Author notes:
Thank you, Dreamflower for the beta.

Chapter One: Master's Darling

Year: 1384

Master’s darling!

Frodo picked up a stick and drove it through the scrub, ripping off leaves and causing dozens of little insects to flee. Moths and midges alike fluttered into the darkness while water striders hastened to find a quieter place for the night.

The thought alone was stupid! He wasn’t different from any of his other cousins, and most certainly he wasn’t Old Rory’s pampered fosterling. Nor did Saradoc or Esme coddle him in any way. How cousin Maseric ever got the impression was beyond him. Neither could he understand why everybody parroted the tween. He had become the laughing stock of Brandy Hall’s youngsters and though he strongly objected using his fists even if there was need, this new reputation stuck to him like bees to honey.

Frodo let out a shout of anger as he hit the bush repeatedly with his stick. He was seething. He had come up with a plan to silence the slander but Maseric had outwitted him. Frodo could not guess how the tween had known he would sneak to the riverbank after dinner and he didn’t even care anymore, not with his blood boiling and his eyes stinging with angry tears.

It was only when his arms ached that he stopped abusing the bush. Panting, trembling, and dizzy with exhaustion he stood in the darkness. Beads of sweat ran from his forehead and clung to his steaming skin. His reeling senses slowly tumbled into their place. He sighed heavily and with one last spirited movement cast the stick into the Brandywine’s dark waters and, closing his eyes, let his body stumble after it.

The water was pleasantly cool. It washed away anger and tiredness and after he had swum a few strokes Frodo turned on his back. Eyes gazing blindly into the star-clustered sky Frodo allowed the steady stream to carry his body with it.

It had not rained in weeks. Even night did not bring much relief from the sweltering heat which had drawn him to the river. He had also hoped that his sneaking out after dinner would annoy Saradoc enough to punish him. That, he had thought, would prove the rumours wrong. Unfortunately, while he had enjoyed his dip someone had sneaked up on him. Frodo had seen the shape in the last golden-red light of sunset as it gathered his clothes from under the bushes and hastened away. He had no doubt that Maseric was behind all this.

Confronting him, however, was out of the question. Saradoc’s anger was something he had expected and could cope with. His nudity was something altogether different. It was not the way home that bothered him. Darkness would cover him well enough. The Hall provided more of a problem. Folk did not seem to need much sleep in summer and many sat in cool parlours or gathered in the back garden for some drink and song until well after midnight. Had he had clothes he would have sneaked through the crowds unnoticed, but without and with Maseric probably spreading word of his predicament…

Frodo shuddered and dove.

He stayed at the riverbank until even the last thin line of light blue had vanished from the western horizon. Armed with a less than good excuse and with goose bumps on his still wet skin he made his way quickly from bush to tree. His heart beat fast and he was alert to every rustle in the leaves, every chirping cricket, and the voices he so feared to hear.

Had it not been his bare backside that waggled through the darkness he would have thought the situation comical. As matters were he could only hope that no one had noticed that this night, with its light breeze, downright invited couples to go for a walk. He shivered involuntarily and glanced at the sky willing the moon to remain behind the hills for another while.

Trees grew scarce the further east he went and the road, too, had come dangerously close on his forced route. He could already make out the lights of Brandy Hall; round, golden blots in the distance. They seemed unusually bright tonight – dangerously brilliant – and as Frodo rested his eyes on them, Buck Hill into the grinning visage of a goblin. A lantern flickered and to Frodo it seemed as if it beckoned to him.

‘Come thou who wanderest in darkness!’ it seemed to say and Frodo involuntarily pressed his body closer to the apple tree. The rough bark scratched his soft skin and Frodo sighed heavily feeling the helplessness of his situation. Worse than his nakedness was the vulnerability accompanying it.

If that wouldn’t make him the ridicule of Buckland for years to come! Stark-naked Baggins enjoying the midnight breeze! Master’s darling was a term of endearment compared to that. Oh, he had been trice the fool to go skinny-dipping at sunset in the first place. Saradoc would split his sides laughing if Frodo ever were to talk about tonight’s events. He was not yet desperate enough to give away the true reason for his quandary and so stick to the nickname he already had. There was still a slight chance he made it to his room – a very slight one, but nonetheless a chance. All he had to do was cross this dreadfully treeless field and become invisible. Though, thinking about it, becoming invisible first would probably be the better choice.

There was nothing for it. Mustering his courage Frodo scanned the dark scenery before he hesitatingly left the shelter of the tree. With long strides and on his tiptoes he hastened towards the growing lights of home and became more desperate by the minute. He would never make it into his room unseen.

“Oy, Frodo! Is that your shining white backside?”

Frodo, the firefly, his mind scoffed before he even had a chance to blush. Cheeks aflame, he stiffened. Panic contracted his insides. His eyes wildly darted to and fro searching for a tree, a bush, a leaf, anything. Finding nothing but his own hands to cover himself with Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and strained his ears. He did not dare to turn around for though he knew the voice for Merimac’s it would be too much to hope his cousin was alone. And, indeed, there were two pairs of feet advancing towards him.

“What happened to your clothes?”

“There was a dragon,” Frodo spluttered incoherently before he even knew what he was saying. “It spit fire and burned my clothes.”

Frodo’s skin prickled, warning him of the eyes that were upon him. He swallowed hard and made sure his hands really covered everything of importance while he kept his eyes stubbornly straight ahead, painfully aware of the flickering light of a lantern on his back.

“It must have been a very skilled dragon then not to scorch you,” Merimac announced as he slowly rounded him. He had a folded blanket under his left arm and was smirking broadly. Frodo’s blush deepened and he shifted uncomfortably when he heard Adamanta chuckle and chide her husband from behind his back.

“It was,” he agreed though his voice lost the vigour despair had lent to it. “Besides, it’s dark and you probably just don’t see any marks.”

“Don’t worry, she isn’t looking,” Merimac said casually as if reading his mind. His cousin’s face was barely visible since Frodo’s own form cast it in shadow. Yet he could see the grin that curled Merimac’s lips and the spark of curiosity in his eyes as he gaily wondered: “Was it huge and scary?”

“Yes!” Frodo found himself saying. “And loud and heavy.”

“And I didn’t hear it further down-river?”

“You didn’t?” Frodo was at a loss. His mind was reeling with the effort to find a suitable reply and in his despair he blurted out the first thing he could think of. “You must have been quite distracted then.”

Frodo did not need to see his cousin clearly to know about his indignation. “Mind your tongue, Frodo Baggins,” the older one scolded though Frodo was quite sure his cousin’s eyes rested on a spot behind him, and was that Adamanta giggling? “Or you can see yourself how you get into your chamber in this,” Merimac sniggered and made a vague movement with his hand, “rather pitiable state.”

That effectively silenced him. Frodo didn’t have much choice but to endure his cousin’s teasing, anyway. Better Merimac than Maseric. And tease his cousin did for though he seemed content about the lack of opposition he did do nothing to ease his plight but kept snickering. Frodo could all but see Merimac forming a richly detailed, entertaining story in his mind and was somehow convinced that he could not keep tonight a secret anymore. He shifted again and wondered whether he could dare to sneak a glance over his shoulder.

If Adamanta did as much as move her lantern closer…

“Tell me,” Merimac prompted and Frodo jumped, “what causes you to roam Buckland in naught but your skin?”

Frodo did not reply but kept his eyes on Merimac who unbuttoned his shirt deliberately slowly, waiting for the answer. “Tell me or I shall reconsider.”

“You’re blackmailing me!” Frodo called out in despair longing for a bit of the fabric Merimac so ornately covered his body with.

“Yes,” his cousin smirked, “and it’s quite delightful.”

“Don’t torment the boy so,” Adamanta called and Frodo couldn’t help but nod vigorous agreement.

“That’s not torment, dear. He would consider it torment if you handed the lantern over and would show us anything but your lovely back. Isn’t that so, lad?”

Frodo glared at his cousin feeling the anger from earlier this evening rise again.

“So, it was Maseric and his band, wasn’t it?” Merimac concluded oblivious of the danger he was currently in. “Don’t gape. I saw you today at the haying. You think I wouldn’t keep an eye on you? ‘Twas quite a scuffle.”

“I had to defend myself,” Frodo exclaimed.

“And you did so quite well, I must say. But, scallywag,” Merimac’s eyes bore into his and Frodo was struck by the sudden seriousness of his cousin’s expression, “you needn’t pick yourself older lads to wrestle with. Boys your age are a lot easier to handle, especially if you don’t antagonise an entire group.”

Frodo had no mind to quickly forgive Merimac his laugh and sulked. “I fought well.”

“Yes, and now you’re standing in front of me in the altogether. Quite a victory, wasn’t it?”

Frodo fumed at the laughter in his cousin’s voice, but managed to keep his temper. When his cousin finally slipped off his shirt and handed it over Frodo all but wrenched it from him. He had never been happier to find Merimac was so much taller than he, and never had he felt such relief because of a simple shirt whose stinging musk of pipeweed, sweat, and hay tickled his nose. As he slipped into it and hastily buttoned it up the troubles of the night departed and all tenseness, fear, and constant worry dripped from him like dirt washed away by a heavy shower.

“Let us handle this group of mischief-makers together, shall we?”

Frodo backed away immediately remembering the reason for his plight. “I can handle this alone. I am not…”

“… the Master’s darling?” Merimac asked. “Yes, I have heard about that too and it needs be dealt with. We’re going, Mantha,” he indicated to his wife and before Frodo knew it, his cousin had thrust the blanket into his right hand. Merimac, meanwhile, put his left on Frodo’s shoulder and offered his right arm to Adamanta who, to Frodo’s increasing embarrassment, was unsuccessfully fighting a grin.

“Maybe we should find a way to expose his backside to the public,” Merimac pondered and patted Frodo’s shoulder. “Of course, that would be your doing, secret background helper included, but Maseric mustn’t know about that. And, speaking of him,” Merimac chuckled again but sobered immediately when Frodo tried to evade his grip. “Should you decide to tell Sara about the loss of your clothes, don’t mention the dragon. His anger at Maseric will burn hotter if you mention him to begin with.”

Frodo sighed heavily. He did not like the idea of telling Saradoc, but at least he had a knee-long shirt now, and maybe his foster father would punish him just severely enough to silence the insinuation against him forever. Of course, that would not keep him from putting into action whatever plan Merimac had for Maseric’s backside. And as he walked next to his cousin and his wife he thought that his sunset dip might not have been in vain after all.