Chapter 8. Suitable for Hobbits

Every hour they coaxed a bit more broth into Fredegar, though it was difficult to get him to take more than a few sips.

Slow starvation is exquisite torture, Freddy thought. The wizard had the right of it. The hobbit had achieved a measure of peace where his belly no longer seemed to remember that it needed feeding and he had drifted in a fog where nothing really mattered, but the few sips of broth reminded him of the pleasures of eating and awakened hunger.

’More?’ his mother murmured encouragingly. ‘Do have some more, Freddy.’

He turned his head away from the cup she held to his lips. He knew better than to ask for more.

’Don’t force it,’ Finch said. ‘He’s got to get used to eating again, and you’ll only make him sick if you try to give him too much at once.’

Rosamunda set the cup aside with a sigh. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said softly. ‘I just want to stuff him full of food, fill out his cheeks, wipe away those awful hollows under his eyes.’

’One step at a time, my dear,’ Odovacar said, patting her gently on the shoulder.

They wrapped him up well, and each of his rebels laid a hand upon his shoulder or a brotherly kiss upon his cheek in farewell. ‘Bless you, Mr Freddy,’ Budgie whispered. ‘We all got through and now we’re going home.’

’Home?’ Freddy whispered, and his mother stroked his forehead with a smile.

’Yes, my love, we’re going back soon,’ she said.

’Going back?’ Freddy echoed, tears coming to his eyes. So soon? They were going back to the Lockholes already? He fought the tears down. There was little enough left to him, at least he could try to be brave, to continue on to make a good end.

Tears in her own eyes, his mother said, ‘Yes, my love, that’s right.’

Freddy looked more like a hobbit going to a burial, Frodo thought, frowning down at his cousin. With sudden insight he said, ‘Freddy, we’re not going back to the Lockholes!’

’Not going back?’ Freddy whispered, confused. He wished they would make up their minds. Or was this part of the wizard’s torment?

’We’re taking you home,’ Frodo continued, ‘by way of Bywater.’

’Home?’ Freddy whispered, closing his eyes, waiting for confirmation. He felt Frodo squeeze his shoulder.

’Yes,’ Frodo said firmly. ‘Home. We’re taking you back to Budgeford, by easy stages. You’ll be home in time for Year’s End.’

Freddy sighed. It was finally finished. He saw now Sharkey’s great wisdom, his benevolent care, though the hobbit had doubted it before. They were taking him home to bury him, just as the wizard had promised. He’d be home in time for Yule, Frodo had said.

’Most suited to hobbits,’ Freddy muttered.

’What was that, Son?’ Odovacar asked.

Death by slow starvation is exquisite torture rang in Freddy’s ears, drowning out the loving voices surrounding him. They were taking him home to bury him. He welcomed the end.

’Suited,’ Freddy said again. No beating followed, so he must have got it right.

***

’Mr Baggins,’ a Shirriff said, coming up to them as they prepared to depart. ‘I have a note here for you.’

’A note?’ Frodo said, surprised. There wasn’t even a Mayor at the moment, for old Will was too ill to take up his office at present. How had the delivery service resumed already?

The Mayor’s wife had insisted on conveying him home to feed and cosset him. ‘I’ll let you know when he’s ready to be Mayor again,’ she’d said decisively. ‘You go find yourself another Mayor until then!’

’Perhaps you ought to act as Mayor, Frodo,’ Merry had jested, and Frodo hushed him.

’Don’t put ideas in folks’ heads,’ he warned. ‘That wasn’t funny.’

’No, it wasn’t,’ Farmer Cotton said. ‘As a matter of fact, it makes quite a bit of sense.’ He regarded Frodo solemnly. ‘The Shirefolk look up to you and Mr Merry and Mr Pippin, and Samwise, for bringing those ruffians down and getting rid of their Boss,’ he said.

’Then you be Mayor,’ Frodo said to Merry. ‘It was your idea, after all.’

’So sorry, cousin,’ Merry said, though he did not sound at all regretful. ‘Pip and I are going to be busy sweeping the rest of the crumbs out the door. It’s up to you and Samwise...’

’Go on, Mr Merry!’ Sam said in alarm.

’Very well,’ Merry said, taking pity on Sam. ‘It’s up to you, Frodo. It’s your civic duty and all that.’ He brightened. ‘I have an idea, cousin! If you’d rather not be Mayor, just call yourself “Deputy Mayor”!’

’I don’t know how to thank you for putting my mind at ease, cousin,’ Frodo retorted, and Merry laughed.

’Give it some thought at least,’ Farmer Cotton said, and Frodo reluctantly agreed to at least do that.

He was brought back to the present moment by the respectful Shirriff. ‘Yes, sir. I was given this note to give to you ere you departed for Bywater.’

’Who gave it to you?’ Frodo asked. The Shirriff shrugged. He thought it had been a hobbit from South Farthing, just from his manner of talking, but the hobbit hadn’t given a name and just as the Shirriff took the note someone else had claimed his attention and the hobbit had melted away in the crowd.

Frodo turned the note over in his hand, finding his name writ large on the front in bold, handsome copperplate, vaguely familiar. Alarm stirred in the back of his brain. Was Lobelia already going back to her old ways? He thought of all the nasty, pointed, sharply-worded notes she’d sent to him in the past, suitable for starting fires in more ways than one.

Ah, well, he’d faced Shelob. Surely Lobelia could be no worse. He opened the note.

Merry, seeing him pale, put a steadying hand on his arm and said, ‘What is it, Frodo? Bad news?’

’Lobelia’s given Bag End back to me,’ Frodo said faintly.

’At a “bargain price”, I’m sure,’ Merry said dryly.

’No, freely given,’ Frodo repeated in wonder.

’Give me that,’ Merry said, taking the note from Frodo and perusing the contents. He whistled low. ‘Just what did those ruffians do to her?’

At Sam’s enquiring look, Frodo said, ‘She says she’ll spend the rest of her days with her people, the Bracegirdles.’ He shook his head, blinking away a tear. ‘She apologised for the sorry state of the smial, offered to pay to have it restored.’ He took a deep breath and let it out again. ‘When first I’d come back to the Shire, I feared that the ruffians had ruined everything. Now I see that Shirefolk have changed, and not all for the worse.’ He looked to Merry. ‘There will be a Shire again,’ he concluded.

’Of course there will be,’ Merry said stoutly. ‘We’ll see to it, of course. No doubt about it.’ Sam nodded. He was in full agreement.