Frodo Sat Outside Brandy Hall, Staring at the Ground Absently

Frodo sat outside Brandy Hall, staring at the ground absently. The last few days had culminated to this event; he was now sitting with Aunt Esme, who was doing her best to reassure him. “It’ll be much better for you in Hobbiton,” she told him, patting his hair gently. “We’ve never been able to give you the time and attention you need.”

Frodo didn’t reply, even with a nod. He’d always felt lost ever since the death of his parents, but at least he could dwell in familiar spaces and places. No matter how many faces flew by him during the day, or if he’d have various roommates switching in and out of his room to the next, at least he knew people here. Esme sighed deeply. “Frodo…” she started, a sadness welling in his throat. “I wish you would say something. I’m… not to see you until September,”

“I won’t be happy.” He stated coldly, not taking his eyes off the beetle that had crawled to his feet. Esme closed her eyes and sighed with a groan.

“Don’t say that.”

“I won’t.”

The sound of a carriage clambered to their ears, making them look up. Off in the distance a shadow of ponies dragging it showed, the distant clop-clop of hooves hitting the dirt path. ‘Well,’ Frodo thought to himself. ‘This is it then, isn’t it?’

“Frodo,” Esme muttered, putting her arm tight around his shoulders. “You HAVE to see that what we’ve done is right for you. You’re going to have such a better life; a room of your own, plenty of food that you don’t have to fight through lines of hungry hobbits for,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “Please- don’t leave me without giving me at least… one of your smiles. I need something to remember that isn’t you sulking about,”

Esme was infectious; Frodo did in fact smile, just a little, the corners of his mouth twitching. This made Esme also grin, holding him close to her now. “Oh, darling… don’t you fret. Your birthday is just around the corner, and you don’t think you’ll go without a visit, do you?”

“I guess not.”

“Of course.” She said. The carriage had come out of the darkness, a small lantern at the front where the driver sat. Frodo took a deep breath, standing up. Esme grabbed up his parcels and bags, walking towards the wagon. “Hello, Mopper,” she greeted the driver as he stopped the ponies. He smiled down at her.

“Hullo, Miz Esme,” he said. “It’s been a time since I’d seen you last,”

“That it has. Ah!”

Frodo watched where she was looking now; the small door to the coach had opened, and someone stepped out. He averted his eyes thinking for a moment, irrationally so, that if he didn’t acknowledge the new presence here, they would simply go away. “Cousin Lobelia,” Esme said, going over to give a half-hearted hug to the woman stepping out. “I’m glad you could come.”

“Glad to be here,” Lobelia said, patting awkwardly at Esme’s back. They drew away from the embrace, Esme turning to look at Frodo. She smiled with the look of desperate hope, putting her hand out to him. He walked over in small steps, staring at his feet.

“Here’s the dear lad,” she said, taking his hand and drawing him to Lobelia. Lobelia raised her eyebrows, taking his chin gently to make him look up.

“He’s grown, though he’s still a wee thing for a hobbit his age,” she assessed, blinking slowly. “I hope you like apple crumble, dear. We brought some for the journey home. One of your cousin Bilbo’s recipes.”

“Ah, that sounds delightful!” Esme added. Frodo nodded slightly.

“Thank you, cousin Lobelia.” He softly replied. She smiled at him then looked at Esme with a great sigh.

“I apologize for not being able to stay. It must seem somewhat abrupt that we just take him away into the night like this,” she said, sighing deeply. “But my dear husband is in need of our coach tomorrow night. He needs to visit the fields in Longbottom,”

“Ah, that’s fine,” Esme said. “Would it be too much time for a cup?”

“Aye, it is that. We shouldn’t spend more time than we should,”

He felt awkward and rushed looking to Esme now, who tried to give him a smile. “Well, sweetheart,” she said, taking a deep sigh. “I suppose you’re off now,”

Frodo nodded as Mopper packed his bags on the carriage, tying it down securely. “All done, Miz Lobelia. We can head out,”

Esme grabbed Frodo then, taking him into a strong hug. “I’ll be writing you every week, you do the same, m’boy,” she told him. He could hear her voice, how thick it sounded. It made his own tears climb in his throat, the pit in his stomach overwhelming.

“I’ll miss you.” He said in a small voice, making her squeeze harder.

Frodo had slept most of the way to Hobbiton, tired from the emotional weight that had climbed on and into him in the last half of this day. Lobelia had apologized for not bringing Lotho along. “He would have made better company for ye,” she’d told him, yawning. “He’s only a few years older than you. I’m sure two young tweens would have much better things to talk about than what I could offer.”

It hadn’t mattered as he’d stretched himself out on the seat, having to curl his legs up to rest. The bumps in the road became hypnotizing, allowing him into an awkward but well-needed rest. He didn’t want to appear rude; he gave as many smiles as he could muster before closing his eyes.

He awoke some time later, finding that Lobelia had fallen asleep as well. The sun had risen high in the sky, a bright blue painted over the horizon. Frodo rubbed his face, one side of it a bit numb from sleeping on the tough cushion. He leant on the small window, peering out. He spotted a hole in the distance, seeing green land stretching out in the back. It was the only one thus far; making him wonder how many people truly lived in this small, provincial town. He sighed with dread, hoping that soon, long lines of holes would appear with plenty of hobbits dancing merrily around. In visiting his cousin Bilbo and other relations here, he knew it to be a little more populated; his pessimistic and dour view of all of this had hindered him however, blocking out memory of happy times he may have spent here. He was too used to being surrounded by friends and relations constantly; true, it could be quite a bother at times, but it was such a lively life. He could stagnate entirely without such things.

Though his high hopes weren’t entirely matched with the surroundings, it became easier and easier to breathe. After going up a small hill a long line of holes started emerging in the distance. Frodo saw a few hobbits walking along the road, some carrying baskets and tools. The carriage soon rode past them, making the people look to it curiously. He turned his head slightly, not wanting to be seen. Looking to Lobelia he saw her lifting her head from the side of the coach, yawning heavily into her hand. He nodded to her as her eyes shifted to meet his.

“Ah… good morn, Frodo,” she said in a sleepy voice. Looking out the window she nodded in a business-like manner. “We’re almost home,”

Home. What a funny way of describing it; how was this going to be a home for me, he thought? Home was where you felt at ease and had a place in the world. Home was where you were most loved, wasn’t it? He tried recalling the times he’d met with the Sackville-Bagginses in his life- what was it, three, maybe four? How could they be home?

The fact that Frodo wasn’t being brought simply out of family ties was a factor as well. Ever since Otho had made more deals with his pipe-weed trades to much bigger recipients, the Sackville-Baggins family had been short of help around the house. He’d be gone for weeks at a time, leaving Lobelia to do the work around the house. Frodo knew better than to entirely trust her; she was well known to be lax and lazy when it came to actual work, snuffing her nose to the idea of lifting anything more than her parasol. Everyone talked on how she dreaded putting chores on Lotho, seeing as he wasn’t that inclined to hard work either. What better way to get rid of this problem than to take on a relation? “I’m in great need of help Esme,” she’d said at her last visit to Brandy Hall, and it was obvious what she’d wanted. A few weeks later and here he was, riding in a coach into Hobbiton on one of the most gorgeous days in the Shire. Yet no amount of sunshine could find it’s way to the gloom in his heart, making him sink lower in his seat.

After Mopper had helped unloading Frodo’s things, he brought the coach and ponies to the back of the hole and left. “Now, where is that son of mine?” Lobelia said to no one in particular as Frodo walked into the hole behind her. “Those ponies are in need of good grain and new water in the trough,”

Frodo wasn’t listening; he was too busy taking in his surroundings. The walls seemed to be painted in the whitest of whites, making it look sterile and colorless. Even the paintings seemed dour, faces he didn’t know peeking out of them with blank expressions. The only thing that brightened the sitting room they’d arrived into were expensive looking curtains, draped along the windows. They looked new, and made of the finest silks and satins. “I like the curtains.” He said blankly, immediately biting the inside of his mouth. What a stupid thing to say; Lobelia grinned however, turning to him with a nod.

“Of course you do. Made of the most wonderful silk, brought from Bree on one of my husband’s travels,” she said. ‘How interesting’, Frodo thought. ‘The things I decide to bring up as conversation topics.’

They now left the sitting room, walking down to a small hallway. At the end, Lobelia took out a small key and opened the door there. “This is your room. All of your things may go in here.”

Frodo nodded as they walked inside. It wasn’t all that bad, despite that the walls were just as blank and boring as the sitting rooms’. One window was directly across from the doorway, looking out to the back. Now his interest was peaked; just outside was some of the most gorgeous scenery he could hope for. While the hole seemed completely devoid of anything bright or cheery, the view outside made up for that. Long lines of green shrubs and bushes, rows of raised earth encumbered by gorgeous flowers, and what looked to be a lush vegetable garden came through that window in the most wonderful way. Lobelia noticed his gaze and smiled.

“It’s very nice out there, isn’t it?” she asked. At his nod she continued. “Hobbiton prides itself on having many skilled tillers, and we’re lucky to have the best of them.”

Frodo was barely listening again; he was walking across the room now and looking outside. He spotted a young lad kneeling just past a large apple tree, weeding at a long flowerbed. Lobelia joined him and sighed. “That’s Samwise Gamgee, he lives on Bagshot Row,” she noted. “Around your age, a titch younger.”

“I see.” Frodo absently said. Lobelia clapped her hands together, pursing her lips.

“Well, let’s get you unpacked and settled best we can,” she said. “Then there’s lunch to be made.”

Frodo nodded, looking to the large amount of bags they’d brought to the corner of the room. He wished they could have eaten first.

As promised, Lobelia had made it clear to Frodo that he was expected to do much of the chores of the house. She showed this by waving her arm to the counter, where various ingredients sat. “Esme told me you could cook quite well,” she said. He gave her a nod and started in on the cooking, figuring that he could make some particularly scrumptious omelets with what he was given. As he was chopping the bacon a loud slam of the front door sounded off, making him turn quick. Soon a well-rounded hobbit came into the kitchen, his pimpled face even worse than Frodo remembered. He hefted his breeches up to his waist; Frodo was secretly thankful, as they had looked to be in danger of falling to his ankles at any moment. “Hullo, ma,” he greeted her, though his eyes were fixed on Frodo as he chewed a long piece of grass betwixt his teeth. She smiled broadly, standing up and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Lotho dear, this is your cousin; Frodo Baggins,” she introduced, guiding him by the shoulder to Frodo. Lotho smiled briefly, nodding.

“I ‘member,” he stated blankly.

“How are you, cousin?” Frodo asked. Lotho shrugged, his face indifferent.

“Jes’ fine,” he replied.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up, dear heart? My, what have you been up to??” Lobelia fussed, brushing at a small patch of dirt upon Lotho’s shoulder. Lotho cringed slightly, stepping to the hallway.

“Jes’ had a bit o’ fun with Sandyman,” he said, taking the grass from his mouth and tossing it without a care to the floor. Frodo glanced to it as he disappeared to go wash. He returned now to his cooking, pouring the egg mixture into a hot, buttered pan. He kept glancing to the tossed grass, bothered. He’d never been the neatest of hobbits, but the careless action of what Lotho had done made him cringe inside. Frodo hoped he wouldn’t be ankle deep in whatever Lotho saw fit to throw on the floor, from his mouth or no.

Just as he piled the omelets upon the platter in the middle of the table Lotho returned, looking a touch cleaner. At least his hands weren’t caked in dirt as they had been, but his fingernails could have used a bit more attention. Frodo ignored it as Lobelia cleared her throat.

“Please pick up the small mess you made, Lotho,” she said to him quietly, laying a napkin in her lap. Lotho glanced to the grass then looked up to Frodo, moving his tongue around his opened mouth. Frodo noticed his stare and blinked.

“Yes?” he asked. Lotho made a small roll of the eyes and nodded his head back behind him.

“You get it,” he said. Lobelia looked up from filling her plate betwixt them, a small sigh escaping her lips.

“Lotho-“

“Go on,”

Frodo looked to the floor; with great dread he walked over and crouched down, picking up the dampened blade with hidden distaste. As he walked over to the wastebasket, he couldn’t help but notice how satisfied Lotho looked as he tucked into the meal Frodo had made.