Posse

“So, Frodo, I hope you will enjoy being in Hobbiton. And at Bag End.”

Frodo kept quiet, eyes transfixed on the hand of his much older cousin, Bilbo Baggins, steadfastly holding his tea cup with only his thumb and forefinger, while the small finger pointed up to the ceiling.

Frodo had learned etiquette from his Aunt Esmeralda Brandybuck when he stayed at Brandy Hall, including how to behave at the dining table and all the dos and don’ts. But never had the lad seen such a thing – the way Bilbo was holding his cup of tea. Was it the right way? Could Frodo’s small fingers hold the cup for such a long time – and such a hot cup, too!

“Frodo? Are you following me?” Bilbo’s voice showed a bit of annoyance at the boy’s obvious lack of attention.

Oh. Frodo gulped. Lost in his own thoughts he had not realized that those fingers were no longer clutching the cup and it was up above the table no more. Without realizing it, Frodo’s eyes sought Bilbo’s hand, and there it was! – slowly rubbing Bilbo’s chin. Then Frodo heard a throat being cleared and his eyes flew to his cousin’s impatient stare.

“Oh. Oh, I would surely do that.” Frodo’s eyes turned to nervous slits but he still managed to smile reassuringly.

Bilbo’s brow furrowed as he sighed. “Do what, Frodo?” The elderly yet still agile hobbit rose from his chair and seated himself next to Frodo. Bilbo sneaked an arm around his tween relative’s shoulders and hugged them warmly. “I was talking about giving your pony some fresh hay, which is certainly not your job!”

Frodo blushed.

“Ah, never mind, lad.” Bilbo shook him affectionately. “What I mean is, don’t ever feel afraid to go around the neighborhood, Frodo. Make friends, and I mean, really dawdle with the youngsters here, laddie. I might be too old to spend a lot of time with you, but I do not want you to be out-of-the-way…like you were in Buckland.”

Bilbo tipped up Frodo’s chin, challenging the bright blues that, as he had assumed, hid fear. “All right, boy?” He smiled broadly. “Come on, now. Hobbiton lads are fine companions and the lasses too!”

For days Frodo had been eyeing those hobbit lads who looked so self-assured, even among the adults. They always walked with their chin up, revealing healthy, tanned features against the sun. People either looked at them with distinct unease or simply got out of their way. Frodo watched it all with high regard. It must feel incredible to have people afraid of you, he thought. No one would ever take you for granted. No one would ever think you did not even exist.

And Frodo trusted Bilbo, believing his words that Hobbiton lads are fine. As for the lasses, Frodo could not care less. The decision had been made: he would go to the lads and ask if he could join them.

x x x

“Frodo Baggins?” Lotho spoke the name as if it belonged to the gutter, forgetting that he himself was a Baggins. “Oh, you’re one of them Brandybuck brats? Your mother is a Brandybuck, is she? Who also has the Took’s pale blood?” Those were quite a lot of questions and Frodo felt his eyes stinging.

“Was,” the orphan stated softly, his voice indiscernible.

Lotho seemed stunned with sympathy for a moment, making Frodo feel like crying. But that was before his crooked mouth let out its next tart comments.

“Was? Yes of course! That one – with a similarly mad husband – who decided to go boating in the middle of the night.” Lotho’s sneer was mindlessly mimicked by his two companions before the Sackville- Baggins’ eyes suddenly turned cold. “Now, what do you want?” He poked hard at Frodo’s chest. “Bolt! Skedaddle!”

Frodo shrank back but he did not run off. He had already settled his heart – he wanted to be part of them, part of these lads. He did not want to be alone anymore.

“I – I want to join you,” he stammered. “Will you… will you allow me to play with you?”

Roars of laughter welcomed Frodo’s squeaking voice.

“Play?” Another of the three – Frodo knew his name, Matta, – piped in. He ruffled Frodo’s curls. “Ahhh, how quaint.”

Nibs, the other lad laughed in his face. ”You think we’re girls, sweetie, who love to play with dolls?”

“Hey, I’ve an idea,” Lotho opened his shrill mouth again. “You said you wanted to join us, right?”

Frodo nodded frantically.

“Well, good,” Lotho smiled satisfactorily. “Now, you certainly can join…”

What? Matta and Nibs exchanged glances, definitely feeling a little bewildered at their leader’s words. Lotho simply ignored them.

“… as long as you’re willing to do what we ask. You have to be initiated, you know, to join this elite group. No one gets in without proving themselves.”

Nibs and Matta smiled at each other. This was going to be fun.

Yes! Frodo’s heart leapt up with hope. “Anything. Anything at all, Lotho,” he replied excitedly. Now he would belong, have friends, and Bilbo would be so proud of him.

“Good,” repeated the older hobbit lad, grinning knowingly at his companions. “Then let’s go somewhere.”

For all his excitement, Frodo began to feel uneasy as Lotho and his friends kept walking and walking away from the village. It seemed they would never reach their destination when Lotho suddenly halted. Before him, lingering flows of water within a small stream welcomed the four lads. Frodo huffed, trying hard to contain his panting breaths. It was not an easy task to follow the other lads’ wide steps.

“Look carefully, Frodo,” Lotho grinned as he waved in the direction of the stream. “This is the Water. It’s not deep – and far from your Brandywine River.”

“What do you mean?” Frodo felt uneasy and his skin crawled.

Lotho sneered again and for the first time Frodo regretted his decision to follow this older lad and his silent friends. Perhaps he should have stayed home, exploring the books his cousin, Bilbo, had offered him. Perhaps he had been foolish to trust these hobbits, whom he did not know that well. But it was Bilbo’s wish that he have friends his own age. Frodo shook his dark thoughts – Bilbo only wanted the best for him.

“It’s far from the Brandywine so you won’t scurry away with fear if we ask you to swim here, will you?”

“What?” Frodo blanched at the reminder of his parents’ accident. Moreover, this was the middle of fall. It did not matter if the time was noon or night, the water would be freezing. But to Frodo’s dismay, Lotho came forward and poked at his chest again.

“You want to do it or not?” Lotho asked threateningly. “It’s all right if you don’t but we’ll make sure everyone in Hobbiton hears about the Brandybuck coward in our midst. Before tea even, Frodo Baggins, the whole village’ll be laughing their sides off.”

Frodo’s heart sank. He was trapped. He had to do this or Bilbo would suffer humiliation, maybe even be laughed at himself and shamed in his own village. And all of it caused by his – supposedly – beloved cousin. There had been enough rumors already concerning the Mad Baggins without Frodo needing to add more fuel to that fire. Frodo stared into the icy water. Bilbo might even send him back to Brandy Hall in disgrace. And that was not to be borne.

“I – I will do it,” said Frodo weakly as his hands fumbled with the buttons of his weskit. “I will.”

Lotho and the other two smirked at each other.

“All of them,” bid Nibs.

“All of them what?” Frodo scowled, feeling annoyed.

“All of your clothes, idiot. Take them off. And your undergarments too.”

Frodo could not believe what he was hearing. Did these three want to harm him?

“Quickly!” barked Lotho. “And don’t look so surprised. You’re just one of many silly lads who want to be our friend. They had to do the same, so don’t flatter yourself. Those who would not are branded cowards. No one talks to them and their whole families live in shame.”

Trembling, Frodo began to divest himself of his weskit, white shirt, breeches, and his underclothes, as ordered. He dropped his chin deeply into his chest, not daring to face the thrilled hobbits grinning before him, too humiliated even to imagine how he must look standing naked in their presence. His hands tightly covered his exposed groin and backside, while he was also shivering from the taunting breeze.

“Hands to your sides!” Lotho shouted the order.

Frodo looked up instinctively. Lotho’s companions were staring at him unabashedly and Lotho himself was smiling sickly, a small dribble of saliva dripping down his chin.

Frodo had never felt so ashamed before but he did as Lotho commanded and stood before them, tears of shame blurring his vision. Suddenly he felt fingers circling around his upper arms, manhandling and bringing him to the side of the small stream. He wanted to scream and break away but was too aware of his naked state to fight.

“Uhh…” Frodo whimpered.

“Quiet,” warned Lotho, running his hand slowly along Frodo’s hip. “And now for a dip!” With that, the hands let him go and then he felt someone smack his backside as they shoved him hard amid peals of laughter.

The Baggins let out a surprised yelp before the water drowned his voice into choking and sputtering. Frodo was clearly in distress as he desperately pounded on the surface of the water. Eventually he calmed down and, his head above the surface, looked up warily at the hobbits standing on the shore.

“What are you waiting for?” Lotho shouted, followed by a mocking laugh from Matta and Nibs. “Swim across the river and don’t stop until I say so!”

Frodo could not count how many times he had swum back and forth, how long he had been in the water. He could hardly feel his limbs anymore and the water had gotten colder and colder. Every stroke of his arms was a mere thoughtless motion now, for Frodo still wanted Lotho and his buddies to be impressed. To want him for their friend.

But part of his rational mind broke through the cold and humiliation. Did he still want to be their friend? Frodo knew he had wanted it – had he not? He did not want to feel alone and abandoned like at Brandy Hall.

Did he? Or – did he even care if he was alone or not? He had always had books and maps to read and study – and he knew Bilbo had loads of them. He could always go to places he had never been before and dream of meeting fairy tale princes and princesses or seeing the elves! Frodo had always wished to catch sight of those ethereal and beautiful creatures.

No. He never thought of having friends his own age. Even at Brandy Hall, being with Merry was enough. Even at Bag End, he would never be happier than to be with Bilbo.

Frodo choked on some water, hearing the almost continuous laughter from the shore. Certainly…certainly he did not need any more companions, especially those who laughed at him now. His mind wandered, slowed by the cold. What was he thinking? Oh, yes…he did not need ruthless, cruel folk like Lotho, Matta, and Nibs. Frodo had done this only for Bilbo but…what was it? He couldn’t remember…so cold…yes…Bilbo. He would talk…talk with Bilbo. Bilbo wouldn’t want him to…what was it again?

A part of Frodo’s brain whispered to him to stop. His limbs and wrinkled skin cried out to him to give it up. But Frodo’s consciousness was too far gone. As his mind wandered off, Frodo did not realize that his body had started to lag and soon his arms moved of their own accord. The hobbit was not aware of his surroundings anymore and could not care less for the water that flowed over him. Frodo did not know when his body began to feel heavy and slowly pull him down, down to the riverbed.

Only goodness knew what was inside Lotho’s or his companions’ heart. But the lads were panicked seeing Frodo slow down and then disappear under the water. At first they only laughed it off, thinking that Frodo might be faking it and only looking for their mercy. But then when the newcomer failed to surface, they began to feel real alarm. They might be wicked but they were not murderers. Never in their right mind would a hobbit ever cause someone’s end. Besides, Lotho thought grimly, they would be in trouble like the world had never seen if Frodo was killed by their prank.

So, taking off their clothes, the three dashed into the water and quickly grabbed their poor victim. They had never felt so relieved to find Frodo still breathing. Carefully they dragged him out of the water, dried him as much as they could, put his clothes back on, and half-carried him back to Bag End.

The smial looked empty and quiet, and for that, Lotho felt thankful. He did not want to explain to Bilbo what had happened, what they had done to the younger hobbit. The astute Master of Bag End would easily see through any lies they could hope to concoct.

Leaving an unconscious Frodo propped up against the closed door, Lotho just wanted to be away from there and fast. He hoped somebody would find the younger hobbit soon, however; Frodo did not look good.

x x x

“Mama, I’m cold.”

“Ssh, Frodo, be calm. Your mama is here. Come. I’ll wrap you in this blanket.”

But he kept feeling cold. His teeth were chattering. He could not stand it anymore. Could not.

“Mama…” Frodo did not realize tears were trickling down his cheeks. This coldness hurt him. He felt sore all over.

“Frodo, stay with me. I’ve got you, son.”

“No. I feel very cold. I can’t – stand it.”

“Come on, Frodo. You are safe. Open your eyes. There’s a good boy.”

x x x

When he finally opened his eyes, it was not his mother holding him. It was Bilbo, with tears on his face and profound fear in those aged eyes. Frodo sniffed softly and curled tighter on his older cousin’s lap.

“Uncle Bilbo, please,” he pleaded quietly. “Don’t make me find friends again. I have you with me and that’s all that matters.”

Bilbo had seen Lotho and his friends slinking away from his smial with evil, worried looks on their faces. Knowing this bad lot, it didn’t take much to figure out what had happened to his poor, shivering ward.

“I won’t, lad. I won’t.” Bilbo wept even more, tightening his embrace around his beloved cousin. “Not ever again.”

Fin