Love Me, Please, Forever

Two Loves

October 22, 1388 S.R., 11:30 a.m.

Frodo walked toward Dahlia Bywater, fixing his bow tie as his hands trembled slightly. “Dahlia, I have something to tell you. I – I love you,” he muttered to himself. “No, no, I cannot say only that. I would startle her if I do.” He passed by a tall tree, closer and closer to the lass of his affections with each step he took. “Hullo, Dahlia. What are you doing this fine afternoon? No, no – that is not a good question; it is quite obvious she is sketching something. Hullo, Dahlia. How are you?” Frodo sighed. One more step and he would have to say something.

The lass watched as Frodo approached her and she flushed. What was he coming to her for? She continued to sketch, pretending not to notice that the person she was sketching approached ever closer toward her.

“Hullo,” both said in unison. Frodo smiled, as Dahlia lowered her head and glanced shyly at him.

“How are you?” Frodo asked.

“I’m quite well, thank you. And yourself?”

“The same, thank you.” Frodo tried to catch a glimpse of the page her drawing tablet was opened to. “What were you drawing?”

“Oh, nothing, really.” She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“It must be something. I – uh – watched you drawing.”

“It – it isn’t finished, Mr. Baggins.”

“Frodo, please.”

“Thank you, Frodo,” Dahlia replied, her face practically beaming. “Only if you call me, Dahlia.”

Frodo smiled. “Let me see, Dahlia, please?”

Dahlia sighed and chewed her bottom lip nervously as she revealed what she had drawn.

“Why, it’s me!” Frodo’s blood rushed to his cheeks. Why had she drawn him? Could it be? No, he could not get his hopes up.

“Yes, I reckon it is.” Dahlia watched a bird fly to its nest and begin to feed its twittering babies in the tree by which they were standing.

“Why ever did you draw me?”

“I –” she began, but she could not finish, for her father came up to her. Why did he have to come when the moment was so perfect?

Frodo sighed inwardly as he noticed Dahlia’s father approach them in a hurry. The moment had been perfect. He could have told her.

Dahlia quickly shut her notebook and held it fast. “Father,” she said.

“Hullo, Master Bywater,” Frodo said cheerfully.

“Frodo,” he said gruffly. “Come along, Dahlia. It be time t’ go now, dearest.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Baggins,” she uttered before leaving, and Frodo could see the silent disappointment in her eyes.”

“Good day, Miss Bywater.” Frodo watched as Tom Bywater grabbed his daughter’s arm and directed her to their cart where her mother sat, watching.

11:45 a.m.

Dahlia looked back as the cart rolled away and waved, but he had already turned.

“Dahlia, turn around.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, turning.

“Now, why did ye go talk t’ that Baggins lad after I specifically told y’ not to?”

“Father, you know why. I love him.”

“You’re already promised to Wilcome Took, a fine man.” Tom looked back at his daughter as she leaned back against the side of the cart.

“Father, I don’t love him. You should see him. He pays attention to every lass but me, but Frodo – he gives me sole attention when I am around. He makes me feel important, Father, special even.”

“That’s the last I’ll hear of that, young miss!” he snapped.

“Tom,” protested Dahlia’s mother.

“Rose,” he warned. “She needs to be kept in line. She’ll be wed to Wilcome soon, and we don’t need that Baggins lad to be any trouble.”

“Tom, what harm could it do? You heard your daughter – Wilcome doesn’t seem interested in her. I’ve seen it myself.”

“Rose, be quiet. We can have this discussion later, but not in front of her.”

Rose sat silently, saddened for her daughter. Only the sound of the horses’ hooves and the squeaking wheels could be heard the rest of the way home.

1:00 p.m.

Frodo was just about to sit down to a good book to get his mind off of Dahlia Bywater when his youngest cousin, six, walked up to him. “Frodo!” he said excitedly.

“Why, hullo, Merry!” Frodo greeted, putting his book beside him and picking up his cousin and lifting him high. Merry laughed. “What are you doing, lad?” he asked as he put him back down.

“Fetching water,” he answered, lifting his fallen bucket off the ground where it had came to rest upon Frodo lifting Merry up.

“Ah, then you had better get going, lad,” Frodo advised his cousin, a sparkle in his eyes, but whether of sadness or happiness, Merry could not tell.

“Why do you always call me ‘lad’?” Merry asked inquisitively, trying as hard as he could to lengthen the time before he went to fetch the water.

“Well, ‘tis but a habit of mine, I suppose,” Frodo replied, kneeling on the ground to be eye level with Merry. He could not stand having little ones look up at him. It always gave him an odd sense of being too tall.

“Oh,” was all Merry said as his mind searched for more questions to stall. “You gone for a swim?”

“Well, no, not yet today.”

“Wanna go for a swim later?”

“Use better diction, Meriadoc,” Merry’s cousin Primrose said as she walked past them, nose in the air. “Oh, and Frodo, do stand up, and straight at that; it does make you look so much better,” she added, her eyes flirting him, but Frodo figured it was inadvertently.

“Prim, good day,” he said, tipping the hat he was wearing.

“Good day to you, Frodo!” she exclaimed, thinking he was actually taking interest in her. It was out of her nature to show expression to anyone, but to her Frodo was not just anyone; he was special. “Do you have any plans tomorrow?”

Frodo sighed. Was he to be the next on her long list of beaus? Not if he had anything to say about it. Uncle Meradoc might have something else to say, he thought woefully. “No.”

“Oh good! Then, you would be free to join me for a picnic on the banks of the Brandywine tomorrow, is that correct?”

“I would have to check with Uncle Meradoc,” he said, hoping beyond hope that he could get out of this just like that.

“I already spoke to him, and he was quite enthusiastic about you and me spending time together. Says he does not want to see you spending time around that Dahlia Bywater. Whatever would make him think you had an interest in her? One can obviously tell you have an interest in me, not her.” Primrose laced her arm around Frodo’s, as he had stood during her invitation.

Frodo squirmed, trying to get away from her without being too obvious. “Oh, I do not know. You’re very omniscient. Why don’t you know, oh wise one?”

Primrose’s eyes widened and her eybrows arched as she jerked away from him, slapping him across the face. “I hate you, Frodo Baggins! And, I do not want to see you again! You are impertenent!”

“Why, thank you,” he said, smiling as he bowed.

She began to storm off, but not before adding, “Hmph!”

Merry and Frodo began laughing before she was out of earshot, and she shot a glare at them.

“And that is how you get rid of a lass, Merry,” Frodo informed his younger cousin while gasping out spurts of laughter. “But, she will be back, I fear.” Frodo sighed and stopped laughing; he was on the ground now.

“That was a good one, cousin,” Merry complimented while sitting up.

“Thank you. Ah, it feels so good to be free of that lass at last, though it may not be for longer than a few hours. Now that I have seen that, I believe all her other actions around me make sense. She has been after me for a while, but until now I was blind enough not to see it.” Frodo stood. “Well, lad, you need to go fetch that water for your mum.”

Merry looked up at Frodo with pleading eyes.

“Don’t give me that look; it will not work, it shall not. Now, go, and perhaps afterward we may go to the lake.”

“Yes! I’ll be back quick!” Merry bounded off, and laughing, Frodo went inside Brandy Hall.

3:21 p.m.

Frodo and Merry walked in, their hair dripping and their shirts clinging to their arms; their feet were also muddy from the walk home.

Meradoc came storming up to them, looking particularly at twenty-year-old Frodo. “Frodo Baggins!”

“Yes, Uncle?” Frodo gulped. Was this about their unruly appearance, or something that happened earlier?

“What is this I hear about you mistreating Primrose?”

Frodo almost yelled back his answer, but he managed to keep himself under control, being a gentlemen. “Mistreat her? All I did is ask her why she did not know the answer of her question to get rid of her. She was clinging to my arm. It was the most polite way to get her to leave.”

“Frodo, you could withstand that desire a while longer. Just appease her, go on that picnic. She is waiting for you in the hall to apologize, and I expect you to do so in a polite manner.” Meradoc gave his nephew a stern look and then walked off.

“I have to go, Merry. It was nice to know you.” Frodo walked off to the hall as one whose will has been broken.

3:33 p.m.

Primrose looked up, her face delicate and tear-streaked. “Hello, Frodo,” she said quietly, as though she was trying to steady her voice.

“Prim,” Frodo replied. “I am – I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was about earlier. It was rude of me, and I should not have said what I said. You were right. I was impertenent, just as you said.”

“Oh, Frodo,” she said, blinking her eyes. “You did not have to say that. I took it too much to heart. You were only teasing me.” She was close to Frodo now, her right hand on his left shoulder.

“A-hem!” He moved back slightly. “Well, now that that’s settled, would you still like to go on that picnic tomorrow?” He hated saying every word of his apology. She was the most stuck up lass in Buckland and he was not sure he liked what this new side of her was doing to him. He gazed into her eyes, and she fluttered them as though embarrassed.

“Yes, that would be fine. Shall I see you at noon, then?” She let her right arm dangle back at her side.

“Yes,” he promised.

“Good-bye, Frodo,” Primrose said with a slight smile and her blue eyes sparkling up at him.

He took her hand, as was a proper practice at the time, and kissed it gently. She closed her eyes as his soft lips touched her delicate hand. “Good-bye,” he said, his voice soft and his face a bit flushed. He watched her glide across the hall, humming softly a lullaby he had heard his mother hum to him before his parents had left that fateful night.

What was she doing to him? Suddenly, he felt attracted to her. For a moment, Dahlia was completely forgotten until Primrose was out of his sight when he unexpectedly felt a pang of guilt as though he was betraying her somehow. Why was it so difficult all of a sudden?

A/N: I hope you enjoyed. I have already written the next chapter and am well on my way in the third, so let me know if you'd like more, please. Please, review even if you didn't like it, but please be constructive in your criticism. Thank you for your time.

Starfire_Moonlight: Thank you for the review. :)  Enjoy!

Farawyn: Here's more!  Enjoy!

Dreamflower: Thank you for that helpful review!  I'm sad that I couldn't use it for this, but an important element depended on it. ;)  I'll keep it in mind for Frodo.  I'm willing to change that one, for it won't require much. :)  Enjoy!

Love Me, Please, Forever

Only One Can Be

October 23, 1388 S.R., 10:30 a.m.

Frodo sat next to Dahlia, covering her eyes with his hand. She gasped. “Frodo?” she asked, smiling widely. “Is that you?” She pulled his hands away and turned around. She could not help but to wrap her arms around him.

“Hullo!” he said, returning the embrace, but it was short-lived, for he pulled away, asking, “Is your father near?”

“No, he is, I believe, at home in the fields and my mum is at the market. They told me I could come and picnic by myself for elevenses.” She knew the “by myself” part was not true, but she did not care at the moment.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, seating himself.

“Oh, Frodo! I was hoping you’d ask me.” She pulled out a spare sandwich. “I thought you would be here today, so I packed an extra sandwich when no one was looking – and a spare cup.”

Frodo smiled and accepted the sandwich, peeling back the paper that it was wrapped in. After taking a bite, he told her, “This is good, Dahlia.”

“Thank you.” She poured some water into a cup and pushed it toward him.

“And thank you.”

The two sat in silence for a while. Dahlia finally broke the silence. Her voice wavered as she spoke. “Was there something you wanted to tell me yesterday when you came near me?”

Frodo blushed. “Yes, there was.”

“What was it?” she asked, almost too eagerly.

“I – I…” He could not say it. Why? Suddenly, his mind was on Primrose. He shook his head.

“You what, Frodo?”

“I like you,” he blurted out quickly and without thinking, due in part to his nervousness. Why could he not say that he loved her?

“And I you.” She began to lean in, but Frodo pulled away. “Is something wrong?” Had he not said ‘I love you’ or had she misheard? She backed away.

“I can’t.” Frodo sighed. Once again, his mind had drifted to another lass, perhaps more beautiful than the one before him.

“Why not? Of course you can, silly!” She smiled, amused. “You’re such a gentlehobbit.”

“I can’t. Not now, maybe not ever.”

“Why not?” Dahlia persisted.

Frodo searched his mind quickly for facts he knew about her. “People will think poorly of it on my side of the –”

“Oh, you had better have a better reason than that!” she exclaimed, placing her index finger to his lips. He pulled away. “I know you, Frodo Baggins, and you aren’t one t’ care what others say about you.”

Frodo searched his mind even deeper, and he stumbled across one that made him sick. “You are promised to Wilcome Took.”

“He does not love me. You do. Tell me now, why is there no reason to kiss me? Any other lad would. In fact, a few other lads have tried but failed.”

“Dahlia, I cannot let you get in trouble with your father. If he finds out –”

“Sh…If he finds out, we can marry and run off.”

“Dahlia, no, I cannot do this. I respect you, and me kissing you would not be respecting you. Your first kiss should be with your husband.” Frodo stood. “I cannot stay any longer. I need to go get ready to go somewhere.”

“Frodo, please, stay. Don’t let this drive you away,” she pleaded.

“It’s not this. It truly is that I had previous engagements made. Besides, here comes Wilcome Took now. Thank you for your time and the sandwich, Miss Bywater.” He said the last part louder and bowed.

Wilcome was by them now. “You are welcome, Mr. Baggins.” She let her eyes follow after Frodo for a little while until Wilcome sat beside her.”

“What did that fool want, love?” he asked smugly.

“Will, would you draw some water from the stream, please?” she inquired, lowering her eyes to grab another sandwich out of her basket and pour him some of the little remaining water into the cup Frodo had used only moments earlier.

“Yes, my love,” he said, standing.

11:00 a.m.

Frodo approached the marketplace, trying to keep from grimacing at the thought of meeting Primrose for luncheon, and on the banks of the Brandywine at that! How inconsiderate could she be? No matter, he would buy some flowers for her and wait for her at the waterfountain, which was on the way from her smial to the Brandywine.

He walked to a cart that held flowers of many kinds. “Hullo, Mrs. Bracegirdle. Nice to see you this fine day!”

“Aye, Master Baggins. May I be of service to ye, lad?” Mrs. Bracegirdle curtsied.

“Yes, ma’am. I need some flowers.” His voice lowered, he added, “I have to go on a picnic with Primrose on the Brandywine banks.”

“Oh, I see. Perhaps you should bring her primroses, eh?” She began to laugh at her own cleverness, knudging Frodo in the side, causing him to move away.

“No, perhaps something nicer that would not offend her, please.” His tone was quite serious, causing Mrs. Bracegirdle to raise her eyebrow.

“Something nice for her? Do you –” she lowered her voice, as Frodo had before, “like that lass?” Frodo looked at her impatiently but remained silent. “Tsk, tsk. Frodo, you could do much better fer yerself, lad, much better. Any lass would love t’ be seen a-hangin’ on yer arm. After all, ye is a Baggins, and y’ have an elven look ‘bout ya, too. Why, my Daffodil over there would love t’, and I heard the other day that Petunia Took would as well.” During her gossip-laced speech, she had gathered from her cart a nosegay of flowers – carnations, lilac, and various shrubbery. “Here you are, lad,” she conceded with a sigh. “That’ll be two silver pennies, please.”

Frodo gave her the money. “Now, you will be sure not to tell anyone, will you?” He knew she was one of the biggest gossips in town, and he did not want this particular bit of information going around.

Mrs. Bracegirdle gave an air of being hurt. “Now, dearie, why would I do such a thing? By me word of honor, I wouldn’t never tell a single soul.”

“I trust you. Good day.” Frodo bowed and taking the flowers in his left hand, began to walk to the banks of the Brandywine.

12:05 p.m.

“Oh there you are, Frodo!” exclaimed Primrose while lacing her fingers through Frodo’s and leading him to the picnic blanket. “Are these for me?” she asked upon noticing the flowers.

“Yes, they are.” Frodo sat down on the opposite side of the blanket as the lass sniffed the boquet.

“They are very pretty, Frodo. Did you pick them out?” Finally, she sat.

“Well, not me exactly. I went to a cart and asked for something that would be suiting to you. I wanted them to be made just for you.”

“Thank you, Frodo Baggins.” Primrose opened the picnic basket and pulled out a couple of large bowls, two smaller bowls, two plates, silverware, a teakettle, and two cups. “Would you like some salad?” she offered.

Frodo accepted, eyeing the wilting leaves, careful not to show his disgust. How long ago had she packed this?

“And some stew?”

“Yes, please.” As she unsealed the large bowl that contained it, Frodo could hardly keep himself from scrunching up his nose.

“Smells…good,” he told her, knowing all too well that good was not the word to use. She handed him the bowl with a silver spoon and placed it before him. He forced himself to be brave enough to try the food. “It is good,” he lied so that he did not hurt her feelings.

“Thank you,” she replied, very amazed, but she smiled. No one but no one had ever complimented her on her own cooking before. In fact, everyone tried to avoid it all together. This is a good sign, she thought to herself as she put a small spoonful of soup in her mouth. “Eww!” she exclaimed, spitting it out. “Frodo, I am so sorry! You don’t have to eat this. It’s horrible!”

“I just thought it was your special recipe,” he offered to try to console her.

“Oh Frodo!” she whined, throwing herself at him, placing her arms around his neck. He held her there, stroking her upper back. He hated to see a lass cry. “I’m so sorry. I wanted everything to be perfect, like you deserve.” Her voice held a hint of the fact that she was crying.

“It’s quite alright, Prim, quite alright. All that matters to me is that you tried. Look at me.” Primrose pulled away and looked at him. “You can do anything you set your mind to, but some things need a little more work than others. My Aunt Esmeralda would be more than willing to teach you how to cook. How does that sound?”

“Good,” she answered, dabbing her nose.

Frodo wiped a tear off her cheek. “Now, why don’t we go find somewhere to eat?”

“Alright.”

Frodo stood and helped Primrose stand. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close. “It will be alright. The day is not ruined.”

Primrose managed a smile and the two walked toward the nearest inn to eat. “Frodo, tell me the truth.” Frodo looked down into her beautiful doe-eyes anxiously. “Do you care anything for me?”

Frodo opened his mouth as though he were about to answer, but he closed it again as Primrose began to explain herself. “You see, I know I am not exactly the most popular or well-liked lass in the Shire, and I know everyone hates me. I’m just wondering if you do.”

Frodo looked away for a second, searching his heart. “I – I’m not sure if I feel anything more for you than as perhaps an acquaintance or a friend, but I most certainly do not hate you. Don’t ever think such a thing.”

“Thank you for being honest,” she answered softly, her voice perhaps even held a hint of wistfulness. “I want to change, be like everyone else, but it is so hard. I know I act stuck up, but I don’t know how.”

“You are not acting stuck up right now. You’re off to a good start.” His voice was quiet.

4:07 p.m.

Finally, they reached the Green Dragon after having taken the long way toward it, quite the fault of Primrose who was trying to keep him all to herself. Frodo opened the door for her.

“Thank you, Frodo.”

“You’re welcome, Prim.” He smiled at her.

“Welcome, Master Baggins; welcome! Miss Brandybuck,” greeted the owner. “Come, sit here, sit here!”

Frodo and Primrose smiled at each other. Harry Bywater was always commedical when an old friend visited. He was always friendly, as though he always was having a good time. One was always surprised when news spread around that his family was going through a hard time.

“Now, what would you like, Miss Brandybuck?” Harry asked with a chuckle.

“May I have a salad and some tea, please?” she asked while sitting across from Frodo.

“Alright, and you, Master Baggins?”

“The same, if it’s not too much to ask.”

“No, it’s good, Master Baggins.”

“Thank you.”

Harry walked off toward the bar.

They sat silently for a moment, unsure what to say to each other. “So,” Frodo began, “what do you want to talk about?”

“Anything.”

“Oh,” Frodo answered, casting his eyes away.

“How is life with your Uncle Meradoc? I hear he is strict.”

“Yes, he is, but at least he is giving me somewhere to stay. I think he only is though to maintain a status of being charitable. To tell you the truth, I rarely stay there during the day. I mostly go to my Uncle Saradoc’s smial, especially on days such as yesterday.” Frodo sighed.

“I see.” Primrose propped her head on her hand for a moment. “What kind of things do you like to do?”

“Write, read, and swim,” Frodo answered shortly. He was finding it difficult to talk to her.

“I like to read, too. What kind of books do you read?” she asked. She too was finding it more difficult than she would have imagined to talk to him.

“Tales of adventures. I mainly read books by the Tooks because of that, but I currently am corresponding with Bilbo to help him with his recording of his adventure.”

“Bilbo Baggins? That old kook?” she asked with an air of surprise and disdain.

Frodo raised an eyebrow. Did the lass not know Bilbo Baggins was his cousin? But, he let her go on, curious as to what she would say.

“He lost his mind on that adventure, I hear folk say! Why would you correspond with the likes of him?”

“Give me a reason not to. He is my cousin, the only one to have shown much care, other than Meriadoc, as to my wellbeing since my parent’s death. I see no reasoning but that which leans toward me spending time with him.”

“I see.” Maybe this lad was not all he was cut out to be, but she liked him. He was a gentlehobbit, he was cute, and he looked strong. His eyes were gorgeous; his stature was proper – most of the time. What was not to like? She cared not that he could be a little off his rocker by Shire standards. Everyone thought well of him. This fact would be just between them. “Frodo, would you care to go for a walk after we eat? I love to walk under the moonlight. It is so romantic!”

Frodo looked away. “No, actually I had other plans.”

“Other plans? Like what? Not that it is any of my business.” She played with her fork.

“Nothing that you need to know about,” he said, for it was true. He did not want her or anyone to know his plans for this evening. He would be in trouble with his Uncle Meradoc if he were to find out, which he most certainly would if Frodo told Primrose.

“Oh, a surprise, for me?” she asked, leaning closer, a smile on her face.

“Y-yes,” he replied, leaning out of the way. What was she doing?

“Frodo, you do know your uncle has promised you to me, right?”

“No, actually, I did not.” Frodo was bewildered. Why had his uncle done that? He did not see any reasoning in that. Meradoc always wanted his way in everyone’s lives, especially when his wife had anything to do with the matter.

“Well, he did, so you do not have to surprise me with a proposal, for I would not be surprised.” She leaned closer. “You can ask me now.”

Of all the nerve! He was feeling pressured. “I- I have to go.” Frodo stood and quickly placed a few silver pennies on the table for her to pay for her meal with before running as far away from that place as possible.

“Why, Miss Brandybuck, where is Frodo off to?” asked Harry with a surprised look.

But Primrose looked at him slyly, her face slightly flushed. “He had some business to attend to,” she said softly, while waving a signal to two hooded figures.

Well, that's chapter 2. Chapter 3 is still in progress. I hope to post that soon.

A/N:  The next chapter is in progress. Some quirks need tobe worked out of what I have before I can go on with it. School's been really busy (staying up until 1:30 a.m. practically every night because of hw), so I cannot guarantee anything soon. Lord willing, I will behomeschooled next year (my last year of school -sighof relief-),but I will get a job, too, if thatis the case,but I will be free to do fics more often.  

But Is It the Right One?

October 23, 1388 S.R., 7:15 p.m.

Frodo ducked around the corner toward Dahlia Bywater’s window. He had walked endlessly through Buckland that afternoon, trying to clear his head, and he had come to a conclusion. He had to see Dahlia. He loved her. He could not let her go to a lad she and he both did not like, one who was more concerned with his own wellbeing than a lass’ and would sacrifice one’s life for his own in an instant. He picked a stone off of the ground and threw it softly at her window. Almost instantaneously, Dahlia’s head peeked out from the curtains. She smiled and mouthed, ‘I’ll be right out.’

Frodo nodded his recognition, and moments later Dahlia was outside. She sat on the bench outside her bedroom window. "Good evening," she said to him.

"Good evening. Mind if I –?" he began to ask.

"No, sit." She looked at him head to toe. "You were with her," she said dully.

"With who?" Frodo asked.

"Primrose Brandybuck," she answered, her voice saddened.

"Yes, but only because I had to be."

"You bought her flowers," she relayed to him.

"Yes, because my uncle had asked me to. Dahlia, I don’t care anything for her. I thought for a fleeting moment that maybe I did, but I do not."

"Oh." She looked away, and Frodo tried to get her to look back at him, but she would not.

"What did I say wrong?" he asked.

"You thought you cared for ‘er, did you not say so?"

"I did."

"Well, that is it."

"But I do not care for her," he protested gently. She still would not look.

"You must have had some feelings enough for you to have –"

Frodo turned her head gently toward him. "I do not care for Primrose Brandybuck at all."

"Frodo, I want to believe you, but Ma says you will break my heart in the end." She looked at him, eyes sparkling in earnest. "And Pa…Pa says I must marry Will."

"Dahlia, we are not speaking of anything more than friendship right now. I came here to talk to you as a friend. You are the only one I feel I can speak to of what I was told. Merry – well, he’s too young, and his father will have no say in this even if I do tell him. I was hoping you would know what to do." He longed for her to say it was alright, even though she could do nothing. He longed for all this to be a dream, that he was not going to be forced to marry Primrose Brandybuck. He loved the lass before him, not the one he had ran out on hours before.

Dahlia turned to face him. "Alright, fair enough. What do ye want to speak of? Tell me, Frodo."

Frodo smiled waningly. "I was told but a few hours ago that I have been promised to Primrose. And she was the one to tell me! She expected that my evening plans had to do with a surprise for her, which they did not. She told me to propose to her then and there! I had to leave; I had to get out of there. Was I foolish?"

Dahlia hid her desire to laugh at his earnest speech, for it struck her as odd for a lad to come to her on this matter. "No, ye weren’t foolish at all, Frodo Baggins. Ye just was yourself’s all. The question is, why did you run out on her?"

"I told you, I do not care for her."

"Yes, but ye could mean that you more than care for her."

"I do not love her or care for her. I can’t! I won’t!" He stood, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "She’s the most stubborn lass in the Shire, apt to getting her own way. There’s no way I could love a lass who’s like that."

Dahlia smiled warmly and gave an understanding nod. "I know what ye are going through, Frodo; indeed, I do. It’s like that with Will and I, but at the same time a bit different, him being a lad and all. There’s times when I absolutely abhor him, but there are some moments, when he opens up, that I think I could learn to love him." Her face softened. "But those moments are rare," she continued quietly. "Too often does he talk of other lasses; too often does he act as though I am not going to be his wife. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why my pa is forcing us to wed…" Her voice trailed off, and there were a few moments of silence. "Well, anyhow, this was about you and Primrose."

Frodo looked at her, longing in his eyes. He wanted to hold her close, to let her know he cared, that he could be there for her when times were tough. But he knew by all rights he could not, for people would suspect things. He could not start a scandal that would not only affect him but also the one he truly loved. He knew they were in the same hopeless situation – both were promised to one whom they did not love, and they were crying out silently, hoping to be freed but to no avail. "No," he told her softly. "Not anymore. You need someone to talk to more than I. I was wrong to come to you to speak of my own problems when you have some more pressing than mine."

"Thank you, Frodo," she answered, eyes sparkling. He was the first lad in her life to take her feelings, her needs, her desires into consideration. Her father never did, and neither did Wilcome. The two looked at each other silently for a few moments. She suddenly felt that she was being watched. "I must go back inside. Pa will be wondering about me." She walked away, but then came back and took him in her arms. "Thank you, Frodo, for caring." Before Frodo could say anything, she was back inside.

8:00 p.m.

"Dahlia, in here!" Tom Bywater beckoned, an edge to his voice.

"Yes, Pa!" Dahlia called back, making her way from her the kitchen where she was with her mother to the sitting room.

"Sit down," he said gruffly. "What took you so long outside to fetch wood?"

Dahlia looked at her mother who stood in the hall between the sitting room and kitchen. Her mother smiled sadly at her.

"Someone was outside and I paused to talk with him for a moment," she answered honestly. She only hoped her pa did not find out it was Frodo Baggins.

"Who was it? It most certainly was not Wilcome, for he is not in Buckland but in his hometown of Tuckborough." Tom tapped his foot and crossed his arms impatiently waiting for her answer.

She tried to remember a day, a time, or place when her father had not treated her so, but she found none. As far back as she dared remember, he had always tried to control her, make sure she only went out when beckoned, make sure she was always where she was supposed to be.

Rose’s heart went out to her daughter. Tom had not always been like this. When Dahlia was first born, he had acted as though he owned the lot of Middle Earth. Why! He had gone around town on walks, proudly telling every passerby who stopped to admire the baby that she was his daughter, Dahlia Bywater. She remembered those days sadly. Ever since Dahlia had mentioned the name ‘Baggins’ in their home things had changed. He tightened his hold, took away privileges, even.

"It was Frodo, Frodo Baggins," she answered at last, and her mother drew nearer to intervene if need be.

"Ah, Frodo," Tom said, and for a moment Rose thought all would be well as his voice remained calm. "How is that Baggins lad?" Tom was not against his daughter breaking the promise to be wed to Wilcome Took; in fact, he was for it. The lad had turned out to be a brat, stuck up and set in his ways, and Tom did not approve of his ways. But, he did not want his daughter marrying a Baggins. He was not quite sure why, only a distant memory of his father repeating what his grandfather said, "Never marry a Baggins." He was not quite sure why – if it was a long-running vendetta that the families had long since forgotten about, or if it was one that had started but two generations before him. He certainly had nothing against Frodo, for he was a hard-working lad, worthy of his daughter’s love in his opinion, but he was also of the upper class, and he was afraid his daughter would marry him and end up suffering for the rest of her life, being laughed for her lower social standing previously.

"He was fine before, but now he’s being forced to marry, and the lass is telling him to propose to her, not waiting for him t’. Y’ see, he isn’t feeling very happy right now. I – well, that is why I took a little longer, Pa." Dahlia had been standing, but at last she heeded to her father’s initial command of "Sit down."

"Well, I hope all goes well for him, but I told ye, ye ain’t t’ see him unless in a dire emergency he be the only one t’ take ye to fetch help." He looked at his daughter’s sad demeanor and his eyes softened. "I know ye don’t understand it all right now, but it’ll be better for ye, ye’ll see. I dun’ want y’ getting hurt." By the end of his statement, his hand was on his daughter’s shoulder. "I love you too much for that, Dahlia. Ye must understand that."

Dahlia’s face fell. "Pa, I want to see him, at least be his friend. I know I must marry Will, but he doesn’t love me."

"I know, Dah, I know, but I can’t allow it. I won’t allow it."

Rose walked in. She could not allow this to go on any longer. "Tom," she said softly.

"Yes, me love?"

"Can’t you let Dahlia be his friend? How bad could it be for them t’ just be friends?" She lay her hand on his arm gently and pleaded with her eyes.

His face grew hard again. "I can’t," he murmured in a quiet voice.

"And why not, love? Weren’t we denied the right t’ see each other before, but then finally they conceeded after much begging on both our parts? She could just continue behind our backs seein’ him, like we almost did, and it could be worse." She spoke in a whisper, and Dahlia sat wondering what her mum was saying to her Pa.

"Alright, alright," Tom conceeded. "You may see him, as a friend – no more."

"Really, Pa?" she exclaimed, jumping up to hug him.

"Really."

"Thank you!"

"Now, y’ needn’t be so emotional about gettin’ a new friend, especially one who’s a lad." He pulled out of her embrace. "Time for ye t’ git to bed."

"Yes, Pa," she said jovially. "Goodnight, Mum." She and Rose shared a smile before Dahlia headed toward her room.

8:15 p.m.

Frodo sat in his quarters, head in hands. How could Uncle Merimac force him into this? He groaned loudly in frustration. He wanted to save Dahlia. He wanted to be there for her. For a moment, he wondered if he only felt pity for her, but No, he resolved, I love her. He heard the sound of feet falling nearby and sat up straight, sure they were headed toward his quarters.

With strict precision in timing, a knock sounded on his door. He stood and went to the door. His uncle barged through the moment it was opened. "Hullo," Frodo greeted.

"Hello, Frodo. Sit," commanded Merimac.

"Of course, Uncle. Shall you sit, too?"

"Yes, thank you." He sat in the chair across from Frodo who was seated on his bed. "Well, my lad, this morning Primrose’s parents came by, and we have arranged for the two of you to be wed when you come of age."

Frodo groaned. "Then she was telling the truth. Why, Uncle? You have to have seen how she acts! She’s stuck up and used to getting what she wants when she wants it. I’ve tried spending time with her, Uncle. I cannot bear to spend my life with her." Frodo leaned against the wall after his honest dispensation.

"Frodo Baggins, you will marry Primrose. Now, you must do the respectable thing and not cause any problems. I expect to see Primrose flaunting a ring very soon; you are seeing her again tomorrow. Perhaps then would be a good time." Merimac stood and left before there could be anymore discussion.

"Uncle!" Frodo called as Merimac closed the door, but his uncle did not return. He lay back on his pillow, frustrated. "Why?" he asked the air before sleep stole him away.

October 24, 1388 S.R., 6:00 a.m.

Frodo pulled on his shirt, tried to tame his hair, and grabbing a book, he stretched. He wanted to finish his chores quickly today before anyone else rose. He passed a servant or two in the halls but that was all. At last, he reached the stalls where the ponies were kept. One, a small brown filly, whinnied as he came in. "Hullo, Beauty! Nice to see you full of life this fine morning." He began to take the food out, bringing it to each container and filling it up, but for Beauty he left a sugar cube, giving her a pat on the cheek. He proceeded to get the rake and shovel to muck out the stalls, putting the manure in a wooden wheelbarrow, and finally dumping it all in the rich soil of the soon-to-be vegetable patch.

He brought each pony in turn to the corral, save Beauty, who he prepared to mount, putting on a saddle his uncle had bought for him in the market to use when riding. "Ready, Beauty?" he asked with a smile and a pat. Beauty nickered, and Frodo mounted. "Hyah!" he commanded, and off they were.

7:15 a.m.

Frodo reached the marketplace quickly. His aunt had given him the task of choosing some material for his new outfit – an easy task, save for the fact that he would be in a store only lasses would be in. He dismounted his horse in front of the store and tied her to the post. "Stay here, Beauty." He walked into the dress shop. "Good morning," he said to announce his presence.

"Oh, good afternoon, Frodo. What a pleasant surprise! What brings you here?" Mrs. Bolger asked, bustling toward him with a grin.

"Well, Mrs. Bolger, I’m here to pick up a dress for my aunt, and she also wants me to pick out some material for a new outfit for myself," he explained, as his eyes noted Dahlia’s presence.

"I shall get right on it," Lily Bolger said.

"Thank you," Frodo replied absently. His mind was already upon Dahlia.

It seemed she had the same train of thought, for she walked over carrying some fine silk material. "Hello, Frodo."

"Dahlia, it’s nice to see you. Did I get you in trouble with your father last night?" He sincerely hoped he had not.

"Yes, I was in trouble, but mum saved me. Pa says ye and me could be friends now." She said the last part very cheerfully.

"Really?" he asked and she nodded fervently. "That is wonderful! I’m glad you aren’t in trouble." There was a brief period of silence. "So, what are you making with that fine silk?"

"Nothin’. I’m just dreamin’. I would love havin’ a dress made o’ silk, ye know? But Pa would say it isn’t becoming on a lass o’ my age to dream such dreams, and the cost shows it!" She laughed. "Couldn’t ye just see me paradin’ through town, dressed better than all those Brandybucks, and perhaps even the exquisite Tooks?"

"Keep dreaming, Dahlia. If no one dreamed, then there would not be anything we have today." He smiled. "I could see you in that dress, surely, for I shall buy the material for you. Mrs. Bolger, add some of this fine material to my tab, as much as she needs, please."

"It’d be my pleasure, lad!" She chuckled to herself.

"But Frodo, I couldn’t impose!"

"Well, if you’re coming with me to the party this Friday, you will need a new dress, won’t you?" He paused to wait for a response, but all he got was tears. "Did I say something incorrectly?" he asked with concern, not exactly sure how to handle the situation.

"No, ye said it perfect. I couldn’t ask fer a better friend, Frodo Baggins. No one has ever been so kind to me in my life, not even Will." She brushed a tear away. "Thank ye, but I cannot accept it."

"I insist. I believe this material was made for you. Put anything else you need to complete it on my tab, as well."

"Frodo, a stubborn lad ye are. What can I do t’ repay ye?" She shifted her weight.

"A smile and allowing me to see the finished product on you will be quite enough."

"Alright. Thank ye." She smiled blithely and curtsied.

"You’re welcome, and I shall pick you up at 6:30 on Friday." Dahlia nodded her agreement.

Mrs. Bolger walked up to Frodo. "How are these materials?"

"Splendid!"

"I was thinkin’ the white material be for the shirt, of course. The cream color could be for your vest, an’ the light brown for your jacket and your pants."

"And you thought just perfectly. It will look wonderful!" Frodo did like the colors, but he was not exactly as excited as he was pretending to be. He looked at Dahlia and winked.

"Now, over to the chair so I could get your measurements."

"One would think you would have my measurements on record as often as Aunt Esmeralda comes up with a new reason for me to have a new one," Frodo complained but said as though he were jesting.

"Nay, laddie." She laughed. "That would be wise o’ me. Then, I could start workin’ on your next outfit as soon as I finish your other. Now, come on over to the chair for me to measure you."

Frodo obeyed, and soon they were done, so Mrs. Bolger began to cut the material. "I shall have this ready by Friday, then?"

"Yes, please, and thank you." He leaned in as though to tell her a secret. He whispered, "When you measure Dahlia, tell her to let you make the dress. I want her to feel like a princess on Friday, silk and all. That lace over there is especially nice to go with a dress made out of that peach silk, does it not? Make it special; don’t mind the cost. It shall all go on my tab. I have money to pay for anything."

"Yes, Frodo. I know it is none of my business, but are you sweet on her?"

"Maybe," he answered shortly. "Now, also, when she picks it up Thursday or Friday, please tell her to go to the shoemaker’s. I shall ask your husband to make a pair of dress shoes to go with the material that you can show him."

"I shall," she said, smiling. "Good day, Frodo." She handed him a box with his aunt’s dress in it.

"Good day, Mrs. Bolger." He made his way to where Dahlia was standing. "Good day, Dahlia."

"Frodo," she acknowledged. "Thank ye."

"You are welcome. It was my pleasure."

As soon as Frodo walked out of the store, he headed to the shoemaker’s. "Hullo, Master Bolger!"

"Why, Frodo, how good to see ye!" The two embraced, being good friends despite their age difference. "What brings ye here today?"

"Oh, well, I wanted to visit you, and I wanted to ask you to make a pair of dress shoes for Miss Dahlia Bywater to go with the dress your wife is making. I doubt Mis Bywater has any proper dress shoes to go with the dress."

"Aye, indeed, Frodo, I will. And to be put on your tab, I assume from the way you speak of the dress?"

"Yes, Mr. Bolger," he answered with a smile. "She will be princess for a day!"

"Ah, good, good! Isn’t a lass in the Shire more deserving of it than her," Mr. Bolger commented. "Which style?"

"Well, I deem you and your wife worthy and knowledgeable enough to decide that."

"Thank you, Frodo." He made note of the order and proceeded to make conversation with Frodo. "How are you feeling with the party being on the date it is and all?"

"That part does not make it too pleasurable in sound, but I am doing well despite it." He leaned back against the wall.

"That is good. And your Aunt Esmeralda? I know how hard she took it."

"She’s doing amazingly well! Sometimes I wonder, though, when I see her dab her eyes during talk of the party at miniscule pauses between her answers."

"Ah, yes, she is thinking of it and remembering it, too. Remember, lad, if you need someone to talk to about it, ye may talk to me. It’s been eight years, but even then it is difficult. I remember when me own dear parents passed away. It still aches at times."

Frodo smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Bolger. You are a good friend, the best I have ever had. I need to get back to Brandy Hall before they wonder about me. I woke before everyone and did my chores before leaving for town. They always worry about my eating since my parents passed away, and I have most likely missed first breakfast the way my stomach is growling."

"Aye, it is nearly second breakfast. Good day, lad!"

"Good day, Mr. Bolger." Frodo exited the store and headed for his pony. "Hullo, Beauty!" he greeted, and he received a nicker in reply. "That’s a good girl." He mounted her. "Home, Beauty."

9:30 a.m.

Frodo entered the dining hall after letting Beauty loose in the pasture with the rest of the ponies, changing his clothes, and washing up.

"Oh, Frodo, there you are!" his Aunt Esmeralda exclaimed. "Come, join us. You missed first breakfast already."

"Thank you, Aunt," he said, sitting down after giving her a hug, as she had open arms. "I have your dress for you, if you remind me to get it after this meal."

"So that is where you were?" Frodo nodded. "Thank you all the more, lad, missing first breakfast just for me."

"Well, I did visit with Mr. Bolger afterwards, and you know how his wife can be after measuring you."

"Aye, I do." She smiled at the young hobbit before continuing. "Now, eat."

Frodo willingly obeyed.

October 28, 1388 S.R., 5:30 p.m.

Dahlia gasped as she opened the package she had brought home from the dressmaker’s. The dress was even more beautiful and exquisite than she had imagined. She lifted it out of the box and held it to herself while she looked at herself in the mirror. She twirled around, humming a waltz. She paused when she noticed the shoes. She touched them. How soft they were! And pretty! She had never seen such a fine pair of shoes. Then, she noticed the ribbon that matched the dress perfectly and the stockings. She looked at the clock: 5:45. She had to get ready. Frodo would be there for her in forty-five minutes.

Her thoughts lingered on Frodo. Why had he bought her all this? Did he pity her or was he sweet on her? She did not know, but she hoped it was the latter.

6:30 p.m.

Six thirty on the dot, Frodo rolled up to the Bywater household. Dahlia watched him get out and head toward the door from her bedroom window. She threw on her long jacket over the pretty dress, hoping her pa would not want her to stop and show him her garments. If he found out – she did not want to think about it! "Bye, Mum! Bye, Pa!" she shouted as she made her way to the door.

"Isn’t he goin’ t’ come in? It ain’t proper for a lad t’ just pick a lass up and leave without seein’ her family." Her father stood out of his chair. "Be careful," he told her before a tapping sounded at the door. He walked to it and answered.

"Hullo, Master Bywater!" Frodo greeted cheerfully. "How are you this fine evening?"

"Doin’ well, thank ye!" he answered. "Come in for a moment, won’t ye?"

"Yes, sir, I will."

"Good lad."

"I would like to thank you for allowing your daughter to come with me to this party," he told Tom as soon as he was inside. "It was kind and generous of you to allow it."

"I have nothin’ against ye, lad, though I will admit I don’t fancy y’ for my daughter."

Tom was known to speak his mind, and Frodo replied undaunted. "And I am fine with that, sir. I understand that you would want someone better for her."

"Hmph," grunted Tom, unsure whether or not to take Frodo’s last statement as being sincere or not. "Well, you two best go now. Don’t want ye t’ be late."

"Thank you, sir. Good evening."

"Good evening. Take good care of my daughter."

"I will, sir."

Dahlia smiled at her father before walking out with Frodo.

7:00 p.m.

They had been at the party for fifteen minutes, waiting for everyone to join them in Brandy Hall’s grandest banquet room and enjoying each others company.

"Frodo?" Dahlia said after they had been silent for a while. "Where’s the privy?"

"Oh, I’ll have May take you. May!" He called the maid, and she came.

"Yes, Master Baggins?"

"Would you please show Miss Bywater to the privy?"

"Yes, Master Baggins. Right this way, Miss." Dahlia followed after the maidservant.

As soon as she left, Frodo’s attention was drawn for the first time to a new and odd location for curtains. Had they installed a new window? He walked slowly toward the burgundy drapes, noting the golden tassel that hung limply on a slick rope.

"Frodo?" called Esmeralda.

He turned quickly. "Yes, Aunt?"

"Please, do not go near that…for now."

"Alright."

Seeing Frodo’s puzzled look, she added with a smile, "It is a surprise for the party."

"Oh, of course."

7:03 p.m.

Dahlia examined every item as she passed by. Never had she seen a place more exquisite in her life! Whether it was the intricate detail on the ceiling or baseboards or the antiques that filled the passageway she was going through, she was amazed.

"Here we are, Miss."

"Thank you."

7:20 p.m.

Frodo’s eyes widened as he beheld the sight of Dahlia in the dress Mrs. Bywater had made for her. "Welcome back," he said.

Dahlia smiled as she noticed him check her out. "Thank you." They stood silently for a few moments. "How long until the party begins?"

"Well, judging by how few people are here – not for a while." He looked around, glancing again at the "surprise." "That dress looks very becoming on you. What did your father say?"

"Pa didn’t see it. He’d have gotten madder than any of them men in those stories pa told me when I was younger." She laughed nervously.

"Why is that?"

"He doesn’t like it when I dress up. Says it makes the lads look too much." She looked away and then looked back hopefully. "Ye don’t think so, do ye? Ya wouldn’t be mad if ye had a daughter and she dressed up, would y’?"

"No, I do not, nor would I be." Their eyes locked for a moment, but she broke it, glancing away nervously.

This was all the entrance Primrose needed. She walked up haughtily. "Hello, Frodo," she said, making him feel like a dog on a leash by her icy cold glare.

"Prim," he acknowledged.

"What are you doing here – with her?" she said in a harsh whisper.

"I asked her to come with me," he explained. "I wanted her to have a good time tonight."

She glared at him. "And the dress – how ever did she afford that?"

"I bought it for her the other day. Is that wrong to make someone else feel special?"

Primrose grabbed his arm – roughly. She began to walk, and he gave a helpless look at Dahlia. "Yes, it is. When one is promised to someone else, it is wrong for him to do so."

"I have yet to acknowledge that as true, Primrose Brandybuck, and I shall never do so."

She looked over at two lads in the corner, both bigger and stronger in looks than Frodo, who followed her gaze. She began to motion them.

"Primrose Brandybuck, please," he said, his eyes trying to reach the kind side of her he had seen before. "Do you really want a marriage not based on love? Do you really want a marriage based on fear? Prim, I care for you, as a friend and nothing more. You deserve better; really, you do. You deserve one who, when shown your softer side, would love you and not resist letting himself love you."

"Frodo, no one is better than you here in Buckland or Hobbiton or Tuckborough," she protested.

"There is, if you look." He turned and looked at Dahlia who blushed under his gaze. "I have found the one I love, and you will too, in time. There will be a lad who cares about you as more than a friend, but that lad is not me. I truly am sorry. I tried to love you, but I cannot, for I love Dahlia."

Primrose stayed her hand. "Alright, Frodo, I will let you be," she told him. For now, she added in her mind.

"Thank you!" he exclaimed, hugging her happily. "I’m going to go back to Dahlia, alright?"

"Alright, Frodo," she resigned, heading toward the two lads who stood in the corner.

"Ah, free at last," Frodo commented to Dahlia when he had returned to her side.

"Good. I was getting nervous. I don’t know this great number of people." She shifted her weight. "Did she really let ye go like that? Any lass wouldn’t let ye go so soon, I do not believe."

Frodo smiled. "Are you thirsty?"

"Yes, a little."

"Stay here; I will go get us something to drink."

"Thank ye," she told him.

8:04 p.m.

"Let’s go for a walk," suggested Frodo.

"Alright," she answered softly, allowing him to help her stand.

The two walked together hand-in-hand as the moon shone through the shimmering canopy of dark trees above and glistened on the serene lake beside them. There was no one but the two of them, and they continued ever on, neither wanting their time together to end.

They halted beside the pristine lake and Frodo looked down at her; he lifted her chin and behld her beauty. "I –" he began but halted and let his hand drop to his side.

She looked up at him. Why did he not just say it? "You what?" she asked, her eyes glistening in the moonlight.

"I love you," he finished, afraid of being rejected.

"Love me? Oh, Frodo!" She threw her arms around his neck and held him close. Then, she pulled back to look at him. "I love ye, too; I’ve only been waiting for ye to say it." She smiled at him and he at her.

"Should I speak with your father?"

"Yes, as soon as possible!" she exclaimed.

Frodo looked at her. "That means you shall accept?" At her nod, he lifted her up and twirled her around. She laughed merrily and it sounded as a beautiful melody to his ears.

"I must get home now before Father realizes I am gone," she said, eyeing him wistfully.

"I’ll walk you. It is only ten minutes out of my way."

"Thank you." He took her hand once more in his and began down the moonlit path again.

Alas, they made it to the trelis that led to her door. The two embraced and she walked to the door, stopping only to look back and say, "Goodnight."

Frodo answered softly back, "Goodnight, my love." He waved and began his short trek home, but he was lonely without her gentle presence beside him.

TBC...

Well, it’s been a long while. Haven’t updated since January, as you all can see. Why? I got really busy with school. Ended up having to stay up until 1:30 a.m. nearly every night doing homework. So, obviously fanfic had to be set on the side. :( But now I’m back for good, at least until college in a year.

I actually have had this chapter in my inbox since March 25th, betaed by Iorhael, who really helped greatly with this chapter’s coherrency. I appreciate it a lot, Iorhael! Thanks!

October 29, 1388 S.R., 10:33 a.m.

"And he was with her," wailed Primrose to Meradoc, who inwardly rolled his eyes. "He told me he loved her." She tightened and untightened her fists.

"Yes, I know, my dear. And, he will be talked to. He knows he is not to spend time with her." Meradoc was furious, but he managed to keep his voice low and controlled, though it had a bit of an edge to it. All these eight years Frodo had been nothing but obedient, but now he was being rebellious on a very important occurrence.

"We must do something," Primrose stated, thinking aloud. "I have to have him. I love him and no other. We must end up together. They said he practically pro –"

"Who is ‘they’ and what did they say?" Meradoc interrupted, quite annoyed.

"I – I sent two lads to spy on him." She shifted her weight nervously.

"You what!" Why had she done that? If Frodo were to find out –! "Do you realize what problems that would cause if Frodo were to find out?"

"But, I had to. They were so sickly sweet, happy together. I was worried. He practically proposed to her, the lads say, and he’s to speak to her father as soon as possible."

"Not to worry; not to worry! She is promised to Wilcome Took, and if I know Tom Bywater, he’ll never let Frodo have his daughter’s hand." Meradoc sat down and motioned for Primrose to do the same. "All we need to do is figure out how to keep them apart. You and I shall occupy him. You with picnics and the like and I with chores around the smial and his compartment."

"But I told him I would let him be." She hung her head in mock despair.

"Primrose Brandybuck, you shall be his wife. I will set up your meetings if needs be. Hold your head high; never let it fall. You mustn’t look too desperate." He stood as Primrose stood to leave. "Good day," he said.

"Good day, Master. Brandybuck." She curtsied politely and gave a deviant smile before waltzing from the room.

"Whoa there, Merry! Keep your eye on the ball and follow it, and you will catch it," Frodo instructed, a broad smile on his face. "Toss it here, lad." Merry obeyed. Frodo caught it. "And when you throw, place the ball back behind your head like this, pull back, take a step forward, and release the ball toward the person you are throwing to." As Frodo gave his dissertation on throwing a ball, he did each step in time.

Merry followed instructions to catch the ball, but he missed it by a foot. "I’ll never be good at this," he complained, plopping onto the ground.

"Ah, now, never say ‘never,’ Mer. You know not what the future shall hold nor do I. Now, get up and try again," Frodo smiled.

Merry looked at his cousin with determination set deep in his face. He cocked his arm and threw. It landed in Frodo’s hands after he dived for it. "Good throw, Merry," called Frodo. "Just a little higher next time." He smiled reassuringly at his cousin, but Merry suddenly looked agitated. His body tensed and he would not look at Frodo.

"Is something bothering you?" the older hobbit asked with concern, walking toward his cousin.

"Yes," Merry admitted.

Frodo lowered himself to be eyelevel with Merry. "What is it, lad?"

"You’re going to marry Primrose, Frodo." Merry lowered his head.

"Not if I can find a way out of it."

"It would be horrible if you married her. She’s mean to us…"

"Come, sit next to me." Frodo waited for Merry to sit down beside him on the grass before continuing. "I know what you mean, lad. Don’t worry about me. Everything will work out fine."

Merry sat silently for a moment, and tears began to form as he blurted out, "And I heard somebody from Hobbiton has been poking around asking about you. There’s talk he wants you to live with him and that he is a loon."

"Ah, Bilbo."

Merry looked at him questioningly. "Bilbo?"

"Yes, Bilbo Baggins. He is my cousin. Most call him a loon, and he lives in Hobbiton, so I guessed that perhaps the one you were speaking of was Bilbo." Frodo looked concerned. "Is that what is bothering you? Are you afraid I will leave?" Merry nodded, wiping his eyes. Frodo smiled softly. "Don’t you worry, Merry. Even if I do leave, I will come and visit you as often as possible. It will be just like now, except I will not see you quite as often."

"So, they were right. You will leave me."

"Who is ‘they’?" Frodo asked.

"The people over there," Merry explained, pointing with one hand while rubbing one eye with the other.

Frodo arched his eyebrow. "Which people?" he asked, for there was no one where his cousin was pointing.

"They’re hiding," Merry answered simply. "They are behind that tree."

"Stay here, Meriadoc," Frodo commanded, standing while craning his neck. He began to walk over to the trees to which his cousin had indicated. "I still don’t see anyone, Merry," Frodo said, turning from where he stood, halfway between Merry and the two trees.

"They are hiding," Merry repeated. "Look closer."

Frodo turned back and began again toward the trees. "Hullo?" he said upon nearing them. "Is anyone there?"

"Not anyone, someone. Two ‘someones’ to be exact," said the one who seemed to be leader, emerging from behind the tree.

Frodo stilled, furrowing his brow. "What is this that you have been telling my cousin? Telling him that I am going to leave him."

"You will." He began to walk toward Frodo.

"Why and when? How would you know more about me than I know about myself?" Frodo looked deep into their eyes, keeping a safe distance away from the taller one whose face hid in the shadows. "How?"

"Come with us."

Frodo looked back at Merry and then to the lads again. Should he? It seemed to him that it would be the only way to find the answer to his question. "Show yourself," he demanded, fists clenched at his side.

"Show myself? I’m not that dimwitted. Reg, show yourself to him." He pushed his younger comrade forward toward Frodo.

Frodo looked over the lad who appeared no older than nineteen. He looked afraid, almost too uncertain. He also looked very familiar. Frodo eyed the other. How old was he? How strong? Could he withstand him if he tried to harm him? "How can I be sure you will not harm me?"

"You don’t. Now, if you don’t want us to scare your young cousin, I would suggest you come with us. We will take you by force if needs be.

Not wishing to make a scene before Merry, Frodo turned toward his cousin, who was now standing. "Merry," he began, slight fear showing in his eyes, but too minute for his cousin to see, "I need to go somewhere. I’ll return before luncheon."

"I’ll tell my papa."

"Go ahead." Frodo turned back to the two lads. "All right, I will."

The two shared a pernicious smile and began to walk. "Follow us," the leader said.

"Where is that lad?" Saradoc asked Meradoc. "Have you seen heads or tails of Frodo since ten? My Merry said that he said he would return before luncheon. It’s about a quarter past twelve and he still has yet to return."

Meradoc looked at him innocently. "I do not know. Where did he say he was going?"

"My son said he went with two lads who were hiding behind the trees and had said that the lads had told him earlier that Frodo would leave him for a loon from Hobbiton." Saradoc looked over at his wife, who was deeply worried. He tried to smile comfortingly but failed miserably.

"Bilbo Baggins?"

"That would be my deduction. But, Bilbo would never send two lads to deliver this news. He could have Frodo in a heartbeat, and he knows that. He knows Frodo has admired him since they first met."

"So you are proposing he was kidnapped?" Meradoc asked incredulously. "It is merely a quarter past. Why jump to such rash conclusions?"

"Frodo has never been this late to any meal, especially when he missed one already." Saradoc picked up his cup of tea from the table and took a sip. "That is why I am concerned."

"Perhaps he is with that Dahlia Bywater, having too much fun for his own good."

"Frodo is naught but a gentlehobbit, and who should know it if not you? He lives with you, and he would never act differently. He was trained in the way he should go when he was young. He will not depart from the way his parents raised him to go." Saradoc could not believe how willing Meradoc was to make Frodo look badly. "I am going to go get the shiriffs."

"Wait, wait, Saradoc, always impulsive, you are. Give the lad some time. He’ll return soon enough." Meradoc did not know what was going on within Saradoc’s mind, but he was not one to worry. He always tried to look positively, and when one did not make things work out properly in a positive manner he would be easily anger. He did not stand for worry.

"Saradoc, maybe he is right," Esmeralda told her husband, laying a hand on her husband’s shoulder. Meradoc’s calm tone had placed a sense of experience behind him, soothing her worries slightly. "Give him until one. Then, call for the shiriffs."

"Alright, dear," he replied, allowing her to embrace him as he laid his head on her shoulder.

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

"We want nothing from you. We work for someone very close to you. He will be here soon." The hobbit pulled back a curtain, and Frodo, who lay on the ground where they had thrown him, propped up on his elbows, shielded his eyes. It was the only stream of light that had met his eyes since they had apprehended him.

"Whom do you work for?" Frodo asked as soon as the curtain had been placed back over the window. A yellow light followed his eyes wherever he looked. He shut them tightly to get rid of it.

"A person you are close to," the lad repeated.

"Why do you do this to yourself? You and your friend? This lad could be getting you into trouble. I’m the nephew of Meradoc Brandybuck and Saradoc and Esmeralda Brandybuck. Do you really think they will let you get away with this? You understand the one you work for can turn around and blame it all on you, say that he was only coming to visit, and you had taken me. He can act flabbergasted and pin it on you. Lads, you need to let me go. There is no way you will get away with this. He will put blame on you. Please, listen to me!" Frodo was desperate, but he stood up to be menacing. He was a foot taller than the timid one, but the other was even taller than him. "Listen to me!"

"Who do you think you are?" asked the taller lad.

"Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo Baggins, nephew of Meradoc and Saradoc Brandybuck, cousin of Bilbo Baggins, and nephew of the Thain. That is who I have always been and who I will remain."

"Yes, you are Master Baggins, then. Good. That means we have done our job. We will leave you now to await him." He turned. "Come along, Renegade."

"Renegade? Is that you?" Frodo asked, and the lad in question turned around. "We used to be such good friends. You always wanted to be around, and I enjoyed your company. Has so much changed in a year that you would now allow yourself to stoop this low?"

Renegade’s eyes fleeted to his companion and back to Frodo, but before he could speak the other answered, "Yes, Frodo Baggins. He has changed." Renegade looked helplessly at Frodo. "He met me and the one who has commanded that we do this."

Frodo chose to ignore the lad’s comments. "Renegade?"

"I-" he began but was dragged out by his companion.

The door was shut behind them, and as the room became blindingly dark, Frodo heard yelling. He sat down on the hard, sloping dirt floor. How long would it be before the one they spoke of came?

Frodo looked up as he heard the door open, hurrying to hide in the shadows. "Frodo Baggins?" called a deep voice angrily. "Show yourself."

"Come and find me," Frodo replied. He was not about to let himself be free to whatever the lad might try to do.

"If that is how you wish to play it, you will regret it, my friend," replied the lad.

Frodo heard his heavy footsteps fall – closer and closer. He backed further into the shadows and prepared to tackle. "I’m afraid you will," Frodo tackled down the lad, tacking on sarcastically, "my friend." He gritted his teeth as he punched. "What did you think you would accomplish?" Frodo asked as soon as the other was tired enoughfrom struggling to not be much of a threat. "Royal Brandybuck, what was it?" he asked as he tied the other’s hands with a scrap of rope around a pole, leaving Royal in the sitting position he was in.

Royal looked up. "You refuse to marry my sister. Do you have any idea how heartbroken she is? I have to hear her sobbing every night. "

Frodo opened the window, his eyes hurting from the darkness. "Could you not have spoken with me without abducting me? I thought I was doing her a favor, Royal. Isn’t it better for her to marry one who returns her love? She deserves that. I – I don’t love her, Royal. "

"Frodo, she loves you. She won’t listen to reason. I’ve never seen her care so much about one person that her happiness depends on it since mother and father died. Please, just do as you are asked, for her sake." Royal looked out the window.

"For her sake I am not marrying her. She would be unhappy in the marriage. There would be no guarantee I would ever love her, not if I am forced into it. Would you want that for her?" He sat against the wall across from Royal and leaned his head back.

"No, but I don’t want to see her like this."

"She will heal in time. She will find love, and she’ll be happy again. I know it’s natural to want to find someone to cling to that makes you feel safe and happy again after such a loss as you both have suffered recently, but you cannot let her confuse her feelings as love." Frodo stood. "I have to get back to Brandy Hall. If I untie you, do you promise not to attack me?"

"Yes," Royal muttered, not looking in his captive turned captor’s face.

Not wanting to be too trusting, Frodo opened the door wide enough for him to make a run for it if need be. Then, he returned and knelt down enough to reach the rope and untie it. The perpetrator rubbed his wrists, and Frodo made his way out, blocking his eyes from the sun. How was he going to explain his long absence now?

"Papa! Papa!" Frodo heard Merry shout as he ran off toward the inside of the smial. "Papa! Frodo’s back!"

Frodo cringed. He knew he might be in trouble, especially when from behind he felt a tapping on his shoulder and he turned to face his Uncle Meradoc. "Hullo," greeted Frodo with a voice like a hobbit child who has been caught with his hand in a jar of jam.

"Frodo, I hope you have a good explanation for this absence of yours. The shiriffs are looking for you. We now have to send some of the servants out to call them back in. Explain." He tapped his foot impatiently.

"I was kidnapped," Frodo answered bluntly, hoping his uncle would believe him.

"Kidnapped!" his Aunt Esmeralda shouted from the doorway. Aghast, she ran to hug him tightly. "By whom? Are you feeling all right? Come, come inside," she babbled as she led Frodo into the smial.

Frodo allowed himself to be ushered inside all the way to the dining area of the small smial kitchen, glad for his aunt’s intervention. At least now, perhaps his uncle would give him a chance to speak. "Royal Brandybuck had me kidnapped. It appears that his sister has taken the news of my loving Dahlia a bit too hard, and he overreacted by choosing to confront me in an authoritative manner. But he will hopefully not try that again, considering that I turned the situation around. His lads, you see, weren’t smart enough to bind my hands, for which I am thankful. And yes, Aunt," he added as Esmeralda joined them with a tray holding tea and small cakes, making sure to serve her nephew first, "I am feeling quite fine now that I am away from him and know who to look out for now. I’m just frustrated with myself for falling so easily into their trap. It will not happen again."

Saradoc, who had been standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall, sat down. "So, I wasn’t overreacting then. What I mean is I logically had concluded that with the information that Merry had given, considering that my son isn’t yet learned in reading emotion on one’s face, and this just confirms it."

Esmeralda placed a hand on her husband’s back and rubbed it gently.

"You have good instincts, then, Uncle," Frodo teased.

"Now don’t you tell me you’re still teasing me about the day I watched Merry and you for the first time alone. Now that was a nightmare."

"Oh?" Esmeralda asked, arching an eyebrow. "Is there something you forgot to tell me all those years ago, love?"

"Oh, it’s nothing, dearest." He smiled feigning innocence.

"If your definition of ‘nothing’ is leaving a toddler lad with full use of his legs unattended in a room who manages to find his way to the cellar!" Frodo announced, jumping out of his seat and running off, his uncle close in pursuit.