Chapter 13. Long Winter Ahead

Any pleasure Bilbo might have felt at the prospect of going home to Bag End was quite spoilt. Indeed, he wished that he could stay with his Tookish relatives, rather than bringing a Tookish relative home with him! He didn't quite know how to broach the subject, and his father turned a deaf ear to his hints at staying behind "to further his studies" at least until Yuletide, when all of the children of the Old Took, and their families, were duty-bound to come "home" for the annual celebration.

Isengar seemed no less miserable as his brother Isembard hefted the bag with his few belongings into the waggon. Bungo had decided to travel across the fields, perhaps a day's journey, rather than in a coach the "long way round"--more comfortable, but something like a week of travel, and, he deemed, much more tearing at the nerves of his brother in love, to stop at inns and public houses along the way for beds and meals, to have to endure the pointing and pity, the whispers of strangers.

'Well, Isen,' the Old Took said, stepping forward to embrace his youngest.

Isengar looked as if he might flee, when Isengrim and Isembold released him into their father's arms, but Gerontius had a goodly hold, even as he patted Isengar's back with one hand and whispered reassurance. It'll do you good to have a nice long visit with Bella. At least Gandalf had departed the previous evening, and so there was no chance of such a scene as had disrupted the festive meal the day before.

The Old Took did not release his grip on Isengar's good arm as he stepped back to allow his wife her own leave-taking. Adamanta's eyes were wet as she hugged her youngest tightly to herself. She wanted to keep him with her, to keep him "safe", but knowing Isengrim's feelings on the matter of his youngest brother--for he'd become more vocal on the necessity of locking Isengar away "for his own good, and the good of the youngest of the Tooks in the Smials"--she bitterly gave in to her husband's acceptance of Bungo Baggins' offer.

Bungo was a nice enough fellow, with a kind and generous nature, and Adamanta had been a childhood friend of his mother. Indeed, when Adamanta had been expecting her seventh (and surely this time it would be a daughter, after six sons!), she and Laura Baggins had laid plans for the betrothal of one-year-old Bungo to Adamanta's babe--only the babe had been yet another boy, Isembard, and spoilt their plans. Still, Isembard and Bungo had grown up good friends, and Bard had been happy to throw his support behind Bungo's propositions over the years, from business matters to the matter of "rescuing" Isengar out of Isengrim's dismal devices.

'Be well, my lad,' Adamanta whispered. 'Be well, and...' She stopped at a loss. What did a mother say to a son who was half-mad, to all appearances, who stalked the less-frequented corridors hobbling on one good leg and one that was twisted, with one useless arm in a sling, and one eye covered with a patch, who spouted riddles and rhymes and other nonsense and nearly broke his mother's heart, every time she laid eyes on him.

'Please,' Isengar whimpered. 'Please don't let them...'

'O my lad,' Adamanta said, holding him tighter. And then Gerontius was pulling him away, and Isengrim and Isembold moved in, and Isengar was trapped once more between father and brothers.

But Bungo stepped up, taking Isengar's good arm in a gentle hold. 'Well now, Brother,' he said, and he spoke as if to one with all his faculties, and not a dullard or one who'd lost his wits. 'It is time to depart, if we're to come to Bag End by teatime. We sent word to Missus Greenhand that we'd be returning today, and she's likely to have tea ready for us when we come. 'Twould be a shame to put her out by arriving belated.'

'It would indeed,' Belladonna said, taking a cue from her husband. She gave a withering glare to Isengrim when he maintained his grip on their younger brother, such that he stepped away, startled, and she stepped in to take his place, tucking her hand under the elbow in its sling. 'Come now,' she said, her voice gentle. 'Mrs. Greenhand is a wonderful cook, and she's sure to have made seedcake, seeing as it's Bilbo's favourite.'

'I love seedcake,' Isengar said vaguely, the hunted look fading from his eye as he became aware of the kind hands taking the place of those that had prisoned him before.

'Seedcake!' Isumbras said heartily. 'Why, it makes me wish that I could come with you! If only the haying were finished...'

'Why don't you go, instead?' Isengar said in a rare moment of clarity, which degenerated quickly into nonsense. 'I've always liked the haying... riding atop the waggon piled high, seeing the golden fields spread out all around me, the wind sending wave-ripples...'

'Come, Isen,' Belladonna said, coaxing, and Bungo put one arm about Isengar to urge him towards the waggon. 'Seedcake, mmmm. I can nearly taste it, can you?'

'Seedcake,' Isengar agreed, lifting his nose in the air. 'Why don't we stop and eat some?'

'O no, there's no seedcake here for tea,' Belladonna said hastily, and her arm went around Isengar as well so that between them, she and Bungo had him moving forward, away from the face of the Great Smials, out of the clutches of his well-meaning relatives. 'They're having... what was it, Bungo?'

'Prune cake,' her husband said promptly, 'and stewed prunes.'

Isengar made a face. He detested prunes. He did not resist as Bungo helped him up onto the waggon seat, and sat calmly enough as Bungo assisted Belladonna to sit to his left and then hurried to the driver's place on Isen's right.

Bilbo, sitting in the waggon bed with the baggage, made a face of his own. Uncle Isen loved seedcake, did he? Dratted relations. It had been bad enough to share a table with Uncle Hildibrand, who always took more than his share. But now Bilbo faced the prospect of having to share his favourite seedcake with this interloper Uncle who didn't even belong at Bag End! Worse, the dates of Isengar's visit had not been laid out. There was no end in sight.

He caught Sigismond's sympathetic look and gave a grimace of a grin. It was going to be a long winter.