their colors mixed together; he’s grey with black and brown flecks in his coat." He shuddered. "That dog is the meanest I’ve ever met in my whole life. Even worse than old Farmer Brown’s dog."

Frodo made a face. He needed no description of Farmer Maggot’s dogs; he knew them all too well. Wolf, especially, seemed to have some kind of grudge against him, and he was always the first to chase him when he went raiding mushrooms, which he seldom did now that he’d moved to Bag End.

He glanced behind him at Merry, who was suddenly quiet, and saw him stuffing the last of his own hotcakes into his mouth. "Merry!" Frodo scolded. "That was your last helping!"

Merry choked slightly on the hotcake. "Oh, sorry Frodo," he said with his mouth full. "I guess I forgot." Frodo strove to look stern but he had to quickly turn back to the dishes to hide his grin.

Merry put on the most innocent face he could muster, and meekly walked over with his empty plate, as well as Frodo’s. "Here, Frodo," he said angelically. "You forgot to clean up your plate."

With a defeated sigh, Frodo took the offered plates and scrubbed them. "That’s because I was going to finish my breakfast," he said, shooting a playful glare at Merry.

Merry widened his eyes innocently. "Well, I didn’t know," he said. "I’m afraid I can’t read your mind."

With a smirk, Frodo turned his attention back to the dishes – and suddenly got a handful of soapy water in his face. Quickly drying his face with a towel, Frodo glared at Merry, who was smiling teasingly. "Did I get you wet?" he asked. "Oh, dreadfully sorry about that."

Frodo started to scoop up a handful of water to splash his cousin’s face, but then he stopped. "No, we’ll make a mess," he said seriously. "We don’t want to get the floor all wet." Merry looked up at Frodo curiously, unsure if the older lad was joking or not. He certainly looked serious enough.

Just as he was about to turn away, Frodo suddenly flicked him with soapy water. Blinking his eyes rapidly to rid them of the water, Merry gasped, "Frodo!"

His cousin was trying in vain to keep a straight face, but finally laughed out loud at Merry’s astonished face. "Surely you didn’t think I’d let you get the better of me!" he said, when he had breath enough. Merry opened his mouth to retort, but something out the window caught his eye.

He ran over and looked out, his eyes widening at what he saw. "Frodo, look!" he cried, without taking his eyes off the scene outside. "It’s Lobelia and Lotho! With two Shirriffs!"

Frodo dried his hands on a towel and quickly came up behind Merry. He sucked in his breath sharply as he saw Bilbo arguing, trying to make peace by the looks of it, with Lobelia and Lotho. Two Shirriffs were standing a safe distance away, looking uncomfortable.

Frodo glanced at Merry. "I suppose we better go out there and see what’s up."

Merry clenched his hands into fists. "I know what’s up," he said furiously. "It’s about that silly little bird Milo made me. Lotho’s still saying that you’ve stolen it." Frodo nodded. "Well, come on, then! We can’t leave Uncle Bilbo to fend for himself against the S.-B.’s!" Merry declared, grabbing Frodo’s hand and dragging him toward the door.

"But try not to lose your temper;" warned Frodo as he allowed himself to be pulled along, "it won’t help matters."

Merry opened the door. "I’ve already lost my temper," he muttered darkly.

When they stepped outside, Lobelia’s shrill shrieks made Merry cover his ears with his hands. No one noticed as they walked closer, until they were both standing beside Bilbo. As Lobelia’s furious glare came down upon the two lads, Merry involuntarily stepped back a bit and sat down on the bench nearby.

Meeting Lobelia’s glare unwaveringly, Frodo slid his hand into Bilbo’s and pressed it. "What is this all about?" he asked softly, tearing his eyes away from Lobelia’s and looking at his Uncle.

"Well, Frodo," said Bilbo unhappily, "it seems that—" He was cut off as the two Shirriffs stepped forward, their feathered caps replaced on their heads.

"Frodo Baggins," Tuck said, trying to look stern and important (certainly it was easier to be so when talking to a hobbit smaller and younger than himself). "You are under arrest for suspicion of theft. I’ll need you to come along with us to see Mayor Whitfoot." Frodo said nothing, only raised his eyebrows.

"Come now!" Bilbo pleaded. "Frodo is not wholly well yet. Give him a few more days to rest, and then we can speak to Mayor Whitfoot."

Tuck glanced at Pim and shook his head. "I’m sorry, Master Baggins," he said, "but we’re under orders. The lad must appear before the Mayor today."

Bilbo folded him arms stubbornly. "I’ll not allow it," he said firmly. "Why can you not explain to the Mayor that Frodo is ill? We can drive down to Michel Delving when he has fully recovered."

Lobelia cut in. "Bilbo," she said haughtily. "This case is most urgent, and it must be attended to at once. The boy has had quite enough time to recover. There is no reason to delay, unless—" She smiled smugly at Frodo "—unless you are hiding something. Is that it, Bilbo? You cannot protect him from justice, cousin. That boy is a liar, and a thief, and—"

Bilbo interrupted her angrily. "Lobelia, enough! I know well your opinion of the lad, and you needn’t waste your breath repeating it," he snapped. "But he cannot go today!"

Frodo, silent through all this, finally spoke. "It's all right, Uncle," he said quietly. "I’m much better. I can make the trip; its not too far."

Tuck stepped closer and took Frodo’s arm. "I’m sorry, Master Baggins," he said again, looking out of the corner of his eye at Pim, who was twirling his feathered cap nervously in his fingers. "But I’m afraid there’s no choice. The lad must appear before Mayor Whitfoot today, and if you like, you may ask the Mayor himself for more time. But young Frodo must come with us – whether you are willing or no."

Bilbo looked at Frodo, who almost imperceptibly nodded his head, and sighed. "All right, all right," he said at last. "We’ll come along. But what about Merry? He must come with us as well. I’ll not leave the lad by himself."

Tuck gave a short nod. Pim walked over and grinned boyishly at Merry, holding out his hand to the young hobbit. Merry suddenly recognized him as the older brother of one of his friends from Buckland, Hob, and took the offered hand. "The lad may come," Tuck said, still striving to be serious. "But he’ll not be allowed to enter Mayor Whitfoot’s study." Bilbo nodded, and the company set off toward the eastern outskirts of Hobbiton, where the Mayor was visiting his cousin.

Frodo was silent, and as he walked beside Bilbo, Lotho continuously poked him in the back, so hard that it nearly caused him to fall. Frodo refused to even look behind him at the troublemaker, and remained focused on the road ahead. Lotho’s game was soon spoiled, for Bilbo stepped behind Frodo, blocking him from Lotho, who sulkily stuffed his hands in his pockets and stayed close beside his mother. Lobelia muttered something to Bilbo, who sighed (knowing that it was simply a waste of energy to be angry with her) and put his arm around Frodo’s shoulders.

Mayor Whitfoot’s cousin, Dorimbras Boffin, lived in a very large smial, a mansion by Hobbit standards, on the very edge of Hobbiton. As the hobbits rounded the corner, they could see the round, yellow door of Mr. Boffin’s smial.

Merry and Pim were walking alongside of each other, hand in hand, chatting softly. Pim had only met Merry once before, but they both liked the other immediately. Merry retold the story about Berilac and Merimas (which he’d not been able to finish telling Frodo), and it turned out that Pim was also a frequent visitor to Farmer Maggot's fields. Retelling their stories helped take away some of the tenseness of the situation and made Merry feel more hopeful.

The sun was beating down on the hobbits as they walked up the long path toward Mr. Boffin’s smial. The combination of heat and apprehension made Frodo feel dizzy, and he stumbled several times. Bilbo kept his arm around his nephew’s shoulder to steady him.

At last they made it to the front door and were invited in by Mrs. Boffin, a cheerful, red-cheeked lady who thought Merry was the most "adorable little thing she’d ever laid eyes on," and ushered him in the kitchen before he had the chance to protest. Before he disappeared around the corner, he managed to give Frodo a reassuring grin, which his cousin weakly returned.

Mr. Boffin himself came down the hall and led them to the study, where Mayor Whitfoot was waiting. Tuck grabbed Frodo’s shoulders and kept him in front, so as to look more important before the Mayor. Pim came along behind the group, looking uncomfortable and nervous. Lobelia had a smug smile on her face, and Lotho continually shot satisfied looks at Frodo, who calmly ignored him, much to his dismay.

The large, round door of the study was opened by another Shirriff, Toly, who ushered them in and shut the door behind them. He and Pim stood on either side of the doorway, schooling their faces to be impassive.

Keeping a firm grip on Frodo’s shoulders, Tuck led him up to the Mayor’s desk. Mayor Whitfoot was a very large, middle-aged hobbit in his fifties, and generally as even-tempered and peaceable a hobbit as you could wish to meet.

He looked up slowly from his papers, which were strewn all over the desk, and his kindly face looked tired and bored. "Yes?"

Tuck straightened. "Frodo Baggins, sir," he said. "Here with his Uncle, Mister Bilbo Baggins, and Lobelia and Lotho Sackville-Baggins, sir." Mayor Whitfoot nodded and slowly scanned the hobbits in front of him.

Lobelia and Lotho looked very smug and haughty, and the Mayor was not looking forward to dealing with them. Bilbo looked rather upset, fingering something in his pocket and not taking his eyes off his nephew. Frodo, however, appeared very calm and unfraid, although his face was pale, and he was trembling slightly. But he was after all just getting over a rather serious illness, from what Mayor Whitfoot had heard, so that was to be expected.

Mayor Whitfoot nodded his head politely to them all, and Pim and Toly pushed four chairs in front of his desk. "Good afternoon," Mayor Whitfoot said, standing up. "Please, have a seat." Tuck made sure that Frodo and Lotho sat in the two front chairs, with Bilbo and Lobelia behind them.

Everyone was put under oath to tell the truth, and Frodo couldn’t help but wonder how the Sackville-Bagginses could swear, without hesitation, to do so, when their entire case was a lie. He glanced at Lotho out of the corner of his eye and saw the older lad sitting at perfect attention, hands folded neatly in his lap. He may be a terror to those younger than him, when alone, but he knew how to act innocent as could be when he needed to.

Frodo turned his attention back to Mayor Whitfoot, who was now going over the Sackville-Bagginses’ claim (merely for the sake of formality, for everyone in the room was well aware of the situation). Even for Frodo, who was normally especially good at staying focused and attentive, found it exceedingly dull, and his gaze traveled the room.

Tuck was standing behind the Mayor’s desk, looking bored. Pim was leaning against the left side of the doorway, stifling a yawn and absently playing with the feather in his cap. On the right side of the doorway, Toly stood, looking stern, almost grim, and most definitely not bored. Frodo’s eyes rested on him for a long while, studying him. The Shirriff was certainly older than the other two, with a broad, sun-tanned face and brown curly hair sticking out from under his cap. Frodo could tell that he was not as friendly as the other two were, and indeed, he seemed almost cross, as he studied everyone in the room. His gaze came to rest on Frodo, and his eyes narrowed, making him look gruffer than ever.

Frodo realized he was staring and quickly averted his eyes, getting the feeling that Toly was still watching him. He shook the feeling off, dismissing it as his nerves, but he still felt Toly’s hard stare on him. He had no time to dwell on it, however, for Mayor Whitfoot had finished reading the claim. The trial was beginning.

TBC...