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A Small and Passing Thing  by Lindelea


Chapter 4. A Little Fall of Rain

The day after the Battle of Bywater, Frodo Baggins rode to Michel Delving and released the prisoners from the Lockholes.

Samwise rode by his side, and Merry and Pippin were with him, grim in their bright armour. They had stopped at the grave of the nineteen hobbits who’d given their lives in defence of the Shire, stood with heads bowed for a silent moment, then mounted their ponies.

There was quite a traffic of hobbits on the road to Michel Delving, they found, a few driving waggons, even one or two coaches in the silent throng, but most on foot, all going in the same direction. They were the fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, wives, sons and daughters, cousins and other relations, even neighbors of hobbits who’d been taken away by the ruffians. Now that the pall of fear had been lifted from the Shire, they went in search of their lost loved ones.

’Which storeholes, do you think?’ Frodo said over his shoulder to Merry. ‘Will we have to search each one in turn?’

’I don’t know,’ Merry said. ‘We’ll bake that bread when it’s risen. This might all be moot, anyhow; the hobbits of Michel Delving may have already freed the prisoners, with the ruffians all gone away.’

When they reached Michel Delving, the streets were empty, the houses and holes deserted. There were no smiling, cheering hobbits waving aprons and dishcloths and handkerchiefs to greet the conquering heroes. There was no one at all, and the Travellers wondered.

‘Let us go to the Storeholes,’ Frodo said, after they had watered their ponies at the trough in the square. ‘Perhaps they are all there, ministering to the prisoners and celebrating their release.’

‘That would be a sensible guess,’ Sam said approvingly. Undoubtedly Mr Frodo had the right of it.

They found the townsfolk at the Storeholes as Frodo had predicted. There was no need to guess which of the great storeholes had been converted to Lockholes. A great crowd of hobbits stood silently around the entrance to one of the tunnels, outside of which several ramshackle shacks and buildings had been constructed.

The crowd parted to let the Travellers through, but there were no cheers, no greetings. Merry bit off an exclamation at the sight of tear-streaked faces raised to look at them.

As the Travellers swung down from their ponies, Frodo looked about the crowd, dread in his heart. Had the ruffians slaughtered all the prisoners before they’d left to join the battle at Bywater? ‘What has happened?’ he said.

‘It’s a spell,’ one old gaffer answered quietly. ‘That wizard said that any who dared enter would be turned to toads or lizards—‘

‘—or snakes!’ someone else put in bleakly. There were several sobs from the crowd.

‘They’re all in there,’ a hobbit in shepherd's clothing said. ‘But we’ve no way to get ‘em out. We’ve been standing here, hoping they might come out on their own.’

’A spell!’ Pippin bit off in disgust. ‘How can you believe--?’

’Pip,’ Merry said quietly, putting a restraining hand on his arm. ‘It was Saruman. Have you forgotten?’

Frodo started forward, but Merry sprang to intercept him. ‘No, cousin,’ he said, ‘Let me go. They might have laid a trap within.’

Frodo protested, but Merry insisted and Sam took his part. ‘Wait here, Mr Frodo,’ he said. ‘We don’t know what’s in there.’

Merry drew his sword as he approached the entrance, the blade gleaming dully in the dim light of the cloudy day. He walked slowly, stopping a few steps in to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. When he could see a bit, he proceeded, sword at the ready, feeling with his toes, finding nothing under his feet but the smooth surface delved out of the rock.

He walked until he came to an end, a blank wall, and peering about him by the dim light coming from the entrance, he saw that the tunnel made a sharp turn into darkness. ‘Hullo!’ he called. He was answered only by echoes.

Retracing his steps, he sheathed his sword and emerged into daylight. ‘It’s as dark as Moria in there,’ he reported to Frodo, ‘and there’s an awful stench, like nothing I’ve ever smelled before.’

Frodo’s face was terrible as he turned to shout to the crowd. ‘Fetch lamps, lanterns, candles! Bring anything that will make light!’ Part of the crowd melted away as hobbits ran to do his bidding.

They returned, lit the lamps and torches they carried, but still hesitated. None would approach closer than ten paces from the entrance.

Suddenly Frodo gave an exclamation, feeling inside his coat, pulling out the phial of Galadriel. Holding it high he turned about to address the crowd. ‘This is Elvish magic!’ he shouted. ‘Stronger than any spell the wizard might have cast upon you! Within this glass is set the light of the star of Earendil, and no shadow of remaining evil will stand before its gleam!’

‘Good thinking, cousin!’ Merry muttered for Frodo’s ears alone. ‘Lead the way, go before them and drive the fear away.’

Frodo nodded, and turned towards the entrance. The phial began to glow as he entered the darkened tunnel and the townsfolk began to follow, fearful, hesitant, but growing in confidence as the light from the phial grew brighter.

’Come on!’ the proprietor of the finest inn in Michel Delving said to his sons, clutching his lantern tighter. He hastened a bit, caught up to the Travellers, his sons on his heels.

The stench grew worse as they turned the corner, peering into the inky blackness beyond the phial’s light. ‘Keep going, Frodo,’ Merry said, his voice raised for the benefit of those who followed. ‘Walk all the way to the end, make sure you drive out every vestige of Saruman’s spell.’

Frodo nodded, walking a little ahead of the townsfolk. The other Travellers flanked him, Merry and Pippin to either side, Sam just behind, all tense, expectant, with their hands on their swords, ready to defend him should any evil thing be roused by the light.

The innkeeper and his sons shone their lantern in each right-hand cell they passed, a farmer and his sons checking the left-hand cells. The first few were unoccupied, but at last, they came to a cell where the floor was not smooth and clear, but marred by a pile of rags—at least it looked like a pile of rags. Closer inspection revealed an emaciated hobbit huddled under a blanket.

With an oath, the innkeeper thrust the lantern into his eldest son’s hands, dropping to his knees beside the still form, picking up the stinking body and gathering him close. He could feel fever heat, and the flutter of a pulse against his searching fingers. ‘This one’s alive!’ he said in wonder and in horror.

Two Shirriffs had been right behind the innkeeper and his sons, and now one asked, ‘Who is it?’

’A Took, I think,’ the other answered. He bent to address the blanket-wrapped hobbit, who was blinking at them in sleepy astonishment. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Number Seventy-four,’ came the answer. They stood in shock, and in the stunned silence they could hear other hobbit voices moving down the corridor, calling out to one another in consternation and horror.

‘Number Seventy—‘ one of the innkeeper’s sons muttered, breaking off in a curse. His father would have reprimanded him, save for the fact that he felt like letting off a string of curses himself.

‘No, what is your name?’ the second Shirriff repeated, but the dazed hobbit seemed unable to answer the question or perhaps even to comprehend it. He simply stared into the glow of the lantern, not seeming to see the hobbits surrounding him. The second Shirriff, resisting the urge to be sick, turned to the innkeeper’s eldest son. ‘Go get one of the Tooks,’ he said. ‘They ought to know their own.’ Under his breath, he muttered, ‘Though how a Took escaped hanging is beyond me...’

In the cell across the way, and other cells, similar conversations were taking place, while the Travellers reached the end of the tunnel. Frodo stared down into the stinking darkness. Merry pulled at his arm.

'Come away, cousin,' he said. 'We'll take lanterns down there, but...' he searched for an excuse to take Frodo away from the pit and the terrible secrets it might hold. A Shirriff jogged up to them.

'We've found Mayor Will,' he panted. 'Alive and fairly well, not as badly treated as some. He's asking for you, Frodo.'

Frodo shook himself, coming out of his reverie. 'Mayor Will?' he asked. 'Merry, go and fetch his wife; I saw her in the crowd outside. Pip, we'll need more lanterns and hobbits with strong stomachs. We've got to know if there are any prisoners down there.'

Pippin regarded the pit grimly. 'I'll see to it myself,' he promised, spinning to jog back to the entrance. Merry was glad to lead Frodo away, following the Shirriff to the Mayor's cell.

In the cell next to Prisoner Number Seventy-four's, the shepherd and his assistants had lifted the occupant to a sitting position, while the shepherd held his own water flask to the hobbit’s mouth.

’Ah, that’s good,’ the hobbit said, weakly raising his arm to wipe his mouth. ‘What’re you doing here?’

’We’ve taken back the Shire,’ the shepherd said, cutting to the heart of the news. ‘The ruffians are gone, dead, some of them, the rest on the run.’ He held up the flask again. ‘More?’ he asked.

‘No,’ the hobbit answered, ‘well, maybe in a minute or so. Let’s not drown my innards after the long drought.’ He tried ineffectually to rise and the shepherd helped him to his feet.

’Are you sure you ought to get up?’ he asked. ‘We can carry you out of here.’

’The last time that wizard came to gloat over us I made myself a solemn vow that I’d walk out of here on my own two feet,’ came the answer.

’What’s your name?’ the shepherd said.

’Rocky,’ the hobbit answered. ‘Rocky Sandbank.’ He smiled faintly, the rituals of culture and custom coming back to him. ‘At your service.’

’And your family’s service,’ the shepherd said automatically. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

He started to help Rocky from the cell but then Rocky shook his hand off, stumbling to the next cell, calling out, ‘Freddy! Mr Freddy, can you hear me?’

The innkeeper’s burden stirred and muttered. ‘Rocky, no,’ he said. He closed his eyes and stiffened in the innkeeper’s arms.

‘You know him?’ the innkeeper demanded. ‘Who is he?’

‘Fredegar Bolger, of course, of Budge Hall!’ Rocky said indignantly. He knelt by Freddy’s side. ‘Mr Freddy?’ he whispered.

The first Shirriff went out into the corridor and seeing Frodo emerging from the Mayor's cell, raised his voice to shout. ‘Frodo! In here! It’s Fatty Bolger!’

The innkeeper could not feel Fredegar Bolger breathing. ‘Lad?’ he whispered. ‘Lad?’ There, a shuddering breath. He relaxed subtly, but still worried that the hobbit would die in his arms. There was a stir in the doorway, and Frodo entered, thrusting the phial of Galadriel into his shirt again. As he entered, he called behind him, ‘Bring litters!’

He hesitated, looking at his cousin in the lamplight, and fell to his knees. He touched Fredegar’s shoulder, gripped it firmly though it felt light and insubstantial under his fingers. ‘Fatty?’ he said anxiously.

Fatty stirred, turning his face to one side, then the other. ‘Number Seventy-four,’ he moaned. He opened his eyes and seemed to see Frodo. His eyes widened in fear. ‘They’ll beat you,’ he whispered. ‘Please...’

‘No more beatings, Mr Freddy,’ Rocky said reassuringly. ‘The ruffians are gone, chased away. There is a Shire again.’

Frodo looked up at the other hobbits who’d gathered round. ‘Let’s get him out of this place,’ he said.

A litter was brought and they eased Fredegar onto it. They lifted him and carried into the corridor, down to and around the corner, and out the door into daylight. It had begun to drizzle, and Frodo helped Rocky along though he kept hold of Fredegar’s hand with his free one. He saw his cousin close his eyes when the droplets touched his face, only to open them again quickly.

As they walked, Rocky told Frodo briefly about their arrest, the march to the Lockholes, the sufferings they’d endured since, ending, ‘...we owe everything to Mistress Lobelia, she kept us going, badgered the guards into doubling our rations, poor as they were, made them stop beating us. They were afraid of her, if you can only imagine...’

Frodo felt like laughing and crying at the same time. ‘I can imagine,’ he chuckled, but there were tears in his voice.

Pippin came up to them, saying, ‘They threw refuse down that pit, but no hobbits as far as we can tell at this early date.' His nose wrinkled with distaste. 'They're shoveling it out now, bless them!' He looked around quickly, scanning the faces of the emerging prisoners. Not finding the one he sought, he looked back to Frodo, saying urgently, 'I'm told you’ve found Fatty, where is he?’

Frodo motioned to the bearers to lay down the litter. Fredegar’s eyes were closed again, and Frodo looked at him anxiously until he saw the chest rise and fall.

‘Here,’ Frodo said quietly, his hand tightening on Fredegar’s. ‘He’s right here, Pippin.’

Pippin’s face reflected his own shock and grief. ‘Fatty,’ Pippin breathed, going to his knees beside the litter. ‘You would have done better to come with us after all, poor old Fredegar.’

Tears came to the cousins’ eyes as Fredegar opened an eye and tried gallantly to smile. ‘Who’s this young giant with the loud voice?’ he whispered. ‘Not little Pippin! What’s your size in hats now?’

Pippin reached to take Freddy’s other hand, moved beyond words, shifting his grip to Freddy's arm when he encountered Lobelia's bandages, but Frodo straightened, remembering that there were other hobbits in the Lockholes.

‘Where is Lobelia?’ he said.

‘Lobelia?’ Pippin asked in astonishment.

Rocky shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen her in a few days,’ he said. ‘The one they called Sharkey came, and after that she disappeared.’

Frodo saw Fredegar shiver and squeeze his eyes shut, and he patted his cousin's shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Fatty,’ he said. ‘Sharkey’s gone.’

‘What if he comes back?’ Fredegar asked shakily.

‘He’s dead,’ Frodo said firmly.

More hobbits were being helped out into the drizzle, and Fatty’s raiders gathered round him, laughing and crying at once. Little Robin was laid down beside him, and he pulled his hand free of Frodo's gentle grasp to reach out a trembling hand. ‘Robin?’ he said.

‘Mr Freddy,’ the tween whispered back. ‘We came through.’

‘That we did, lad,’ Freddy said.

Frodo was glad to hear him sounding stronger. He gave his cousin’s shoulder a final squeeze, saying, ‘I’ll be right back,’ and rose, shouting orders. ‘Find Lobelia, she’s got to be here somewhere!’

Merry came up then, leaning over the litter to say, ‘Hullo, Fatty, I’d hardly have known you.’

‘I could say the same, Merry,’ Fredegar murmured.

‘I want healers!’ Frodo was shouting. ‘Fetch all there are in Michel Delving!’

‘Frodo,’ Merry broke in, ‘there’s a cell in there that’s had boards nailed over it. Of course there’s no hammer anywhere to be found, and a sword is a poor tool for prying nails...’

‘A boarded-up cell?’ Frodo said, then in the same breath he and Pippin said together, ‘Lobelia!’ Frodo disappeared into the Lockholes.

Odovacar and Rosamunda Bolger made their way through the crowd, Odo saying anxiously, ‘They say my son’s been found?’

‘He’s here, Odo,’ Merry said with an eloquent gesture, and the Bolgers stopped still, shock and sorrow on their faces, before Rosamunda threw herself on Freddy, weeping, and Odovacar knelt down to embrace his wife and son. He rose again, tears on his face, and began to greet each of Freddy’s rebels in turn, and to hear bits and snatches of their story and how they’d been saved in the end by Lobelia Sackville-Baggins of all hobbits.

Far down the stinking tunnel in a pitch-dark cell, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins stirred as she heard voices. It sounded like hobbit voices. Was she losing her wits at last? The voices were joined by the sound of banging. Suddenly a piece of wood splintered, letting in a gleam of lantern-light, causing the old hobbit to put her hands over her eyes. The light hurt after such a long time in darkness.

’Who’s there?’ she quavered, then straightened defiantly. She sounded like an old ninny. ‘Who is it?’ she snapped, sounding more like herself.

’Lobelia, we’ve come to get you out,’ said a voice she hadn’t heard in months.

’Frodo? Frodo Baggins? You RASCAL, how did you come to be here?’ she said irascibly.

He laughed. ‘It’s a long story, Lobelia,’ he replied. ‘We’ll have to drain quite a few pots of tea before we get to its end.’ There was a mutter of voices and then he said, ‘Can you move back, away from the door? We’re going to break it in.’

She scooted back against the far wall, clutching her umbrella. If this was some sort of ruffian trick, she’d be ready. ‘Go ahead!’ she called.

She heard someone give a count, followed by hobbits' shouts, and splintering noises. Again, and again, and then the boards gave way and hobbits fell into her cell in an untidy pile. Lobelia had never seen anything so beautiful in her entire life.

’What took you so long?’ she grumbled as Frodo helped her to her feet.

He laughed in answer. ‘It is nice to see you, too,’ he said with a smile. 'Let us depart this place.’

’What about the others?’ Lobelia demanded. ‘Fatty, and the rest?’

’They’re already out,’ Frodo said. ‘You were the difficult one to rescue—‘ she bristled, and he patted her arm, ‘—being boarded in, and all.’

’Ah,’ she said.

Poor Lobelia, she looked very old and thin when they rescued her from the dark and narrow cell. She insisted on hobbling out on her own feet, leaning on Frodo’s arm, but still clutching her umbrella. When the prisoners saw her emerge from the entrance, they raised a great cheer, and the rescuers and townsfolk and anxious relatives who’d journeyed to Michel Delving after hearing of the ruffians’ defeat gave her an ovation that was heard all over the town

She nodded uncertainly to right and left, trying to smile, but tears began to trickle down her wrinkled cheeks. One of the townsfolk stepped forward to offer a snowy handkerchief, and she took it as no more than her due.

‘Stop,’ she said to Frodo, with all her old imperiousness, when they reached Fredegar’s litter, and so they did. ‘Hullo, there, Sandy,’ she said, ‘or is it safe to call you by your proper name, now?’ Her heart grieved at the sight of him; he looked worse by daylight than in the dim light of the flickering torches.

‘It’s safe,’ Freddy answered her faintly, though he still looked dazed, as if he were not entirely sure where he was or what he was doing there.

‘Lobelia, there are not enough words in all of Middle-earth to express my gratitude to you for saving our son and these others,’ Odovacar Bolger said gravely from his son’s side. ‘If you would do us the honour of coming back to Budgeford with us, until Bag End is habitable again... We’re living on the sufferance of our gardener, at the moment, in his cot, but he and his family have been gracious in their hospitality and generous towards the dispossessed, and I am sure they would welcome you as well.’

‘Why, thank you,’ Lobelia said, blinking in surprise. She could not remember the last invitation she’d received to visit someone since Bilbo’s infamous birthday debacle. She always imposed herself upon her relatives, not the other way around.

‘Come, let’s carry Freddy to the coach,’ Odovacar said. ‘It’s a long drive home.’

‘I’d like a healer to see to him first,’ Frodo said. ‘I know how eager you are to take him away from this place, but...’

‘Then let us at least get these hobbits in out of the rain before they catch their deaths,’ Rosamunda said.

‘No,’ Freddy protested, and his parents looked at him in surprise.

Frodo understood. ‘You’ll be taking walks in the rain before you know it,’ he said gently. ‘And walks in the sun, and sitting down to a groaning table and eating to your heart’s content.’

‘One thing at a time,’ Freddy said, obviously overwhelmed.

Frodo laughed. ‘One thing at a time,’ he agreed.

Just then a healer approached, bowing to Frodo. ‘Sancho Chubb at your service,’ he said. ‘You asked for healers? My wife is here as well.’

’Good,’ Frodo said. ‘Some of the hobbits are in better condition than others, but I’d like them all checked over before any are sent home.'

’We ought to get them out of the rain,’ Rosamunda Bolger said again, holding tightly to Fredegar’s unbandaged hand. He had closed his eyes again, seeming scarcely to breathe.

’The inns are closed,’ the innkeeper said, ‘and the ruffians did a fair bit of damage as they closed them down...’

’The Town Hole is in fair order,’ a Shirriff said. ‘We can take them there for shelter.’

’Very well,’ Frodo said, ‘let us do just that.’





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