Friends and Relations

1.

Lobelia was sobbing in the wagon. Copiously, unremittingly, loudly. Drenched handkerchiefs, most of which were Frodo’s were strewn about in sodden clumps. She was on the seventh one now and there were no more. Frodo feared that next she would begin tearing bits of her petticoats off and using those.

It had started as soon as she had been freed from the Lockholes and been greeted by with cheers and applause acknowledging her as a heroine in the battle against the ruffians. No one had ever said a kind thing to Lobelia before in all her life because, frankly, there was nothing nice to be said. But her single-handed fight to fend off a band of Sharkey’s thugs with her umbrella, the event which had landed her in the prison, had elevated her to the status of ‘war hero’ in the eyes of her neighbors. The fact that her son Lotho, who had turned traitor to the Shire and become the Boss under Sharkey’s regime, no longer mattered because Sharkey had murdered Lotho. So now Lobelia was not only a heroine but a bereaved heroine.

“Lotho!!!!” She wailed for the thousandth time. “My boy!!!”

Frodo’s head was splitting. And the pony pulling the cart shied every time she wailed and this made driving it very difficult. She and Lotho had spent most of their lives screaming at each other and had never been close except in their shared propensity for greed and pilfering from their relatives, primarily he and Bilbo. She now owned Bag End and for lack of any other idea where to take her Frodo was heading there although the place was a wreck from its having been requisitioned as Sharkey’s headquarters. Samwise had just begun estimating what repairs would be needed and there was already a long list of things that needed to be mended immediately.

“Where are you taking me?!” Lobelia squawked, between vigorous bouts of nose-blowing.

“I presumed you wished to return to Bag End.” Frodo told her trying to sound patient. As her only surviving local relative it had, of course, fallen to him to escort her out of the Lockholes and back home.

“NO! You presumed wrong, as usual, Frodo Baggins! I don’t want the filthy hole anymore! You can have it back, for all I care! My Lotho was m..m..mu..murdered there!” And she was wailing, sobbing and nose-blowing again.

And though Frodo reported this incident much more kindly in the Red Book...THAT was how Lobelia really returned Bag End to him.

Frodo rolled his eyes. Now what was he supposed to do with her?

As their wagon trundled past Bywater Pool the obvious thought crossed his mind, but, of course, he dismissed it.

Of all the things he did not need after his awful experiences in Mordor dealing with Lobelia was the thing he needed least.

He sighed.

“Where would you like to go then?” He asked her and this time he could only thinly veil his irritation.

“You’d like to dump me on the roadside, wouldn’t you!” She glared at him with very repugnant-looking swollen red eyes and dripping nose.

This, of course, was quite true.

“Of course not!” he lied valiantly. “I’ll take you wherever you wish.”

“Hrmmph! Where’s a body like me going to go? There’s only my people in Hardbottle now.”

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have you return to them.”

Actually the Bracegirdles of Hardbottle were very much like Lobelia in all her unpleasant traits and she would fit in with them very well.

“Yes. They’re all I have now. Take me to Hardbottle!”

Naturally Hardbottle was nearly 30 miles away. This meant traveling all of that day and most of the next to deposit Lobelia into the bosom of her family.

Again Frodo sighed. “Very well.”

“You do have food for the trip, don’t you?”

“Actually no.”

“Well of all the thoughtless...!!!!! I have been fairly starved to death in the Lockholes. And now you say you’ve brought no food with you!?”

Lobelia was not lying here. She was a frail shadow of her former self and obviously needed a good hobbit-size feeding up.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stock up right now.” They would after-all need food and, Frodo thought, drink, to survive the trip.

So after buying just about everything available in Hobbiton, at Lobelia’s direction, they again set off on the road to Hardbottle.

About five miles out it began to rain. A drizzly soaking rain which brought out the midges that were in a mood to bite hobbits.

Lobelia began to wield her deadly umbrella against rain and midges both but succeeded mainly in severely jabbing Frodo with it in very painful places until he could take no more.

“Stop it! That’s doing no good at all.” He cried out in exasperation.

“Don’t you shout at me, Frodo Baggins!”

“Don’t you keep stabbing me with that thing!” He was at his wit’s end. He began muttering something about... ‘worse than all the orcs in Mordor....’ under his breath.

“I can hear you, you know. My ears are as sharp as ever.”

“Too sharp.” He could not keep up the pretense of being nice any longer.

“Do something about these midges!” Lobelia whined, swinging her umbrella more actively than ever.

“What am I supposed to do about them?”

“How should I know?! Just do something!”

One wide swing of the umbrella went far too wide and poked the poor pony sharply in the rump and, the poor beast who was just as annoyed with his unwelcome burden as Frodo was, reared in surprise and darted off the side of the road, whereupon one of the wagon-wheels cracked apart, nearly toppling all of them into the ditch.

Lobelia screamed at an ear-piercing pitch. Then when she realized she had not come to any actual harm she soundly thumped Frodo on the head with the guilty umbrella.

“Ow!” Frodo cried. He had truly had enough. He leapt down from the wagon and after pacing distractedly around the damaged vehicle threw his hands in the air and began to walk off down the road.

“Frodo Baggins! Where are you going?!” Lobelia screeched.

He was inclined not to reply. But in a moment he said:

“I must get help to repair the wagon, mustn’t I.”

“And what about me?!”

What about you? What about you? Frodo was muttering again. I don’t bloody well care any more.

“I’ll be back. Wait there.” Was what he told her.

“Where else can I wait, you fool?!”

Frodo pretended not to hear her and plodded onwards.

Two

When Frodo, wet through and miserable, returned to the wagon about an hour later Lobelia was not to be seen.

This would have been good news, were it not for his finely tuned conscience, which would not allow him to hope for the best and that Lobelia had just decided to strike off on her own or otherwise somehow been removed from his responsibility.

He surveyed the wagon and noticed that the basket of food was gone and that what appeared to be Lobelia’s rather overly-large footprints had trodden down the tall grass verging the hedgerow beyond the ditch. A portion of the hedgerow had apparently been battered down and trod upon by those same feet and a path had been beaten across the meadow on the other side. Lobelia seemed to have known where she was going.

The poor pony was still harnessed to the wagon as wet and unhappy-looking as Frodo was himself.

“So she went that way, did she?” Frodo said to the gentle beast as he undid the harness. The pony seemed to understand and snorted softly, glad that his sensible owner had returned and was paying him some decent attention.

“Come on then. I suppose we must follow her.”

The pony whinnied as if to say, “Oh dear, must we?”

“Afraid so.” Frodo replied. “She has our provisions.”

So through the hedgerow and across the field he led the beast following Lobelia’s well-marked trail. For it was quite clear she had gone this way. All along the route were apple cores that had been tossed aside and bits of bread crusts , sausage and cheese that had somehow escaped her voracious mouth.

What a hazard she would have been on the quest, Frodo mused. Even the blindest of foes would have been able to pick up her trail in an instant.

Her path led to an old abandoned hobbit-hole that not even Frodo, who knew the Shire inside and out, had not known existed. It was indeed ancient and long-uninhabited. The grass and weeds had overgrown it completely and trees loomed above it making it invisible to any passers-by. How Lobelia had obviously known about it was beyond him.

Smoke was already rising from the chimney and the smell of bacon and mushrooms being fried wafted out tantalizingly. Lobelia had one talent. She could cook.

After putting the pony in what had been a shelter meant for the purpose and giving him some straw to munch, Frodo entered the battered old round doorway whose door just managed to cling to it’s rusted hinges.

There was Lobelia cooking away, her frying pan, which they had brought from Hobbiton, over-flowing with food.

She heard him come in and she rounded on him wielding her long cooking fork perilously close to his nose.

“A lot of good you’ve been..” She told him. “If I hadn’t remembered this place was here I would have died from the damp and the midges.”

Frodo pondered this and let it pass. Though he was far closer to expiring from the damp than she was.

“How did you know this hole was here?” He asked.

“None of your business! It’s enough that I did. Now I suppose you want to eat some of my supper?”

Frodo eyed the brimming pan which contained supper enough for at least six hungry hobbits.

“Yes, thank you. I am really very cold and famished.”

“Oh, yes. I daresay!” She mocked. “Where did you go off to anyway?”

“To find the wheelwright who lives up the road. Unfortunately he was out. But his wife promised to send him along as soon as possible.”

Lobelia snorted derisively, as if she had known all along Frodo would have failed to bring help as soon as it suited her.

“Take off your cloak! It’s dripping all over the floor.” She demanded. Never mind that he was dripping along with it.

“Frodo took the sodden thing off and hung it on an old hook hanging on the wall. He wished he had been wearing his elven cloak which somehow managed to repel most rainwater. Instead he was wearing his heavy formal velvet cloak from Gondor. He had donned it in honor of Lobelia, who he had felt just slightly proud of for her attack on the ruffians. But Gondorian cloaks, while grand and warm when dry, were heavy and clammy when soaked through.

With much ‘tsking’ and whispered oaths under her breath Lobelia grudgingly filled a plate, also from Hobbiton, and handed it to him, along with a steaming mug of very sweet tea.

He noticed that she had also swept the floor with an old broom that leant against the hearth. Any furniture that had ever occupied the hole had long ago disintegrated so they were obliged to sit on the floor to dine. Of course she had swept the floor for her own comfort but still he was glad she had done so.

All in all it was not a bad fry-up, despite the slavering sounds of Lobelia as she gobbled down her meal, which put him uncomfortably in mind of Shelob.

The large bottle of wine he had the forethought to purchase made this more bearable. It made him feel quite relaxed and drowsy.

It made Lobelia loquacious.

Just as he had made himself comfortable leaning his tired back against the wall and was nearly dozing Lobelia began to speak after the blessed silence only marred by her chewing and gulping.

“Frodo!” She said, far too loudly for the very small room.

He started awake.

“Yes....” He replied sleepily. If she wanted him to go out into the rain for something he was not about to do it.

“All right. I’ll tell you!”

Frodo looked around to see if someone else had suddenly appeared to ask Lobelia to explain herself about something. He certainly hadn’t.

“About this place, how I know it.” She said, sounding unusually mellow.

“Oh. Yes. That.”

“I used to meet someone here. Years and years ago, it was. I was just a girl then.”

Centuries ago, then, Frodo thought to himself. He smiled blandly at her. It was the wine that enabled him to do so.

“My first love.”

No, spare me, please! He said silently. Though after a moment the idea of Lobelia ever actually being young and in love peaked his interest. A little.

“Really ?”

“Yes, really! You probably think I never loved anyone.”

True.

“That I was born ugly and plagued by my bad moods.”

True again.

“Not at all, Lobelia.” He said, drinking more wine.

“Oh, shut up! Yes you do.”

He poured her more wine, as well.

“Have it your way.”

“Pig-headed, Baggins!”

That was a mild one for her.

He only smiled.

“I WAS very pretty once! All the men in Hardbottle were after me. All of them! But there was only one I liked.”

“Otho?”

“Oh, blast! Not Otho. My family made me marry, Otho! I hated Otho!”

“Hmnnn...” No surprise there.

“It was a lovely lad named Todd Burrow. Better looking than you!”

“Lobelia! You think I’m good-looking!” He was stunned. This was the closest Lobelia had ever come to giving him a round-about compliment.

“Pah! You’re not bad. Too full of yourself and a popinjay in all your fancy new foreign clothes. Best looking of the Bagginses, at any rate. But that’s not saying much.”

Coming from Lobelia this was high praise.

“Thank you, Cousin.” He told her.

“Oh, posh! I’m not talking about you. Always about you isn’t it?!”

It is?

“I was telling you about my darling Todd.”

“You were. Go on, then.” He swallowed more wine.

“He was just a hired hand and the family didn’t approve of him. But I loved him.........” Here she trailed off dreamily. Frodo almost smiled again at Lobelia suddenly becoming something close to a proper hobbit-woman. With real feelings instead of greed and covetousness twisting everything she said and did. Lobelia had been in love, once. It was rather sweet.

She leaned forward and jabbed him in the stomach with her bony, pointy finger. It hurt and entirely ruined this temporary aberration.

“Stop doing that!” He complained more loudly than was his soft-spoken wont.

“Big baby! I was telling you that Todd also loved me!” She nodded triumphantly.

“You were?”

“I was about to. And he did!” She jabbed him again.

“Stop!”

“Pifft! So whiney! Always were.”

No, I wasn’t.

“Anyway. My Todd and I had to meet here, in secret. It was our trysting place. We walked all the way from Hardbottle because it was the only empty smial in the area. Still is. It’s like a shrine to our love!”

Frodo didn’t know whether to laugh, choke , or wipe away a tear. This really was quite an unexpected and unwanted revelation.

“So what happened to Todd? Why didn’t you just stand up to the family and marry him instead of Otho?” She had never hesitated to stand up for herself for good or ill in all the years he had had the displeasure of knowing her. Ill or ill to be more accurate.

“The money, of course! they would have cut me off without a penny.”

OF course. Lobelia would choose money over love.

“It was for Todd’s good. I did it.”

Oh... yes.... surely......

“Todd was handsome and a dear but he had no ability to fend for himself or for us. He was a bit of a dolt, but I loved him anyway. If I’d have been cut off he wouldn’t have had anything. But if I agreed to marry Otho my Father promised that Todd would always have a job with the family. I did it for Todd.”

Frodo just sat their and blinked at her for some moments.

“Do you think Todd is still there?”

“I believe so. He never married. probably I spoiled him for anyone else.”

Now Frodo had to choke back a laugh. When he could breathe properly he said:

“Perhaps you’ll see him when you get back home. That would be nice, wouldn‘t it?”

“Oh, he’s probably old and ugly now.”

Frodo refrained from saying anything on that point.

“But it would be good to see him again, wouldn’t it?” He asked instead.

“I suppose so.” But Lobelia was smiling. She was also toppling over due to the meal and the wine and the warmth from the fire in the old hearth. She curled up on the floor and pulled a blanket (also purchased by Frodo in Hobbiton) around herself and was snoring loudly in seconds.

Frodo noticed that she had unexpectedly left the other new blanket for him. Or else she had simply fallen asleep before she could snatch both for herself. Whatever the case he wrapped himself up and soon dozed off as well.

Three

Lobelia was not usually easily awakened from her slumber, but Frodo’s terrified cries and sobs reached even into the unfathomable depths where she slept.

She saw that he was in the throes of a frightful nightmare. She watched him toss and turn and mumble wildly of things she had no knowledge of.

She crept over to where he lay and reached out her hand to touch his sweat-soaked brow. He was very hot and feverish, as well.

“Tsk, tsk. Here now. Wake up, Frodo. What’s wrong with you?“ She said, nudging him, but not as roughly as usual.

“What’s the matter, Frodo?” She repeated and she sounded genuinely worried.

He was still so far gone into the black memories that he could barely speak and his throat felt as sore and parched as it had on the plains of Mordor.

“Nothing....” He said. But it came out in a scratchy, faint croak.

“Nothing?! You’ve been acting like a hoard of goblins were after you.”

“They were...” That was almost inaudible as well.

Oh no! He thought, present reality and not fearsome memory, returning to his mind. I’m sick and I’m having one of those dreams on top of that and on top of THAT I’m trapped here with Lobelia!

“There’s no goblins here. You have a fever. You shouldn’t have stayed out in the rain so long.”

He was far too exhausted to argue WHY he had been out trudging in the rain. Instead he was assailed by a violent coughing fit.

“Oh, dear, oh dear... Now, now......” Lobelia clucked, as she pottered around stirring up the fire and putting the kettle on. “I’ll make you some tea.”

Then she did the unthinkable. She gave him her blanket. She gave it to him and tucked it around him! Perhaps not the best thing since he was burning up inside but he appreciated the thought.

Soon she had the tea brewed and sweetened, with honey this time. She helped him sip it slowly till his coughing subsided.

“Better now?” She asked.

“A little.” He found his voice was clearer and not so hoarse. “ I’m sorry to have gotten sick. I’m afraid I haven’t been too well since... well ...since I went to Mordor.”

“Well, I suppose you can’t help that.” Lobelia was staring at him with...No? Pity in her wrinkled old eyes? “I thought it was foolish of you to go traipsing off where you had no business going. I said so for a long time. Then I heard some tales that you had actually done something important after-all. But it’s been all jumbled and I haven’t heard the tale right yet. Were you really chased by goblins?”

“Orcs. They are called orcs. Yes, I was.”

“What did they do to you?”

“I....I’d rather not.... It isn’t easy to tell it... To remember....”

“Was it very bad?”

“Bad enough.” Was all he could say.

“Many say you are the greatest hero in all that’s happened.”

“No...no. I’m not. So many others did so much..... “ He began to cough again and she helped him get some more tea down.

“You got rid of that blasted Ring, though.”

“How did you know about that?” He was shocked that she had heard that much already.

“I knew Bilbo had some sort of magic ring that he used to hide from me. He thought I never knew about it, but I did. When he gave everything to you I just figured that went to you, too. Then in those tales we started to hear was word that you’d tossed it in some great fiery mountain somewhere and that’s what all the to-do was all about.”

Frodo was silent. Lobelia had known so much and had never revealed a thing to the spies of Sauron or Saruman. Was it just possible that she had more character than he had ever given her credit for?

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” She said. “You’re not the same saucy, impudent tween you were when you went away. You’re... you’re all full of shadows now. And you‘re sad, too.”

That was so incredibly observant and ....kind.... Yes...kind! In fact, only those who were very close to him realized how deeply his experiences had changed him.

He could only stare at Lobelia in surprise.

“You thought someone like Old Nasty Lobelia wouldn’t notice such things. But I do. I see more than anybody knows. And I know what it means to be sad. I’ve been sad all my life.”

“Because you gave up Todd?” He managed to ask.

“Mainly that and that nobody ever took the time to really know me. They just assumed I was Nasty Old Lobelia so that’s what I gave them. Served them right. And ...well, some people are just so stupid that’s all they deserve.”

Frodo gave her a little knowing smile.

“Lobelia.....?”

“Well, what?” She said trying to sound impatient when he didn’t immediately go on.

“You’re NOT being quite so nasty to me, right now.”

“Hmmph! Well.. you ARE sick. Even I can feel sorry for a body who is sick. Sick and sad and worn out. And.. well... I never really thought of you as stupid.”

“Thank you, Cousin Lobelia.”

“Mind you. You WERE an impudent, uppity brat.”

But she was smiling a tiny secret smile that denied her words.

“Here now. You finish this tea and get some sleep.”

Four

Things were much better in the morning. The wheelwright came and replaced the broken wheel. Frodo’s fever was down, though he still was very stuffy-headed and coughed frequently, and Lobelia was almost chipper. Chipper but she could still put someone in their place as she did when she chided the wheelwright soundly for taking so long. He WAS known as a lazy fellow and she was not too far off the mark in telling him so.

Over breakfast, which she again prepared, their surprising heart-to-heart chat continued.

“Lobelia,” Frodo began, “If you had treated people better over the years they might have liked you more and you would have been happier, you know.”

“Well, I know that now! But by the time I’d realized that... Well I just had plain forgot how to do it. Be nice. It was easier for this tired old woman just to keep snapping at everybody.”

“But you haven’t forgotten. You were nice to me.” Then he patted her hand. “And you’re still being nice to me.”

“I told you, that is because you aren’t stupid. I shall continue to treat most of these dim-witted hobbits about here exactly as I always have.”

“No you won’t.”

“Whatever do you mean? I most certainly shall!”

“You’re just not as mean as you used to be.”

“I am so!”

“And, most of these hobbits have suffered terribly from the War of the Ring as have many in Middle-earth. You have let your softer side out and I don’t believe you can stuff her back inside you again.”

“Oh, tosh! I LIKE being mean when it suits me.”

But Frodo only smiled that knowing smile he’d had ever since escaping from the flames of Mount Doom. He knew that Lobelia, like so many people and so many things had changed, completely and irrevocably.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lobelia drove the wagon the rest of the way to Hardbottle, declaring Frodo ‘unfit’ to do so.

When they arrived she immediately set her old family to ‘rights’ as she saw them and was soon ensconced as the Grande Dame of the Sackville-Baggins-Bracegirdles. She was the richest of them all, having kept her hoards of money and ‘borrowed’ silver spoons safely hidden from the ruffians. Much of it had been hidden there behind loose boards and under floors and the odd barrel here and there. All of which had been tended watchfully by the aged and still devoted Todd Burrow.

Todd was at her beck and call day and night. And even though she chuffed at him she was never as rude to him as to most others. Nor was she so rude to Frodo any longer.

She insisted Frodo stay there for a full week till his cold was gone to her satisfaction. She probably would have kept him longer had not Samwise come riding up to the Bracegirdle smial in search of Frodo.

“I heard in Hobbiton that you were bringin’ the Old Thing up to her people, sir.” Sam told Frodo. “But when it got to be so long... well.. I feared that... that she’d a ‘done something to you.”

“Actually Sam, Lobelia has taken good care of me. I came down with a cold and she has quite cured me.”

Sam was shocked!

“Lobelia did?!”

Frodo nodded.

At that Lobelia joined them on the lawn where they were preparing to depart. She was followed by the ever present Todd. Or Old Todd as he was now known.

“Frodo Baggins!” She said as gruffly as ever. “Don’t go telling tales about me. I kept you here out of family obligation as I should! Nought else!” But her eyes twinkled when she said it. Meanwhile she rapped him on the rump with her umbrella.

But Frodo winked at her then he whispered something into Old Todd’s ear.

“She always loved you, Todd. She never stopped.”

Old Todd blushed a fierce red all the way to the tips of his big pointed ears and looked down while he twirled his cap distractedly in his hands and an errant tear stole down his rough wrinkled cheek.

“Here, now, Frodo! What did you tell him?!” Lobelia demanded.

But Forod only gave a merry giggle and backed away from her as she again wielded her umbrella in his direction.

“You’re still a scamp, Frodo Baggins! That’s what you are!” Lobelia shouted as he and Sam climbed into the wagon with the Sam’s pony Bill tied to the rear.

“You’re quite right about that, Cousin!’ Frodo told her. “Farewell and be happy.”

“Hrmnnph!” Lobelia replied. Then Todd took her elbow and escorted her inside.

“Mr. Frodo...What DID you tell old Todd Burrow?”

“Oh, Sam... Just something they both needed to have someone say. It’s between the three of us. Sorry, Sam.”

“She still seems just as bad as she ever was to me, Sir.”

“Maybe she never really was that bad.”

Sam was aghast. But Frodo just continued to smile.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The EndIt took Frodo forever to pull himself out of the awful dream of orcs and whips and fire and darkness, thirst and pain. To see Lobelia hovering over him and not a hideous orc was actually a relief. With this astounding admission of actual UNSELFISHNESS Lobelia began to drift off wistfully. She......she ..... almost looked like a sweet old dear rather than the horrid, cranky shrew she usually was.