elderberrywine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elderberrywine) wrote2008-05-16 09:51 pm
elderberrywine) wrote2008-05-16 09:51 pm
New Fic from 221B Bag End Series
There's a new fic from my 221B Bag End AU written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
waymeet. It's based on, for those who are familiar with Holmesiana, The Final Problem, and is long enough to need two parts.
Title: The Shadow on the Wall, Part One
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 13,179 (both parts)
Summary: A grim danger threatens the Shire, and sacrifices must be made. Part of the 221B Bag End AU. Based on the Holmes story The Final Problem.
The first part may be found here:
Many years from now, the winter Frodo Baggins and I fell in love will be remembered by the Shire as an exceptional one, I expect. The snow started early this year, and has continued to fall until it seems as though spring will never come again. But it isn’t so much the snow, really, as the dark dank fog that has settled in on those days when it does not snow, day after dreary day, until the recollection of a golden sun in a sparkling blue sky is a fading remembrance.
However, in my memories and dreams, I’m afraid Baggins and I never gave the matter quite the consideration that such a strange winter deserved. We managed to spend days on end going from bedroom to study, and back to bedroom again, with no sense of time save for the punctually served meals left cautiously in the study, and the vague sense that there was alternating darkness and semi-darkness without the windows of Bag End.
What preoccupied us so? Looking back on those heady treasured days, it’s rather difficult to recollect all the particulars. Certainly there was the newly discovered physical aspect of things, but there was conversation as well in the form of the exchange of confidences both trusting and enlightening, not to mention frequently quite entertaining. And there were other moments when not a word was exchanged, but only loving touches, prolonged kisses, ecstatic gasps, and the contented sigh. Really, it must have been at least a couple of weeks before we noticed that the world out of doors had turned a little odd.
&&&&&
The day came, however, when there was a preemptive pounding on the front door of Bag End, and a desperate cry for my assistance. Winter fever, along with the damp unhealthful air, had returned to the Shire, and I was quickly plunged back into my chosen calling. Nearly every smialhold, in the greater Hobbiton area, did not go unscathed, and even though my powers against that dreaded scourge were but limited, I was the only hope most of these poor souls had. So I did what I could, tramping the cold icy roads, brewing batch after batch of the tincture as my mam had taught me, to reduce the heating somewhat, and when I was at last back at Bag End, throwing myself into bed exhausted late in the night with quite nearly no thought of who was occupying it with me.
But Baggins bore it all in quite good stead. Indeed, entirely unlike his usual querulousness regarding having his routine disturbed, he assisted me when I was too tired to brew one more batch, arranged to have a pony and cart at my command without my mentioning the matter, and was a constant source of comfort and concern on those long weary nights. Indeed, the good folk of Hobbiton soon got used to seeing his tall spare figure accompanying me on my rounds, and many a hobbit was heard to mutter as they “never would’ve believed it if they hadn’t ‘uv seen it for themselves”.
It was not more than a week into these rounds, however, when a letter arrived from Meriadoc Brandybuck, with a most urgent plea. Meriadoc, more commonly known as Merry, was another of Baggins’ cousins, and might I mention that it always struck me as odd, and more than a little amusing, that such a determinedly singular and solitary creature as Baggins could nonetheless be closely connected with all the best Shire families. Although he holed up in the remote village of Hobbiton, he was yet constantly in touch with all the various gentlehobbit clans with whom he was related, be they Brandybucks, Tooks, or the more far-flung Baggins. Indeed, I‘m quite sure that you could add Boffins and Bolgers to that list as well. Of course, I always suspected that Hobbiton’s secluded and humble nature was its greatest attraction for him as it had been for his cousin Bilbo Baggins before him. Extended families are wont to be trying, at times, and in my general experience, gentlehobbit families are the worst. It’s harder to nurse a grudge when one must pull together to keep bread on the table, I suspect.
But I digress. To return to Merry Brandybuck’s letter, he informed us that the fever had hit Buckland exceptionally hard, and the east bank of the Brandywine in particular. Fever did often seem to spread out from the environs of water, so that was not unusual, but the desperate plea in Brandybuck’s letter was. There were other healers at Brandy Hall, to be sure, but they had lost the eldest to the effects of a long and very well-lived life the previous winter, and it appeared that inexperience was becoming evident.
There was more to the letter, however, than a simple plea for a healer’s assistance. “Frodo, you really must come as well, if at all possible,” the letter concluded. “There are matters which cannot be put to paper, and I must admit that I am greatly perplexed and disturbed. If the both of you could see your way to arriving at Brandy Hall as soon as possible, both I and my family would be most appreciative. Please, Frodo, please come!”
That was the sort of thing that could not be dismissed, even in our current state of bliss, and so it was that we found ourselves arriving, courtesy of a stout pony and cart, at the Brandybuck estate, on the hind end of a dark and clammy afternoon not two days later.
&&&&&
Merry Brandybuck was indeed happy to see us, and gave his cousin a long and grateful hug almost as soon as he descended from the cart. I might add that Brandybuck was, in addition to Pippin Took, one of the only two living souls from whom I had ever seen Baggins tolerate close contact, prior to the happy change in our own circumstances of course, and he showed no sign of annoyance at Brandybuck’s prolonged embrace but held him firmly and quietly until Brandybuck at last drew back.
“Oh, Frodo, I can’t tell you how good it is to have you here,” he murmured, his voice uncertain, as he dashed a quick hand across his eyes, and then added somewhat guiltily, “And you too, of course, Gamgee.”
“Of course we’re here, my dear Merry,” Baggins gave him a rare quick smile, one arm still firmly around the younger hobbit’s shoulders. “And since it is a nasty afternoon, and I’m not quite sure that I can feel my toes, I think the best thing to do would be to find someplace in this grand smial of yours where we could thaw out in front of a nice fire, and have some hot tea. I certainly would not say no to a spot of brandy in mine, and I have no doubt that Gamgee feels much the same. And then you can let us know what it is that bothers you so.”
Brandybuck nodded, starting to look a bit brighter all ready, and immediately called out some orders to a couple of serving hobbits who were standing back discreetly at the elaborate entrance to Brandy Hall. In no time, our pony and cart had been whisked off to the stables, and our bits of baggage had disappeared into the smial. We followed Brandybuck into the grand hallway, and through the complicated maze of rooms until we reached a small sitting room that was clearly his own. There was a cozy fire already cheerfully burning, and the room was welcomingly snug and warm. Several well-stuffed armchairs, several with padded footstools, were facing the fire, as well as a couple of handy small tables, and a thick braided rug was underfoot. On a sturdy table near the wall was a jumble of old volumes and rolled parchments, with what appeared to be, at a quick glance, an ancient map unscrolled and held open with the help of a few of the books.
I could see Baggins’ curious glance land upon the contents of the table, but he made no comment as we sank gratefully into the chairs and rubbed our warming hands in the heat of the fire. A couple of serving lasses politely knocked, no more than few minutes later, and quickly laid out a handsome tea on the small tables, with plates as well of bread and butter, round pots of jam, and cheese and dried fruits, with the addition of, I was amused to see, a small flask of what was presumably brandy. All in all, a most welcome sight. The lasses left, and for the next few moments, Baggins and I set to warming our insides as well as our outsides, and Brandybuck poured himself a cup, laced with brandy as well, and patiently waited.
Finally Baggins put down his cup and gave Brandybuck a direct look. “Trouble from without the border wall, then?” he asked quietly. “How bad is it, Merry?”
Brandybuck gave a distinct start, and began, “But how could you have possibly… oh.” He smiled wryly as he followed Baggins’ glance and added, a trifle sheepishly, “Those old maps, I suppose. I do forget, sometimes, how you notice every little thing. But yes, trouble indeed. The very worst kind. And now that Father has been gone for nearly a week, I don’t mind admitting that I am worried no end. Mother is as well, although she tries to put a brave face on it, and told me I was ridiculous to call for you, and that Father has just run into a bit of bad weather. ‘As if anyone would dream of touching the Master of Brandy Hall’, she says, but considering what has already happened, I can’t believe they would hesitate to do just that.”
“And what exactly has happened, Merry?” asked Baggins quietly, when the tween’s explanation ran suddenly aground.
“Murder, Frodo, just as surely as I’m sitting here!”
“Indeed,” Baggins sucked in his breath sharply, and I’m quite sure my jaw must have dropped open at the word. Murder? In our peaceful Shire? That simply wasn’t heard of.
But Baggins instantly collected himself, and reaching into his jacket pocket, removed his pipe pouch and rose to light it from the fire. “It would be best if you started from the very beginning, my dear cousin, and do try to tell me what has happened, no matter whether you think it pertains or not,” he remarked conversationally, giving the pipe a few puffs to start it. He cast a quick glance in my direction, and I could see how intrigued he was by the glitter in his eyes. “Gamgee, do me the favor of taking a few notes, won’t you?” he added, and I hastily dug about in my own pocket for a scrap of paper, as Brandybuck handed me the pen that had lain on the table. “All set, then? Very well, Merry, tell us everything.”
&&&&&
It had started in the autumn. As soon as the leaves had commenced to turn, and the chill winds had begun to gust come afternoon, reports had arrived from the lands east of the Brandywine, the section of Buckland that bordered the great wall that lay between the Shire and the Old Forest. There were tales of strange sinister animals, barely glimpsed in the dark night, with burning eyes. Hobbits huddled in their smials, not daring to go out after dark, but attempting to reassure themselves with explanations such as unusually large foxes, or perhaps a badger from the north. But come morning, no matter how closely they had thought them guarded, there was all too often a dead lamb, or calf, in the pasture. The worst of it was, although this was rarely mentioned, that they did not appear to have been killed for their meat, but rather lay in the wet grass with their throats bloodied and worried and otherwise untouched, as if they had been killed purely for the sport of it.
Of course the folk of far East Farthing had come to the Master of Brandy Hall with their concerns, and he had sent out a stout troop of his hobbits, well armed with staff and blade, to guard the boundaries, but it proved to be of no use. The killings continued, and the guards saw nothing. Indeed, tales began to grow of wraiths that moved about in the dark, tall living shadows that could kill when they so chose, and all manner of other unnatural creatures. Saradoc Brandybuck, the Master of Buckland, steadfastly refused to believe these uncanny explanations, however, and directed that his hobbits set traps to capture these beasts. But they never caught a thing.
About a month ago, matters changed. Besides the occasional dead livestock, the inhabitants of the area began to find more amiss when daylight came. Barns and granaries were depleted, sheds were pillaged, and the last of the year’s crops seemed to vanish from the fields during the foggy nights. Yet the means by which this was being accomplished was an utter mystery. And just in the last couple of weeks had come the worst news of all from the embattled region. Three hobbit farmers who lived alone, in widely spread locations from Newbury to the north to Haysend in the south, had been found murdered. One had been found in his barn, the other in the back field, and the last, most chillingly of all, had been found slain in his very own bed. The method of their death was not immediately known, for their bodies were bloody and battered, and none could bear to look at them for long.
In addition, the winter had settled in grimly cold and unremittingly damp. Winter fever was rampant, and even prosperous Buckland was being stretched to its last resources. Famine was starting to appear alarmingly possible, and every goodwife felt the thrill of fear at the sound of the least cough from a fauntling.
Saradoc, desperate for some practical plan to combat the horrors of the seemingly endless winter, had decided to join the patrol on the border himself, and had left a week ago. But he had only expected to be gone a few days, and there had been no word from him since. Merry gulped back tears when he related the last bit of his story, and Baggins abruptly stood up.
“Grim times, my dear Merry, without a doubt,” he made room for himself on the settle where Merry sat, his head buried in his hands, and gave him a firm clasp about the shoulders. “But we are here, cousin, and we’ll see this through all together. There’s a logical explanation for all of this. There always is, and we’ll find it, and your father too. You did the right thing, Merry dear, to bring us here, and in the morning, Gamgee and I will be off to investigate these matters.”
“I’m coming with the both of you,” Merry looked up suddenly, his face still streaked with tears, but his expression set stubbornly as if he expected resistance.
Baggins studied him carefully for a moment without comment. And then, laying a gentle hand at the side of his cousin’s face, he quietly said, “Of course you are. After all, until we find your father, you are the acting Master of Brandy Hall. I would expect nothing less from you.”
&&&&&
Later that night we lay in bed, coiled closely together. I was still unsettled by Merry’s tale, and was glad beyond all words for Frodo’s comforting and reassuring embrace. I clung quite close to him, uncharacteristically I suppose, and only began to relax when he started to stroke my back soothingly. “There’s always a logical explanation, Sam, my dearest. It’s just a matter of examining the facts,” he murmured, and lightly kissed my forehead.
“Of course, Frodo,” I responded, probably not sounding terribly convinced, so he found my mouth and kissed me more emphatically this time.
“Trust me, my love,” he insisted, as our mouths parted, and I could hear the warm smile in his voice as he wrapped his arms more closely about me.
“I always have, Frodo my beloved,” I breathed, burying my face into that intoxicating caress. “I always will.” And it was thus that sleep finally found me.
&&&&&
We left in the cold grey dawn, on sturdy shaggy ponies, and with enough provisions stuffed in our saddle bags for a couple of weeks. Merry’s mother had not been pleased to see him go, but the combination of the look of resolve on the young hobbit’s face, and her anxiety regarding her husband’s disappearance, was sufficient to convince her that there really was no alternative. We rode silently out from the stables and down through the stubbled wheat fields, that surrounded Brandy Hall, lying dappled with piles of snow, and the only sound was the huff of the ponies, their breath clouding in the chill air, and the occasional harsh caw of a crow alighting on a fence post and watching us curiously. There was something uncanny about these glossy dark birds, and I could see Baggins giving them a thoughtful look, but he said nothing, and neither did Brandybuck nor I as we rode into the misty morning.
We had decided to head towards Crickhollow, a small hamlet near the midpoint of Buckland but not far from the wall. It was here that the hobbit who lay murdered in his own bed had been found. Crickhollow had also been one of the locations hit particularly hard by winter fever, as well, and so it was decided that Baggins should appear in the character of my assistant. He had found that he learned more by observation than interviews, he informed us, and by assuming this humble personage, he assured that attention would be focused on Brandybuck and myself, leaving him free to investigate. I immediately assented, for it was clear from the reports that Crickhollow was truly in need of my services, and I would probably be in need of his assistance in truth.
Our journey was tediously slow, for the misty morning light was frequently swallowed by swirling thick fog, and none of us knew the way to Crickhollow that well. As it turned out, the only one who knew it at all, actually, was Baggins himself, for I was startled to find, from a casual comment made by Brandybuck, that Baggins had lived in the vicinity as a young lad. “More near the river, I’m afraid,” he shrugged. “Not actually in Crickhollow, or any sort of village, you know. Much more out of the way.”
“But I always thought you grew up at Brandy Hall,” I exclaimed without thinking. “Didn’t you come from there to Bag End?” In all of our intimate conversations, his past, prior to arriving at Bag End, had never come up, I now realized with a bit of surprise.
Baggins gave a quick glance behind us, to where Brandybuck rode a few paces back, his head down and obviously lost in his own unhappy thoughts. “I suppose I must now tell you all the particulars of my unusual past,” he murmured with the glimmer of a quick smile. “But not at the moment, I think. Young Merry is in need of company, and more to the point, in need of food. It must nearly be eleven, although it’s nearly impossible to tell in this murk. Let’s find a place to stop for a break and some hot tea.”
The matter was taken out of our hands, however, when the ponies suddenly lifted their heads with a soft huff, and even we could unexpectedly smell the welcome aroma of a burning log. Apparently, there was a smial not far off, and letting the ponies follow their noses, and ourselves likewise, we soon found it in the fog. The sound of three ponies stamping impatiently before the round door, not to mention Brandybuck’s loud halloo, brought the occupants to the entrance, and three pairs of wary eyes were to be seen peering from behind the half-opened door. Brandybuck was recognized nearly immediately, and I suppose both Baggins and I appeared harmless, for the door was quickly opened, and the residents of the smial welcomed us in with a confusion of words and smiles.
“Ah, Master Merry, ‘tis good indeed t’be seein’ you,” the older hobbit exclaimed, and his goodwife behind him nodded bashfully but enthusiastically. “An’ ain’t you just grown something fierce, but then you’d ‘uv been nobbut more’n a fauntling the last I seen o’you, come w’your dad to us river folk.”
“Umm, well, yes, thank you,” Brandybuck was clearly a trifle disconcerted at this unexpected greeting, but quickly recovered his equilibrium. “Would you happen to know if he’s been this way recently?”
“Aye, barely a week ago,” replied the third hobbit, a rather gawky stripling, who kept alternating standing on one leg and then the other, much like a homespun-clad stork. The effort of speech, however, caused him to go into a coughing spasm, and the attention of the other two residents immediately turned back to him with concern.
“Hi, now, Dobby, an’ why aren’t you wrapped in that quilt by the fire, just as I told ye?” the good wife scolded him, leading him lovingly but firmly back to the designated location. “You may be on the mend, m’lad, but I’ll not have my sister sayin’ we let you take ill all over again.”
“I’m a healer,” I offered, without any other introduction. “Would you mind me having a look at the lad?”
“Oh, we’d be ever that grateful,” she exclaimed with an expression of relief, turning from where she had tucked the young hobbit into a nest of blankets laid on a straw mattress that had been drawn up close to the hearth in the small smial. “My sister lives down i’the valley, and has her hands that full with sick fauntlings, that we offered to take in her oldest to gi’her a bit of breather, as we’ve none ourselves, you know, but this nasty cough just won’t be goin’ and it has me fair worret, I don’t mind a-tellin’ you, good sirs.”
Her husband had by now started to stoke the fire under the kettle for tea, and was entertaining Brandybuck with an amazingly complete account of the last time he had seen him, despite the fact it appeared to be at least a dozen years ago. Baggins, as yet not introduced, had followed me, so I mentioned that we were friends of Master Merry, and that not only was I a healer, but that my companion was learning a bit of the art himself. What with Baggins’ surprise announcement that he had been raised in the area, and being well-aware of his inclination to want to remain inconspicuous, I felt it more prudent not to mention names. I was rewarded by a quick but warm glance from him, and felt foolishly gratified that I had read his intentions right. Especially since her husband seemed to have a particularly tenacious memory, based on the volume of detail with which he was regaling a bemused Brandybuck regarding precisely what his young self had done and said on that long-ago momentous occasion.
My attention was abruptly drawn, however, back to my young patient as he gave a particularly prolonged and rattling cough. “Here, there, lad, let’s us just have a look at that,” I gave him an encouraging smile and sat on the mattress beside him, “Just raise up your shirt for a moment, that’s right, and give us another good one.”
He did, and I listen closely, keeping a gentle hand on his thin back to judge the congestion. It was significant, to be sure, but not alarmingly so. Although he did appear to be recovering, I judged that a tisane of mint would speed the process, so I turned to Baggins, who was standing quietly by the patient’s anxious aunt.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” and I then nearly stuttered as his name almost slipped out, “Ah, erm, there a parcel in my bags…”
“Certainly,” he quickly responded, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I don’t believe we introduced ourselves,” he smoothly added, picking up my bag from where I had dropped it next to the mattress, and giving both the mistress of the smial and her nephew a polite nod. “This is my friend, Mr. Gamgee, and I am Mr. Underhill.”
“Yes, exactly,” I hastily muttered, “and there’s a small packet, in that dark pouch, yes, in that, marked in green, ah, thank you. That’s it. And now, my good lady, if you have any sort of jar or small box?”
She hurried to the cupboard, and thereby attracted her husband’s attention, much to Brandybuck’s relief. Taking advantage of the interruption, he joined us, with a quick roll of his eyes that only we, and the nephew, saw. The young patient exchanged conspiratorial grins with the three of us, but the goodwife came bustling back just then, a small earthenware cup in her hand, and her husband in tow.
I carefully shook a bit of dried herb from the packet into her cup, and handed it back to her. “Mint,” I explained. “Just add a pinch to a bowl of hot steaming water, and breathe it in. Be sure to cover your head though, so as to not let the steam escape. Before bed would be the best time, I should think, and it will give you a good night’s sleep. But I wouldn’t worry, my lad, you are on your way to recovery. This’ll just make you a bit more comfortable.”
The older couple were most voluble in their thanks, as Baggins calmly added, “I expect your mother will be glad enough to see a sturdy helpful extra pair of hands coming home soon, won’t she my lad?”
“Yes, indeed, sir,” he quickly answered, his grin broadening a bit despite his aunt’s protestations that he shouldn’t be a-headin’ anywhere in all this damp until he was completely over it. “Ah, don’t you take on so, Auntie,” he added fondly, giving her a hearty kiss on the cheek. “I’ll still be checkin’ on the pair o’ye most every day. An’ mam’ll be that grateful you helped us out by a-takin’ me in for a bit, no mistake.”
Since tears did not seem far from the surface, we accepted a quick cup of tea and made ready to be on our way. “Oh, and did my father happen to mention where he was on his way to, when he left here?” Brandybuck added, as nearly an afterthought as we made our way out the rough door into the chill bleak white morning. “I’m trying to catch up with him, you see. A most important message, you know…”
But the older hobbit shook his head. “Not a word on’it, Master Merry,” he replied reluctantly.
“Toward the river or away from it, do you think?” Baggins suddenly questioned, with a nearly indifferent glance out into the mist. “Was he riding, or on foot?”
“A fine pony, and now that I think a bit, the pony’s legs were wet, as I was wondering if there’d been rain. But the Master was dry enough, so he must have been climbing out of the water, I warrant. In that case, he probably was heading in Crickhollow direction, and you might want t’be checkin’ w’the proprietor of the New Inn. Nearly all folk who end up in Crickhollow stop by there. Fine brew. You know, Mr. Underhill, I can’t help but notice you look a bit familiar. You won’t be havin’ family in these parts, now, would you?”
“None that I’m aware of,” Baggins shook his head politely and speedily mounted his pony. “But then I’m always being mistaken for someone else. Good day to you, and you might want to look to the latch on the stable door.”
“Stars above!” came the startled cry from the old hobbit as we mounted up as well. “ ‘Twas fine enough the day before, and look at it now!” And indeed, the stout iron latch could be seen to be hanging from a sole remaining screw.
“Probably just a pony bumping against the door, but it is well to take care,” Baggins responded mildly, and with that, we left.
&&&&&
It was very nearly the end of the day when we finally found Crickhollow, despite the fact it should have been a mere couple of hours’ ride from the ferry. I had thought to try to stop by young Dobby’s home along the way, but the fog and lack of directions did not make that feasible. Baggins, though, gave a slight smile and noted that the presence of a healer of my caliber was certain to be immediately noticed in a village as small as Crickhollow, and as Brandybuck quickly agreed to that comment, I couldn’t help feeling a bit of, I hope, justifiable pride. Of course, on Brandybuck’s end, it might have been a ruse to get us to the New Inn all the faster, for he certainly seemed glad when it appeared in the dark grey light just around the hill from the first smials of the hamlet.
The New Inn, so named, of course, since it was anything but, and any older inn was long ago lost to the memory of even the oldest of hobbits, was a weathered, half-timbered burrow, with a pair of gnarled old oak and a fine walnut tree sheltering the entrance and the small stable at its side. There were benches out front, with some faint remnants of red paint still to be seen on them, where customers could gather out of doors in finer weather. They were quite empty this evening, to be sure, and there was a stillness about the place that did not promise much more company inside.
Indeed, I think we quite startled the sole pair of customers seated at a small table near the fire, and I believe we even awoke the innkeeper, since he was seated in a comfortable chair behind the counter, with a white cloth draped over his face. If we did awaken him, however, he took it kindly enough, and sprang up with a smile, ready to dispense hospitality. All the more so, as soon as he recognized Brandybuck, once again from some excursion he had made her with his father years ago. I was beginning to suspect Brandybuck had been a memorable sort of youth, the family connections not withstanding, for he certainly had made an impression on the hobbits of the area.
“Hie, Willie, come gi’the Master’s son a hand!” he roared, and a smaller copy of himself, with flaming hair and wearing a wide grin, came scrambling from a back door, wiping his hands on his well-used apron. “Willie here’ll take your ponies to the stable and set them up fine, don’t you worret, good sirs,” he continued, as Willie nodded enthusiastically and disappeared. “He’s been fixin’ me and the lads over there a bit of supper, and you’re all most welcome t’it, if you’d not mind something plain.” The lads, both of whom appeared to have seen at least four score years gone by, nodded amiably, and we accepted the offer with gratitude.
Brandybuck introduced Baggins and myself, and when he mentioned my profession, the lads perked up considerably. “An’ if it’d not be that much of a bother, Master Gamgee, I do wish you’d have a look at my knee. It pains me sommat fierce on these damp days, and seemingly, that’s about all we’d be havin’ as of late,” one immediately took advantage of the opening, as we seated ourselves at their table.
“Hush, now, ya dolt, let the gentlehobbits have a mug first, leastways, afore you go complainin’ about your aches and pains,” the other scolded his friend, with a quick glance in my direction.
“And would you good sirs be staying the night, then?” asked the innkeeper hopefully, coming up behind us and giving the first speaker a quick glare as he set three well-filled mugs down on the table.
“Indeed, if you have the room,” Brandybuck replied, taking a deep sip from his mug with a sigh of gratitude.
“Oh, of course,” quickly replied the innkeeper, ignoring the sudden alarmed murmurs from the other two guests. “There’s two rooms, and three beds, so it works out nicely enough, don’t it? These two lads won’t mind sleepin’ on the hearth for a night or two.”
“I’m sure we can arrange something satisfactory to all of us,” Baggins fluently interposed, speaking up for the first time, “but what was the delicious aroma I smelled as we entered? I think we can all agree that filling our stomachs would be the first order of business. And I must say, I am somewhat surprised to see so few customers in such a fine establishment as yours. Is it the weather that has diminished your trade, or the fever? Or perhaps something else?”
The innkeeper’s face suddenly darkened, and he pulled over a chair and sat down heavily. “I don’t mind sayin’,” and he gave a quick look around, “an’ I don’t say much so as my son can hear, but I ain’t never seen the like o’this winter in all my born days. Cold weather and damp, we’ve had that before, an’ surely we’ll have it again. Winter fever, well, now, that comes w’it, like as not. But there’s more than that out there, and that’s why folk are stayin’ tight in their holes.”
“Didn’t help old Barleycorn much, a-stayin’ in his hole,” muttered one of the lads, nodding his white head grimly.
“Wasn’t a robbery, now, was it?” Baggins pursued the subject with an air of mild curiosity.
The innkeeper gave his head a decisive shake. “”Never had much, Barleycorn, and that smial was alus bare as could be. Nothing touched, so I hear, but his pony gone missing. But they say as his bit of shed where he kept it was such a flimsy business that the pony like as not nosed his way out, once he caught on that there wasna food comin’ regular-like.”
“So I assume that it was a matter of a few days before his body was discovered?” Baggins gave his brew another sip.
“Would likely ha’been longer, but the posthobbit went on in a-lookin’ for him. Can’t remember the last time Barleycorn got a letter, and I never would ha’guessed he knew to read.”
“Did anyone happen to hold on to that letter?”
“Hmm. Never thought o’that,” the innkeeper frowned. “Can’t say as if I know. Ah, but here comes Willie, so not a word more of this for the time being, if you gentlehobbits wouldn’t mind. There’s just me and him, these days, and he does fret so sometimes.”
&&&&&
Arrangements for the night were concluded to the satisfaction of the others and to my own surprise, for Baggins suggested that the lads keep the room they’d been using, immediately earning himself their fervent gratitude, and that Brandybuck have the small room with the single bed. As for us, he proposed that we spend the night in the shed so as to keep a closer eye on the ponies. I had my doubts as to this arrangement, but knew better than to express them, at least until I had a better idea as to Baggins’ intentions. There was a logical reason for this, of that I was quite sure, so I voiced no complaint, and tried to give the impression that spending my night in a drafty shed along with the livestock was, without a doubt, just what I had been hoping for.
I suppose my mind did not look quite so far ahead as that of my companion, since that turned out to be precisely the case, for as soon as we entered the small shed, lantern in Baggins’ hand, that he wrapped me in a tight embrace and found my mouth almost immediately.
“Well, now I see,” I murmured a trifle shakily as we parted, his arms still around me. “Is that really why you wanted us out here, Frodo?”
He gave a soft amused bark at my expression. “Not the only reason, my dear Sam, but certainly one of the better. In truth,” he continued, with sudden seriousness, “I suspect this is where we may need to be this night. Surely you have noticed a common thread in these events, Samwise? The shed of the smial at which we stopped earlier this morning had a loose clasp on its door. The same was apparently the case with Barleycorn, and look.”
He pointed to the door where, with an uncanny similarity, the ancient iron clasp hung by a loosened screw.
“Has it been done deliberately, Frodo?” I asked, unable to hide a sudden thrill of fear.
“Possibly,” he murmured, drawing me closer, “but I suspect that nothing will happen amiss this night. I have my suspicions as to why, but that is a matter for the light of morning, such as it is these days. If I were to be entirely honest, my dear Sam, the consideration of obtaining a bit of privacy was quite compelling, especially since we are unlikely to find much of it in the coming days.”
“That does not sound at all encouraging, Frodo my dear,” I could not help but sigh. “This case of yours really has come at a most inconvenient time, but I suppose you could not say no to your own cousin.”
“You are entirely right about the timing,” he answered in a low voice, drawing a gentle hand to the side of my face. “There is still so much. . . But that’s for another time. Now we need to prepare our accommodations. I noticed that this shed had a steep cast to the roof, and assumed that there was a storage loft, which, indeed, there appears to be.” He swung the light of the lantern high and I could see exactly that over our heads. After a brief search, we found that there was a rough wooden ladder nailed into the side of the wall slats for access. So we left our ponies below, already settling for the night in the company of the resident elderly pony, and clambered up to the loft.
It was filled with, besides a fair amount of neatly stacked hay, various odds and ends that evidently had been used in the inn which included, to our great good fortune, a sizeable stack of thick woolen blankets. That was fortunate indeed, for the night was beginning to turn frosty and the dark sky could be seen through the cracks between the warped and weathered slats that made up the roof. I set to work immediately, while Baggins held the lantern, to hollowing out a bit of the straw, spreading some of the blankets over the top, and laying several to the side to cover us. And in no time, blowing out the lantern, we lay curled together, well-nestled in a surprisingly comfortable bed, and the night suddenly seemed not nearly as drear. Improbably enough, the thick fog and clouds seemed to have dissipated for the time being, and the frosty white light of the stars above shone through the cracks of the roof, and Baggins’ pale face seemed lit with a pale glow from within.
“Not at all bad,” I murmured, unable to resist the temptation of reaching out and trailing a caressing finger down the side of his face, causing him to smile and turn to me. “Rather more in the way of wool and linen between us than I care for, but I’m afraid that is to be expected.”
“Do you really think so, Samwise?” his smile deepened. “Is that a purely professional opinion? I understand physical activity can warm up cold blood quite efficiently.”
I had to laugh in delight at this suggestion. “Why, my dearest Frodo, I believe we’ve found some compelling evidence to support that theory, in the last several weeks.” And truth to tell, the cold night was rapidly becoming less of a consideration as I felt myself warming under the blankets, twined together as my legs were around his.
“Exactly,” his voice was low and throaty and his hands had found the fastenings of my jacket, as mine eagerly followed suit. But then his hand found my bare torso, and I had to give an involuntary gasp at its icy state.
A deep chuckle was heard in my ear, at my reaction, and to my unmistakable astonishment, a distinct nibble was quickly felt on my eartip. Of all characteristics that I had discovered that Baggins possessed, in the last few weeks, playfulness was the least expected, and quite possibly the most enticing.
“Frodo,” I growled, in mock consternation, “a bit of warning would be useful, I think. You might notice that a sudden shock does not have the desired effect on certain other areas.”
“Ah, that would indeed be unfortunate,” he laughed again, entirely unrepentant. “However, I believe there is a remedy for that condition.” He showed no sign of withdrawing his hand, to my not at all secret delight, but instead, my trouser fastenings were rapidly and dexterously undone, and the hand in question traveled a bit further down, to undeniably warmer regions.
Well, I couldn’t help but gasp again at that move, but not due to the temperature of those digits, you may be sure. No, instead they were the cause of a suddenly racing pulse, a thrill that ran abruptly through every one of my limbs, and my hasty tug, one arm about his waist, drawing him over me. “Oh, Frodo,” I moaned helplessly, stretching myself under him with aching want. “I can’t believe I ever thought to live without you, without this.”
“Sam, my dearest Sam,” came his response, broken with emotion, in my ear. And now these was no more fabric between us, and we moved tightly together, our hands assisting each other, hungry and craving so very much more.
Oh, Frodo, my very own Frodo. You aroused the fire within my staid self that I never knew I was capable of feeling; that consumed and burned and drove me wild for the touch of you on my skin. And the words of love you whispered in my ear, as we twisted ourselves together in our passion, well, there wasn’t a one that didn’t sear itself onto my heart, caught forever and cherished more than life itself. There never was your like, Frodo my beloved, and never will be, not for all the days I shall see under this sun.
It was far into the night when we at last fell asleep in each other’s arms, but my dreams were peaceful and filled with sunshine and the brightest of blue eyes.
waymeet. It's based on, for those who are familiar with Holmesiana, The Final Problem, and is long enough to need two parts.Title: The Shadow on the Wall, Part One
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 13,179 (both parts)
Summary: A grim danger threatens the Shire, and sacrifices must be made. Part of the 221B Bag End AU. Based on the Holmes story The Final Problem.
The first part may be found here:
Many years from now, the winter Frodo Baggins and I fell in love will be remembered by the Shire as an exceptional one, I expect. The snow started early this year, and has continued to fall until it seems as though spring will never come again. But it isn’t so much the snow, really, as the dark dank fog that has settled in on those days when it does not snow, day after dreary day, until the recollection of a golden sun in a sparkling blue sky is a fading remembrance.
However, in my memories and dreams, I’m afraid Baggins and I never gave the matter quite the consideration that such a strange winter deserved. We managed to spend days on end going from bedroom to study, and back to bedroom again, with no sense of time save for the punctually served meals left cautiously in the study, and the vague sense that there was alternating darkness and semi-darkness without the windows of Bag End.
What preoccupied us so? Looking back on those heady treasured days, it’s rather difficult to recollect all the particulars. Certainly there was the newly discovered physical aspect of things, but there was conversation as well in the form of the exchange of confidences both trusting and enlightening, not to mention frequently quite entertaining. And there were other moments when not a word was exchanged, but only loving touches, prolonged kisses, ecstatic gasps, and the contented sigh. Really, it must have been at least a couple of weeks before we noticed that the world out of doors had turned a little odd.
&&&&&
The day came, however, when there was a preemptive pounding on the front door of Bag End, and a desperate cry for my assistance. Winter fever, along with the damp unhealthful air, had returned to the Shire, and I was quickly plunged back into my chosen calling. Nearly every smialhold, in the greater Hobbiton area, did not go unscathed, and even though my powers against that dreaded scourge were but limited, I was the only hope most of these poor souls had. So I did what I could, tramping the cold icy roads, brewing batch after batch of the tincture as my mam had taught me, to reduce the heating somewhat, and when I was at last back at Bag End, throwing myself into bed exhausted late in the night with quite nearly no thought of who was occupying it with me.
But Baggins bore it all in quite good stead. Indeed, entirely unlike his usual querulousness regarding having his routine disturbed, he assisted me when I was too tired to brew one more batch, arranged to have a pony and cart at my command without my mentioning the matter, and was a constant source of comfort and concern on those long weary nights. Indeed, the good folk of Hobbiton soon got used to seeing his tall spare figure accompanying me on my rounds, and many a hobbit was heard to mutter as they “never would’ve believed it if they hadn’t ‘uv seen it for themselves”.
It was not more than a week into these rounds, however, when a letter arrived from Meriadoc Brandybuck, with a most urgent plea. Meriadoc, more commonly known as Merry, was another of Baggins’ cousins, and might I mention that it always struck me as odd, and more than a little amusing, that such a determinedly singular and solitary creature as Baggins could nonetheless be closely connected with all the best Shire families. Although he holed up in the remote village of Hobbiton, he was yet constantly in touch with all the various gentlehobbit clans with whom he was related, be they Brandybucks, Tooks, or the more far-flung Baggins. Indeed, I‘m quite sure that you could add Boffins and Bolgers to that list as well. Of course, I always suspected that Hobbiton’s secluded and humble nature was its greatest attraction for him as it had been for his cousin Bilbo Baggins before him. Extended families are wont to be trying, at times, and in my general experience, gentlehobbit families are the worst. It’s harder to nurse a grudge when one must pull together to keep bread on the table, I suspect.
But I digress. To return to Merry Brandybuck’s letter, he informed us that the fever had hit Buckland exceptionally hard, and the east bank of the Brandywine in particular. Fever did often seem to spread out from the environs of water, so that was not unusual, but the desperate plea in Brandybuck’s letter was. There were other healers at Brandy Hall, to be sure, but they had lost the eldest to the effects of a long and very well-lived life the previous winter, and it appeared that inexperience was becoming evident.
There was more to the letter, however, than a simple plea for a healer’s assistance. “Frodo, you really must come as well, if at all possible,” the letter concluded. “There are matters which cannot be put to paper, and I must admit that I am greatly perplexed and disturbed. If the both of you could see your way to arriving at Brandy Hall as soon as possible, both I and my family would be most appreciative. Please, Frodo, please come!”
That was the sort of thing that could not be dismissed, even in our current state of bliss, and so it was that we found ourselves arriving, courtesy of a stout pony and cart, at the Brandybuck estate, on the hind end of a dark and clammy afternoon not two days later.
&&&&&
Merry Brandybuck was indeed happy to see us, and gave his cousin a long and grateful hug almost as soon as he descended from the cart. I might add that Brandybuck was, in addition to Pippin Took, one of the only two living souls from whom I had ever seen Baggins tolerate close contact, prior to the happy change in our own circumstances of course, and he showed no sign of annoyance at Brandybuck’s prolonged embrace but held him firmly and quietly until Brandybuck at last drew back.
“Oh, Frodo, I can’t tell you how good it is to have you here,” he murmured, his voice uncertain, as he dashed a quick hand across his eyes, and then added somewhat guiltily, “And you too, of course, Gamgee.”
“Of course we’re here, my dear Merry,” Baggins gave him a rare quick smile, one arm still firmly around the younger hobbit’s shoulders. “And since it is a nasty afternoon, and I’m not quite sure that I can feel my toes, I think the best thing to do would be to find someplace in this grand smial of yours where we could thaw out in front of a nice fire, and have some hot tea. I certainly would not say no to a spot of brandy in mine, and I have no doubt that Gamgee feels much the same. And then you can let us know what it is that bothers you so.”
Brandybuck nodded, starting to look a bit brighter all ready, and immediately called out some orders to a couple of serving hobbits who were standing back discreetly at the elaborate entrance to Brandy Hall. In no time, our pony and cart had been whisked off to the stables, and our bits of baggage had disappeared into the smial. We followed Brandybuck into the grand hallway, and through the complicated maze of rooms until we reached a small sitting room that was clearly his own. There was a cozy fire already cheerfully burning, and the room was welcomingly snug and warm. Several well-stuffed armchairs, several with padded footstools, were facing the fire, as well as a couple of handy small tables, and a thick braided rug was underfoot. On a sturdy table near the wall was a jumble of old volumes and rolled parchments, with what appeared to be, at a quick glance, an ancient map unscrolled and held open with the help of a few of the books.
I could see Baggins’ curious glance land upon the contents of the table, but he made no comment as we sank gratefully into the chairs and rubbed our warming hands in the heat of the fire. A couple of serving lasses politely knocked, no more than few minutes later, and quickly laid out a handsome tea on the small tables, with plates as well of bread and butter, round pots of jam, and cheese and dried fruits, with the addition of, I was amused to see, a small flask of what was presumably brandy. All in all, a most welcome sight. The lasses left, and for the next few moments, Baggins and I set to warming our insides as well as our outsides, and Brandybuck poured himself a cup, laced with brandy as well, and patiently waited.
Finally Baggins put down his cup and gave Brandybuck a direct look. “Trouble from without the border wall, then?” he asked quietly. “How bad is it, Merry?”
Brandybuck gave a distinct start, and began, “But how could you have possibly… oh.” He smiled wryly as he followed Baggins’ glance and added, a trifle sheepishly, “Those old maps, I suppose. I do forget, sometimes, how you notice every little thing. But yes, trouble indeed. The very worst kind. And now that Father has been gone for nearly a week, I don’t mind admitting that I am worried no end. Mother is as well, although she tries to put a brave face on it, and told me I was ridiculous to call for you, and that Father has just run into a bit of bad weather. ‘As if anyone would dream of touching the Master of Brandy Hall’, she says, but considering what has already happened, I can’t believe they would hesitate to do just that.”
“And what exactly has happened, Merry?” asked Baggins quietly, when the tween’s explanation ran suddenly aground.
“Murder, Frodo, just as surely as I’m sitting here!”
“Indeed,” Baggins sucked in his breath sharply, and I’m quite sure my jaw must have dropped open at the word. Murder? In our peaceful Shire? That simply wasn’t heard of.
But Baggins instantly collected himself, and reaching into his jacket pocket, removed his pipe pouch and rose to light it from the fire. “It would be best if you started from the very beginning, my dear cousin, and do try to tell me what has happened, no matter whether you think it pertains or not,” he remarked conversationally, giving the pipe a few puffs to start it. He cast a quick glance in my direction, and I could see how intrigued he was by the glitter in his eyes. “Gamgee, do me the favor of taking a few notes, won’t you?” he added, and I hastily dug about in my own pocket for a scrap of paper, as Brandybuck handed me the pen that had lain on the table. “All set, then? Very well, Merry, tell us everything.”
&&&&&
It had started in the autumn. As soon as the leaves had commenced to turn, and the chill winds had begun to gust come afternoon, reports had arrived from the lands east of the Brandywine, the section of Buckland that bordered the great wall that lay between the Shire and the Old Forest. There were tales of strange sinister animals, barely glimpsed in the dark night, with burning eyes. Hobbits huddled in their smials, not daring to go out after dark, but attempting to reassure themselves with explanations such as unusually large foxes, or perhaps a badger from the north. But come morning, no matter how closely they had thought them guarded, there was all too often a dead lamb, or calf, in the pasture. The worst of it was, although this was rarely mentioned, that they did not appear to have been killed for their meat, but rather lay in the wet grass with their throats bloodied and worried and otherwise untouched, as if they had been killed purely for the sport of it.
Of course the folk of far East Farthing had come to the Master of Brandy Hall with their concerns, and he had sent out a stout troop of his hobbits, well armed with staff and blade, to guard the boundaries, but it proved to be of no use. The killings continued, and the guards saw nothing. Indeed, tales began to grow of wraiths that moved about in the dark, tall living shadows that could kill when they so chose, and all manner of other unnatural creatures. Saradoc Brandybuck, the Master of Buckland, steadfastly refused to believe these uncanny explanations, however, and directed that his hobbits set traps to capture these beasts. But they never caught a thing.
About a month ago, matters changed. Besides the occasional dead livestock, the inhabitants of the area began to find more amiss when daylight came. Barns and granaries were depleted, sheds were pillaged, and the last of the year’s crops seemed to vanish from the fields during the foggy nights. Yet the means by which this was being accomplished was an utter mystery. And just in the last couple of weeks had come the worst news of all from the embattled region. Three hobbit farmers who lived alone, in widely spread locations from Newbury to the north to Haysend in the south, had been found murdered. One had been found in his barn, the other in the back field, and the last, most chillingly of all, had been found slain in his very own bed. The method of their death was not immediately known, for their bodies were bloody and battered, and none could bear to look at them for long.
In addition, the winter had settled in grimly cold and unremittingly damp. Winter fever was rampant, and even prosperous Buckland was being stretched to its last resources. Famine was starting to appear alarmingly possible, and every goodwife felt the thrill of fear at the sound of the least cough from a fauntling.
Saradoc, desperate for some practical plan to combat the horrors of the seemingly endless winter, had decided to join the patrol on the border himself, and had left a week ago. But he had only expected to be gone a few days, and there had been no word from him since. Merry gulped back tears when he related the last bit of his story, and Baggins abruptly stood up.
“Grim times, my dear Merry, without a doubt,” he made room for himself on the settle where Merry sat, his head buried in his hands, and gave him a firm clasp about the shoulders. “But we are here, cousin, and we’ll see this through all together. There’s a logical explanation for all of this. There always is, and we’ll find it, and your father too. You did the right thing, Merry dear, to bring us here, and in the morning, Gamgee and I will be off to investigate these matters.”
“I’m coming with the both of you,” Merry looked up suddenly, his face still streaked with tears, but his expression set stubbornly as if he expected resistance.
Baggins studied him carefully for a moment without comment. And then, laying a gentle hand at the side of his cousin’s face, he quietly said, “Of course you are. After all, until we find your father, you are the acting Master of Brandy Hall. I would expect nothing less from you.”
&&&&&
Later that night we lay in bed, coiled closely together. I was still unsettled by Merry’s tale, and was glad beyond all words for Frodo’s comforting and reassuring embrace. I clung quite close to him, uncharacteristically I suppose, and only began to relax when he started to stroke my back soothingly. “There’s always a logical explanation, Sam, my dearest. It’s just a matter of examining the facts,” he murmured, and lightly kissed my forehead.
“Of course, Frodo,” I responded, probably not sounding terribly convinced, so he found my mouth and kissed me more emphatically this time.
“Trust me, my love,” he insisted, as our mouths parted, and I could hear the warm smile in his voice as he wrapped his arms more closely about me.
“I always have, Frodo my beloved,” I breathed, burying my face into that intoxicating caress. “I always will.” And it was thus that sleep finally found me.
&&&&&
We left in the cold grey dawn, on sturdy shaggy ponies, and with enough provisions stuffed in our saddle bags for a couple of weeks. Merry’s mother had not been pleased to see him go, but the combination of the look of resolve on the young hobbit’s face, and her anxiety regarding her husband’s disappearance, was sufficient to convince her that there really was no alternative. We rode silently out from the stables and down through the stubbled wheat fields, that surrounded Brandy Hall, lying dappled with piles of snow, and the only sound was the huff of the ponies, their breath clouding in the chill air, and the occasional harsh caw of a crow alighting on a fence post and watching us curiously. There was something uncanny about these glossy dark birds, and I could see Baggins giving them a thoughtful look, but he said nothing, and neither did Brandybuck nor I as we rode into the misty morning.
We had decided to head towards Crickhollow, a small hamlet near the midpoint of Buckland but not far from the wall. It was here that the hobbit who lay murdered in his own bed had been found. Crickhollow had also been one of the locations hit particularly hard by winter fever, as well, and so it was decided that Baggins should appear in the character of my assistant. He had found that he learned more by observation than interviews, he informed us, and by assuming this humble personage, he assured that attention would be focused on Brandybuck and myself, leaving him free to investigate. I immediately assented, for it was clear from the reports that Crickhollow was truly in need of my services, and I would probably be in need of his assistance in truth.
Our journey was tediously slow, for the misty morning light was frequently swallowed by swirling thick fog, and none of us knew the way to Crickhollow that well. As it turned out, the only one who knew it at all, actually, was Baggins himself, for I was startled to find, from a casual comment made by Brandybuck, that Baggins had lived in the vicinity as a young lad. “More near the river, I’m afraid,” he shrugged. “Not actually in Crickhollow, or any sort of village, you know. Much more out of the way.”
“But I always thought you grew up at Brandy Hall,” I exclaimed without thinking. “Didn’t you come from there to Bag End?” In all of our intimate conversations, his past, prior to arriving at Bag End, had never come up, I now realized with a bit of surprise.
Baggins gave a quick glance behind us, to where Brandybuck rode a few paces back, his head down and obviously lost in his own unhappy thoughts. “I suppose I must now tell you all the particulars of my unusual past,” he murmured with the glimmer of a quick smile. “But not at the moment, I think. Young Merry is in need of company, and more to the point, in need of food. It must nearly be eleven, although it’s nearly impossible to tell in this murk. Let’s find a place to stop for a break and some hot tea.”
The matter was taken out of our hands, however, when the ponies suddenly lifted their heads with a soft huff, and even we could unexpectedly smell the welcome aroma of a burning log. Apparently, there was a smial not far off, and letting the ponies follow their noses, and ourselves likewise, we soon found it in the fog. The sound of three ponies stamping impatiently before the round door, not to mention Brandybuck’s loud halloo, brought the occupants to the entrance, and three pairs of wary eyes were to be seen peering from behind the half-opened door. Brandybuck was recognized nearly immediately, and I suppose both Baggins and I appeared harmless, for the door was quickly opened, and the residents of the smial welcomed us in with a confusion of words and smiles.
“Ah, Master Merry, ‘tis good indeed t’be seein’ you,” the older hobbit exclaimed, and his goodwife behind him nodded bashfully but enthusiastically. “An’ ain’t you just grown something fierce, but then you’d ‘uv been nobbut more’n a fauntling the last I seen o’you, come w’your dad to us river folk.”
“Umm, well, yes, thank you,” Brandybuck was clearly a trifle disconcerted at this unexpected greeting, but quickly recovered his equilibrium. “Would you happen to know if he’s been this way recently?”
“Aye, barely a week ago,” replied the third hobbit, a rather gawky stripling, who kept alternating standing on one leg and then the other, much like a homespun-clad stork. The effort of speech, however, caused him to go into a coughing spasm, and the attention of the other two residents immediately turned back to him with concern.
“Hi, now, Dobby, an’ why aren’t you wrapped in that quilt by the fire, just as I told ye?” the good wife scolded him, leading him lovingly but firmly back to the designated location. “You may be on the mend, m’lad, but I’ll not have my sister sayin’ we let you take ill all over again.”
“I’m a healer,” I offered, without any other introduction. “Would you mind me having a look at the lad?”
“Oh, we’d be ever that grateful,” she exclaimed with an expression of relief, turning from where she had tucked the young hobbit into a nest of blankets laid on a straw mattress that had been drawn up close to the hearth in the small smial. “My sister lives down i’the valley, and has her hands that full with sick fauntlings, that we offered to take in her oldest to gi’her a bit of breather, as we’ve none ourselves, you know, but this nasty cough just won’t be goin’ and it has me fair worret, I don’t mind a-tellin’ you, good sirs.”
Her husband had by now started to stoke the fire under the kettle for tea, and was entertaining Brandybuck with an amazingly complete account of the last time he had seen him, despite the fact it appeared to be at least a dozen years ago. Baggins, as yet not introduced, had followed me, so I mentioned that we were friends of Master Merry, and that not only was I a healer, but that my companion was learning a bit of the art himself. What with Baggins’ surprise announcement that he had been raised in the area, and being well-aware of his inclination to want to remain inconspicuous, I felt it more prudent not to mention names. I was rewarded by a quick but warm glance from him, and felt foolishly gratified that I had read his intentions right. Especially since her husband seemed to have a particularly tenacious memory, based on the volume of detail with which he was regaling a bemused Brandybuck regarding precisely what his young self had done and said on that long-ago momentous occasion.
My attention was abruptly drawn, however, back to my young patient as he gave a particularly prolonged and rattling cough. “Here, there, lad, let’s us just have a look at that,” I gave him an encouraging smile and sat on the mattress beside him, “Just raise up your shirt for a moment, that’s right, and give us another good one.”
He did, and I listen closely, keeping a gentle hand on his thin back to judge the congestion. It was significant, to be sure, but not alarmingly so. Although he did appear to be recovering, I judged that a tisane of mint would speed the process, so I turned to Baggins, who was standing quietly by the patient’s anxious aunt.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” and I then nearly stuttered as his name almost slipped out, “Ah, erm, there a parcel in my bags…”
“Certainly,” he quickly responded, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I don’t believe we introduced ourselves,” he smoothly added, picking up my bag from where I had dropped it next to the mattress, and giving both the mistress of the smial and her nephew a polite nod. “This is my friend, Mr. Gamgee, and I am Mr. Underhill.”
“Yes, exactly,” I hastily muttered, “and there’s a small packet, in that dark pouch, yes, in that, marked in green, ah, thank you. That’s it. And now, my good lady, if you have any sort of jar or small box?”
She hurried to the cupboard, and thereby attracted her husband’s attention, much to Brandybuck’s relief. Taking advantage of the interruption, he joined us, with a quick roll of his eyes that only we, and the nephew, saw. The young patient exchanged conspiratorial grins with the three of us, but the goodwife came bustling back just then, a small earthenware cup in her hand, and her husband in tow.
I carefully shook a bit of dried herb from the packet into her cup, and handed it back to her. “Mint,” I explained. “Just add a pinch to a bowl of hot steaming water, and breathe it in. Be sure to cover your head though, so as to not let the steam escape. Before bed would be the best time, I should think, and it will give you a good night’s sleep. But I wouldn’t worry, my lad, you are on your way to recovery. This’ll just make you a bit more comfortable.”
The older couple were most voluble in their thanks, as Baggins calmly added, “I expect your mother will be glad enough to see a sturdy helpful extra pair of hands coming home soon, won’t she my lad?”
“Yes, indeed, sir,” he quickly answered, his grin broadening a bit despite his aunt’s protestations that he shouldn’t be a-headin’ anywhere in all this damp until he was completely over it. “Ah, don’t you take on so, Auntie,” he added fondly, giving her a hearty kiss on the cheek. “I’ll still be checkin’ on the pair o’ye most every day. An’ mam’ll be that grateful you helped us out by a-takin’ me in for a bit, no mistake.”
Since tears did not seem far from the surface, we accepted a quick cup of tea and made ready to be on our way. “Oh, and did my father happen to mention where he was on his way to, when he left here?” Brandybuck added, as nearly an afterthought as we made our way out the rough door into the chill bleak white morning. “I’m trying to catch up with him, you see. A most important message, you know…”
But the older hobbit shook his head. “Not a word on’it, Master Merry,” he replied reluctantly.
“Toward the river or away from it, do you think?” Baggins suddenly questioned, with a nearly indifferent glance out into the mist. “Was he riding, or on foot?”
“A fine pony, and now that I think a bit, the pony’s legs were wet, as I was wondering if there’d been rain. But the Master was dry enough, so he must have been climbing out of the water, I warrant. In that case, he probably was heading in Crickhollow direction, and you might want t’be checkin’ w’the proprietor of the New Inn. Nearly all folk who end up in Crickhollow stop by there. Fine brew. You know, Mr. Underhill, I can’t help but notice you look a bit familiar. You won’t be havin’ family in these parts, now, would you?”
“None that I’m aware of,” Baggins shook his head politely and speedily mounted his pony. “But then I’m always being mistaken for someone else. Good day to you, and you might want to look to the latch on the stable door.”
“Stars above!” came the startled cry from the old hobbit as we mounted up as well. “ ‘Twas fine enough the day before, and look at it now!” And indeed, the stout iron latch could be seen to be hanging from a sole remaining screw.
“Probably just a pony bumping against the door, but it is well to take care,” Baggins responded mildly, and with that, we left.
&&&&&
It was very nearly the end of the day when we finally found Crickhollow, despite the fact it should have been a mere couple of hours’ ride from the ferry. I had thought to try to stop by young Dobby’s home along the way, but the fog and lack of directions did not make that feasible. Baggins, though, gave a slight smile and noted that the presence of a healer of my caliber was certain to be immediately noticed in a village as small as Crickhollow, and as Brandybuck quickly agreed to that comment, I couldn’t help feeling a bit of, I hope, justifiable pride. Of course, on Brandybuck’s end, it might have been a ruse to get us to the New Inn all the faster, for he certainly seemed glad when it appeared in the dark grey light just around the hill from the first smials of the hamlet.
The New Inn, so named, of course, since it was anything but, and any older inn was long ago lost to the memory of even the oldest of hobbits, was a weathered, half-timbered burrow, with a pair of gnarled old oak and a fine walnut tree sheltering the entrance and the small stable at its side. There were benches out front, with some faint remnants of red paint still to be seen on them, where customers could gather out of doors in finer weather. They were quite empty this evening, to be sure, and there was a stillness about the place that did not promise much more company inside.
Indeed, I think we quite startled the sole pair of customers seated at a small table near the fire, and I believe we even awoke the innkeeper, since he was seated in a comfortable chair behind the counter, with a white cloth draped over his face. If we did awaken him, however, he took it kindly enough, and sprang up with a smile, ready to dispense hospitality. All the more so, as soon as he recognized Brandybuck, once again from some excursion he had made her with his father years ago. I was beginning to suspect Brandybuck had been a memorable sort of youth, the family connections not withstanding, for he certainly had made an impression on the hobbits of the area.
“Hie, Willie, come gi’the Master’s son a hand!” he roared, and a smaller copy of himself, with flaming hair and wearing a wide grin, came scrambling from a back door, wiping his hands on his well-used apron. “Willie here’ll take your ponies to the stable and set them up fine, don’t you worret, good sirs,” he continued, as Willie nodded enthusiastically and disappeared. “He’s been fixin’ me and the lads over there a bit of supper, and you’re all most welcome t’it, if you’d not mind something plain.” The lads, both of whom appeared to have seen at least four score years gone by, nodded amiably, and we accepted the offer with gratitude.
Brandybuck introduced Baggins and myself, and when he mentioned my profession, the lads perked up considerably. “An’ if it’d not be that much of a bother, Master Gamgee, I do wish you’d have a look at my knee. It pains me sommat fierce on these damp days, and seemingly, that’s about all we’d be havin’ as of late,” one immediately took advantage of the opening, as we seated ourselves at their table.
“Hush, now, ya dolt, let the gentlehobbits have a mug first, leastways, afore you go complainin’ about your aches and pains,” the other scolded his friend, with a quick glance in my direction.
“And would you good sirs be staying the night, then?” asked the innkeeper hopefully, coming up behind us and giving the first speaker a quick glare as he set three well-filled mugs down on the table.
“Indeed, if you have the room,” Brandybuck replied, taking a deep sip from his mug with a sigh of gratitude.
“Oh, of course,” quickly replied the innkeeper, ignoring the sudden alarmed murmurs from the other two guests. “There’s two rooms, and three beds, so it works out nicely enough, don’t it? These two lads won’t mind sleepin’ on the hearth for a night or two.”
“I’m sure we can arrange something satisfactory to all of us,” Baggins fluently interposed, speaking up for the first time, “but what was the delicious aroma I smelled as we entered? I think we can all agree that filling our stomachs would be the first order of business. And I must say, I am somewhat surprised to see so few customers in such a fine establishment as yours. Is it the weather that has diminished your trade, or the fever? Or perhaps something else?”
The innkeeper’s face suddenly darkened, and he pulled over a chair and sat down heavily. “I don’t mind sayin’,” and he gave a quick look around, “an’ I don’t say much so as my son can hear, but I ain’t never seen the like o’this winter in all my born days. Cold weather and damp, we’ve had that before, an’ surely we’ll have it again. Winter fever, well, now, that comes w’it, like as not. But there’s more than that out there, and that’s why folk are stayin’ tight in their holes.”
“Didn’t help old Barleycorn much, a-stayin’ in his hole,” muttered one of the lads, nodding his white head grimly.
“Wasn’t a robbery, now, was it?” Baggins pursued the subject with an air of mild curiosity.
The innkeeper gave his head a decisive shake. “”Never had much, Barleycorn, and that smial was alus bare as could be. Nothing touched, so I hear, but his pony gone missing. But they say as his bit of shed where he kept it was such a flimsy business that the pony like as not nosed his way out, once he caught on that there wasna food comin’ regular-like.”
“So I assume that it was a matter of a few days before his body was discovered?” Baggins gave his brew another sip.
“Would likely ha’been longer, but the posthobbit went on in a-lookin’ for him. Can’t remember the last time Barleycorn got a letter, and I never would ha’guessed he knew to read.”
“Did anyone happen to hold on to that letter?”
“Hmm. Never thought o’that,” the innkeeper frowned. “Can’t say as if I know. Ah, but here comes Willie, so not a word more of this for the time being, if you gentlehobbits wouldn’t mind. There’s just me and him, these days, and he does fret so sometimes.”
&&&&&
Arrangements for the night were concluded to the satisfaction of the others and to my own surprise, for Baggins suggested that the lads keep the room they’d been using, immediately earning himself their fervent gratitude, and that Brandybuck have the small room with the single bed. As for us, he proposed that we spend the night in the shed so as to keep a closer eye on the ponies. I had my doubts as to this arrangement, but knew better than to express them, at least until I had a better idea as to Baggins’ intentions. There was a logical reason for this, of that I was quite sure, so I voiced no complaint, and tried to give the impression that spending my night in a drafty shed along with the livestock was, without a doubt, just what I had been hoping for.
I suppose my mind did not look quite so far ahead as that of my companion, since that turned out to be precisely the case, for as soon as we entered the small shed, lantern in Baggins’ hand, that he wrapped me in a tight embrace and found my mouth almost immediately.
“Well, now I see,” I murmured a trifle shakily as we parted, his arms still around me. “Is that really why you wanted us out here, Frodo?”
He gave a soft amused bark at my expression. “Not the only reason, my dear Sam, but certainly one of the better. In truth,” he continued, with sudden seriousness, “I suspect this is where we may need to be this night. Surely you have noticed a common thread in these events, Samwise? The shed of the smial at which we stopped earlier this morning had a loose clasp on its door. The same was apparently the case with Barleycorn, and look.”
He pointed to the door where, with an uncanny similarity, the ancient iron clasp hung by a loosened screw.
“Has it been done deliberately, Frodo?” I asked, unable to hide a sudden thrill of fear.
“Possibly,” he murmured, drawing me closer, “but I suspect that nothing will happen amiss this night. I have my suspicions as to why, but that is a matter for the light of morning, such as it is these days. If I were to be entirely honest, my dear Sam, the consideration of obtaining a bit of privacy was quite compelling, especially since we are unlikely to find much of it in the coming days.”
“That does not sound at all encouraging, Frodo my dear,” I could not help but sigh. “This case of yours really has come at a most inconvenient time, but I suppose you could not say no to your own cousin.”
“You are entirely right about the timing,” he answered in a low voice, drawing a gentle hand to the side of my face. “There is still so much. . . But that’s for another time. Now we need to prepare our accommodations. I noticed that this shed had a steep cast to the roof, and assumed that there was a storage loft, which, indeed, there appears to be.” He swung the light of the lantern high and I could see exactly that over our heads. After a brief search, we found that there was a rough wooden ladder nailed into the side of the wall slats for access. So we left our ponies below, already settling for the night in the company of the resident elderly pony, and clambered up to the loft.
It was filled with, besides a fair amount of neatly stacked hay, various odds and ends that evidently had been used in the inn which included, to our great good fortune, a sizeable stack of thick woolen blankets. That was fortunate indeed, for the night was beginning to turn frosty and the dark sky could be seen through the cracks between the warped and weathered slats that made up the roof. I set to work immediately, while Baggins held the lantern, to hollowing out a bit of the straw, spreading some of the blankets over the top, and laying several to the side to cover us. And in no time, blowing out the lantern, we lay curled together, well-nestled in a surprisingly comfortable bed, and the night suddenly seemed not nearly as drear. Improbably enough, the thick fog and clouds seemed to have dissipated for the time being, and the frosty white light of the stars above shone through the cracks of the roof, and Baggins’ pale face seemed lit with a pale glow from within.
“Not at all bad,” I murmured, unable to resist the temptation of reaching out and trailing a caressing finger down the side of his face, causing him to smile and turn to me. “Rather more in the way of wool and linen between us than I care for, but I’m afraid that is to be expected.”
“Do you really think so, Samwise?” his smile deepened. “Is that a purely professional opinion? I understand physical activity can warm up cold blood quite efficiently.”
I had to laugh in delight at this suggestion. “Why, my dearest Frodo, I believe we’ve found some compelling evidence to support that theory, in the last several weeks.” And truth to tell, the cold night was rapidly becoming less of a consideration as I felt myself warming under the blankets, twined together as my legs were around his.
“Exactly,” his voice was low and throaty and his hands had found the fastenings of my jacket, as mine eagerly followed suit. But then his hand found my bare torso, and I had to give an involuntary gasp at its icy state.
A deep chuckle was heard in my ear, at my reaction, and to my unmistakable astonishment, a distinct nibble was quickly felt on my eartip. Of all characteristics that I had discovered that Baggins possessed, in the last few weeks, playfulness was the least expected, and quite possibly the most enticing.
“Frodo,” I growled, in mock consternation, “a bit of warning would be useful, I think. You might notice that a sudden shock does not have the desired effect on certain other areas.”
“Ah, that would indeed be unfortunate,” he laughed again, entirely unrepentant. “However, I believe there is a remedy for that condition.” He showed no sign of withdrawing his hand, to my not at all secret delight, but instead, my trouser fastenings were rapidly and dexterously undone, and the hand in question traveled a bit further down, to undeniably warmer regions.
Well, I couldn’t help but gasp again at that move, but not due to the temperature of those digits, you may be sure. No, instead they were the cause of a suddenly racing pulse, a thrill that ran abruptly through every one of my limbs, and my hasty tug, one arm about his waist, drawing him over me. “Oh, Frodo,” I moaned helplessly, stretching myself under him with aching want. “I can’t believe I ever thought to live without you, without this.”
“Sam, my dearest Sam,” came his response, broken with emotion, in my ear. And now these was no more fabric between us, and we moved tightly together, our hands assisting each other, hungry and craving so very much more.
Oh, Frodo, my very own Frodo. You aroused the fire within my staid self that I never knew I was capable of feeling; that consumed and burned and drove me wild for the touch of you on my skin. And the words of love you whispered in my ear, as we twisted ourselves together in our passion, well, there wasn’t a one that didn’t sear itself onto my heart, caught forever and cherished more than life itself. There never was your like, Frodo my beloved, and never will be, not for all the days I shall see under this sun.
It was far into the night when we at last fell asleep in each other’s arms, but my dreams were peaceful and filled with sunshine and the brightest of blue eyes.
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p.s. I read somewhere that ACD actually grew bored with a character and had him die - then had to resurrect him after immense fan outcry. Does this have any relevance to your story? Thank you :)
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Yep, this is where ACD actually left his poor readers, and really did mean it to be the end. But we're not having none of that, no siree. Sequel is coming right along, not to worry.
You are bad Elderberry!!!
Hee!!! I try, Lord knows I try. ;D