Chapter Four

10 August 1398

"Mrs. Burrows! Mrs. Burrows!" A young, childish voice called Mrs. Burrows as she was gathering herbs in her herb garden. She looked up to see Samwise Gamgee standing breathless at her gate.

"Yes, child, what is it?"

"It’s...it’s Mr. Frodo! He’s been hurt pretty bad!"

"Come inside, lad, while I get my things."

Mrs. Burrows was soon on her pony with Sam holding on behind her. He was squeezing her pretty tightly, for he had never been on a pony before. At least, not a pony going this fast. But this was no time for riding lessons. One of her patients needed help, and she would give it to them as fast as she possibly could. Besides, when it came to someone he cared about, Bilbo was not a patient Hobbit. Soon she arrived at the gate of Bag End.

"Would you mind tying my pony, Samwise?" She was already through the gate and headed towards the door. She was met at the door by Mr. Milo Boffin.

"Mrs. Burrows! I’m so glad you’re here. Bilbo is nearly frantic with worry."

"How bad is it?"

"He is unconscious right now, and he was beaten pretty soundly."

Mrs. Burrows soon saw for herself how bad young Frodo was beaten. But with years of practice, she hid her concern. Her voice remained soft, sympathetic and calm.

"Mr. Griffo, would you take Mr. Bilbo out into the parlor?"

"Yes. Come, Bilbo."

"No...I...Frodo. He needs me! I..."

"He’ll be fine in my care, Mr. Bilbo. It will be better for everyone if you go and enjoy a nice, soothing cup of tea in the parlor."

Meekly, Bilbo was led out and Mrs. Burrows turned to her patient. She took off his bloodied and ripped shirt. He had massive bruises on his ribs and chest and arms. One rib looked broken. She gently pressed it. Yes, it was broken. Frodo moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He frowned in confusion. And then when realization flooded him, he blushed.

"It’s alright, Frodo. You’ve got a broken rib and some nasty bruises. How do you feel other than that." She smiled reassuringly at Frodo, who was obviously uncomfortable being exposed as he was.

"Fine." he croaked. Breathing was difficult, as was talking, the healer observed.

"That’s good. I’m going to set your rib and then wrap it. It will be painful. Would you like me to get your uncle for you?"

"No...thank you. I can...manage."

"I don’t doubt you can. Now, brace yourself." When she set the rib, Frodo couldn’t help but cry out a little, but he bit it back. She deftly wrapped his rib to keep it in place.

"You’re a good patient, Frodo. There is nothing else I can do. Try to do as little moving around as possible. You may only get out of bed to relieve yourself. Other than that, you must stay in bed, and stay as still as possible. I’ll be by to check on your rib in one week. Thankfully, the rib didn’t puncture your lung. All your other wounds are bruises or minor cuts. As for that eye, if you press cold, raw meat on it, the swelling should go down. You’ll probably be a little sore, too. But, other than that, I’m done with you. Take care of yourself and I will see you in a week."

"Thank you." Frodo said. She covered him with a blanket and drew the curtains.

"Rest and drink, Frodo, and you’ll be..." She stopped. The lad was already sleeping. She exited the room and shut the door quietly behind her. Bilbo was already rushing towards her. She held her finger her to her lips to silence all questions for now. In the Hall, Bilbo asked,

"How is he?"

"Sleeping soundly." Then she told Bilbo all that she had told Frodo about his various injuries and the proper care that Frodo was to receive. When she was done, she added, "He’s quite a brave lad, Bilbo. Very sweet. How did that happen, though?"

Bilbo sighed. "Lotho did it. He did tell me the details, though. But Frodo’s not a fighter, and I know he would never have started it."

"He did give that Lotho quite a beating, I think." Griffo added, "I saw that Lotho had a black eye and some nasty bruises on his face. He’s stronger than he looks, that’s for sure. You should be proud of him, BIlbo."

"I am. And thank you again, Mrs. Burrows."

"I was just doing my job." Bilbo paid the healer and she left.

"Well, Bilbo, if you don’t need me around here, I’ll be off. The wife’s making my favorite tonight: Beef, mashed potatoes, boiled vegetables. And cherry pie for dessert."

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you for everything, Griffo. You’ve always been a good friend to me."

"Only returning the favour. Are you sure you don’t need anything?"

"I’ll be alright, thank you. Have a nice day. And give my greetings your family!"

"I’ll do that."

Shutting the door, Bilbo sighed. He walked back to Frodo’s room and entered without knocking. He knew Frodo was out, and there was no need to wake him. He pulled the armchair up to Frodo’s bed and sat there looking tenderly at his lad.. His eye was getting swollen, as were a knot on his cheek, one on his jaw and two on his forehead.

"Oh, my lad." he whispered to the sleeping form, and he reached out and stroked the dark curls away from the pale forehead. His stomach growled, reminding him of the time and that he hadn’t eaten since teatime, and that had been a very light meal. He went off to the kitchen to make a dinner. Something. He should be able to find something to make....

*~*~*~*~*~*

A knock sounded at the door just as Bilbo finished the last of the dishes. Drying his hands on a tea towel, he went to answer the door, wondering who could be calling at this hour. He opened the door to Folco, Griffo’s eldest. The handsome lad was strapping with dark hair and dark, usually joyful eyes. Right now they were serious with concern.

"Mr. Bilbo, sir? I have come to...um...wish Frodo well."

Bilbo smiled warmly. "Of course, lad. Why don’t you come in for a while? Frodo just woke up a half hour ago. Doing quite well, actually. And how have you been?"

"I’ve been fine, Mr. Bilbo." He answered. Bilbo had taken the basket he carried from him. "That is a cherry pie my mum made you and Frodo. She also made some yeast that you can let rise and have the bread for breakfast. There are some fresh strawberries in there as well."

"Why, tell your mother they are greatly appreciated. I’ll show you to Frodo’s room."

Bilbo’s soft knock was answered by a soft, "Come in."

The lad sitting up in the bed reading was a little on the thin side. He had serious blue eyes, fair skin and dark hair. That was an unusual combination. He smiled warmly at him and allowed his uncle to do the introductions.

"Frodo, this is Folco, Griffo Boffin’s son. Folco, this is my nephew and heir, Frodo."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Folco."

"And you, Frodo."

"Well, I’ll leave you lads to get acquainted." Bilbo said as he left.

Folco pulled up a chair and sat beside Frodo’s bed.

"So, that Lotho gave you a proper welcome, did he?"

Frodo displayed his bruised nuckles. "I fought back. We’re pretty closely related, so I’ve met him before at family reunions and weddings and such. He thinks I’m not good enough to be the heir of Bag End, let alone call myself a Baggins."

"Why would he assume such a thing?"

"My mother was Brandybuck, and after my parents died, I was raised by my Brandybuck relations in Brandy Hall. Obviously Lotho doesn’t think very highly of anyone from across the Brandywine."

Folco was shocked. How in Middle Earth could anyone make such assumptions? But then he remembered it was Lotho they were talking about. Lobelia and her husband Otho were extremely judgemental and looked down on anyone who was not of their social status. They apparently passed on their views to their mean son, Lotho. "That’s not logical! Just because someone’s from Buckland is no reason to despise them! And most families intermarry. I don’t see anything wrong with your mother being a Brandybuck. It’s perfectly natural."

Frodo smiled. He liked this Folco. He had true Hobbit sense.

Folco continued. "I’d hate to have those Sackville-Bagginses as relatives."

"Trust me, it’s not very enjoyable."

"Have you met anybody around here yet?"

"Yes. My Uncle’s gardener’s children, Lotho, and now you."

Folco laughed. "That’s a start! I’ll tell you what, as soon as you’re able, why don’t you come with me into town and I can introduce you to some of the lads. How old are you, anyway?"

"I’m to be twenty-one on September the 22nd."

"That’s perfect. I'm twenty and so are most of the other lads. One of my closest friends is Fatty. His real name is Fredegar, but everyone just calls him Fatty."

"Isn’t that...mean?"

"No. Someone called him that a long time ago, and it stuck. It doesn’t bother him."

"Oh. I’d love to meet some friends."

Folco proceeded to tell Frodo all about what he and "the Gang" did. They occasionally did some harmless raiding on their families’s pantries, and they played various games and went swimming. Folco assured Frodo that he would be a welcome member of the Gang.

The two lads got talking about raiding. They compared stories. Folco and Frodo compared successes and losses. Frodo and Folco also discovered that they were second cousins on Frodo’s father’s side. They were having such a wonderful time, they lost track of the hour. Soon, Bilbo knocked on the door and told Folco it was time for him to be getting home.

"I’ll see you around, Frodo. Get better soon!"

"Thanks, Folco!" Frodo smiled to himself. He had made a good friend, he was sure of it. Folco was so kind. He didn’t mind that Frodo didn’t have parents, or that he talked a little differently or that he was from Buckland. Folco actually thought it was neat that Frodo had moved all the way from Buckland. But now Frodo was hungry, and Uncle Bilbo had mentioned something about a cherry pie.

*~*~*~*~*~*

11 August 1398

Sam had been glum all day. His mum and brothers and sisters had been worried about him. Sam was never glum unless he was sick. But he didn’t act sick. He just acted thoughtful, or annoyed when someone would ask him any questions. So Bell decided to ask Hamfast if he would talk to his son about it.

So after Luncheon, Hamfast spoke. "Sam, come and help me in the garden."

Sam needn’t answer. His father expected full obedience, and that’s what he got. While working in the garden, Hamfast casually began the conversation.

"When a flower doesn’t bloom good, the gardener tends to worry a bit. ‘Cause if it ain’t bloomin’ proper, than somethin’s clearly wrong with it. Wouldn’t you say the gardener has the right to know what’s wrong with his flower?"

Sam had a feeling he knew where this was going. "Yes, Dad."

"It’s the same with children. If something’s wrong with one of his kids, he can tell right as rain. And he has the right to know about it. But he has even more of a right to know than the gardener, ‘cause a father loves his kids more than anything in the world. Do you understand, Samwise?"

"Yes, Dad." Sam replied. He had been right.

Hamfast said no more, and quietly tended the flower bed. Pulling out the weeds by the roots so they wouldn’t grow back. Sam was a right smart lad, and he knew what his dad was getting at. He would tell what it was that was bothering him. It didn’t take long for the Gaffer’s prediction to come true.

"Dad?" Sam began hesitantly.

"Yes, son?"

"Um...what...Mr. Frodo was in a fight yesterday and he was helpin’ me an’ Daisy when he got in it and now he’s hurt real bad and it’s all my fault!" Once had gotten started, it had all rushed out.

Hamfast nodded. He knew of Mr. Frodo’s fight helpin’ his daughter and son. He was mighty grateful. That Mr. Frodo was a fine lad. A perfect gentlehobbit, just like his uncle. His Bell was going to make him and Mr. Bilbo supper tonight. (He was right proud of his Bell). But now was the time to help his son through his dilemma.

"What caused Mr. Lotho to hit Mr. Frodo?"

"W-well, Mr. Frodo told me an’ Daisy to go home, after ignorin’ one of Mr. Lotho’s nasty remarks, and he told us not to pay attention to him because he was...an...an ‘ignorant fool’, and that was after Mr. Lotho had insulted me an’ Daisy. What’s ‘ignorant’?"

Secretly, the Gaffer wanted to cheer Mr. Frodo on. Calling Mr. Lotho an ignorant fool! That was truth, and Mr. Lotho needed to hear it. "An ignorant person is someone who doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. It usually makes them do stupid things. But you see, it wasn’t your fault that Mr. Lotho hit Mr. Frodo."

"But...if he hadn’t insulted us, Mr. Frodo wouldn’t have gotten all mad."

"Sam, I want you to understand somethin’. Things like that happen all the time. Sometimes they’re nobody’s fault. But in this situation, it was certainly not yours. You understand?"

"Yes, dad."

Hamfast gave his son a hug. "Your mum’s makin’ Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo a supper tonight. You can deliver it and visit Mr. Frodo, if you like. But not if Mr. Bilbo or Mr. Frodo doesn’t invite you to. Don’t ask and mind yer manners. You hear?"

Sam flashed his dad the most winning smile and gave his dad a quick hug. Oh, thank you dad! I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise!" With that, he ran off to go help his mum prepare Mr. Frodo’s dinner.

TBC...

Copyright Frodo Baggins 2006