A/N: Yes, it has been almost exactly a year since my last update.  Partly because I’ve been busy and/or sick for most of the year, and partly because I started re-reading from the beginning and was so appalled at my own writing that I decided to pause and edit the whole thing before writing any more (the editing is now complete).  I imagine not many people, if any, will want to pick it up again after all this time, but I’m going to finish this sucker anyway.  I just can’t stand leaving my one and only serious fanfic unfinished.  :P 

To refresh your memory:  It’s October 1398.  Frodo just turned 30, which is 16 in my weird nonlinear way of translating hobbit-human ages (explained in ch. 1).  He has been very happy living with Bilbo the last seven years, but two months ago two dwarves came to visit and Bilbo went off with them to try to rescue some old friends.  He expected to be gone only a few weeks, but knew it could be longer and told Frodo to go stay with his Buckland or Tookland relations if he was a long time returning.  But Frodo considers Bag End his home now and doesn’t want to leave.  Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is using this opportunity to try to get her hands on Bag End (again); she has apparently arranged for all the copies of Bilbo’s latest will to be lost, and successfully filed a petition to get custody of Bag End, and of Frodo.  The S-B’s have just moved in today, but Frodo spent the day in Overhill talking with the assistant of Bilbo’s late attorney, who told him Bilbo may have hidden another copy of the will somewhere in Bag End.  Frodo is determined to survive life as a Sackville-Baggins long enough to find that will.

53. Frodo Sackville-Baggins

Bag End was quiet when Frodo cautiously opened the round green door.  His pulse sounded impossibly loud in his ears.  It was well past dusk and Frodo wondered if the Sackville-Bagginses had gone to bed. He knew nothing of their habits.  A light was still burning in the foyer, and Frodo took it with him down the dark hall.

He had no idea what to expect, and it was with some trepidation that he inspected the rooms he passed.  The S-B’s had only occupied Bag End a day, but already Frodo could see changes.  Lobelia’s figurines were very much in evidence in the good parlour.  The fine furnishings seemed untouched, but the threadbare sofa in Frodo’s favourite sitting room was gone, replaced with three elaborately carved, well-polished chairs that Frodo had never seen before.  He sighed, knowing that they had probably been bought with Bilbo’s money.

Frodo was struck by a sudden unpleasant thought and hurried to his bedroom, but nothing had been disturbed.  It was one of the smial’s smaller bedrooms, and he supposed it was of little interest to the S-B’s.

“There you are.”

Frodo turned in surprise to find Otho in the doorway.

“We expected help moving in,” his new guardian said coldly.

Frodo stared.  “I had things to do,” he said.  If the S-B’s thought he would welcome them to Bag End after the underhanded way they had gotten hold of it…

Otho said nothing for a moment, his expression difficult to interpret.  “You’ll mind us from now on, if you know what’s good for you,” he said, and departed abruptly.

Frodo leaned around the door frame and watched Otho’s retreating back.  He saw him open a door a good distance down the hall.  A pool of light spilled into the dark hall before Otho went in and closed the door. 

Frodo’s heart sank.  “They’ve taken Bilbo’s room.”

The next morning, Frodo awoke to Lobelia screeching outside his window.

“I don’t care for your advice, and I don’t care for your impudent tone, Hamfast,” Lobelia snarled.  “If you can’t do as I ask, I’ll find someone who can.”

The Gaffer’s reply was a low murmur that Frodo couldn’t make out, but he was already throwing back the quilt.  He dressed hurriedly and ran outside, furious.

Frodo arrived to find Lobelia still deep in her tirade, and Hamfast standing very stiffly.  Frodo marched right up to his cousin.  “You can’t talk to him like that!” he exclaimed indignantly.

Lobelia’s scowl deepened when she saw Frodo.  “I can talk to my employee any way I please, and I’ll thank you to stay out of it,” she shrieked.

“But—”

“Of all the impudence!  Bilbo clearly hasn’t done any better with you than with the gardener,” she told him.  “I’ll have you know, this discussion has nothing to do with you, little Bucklander twit.  Hamfast has merely had the nerve to propose some absurd changes to the garden.”

Frodo tried to speak reasonably, for the Gaffer’s sake.  “You should take his advice, Lobelia.  Bilbo always does.  He’s the best gardener in Hobbiton, you know.”

“I’ll not have you telling me how to run my household,” Lobelia said coldly.  “Now, I have no more to say on the matter.  Hamfast, you’ll do as I’ve instructed or you’ll look for other employment.”

The Gaffer nodded, and Lobelia stalked away.  Frodo started after her, ready to try again, but Hamfast brought him up short with a firm hand on his arm.

“Leave it alone, lad,” Hamfast said steadily.

“But Mr. Gamgee…”

Hamfast squeezed his arm slightly, making sure he had Frodo’s attention.  “Don’t worry yourself, Mr. Frodo.  I can handle the likes o’ her.  She can say what she likes so long as I keep my job, and any damage she does to the garden I can put to rights quick enough when Master Bilbo gets back.”

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that.”  Frodo’s brows drew together.

The Gaffer just sighed.  “Thankee, lad,” he said sincerely.  “My Sam will be a lucky hobbit to have you for a master one day.  But mind you’re careful with those S-B’s.  Nothing you say is like to change their manners.”

“Bilbo will be furious,” Frodo said sadly.

“Aye.  But best not ta dwell on it.  I’ll be about my work now.”

Frodo left Hamfast to his garden and went back inside.  He didn’t know how, but he must manage not to let Lobelia get it into her head to fire Hamfast.  The old gardener’s skills were known throughout Hobbiton, but Frodo knew there was no one else with a large enough garden to warrant the salary Hamfast needed to support his family.

The tween went to the kitchen in search of first breakfast, and found that the S-B’s had clearly been there before him: there were dirty dishes and cooking implements spread over every surface.

But there was no evidence anyone had eaten at the kitchen table recently.  Frodo was puzzled.  Where were his cousins?

“I’m going out today.”

Frodo recognized Lotho’s voice and followed his ears to the main dining room, which Bilbo had never used as long as Frodo had lived there.  The three Sackville-Bagginses, seated around one end of the long table, looked up when Frodo came in.

“Oh, there you are,” Lobelia sniffed.  “There are some leftovers in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

There was plenty of food still on the table, for the meal had evidently just begun, but Frodo was clearly not invited to sit with the family.  He sighed in exasperation and turned to go, but Otho’s cold voice stopped him in his tracks.

“And we’ll have no more of your back talk, or I’ll give you a lesson you won’t forget.”

Frodo just stared at him.

“I’ve heard Bilbo’s discipline was lax, but you won’t find mine so.  You live in my smial now, and don’t forget it.”

Frodo was so angry he scarcely noticed Lobelia’s icy smile or Lotho smirking at him over his wheat cakes.  How dare they treat him like an ill-behaved pup in need of curbing?  Even the sternest residents of Brandy Hall had treated him with more courtesy when he was a small child.  He stormed from the room and straight outside, having lost all appetite for breakfast.

He walked aimlessly for awhile.  He was tempted to keep walking, all the way to Buckland and never look back.  But he couldn’t give up Bilbo’s home, not like this.

Frodo found himself near the Boffin hole and wondered if Folco was home.  He hadn’t seen much of his friend since Folco had started courting Willow Loamsdown.

Folco himself opened the door to Frodo’s knock.

“Frodo!  How are you managing?  I heard about the S-B’s…”

“It’s kind of rough,” Frodo admitted.

“I would imagine,” Folco said tartly, stepping back so Frodo could come inside.  “When I think of the nerve of those people, I—well.  Everyone knows Bag End is yours by rights, Frodo.”

“Only until Bilbo comes back,” Frodo reminded him.

“Certainly.”  Folco said no more on the subject, for he knew how worried Frodo was for Bilbo’s safety.  “I’m expecting Fatty over for a visit any minute.  He’ll be glad to see you.  We’ve been worried…”

“No Miss Loamsdown today, I take it?” Frodo said lightly, trying to think of something to talk about besides his difficulties.

“Alas, she is gone to visit her grandmother this month,” sighed Folco.

“Then we shall have to cheer each other up.”

Fatty arrived then, and the three tweens sat down to discuss Frodo’s situation.

“Oh dear, you should come live with one of us!” Fatty said when he’d heard how Frodo’s first two days as a Sackville-Baggins had gone.

“Your father might not agree to that,” Folco pointed out, “but you could certainly come live here as long as you liked.”

Frodo was moved by the offers.  “Thank you,” he said sincerely.  “But the mayor’s assistant conceded only that I could go to Tookland or Buckland relations, and I won’t go so far away.”

“Whyever not?” demanded Fatty.

“I have to find Bilbo’s will.  I won’t let the Sackville-Bagginses get away with stealing Bag End.  Let Bilbo sell it to them legitimately one day if they want it so much, but I won’t stand here and let them take away the only proper home I’ve known in years.”

Frodo didn’t often speak so passionately, and for a moment his friends didn’t know how to respond.

“Why do they hate you so much?” Fatty asked, bewildered.

“They don’t hate me—not exactly,” Frodo explained.  “They wouldn’t think about me at all if not for the fact that I stand in the way of what they want.  Odd as it sounds, it isn’t really personal to them, I think.”

“What are you going to do?” Folco asked finally.

“I’m going to go back there, and as soon as I’ve finished writing everyone I know who might have been a witness to Bilbo’s later will, I’m going to search Bag End myself,” Frodo declared.  “It must be hidden somewhere.  The S-B’s have kept me so upset I haven’t even started looking yet, but I won’t let them distract me any more.”

“All right,” said Fatty.  “What can we do to help?”

Frodo hesitated.  “Well… I could use some breakfast,” he admitted.

“Now that, we can arrange!” Folco said with a wink.

That afternoon, Lobelia caught Frodo rummaging around in Bilbo’s study.

“What are you doing?” she asked sharply.

“Looking for a book,” Frodo said.  In truth, he had already found the book he was looking for.  Now he was using the opportunity to hunt Bilbo’s shelves for the will.

Lobelia’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “Well, hurry up,” she snapped.  “After this, I don’t want you coming in here anymore.”

Frodo stared.  “This is my home,” he said.  “Bilbo always let me borrow his books.”

“This is my home, and you live here only at my pleasure,” Lobelia corrected coldly.

“How do you expect to get away with this?” Frodo demanded.  “What are you going to do when Bilbo comes back and throws you out?”

Lobelia looked so angry Frodo took a step back.  “That worthless old fool will never show his face around here again, you stupid boy.  We finally have the smial we deserve, and I won’t have you causing trouble.  Now take your book and get out.”

After that day, Lobelia found ways to keep Frodo out of doors during the day, and he was forced to confine his search to late at night.  He tried to do as he was told the rest of the time, so the S-B’s would believe he had given up.  He didn’t like to guess what they would do if they learned the truth.

Frodo spent his time visiting Folco and Fatty, or the Gamgees.  With the arrival of November the weather turned grey and damp, and he no longer wanted to risk Bilbo’s books by reading out of doors.  He wasn’t able to keep up his studies in these circumstances, and with every passing day his despair grew.  Was Bilbo alive?  Was he ever coming back?

He felt he had always known Bilbo wanted to leave the Shire for good one day, but this time he had promised to come back.  Was Bilbo regretting that promise?  Had Frodo only imagined the great regard and love the old hobbit bore him?

One high point of those dark days was the Gamgee family.  Without their steadfast loyalty and concern, Frodo’s days would have been darker indeed.  As Frodo often reminded himself, at least he now had plenty of time to tutor Samwise.  The Gaffer had stopped bringing his youngest son to work unless the S-B’s were away from the smial, not thinking it a proper place to bring a child anymore.

Sam was now in charge of the Gamgee’s vegetable patch at Number 3 Bagshot Row, a responsibility in which he delighted.  This arrangement also left him with ample time to take lessons from Frodo.  Hamfast and Bell agreed this was for the best; Sam could continue to improve his reading, and Frodo had something to distract him from his troubles. 

The only thing that made Frodo uneasy about the new arrangement with the Gamgees was Lotho Sackville-Baggins.

His elder cousin hadn’t bothered Frodo much that first week, but when Frodo started spending more time with the Gamgees, Lotho seemed to get increasingly angry.

Whenever he saw Frodo out walking with Sam tagging happily along behind, or joking with Daisy and Halfred in the market, or being invited in for a cup of tea by Bell Gamgee, Lotho gave Frodo a furious glare, and sometimes made vile comments if no one else was around.

One day Frodo met Daisy coming home with two enormous baskets balanced precariously in her hands.  Frodo insisted on carrying one for her—he tried to take both, in fact, but the blushing Daisy wouldn’t let him.  They encountered Lotho coming the other way, and the older hobbit fixed Frodo with a disgusted glare.

Frodo was deeply irritated by Lotho’s rudeness, but he didn’t want to start anything in front of Daisy.

Lotho had other ideas.  “You have no shame, do you!” he said, blocking their path. 

“Get out of the way,” Frodo snapped, in no mood to spar with his cousin today.  He was aware of Daisy shifting uncomfortably beside him.

“Going about with trash like that, Cousin Frodo, no thought to spare for our family’s good name, whatever are you thinking of?” Lotho asked in mock concern.

Daisy gasped, and Frodo ground out, “Shut your mouth before you embarrass yourself any further.”

He shoved past Lotho, and Daisy quickly followed.  Frodo saw her and her baskets safely home, and when he returned to Bag End Lotho was waiting for him.

Frodo tried to ignore his cousin, but Lotho followed him into his room.

“What do you want, Lotho?” Frodo asked irritably.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” Lotho said dangerously.

When Frodo didn’t respond, Lotho grew even angrier.  He shoved his younger cousin, hard.  Frodo almost stumbled, but held his ground.

“Why won’t you fight me?” Lotho shouted, pent-up rage and frustration distorting his features.

“What would be the point?  You are not my enemy.” Frodo said.

“I am your enemy,” Lotho growled, hatred dripping from every word.

Frodo looked at him.  “Why?” he asked, because he honestly wanted to know.  “We’re blood relations.  Why must we be enemies?”

Lotho stepped back, putting some distance between them.  “You have what I want, and you don’t deserve it.  You have what should be mine.”

“What?  What do I have?”  Frodo couldn’t restrain a bitter, incredulous laugh.  “I have nothing!  Your family has taken everything from me, as they’ve wanted to from the day they realized Bilbo was fond of me.  I have no money, I have no inheritance, I have no home.  I don’t even have Bilbo, for whom I would gladly trade the other three.  My parents are dead, I have no one left.  I have no recourse but to depend on the charity of others.  In Elbereth’s name, what more do you want from me, Lotho?”

Lotho turned and glared at him.  “It’s not enough!” he shouted.  “We have your bloody inheritance, and it’s still not enough!  I see how folks around here look at you, and how they look at me,” he spat in disgust.  “People admire you.  Respect you.  Those accursed Gamgees would do anything for you.”

Frodo stared at his cousin, shocked by the admission.  Lotho wanted to be liked?  He might have laughed at the idea, if not for the dangerous glint in the other hobbit’s eye.

“You get loyalty, I get nothing but disdain,” Lotho went on.  “And you know what?  You don’t deserve it.”   

“Perhaps not,” Frodo said, “but you certainly don’t.”

Frodo saw the rage darkening on Lotho’s face and knew he’d gone too far.  Lotho’s fist connected solidly with his cousin’s jaw.  Frodo fell against the wall, stunned.

“I hate you, and I hate all these weak, pathetic little rats who admire you,” Lotho hissed.  “One day I’ll rule over you all, and then you’ll be sorry.  No one will dare speak against me then.”

Frodo shrank away from Lotho’s palpable anger and watched through watering eyes as his cousin turned on his heel and stormed from the room.  Frodo put a hand up to his face and winced at the pain.  But Lotho’s pain bothered him more.  He feared what his cousin would do if he ever gained true power over others.