A forty-first fic by Iorhael

AN: Written for Marigold’s Challenge 7. Betaed by Celandine Goodbody.

Summary: What really lay behind Frodo’s decision to leave Bag End and move to Crickhollow.

Rated: PG13 for violence

Starter: “Come on, _____. I know you wanted to come along after all.”

“Come on, Frodo. I know you wanted to come along after all.”

Frodo groaned as a pair of strong hands pulled him on his feet. He wanted to protest but a gag on his mouth effectively stopped him. A similar stretch of cloth had also restricted his sight.

He was kidding, right? Frodo thought, addressing whoever was holding him. In the state he was in, it was impossible that he wanted to come along.

Frodo was in the dark as to who had captured him. He had his guesses but he was not sure about it.

Being deep in thought seemed to annoy his captor. He yanked Frodo’s bound arms away from his back, making him feel his shoulders were going to snap.

“Enough rest already! We should move on.”

Frodo heard murmurs around him. He had been kidnapped by more than three people, all hobbits. They had snatched him away from own home, after he had bid Merry farewell, thanking him for helping with Bilbo’s gifts to relatives and neighbors. Only hobbits awaited him by the back door and when Frodo stepped out to lock the gate, he had found himself suddenly overpowered by several strong hands. A rugged cloth sack was dropped over his head and vice-like claws restrained his movement, pressing his arms on both sides of his body. Frodo had wrestled hard but a punch to his stomach, silenced him, and if that was not enough, a cold blade against his throat completed his paralysis.

A gruff voice reverberated in his ear.

“Go on, fight. That’ll surely give us more fun.”

Frodo’s covered head moved to the left and right, showing his attackers he would not repeat that.

“Good,” groaned the other hobbit. “Now I’m going to let your arms go but don’t try to do anything.”

He was not releasing Frodo after all, for the next thing the hobbit knew was a length of rope coiled around his wrists, securing them fast behind his back. Frodo froze at once. These hobbits were really going to kidnap him! Why? Who were they? He started to struggle in earnest, kicking but hardly finding a solid target. He twisted his upper body violently and shoulder-butted those who stood near him.

The hobbit kept up his fight for some time until his captors lost their patience and decided to silence him completely. One grabbed a big rock, raising it high behind Frodo, and clouted the back of his bobbing head. There was a brief moment when Frodo was standing frighteningly still before he dropped bonelessly to the ground.

Frodo was not aware of his surroundings anymore. When his head was eventually released from the sack, he just lay there and let the hobbits around him sneer triumphantly over his unconscious body. His eyes were shut tightly, his mouth gaped helplessly, and locks of sweat-soaked hair were plastered over his head and face. Frodo felt nothing when the hobbits started to work him over, fisting his curls, pulling them up to make it easier to gag and blindfold him. He was thrown back to the ground rather hastily, causing his face to brush the filth, dirtying him.

“Awww,” one of them said in fake sympathy. “Poor you, Frodo, now that you lost that protector of yours, no one is going to stand up for you.” He spat at the hobbit lying on the ground. “You’re alone now, so weak and helpless. Pathetic.” The wicked hobbit then motioned his friends to get Frodo.

“Shall we take a little walk, Cousin?” mocked Lotho with a smirk.

After attempting to make Frodo walk in his insensible state, the Sackville-Baggins and his accomplices ended up dragging him, hands under each of Frodo’s arms. After several moments Frodo started to come to his senses.

The hobbits holding him began to walk quickly, forcing Frodo to follow in their large footsteps. He was not given the smallest chance to recover from his dizziness. And the blindfold made everything worse. Frodo's legs felt like jelly. He was too weak to even walk, let alone the jog required to keep up with his kidnappers’ strides.

Frodo broke into rasped breaths; his lungs were burning, a scream forcing its way up from his chest through his throat to his mouth, only to find its gag-barrier there. When he could not vent his frustration, his head started to throb, as if a thousand needles were penetrating his brain. Frodo could not stand it anymore. He screamed, pleading for them to stop, though the scream was muffled. He jerked his body, twisting and turning, though it only worsened his headache.

“Stop! Please!” were the thoughts he tried to convey.

They kept wrenching him for several yards before he heard a voice barking out orders. They stopped as abruptly as they had moved and Frodo was thrown unceremoniously to the ground. He should have been thankful for that, actually, but the sudden halt made him feel lightheaded and he started to drift from consciousness again.

But Lotho would not let him. He kicked Frodo’s side, jarring him awake and causing him to yelp.

“I will give you time to rest, yes, but you’re not to sleep again.” Somewhere in his clouded mind Frodo thought he knew who had just spoken. So while he was curling up his stiff form, he was also searching inside his head. Who might this be? Frodo almost choked on his own gag with the realization of it.

“Lotho?” he shrieked though the rag in his mouth. But to his cousin it was merely a weak, unclear moan.

“I said we were going to have a walk,” added Lotho, completely unaware that Frodo had recognized him. “And that was barely half of what you are going to cover. Besides, you've missed part of it. It was not fun at all.”

Frodo felt uncertain of what Lotho’s real intention was. Was he to be brought to the Sackville-Bagginses’ smial? If that was the case, why should they walk so far? Their house was in Hobbiton and Frodo thought they had reached Bywater by now. Moreover, why should Lotho blindfold him? It was not as though his cousin even tried to hide his real voice. Did Lotho want to disguise himself or not?

Frodo’s train of thought was interrupted as he was yanked up to lean on something he thought was a tree. Frodo felt sore around his shoulders and tried to make himself as comfortable as he could, despite the cloths tied tightly around his face and his hands behind his back.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me,” threatened Lotho. “I will not hesitate to beat you into wakefulness – or to complete oblivion--whichever you prefer.”

Terror crept up Frodo’s throat. Lotho was not jesting although Frodo had never imagined Lotho would jest about anything. He shivered. Why had Lotho done this? And what would happen if Frodo pushed him? Lotho wasn't just trying to scare him off, to show him how he was alone now and vulnerable – without Bilbo.

He was not alone. Frodo could always count on the Gamgees, although they lived too far away in an emergency situation like this. The Bolgers did, too. Of course Frodo had to exclude Merry, Pippin and their parents as well. They were not even in Hobbiton.

Frodo pulled his free legs closer to his body. The night was getting old and the wind was blowing, turning it even chillier. Frodo felt grateful that his mouth was covered, that no one would see how his teeth clattered. He could not help feel sleepy. His cloth-covered eyes drooped slowly and gradually shut themselves. He felt cold, exhausted, and it soothed him to rest, even for a short while.

Frodo knew he was not supposed to sleep; he kept telling himself to stay awake for they would torment him more if he dozed off. But he could not control his body anymore. His eyes stayed shut and his breaths were regular, his chest rising and falling slowly.

Unfortunately, it did not escape Lotho’s eyes. He immediately knew that Frodo had fallen asleep. Exasperated, Lotho strode with his long paces to where Frodo was sitting, and thrashed him hard across the face. Frodo let out a strangled gasp, in spite of the gag. Lotho was still burning with rage and for the next several moments the freezing night air was filled with curses. Frodo lay stunned on his side, too bewildered to do anything. He still could not believe how right Bilbo had been about the evilness of the Sackville-Bagginses. Frodo shivered. He had never even met the hobbit’s mother, who, according to Bilbo, could make Lotho seem like a little lamb.

Frodo was utterly shaken by the deafening, harsh voice, never mind the words. And he was under the spell of his own fear.

“… Do you understand, Frodo?” Lotho’s voice suddenly came out of the blue although Frodo did not realize that he had been talking and talking endlessly. Luckily, Lotho was generous enough to repeat.

“You see, we only want to bring you to meet someone who will make you an offer.”

Only that? Frodo could not think straight. But why all this torture?

“You want to know more, Frodo? Who makes the offer and what the offer it is? I know you are always curious.”

There were leaves rustling and Frodo rolled over on his elbows, preparing for the worst. Some of his captors were approaching.

Two large fists were closing in on both of his upper arms.

“Come on, Frodo," said Lotho. 'I know you wanted to come along after all.”

~ * ~ * ~

They continued to walk – or the other hobbits continued to walk--with Frodo stumbling along, pulled by two of them. And Frodo was still wondering what took them so long. They had crossed the bridge over Bywater River and walked under the lush leaves of a forest but Frodo did not know which one.

They walked for some time before Frodo felt them turning around. To where?

Lotho glanced at Frodo and gave an evil sneer at his obvious puzzlement. It had been his intent to confuse his cousin and this would be useful later when they wanted him to be compliant.

The lanes were dark and deserted when the party finally left the forest and returned to the main road. It would not be far now. Lotho’s parents’ smial was just around the corner.

The gate creaked open and Frodo huffed in relief. Finally they brought him to a place where he could rest. What he feared now was whether they would hold him for long or…

What did they want from him? What did they want him to do? And his fear escalated as a hard grip curled at the strands of his hair and tugged at him. He advanced awkwardly as he was shoved forward despite the tug.

“You will listen and obey, Frodo, my dear. And you will comply with whatever we say to you.”

Frodo screamed wordlessly and attempted to flee. Comply? Comply with what? But it was hard to fight against three determined hobbits. A door opened and he was pushed into a chair. Frodo could not even move as several pairs of hands immobilized him, trussing his upper body to the back of the chair. Then he heard the creaking sound of another wooden chair dragged in front of him.

Someone pulled away his blindfold.

Dark. Everything was dark. Frodo was not sure if it was because he had been blindfolded for too long or because his surroundings were truly dark. Even after some time Frodo still could not see anything. He silently decided that the room was dark, some kind of an unused storeroom. Nothing was there except his chair and a chair before him, and a small candle flickering on the floor in the far corner of the room.

The door was open and another person entered. Frodo tried to turn around to see who it was but he failed. Yet, he did not have to wait long, for the person sat herself on the chair before Frodo. The bound hobbit’s eyes went round, showing the owner’s complete shock and rage. Fear he felt no more. A hard yank tore his gag away but it did not change the state he was in.

“For heaven’s sake!” Frodo snapped and squirmed as a pair of female hobbit’s hands cupped both of his cheeks. He stared at her sharply; eyebrows hooked into each other.

“No!” Frodo tried to pry away but the hold was unyielding. With mouth slightly open, he took ragged breaths, trying to control himself.

“Lobelia Sackville-Baggins!” His voice sounded funny with his cheeks being pressed like that. “What is the meaning of this?”

Lotho’s mother was enjoying her victory over her loathed nephew. She brushed her thumbs over Frodo’s high cheekbones.

“I've got you now, Frodo Baggins. And it will remain that way… unless you do something.”

Frodo attempted to get away but Lobelia would not let him.

“What?” he huffed.

“Bag End, you little twit.” Lobelia glanced at her son and smiled. “We want Bag End, not any of those silver spoons that are so in abundance! You are alone, Frodo, nobody will come to your aid. And we are now free to take what is ours.”

Frodo could not believe his ears. This kind of absurdity would not have been tolerated by Bilbo. But still… he was reminded of his own plan, his forced plan, but he would keep Crickhollow to himself.

Frodo tilted his head up.

“Yours?” he scorned, getting an instant result for his retort.

Lobelia sent her hand hard across her captive’s jaw. Frodo flew back in his chair, blinking as he saw stars. He had hardly recovered when suddenly pain exploded in his right side. Lotho had struck him with a club. A groan escaped Frodo’s lips and his bound form twisted up in an arch. His eyes turned glassy as he fought in vain against the suffering. These people would do anything to get what they wanted.

“W – what do you want me to do?” Frodo stuttered through gritted teeth. “Folk will start asking should they find me missing from Bag End.” He looked up again at Lobelia, defiance still shining in his eyes. The woman, his own aunt, leaned down to Frodo's face.

“No one will ask if you do everything right. Tell them anything you want; you are selling it to me--though of course I won’t give you a dime. But don’t you dare tell them what really happened. Lotho has eyes and ears everywhere. He will soon find out if you decide to speak up.” Lobelia clutched Frodo’s jaw tightly. “Do you understand?”

Part of Frodo’s mind understood clearly but the other received it with utter shock. He could never do that – selling Bag End to them? Never. Bilbo would be horrified. Yet on the other hand, he did have to go away. Frodo had intended to leave it to the Gamgees, to their care while he was gone. Maybe he could tell Sam and the Gaffer about the offer he was given tonight. Lotho would not know.

By the way the bright eyes dimmed, Lobelia knew Frodo’s mind had drifted away, hiding whatever plans he had. She grabbed Frodo’s hair, forcing those eyes to meet hers again.

“All right?” warned Lobelia. “Don’t tell anyone about our deal or we will get you again and next time there won’t be a generous proposition like this.”

The voice was cold and distant. Threat was hanging in every word, eliciting a shiver from Frodo, who tried to look around the room. Lobelia broke into croaked laughter.

“Yes. You see yourself. You are as helpless as a fish in the net.”

Frodo did not want to give in to his fear but he could not help it. He felt so hopeless and alone. And a name softly slipped from his lips as a loud crack burst behind his head.

“Bilbo…”

Nausea attacked Frodo before he fell, drowning, into a deep, black pit.

~ * ~ * ~

Epilogue

One summer’s evening an astonishing piece of news reached the Ivy Bush and Green Dragon. Giants and other portents on the borders of the Shire were forgotten for more important matters: Mr. Frodo was selling Bag End; indeed he had already sold it – to the Sackville-Bagginses!

“For a nice bit, too,” said some. “At a bargain price,” said others, “and that’s more likely when Mistress Lobelia’s the buyer.”

~ fin ~

AN: The epilogue is taken from Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.