Author notes:
Thank you, Dreamflower for the beta.

Chapter One: Master's Darling

Year: 1384

Master’s darling!

Frodo picked up a stick and drove it through the scrub, ripping off leaves and causing dozens of little insects to flee. Moths and midges alike fluttered into the darkness while water striders hastened to find a quieter place for the night.

The thought alone was stupid! He wasn’t different from any of his other cousins, and most certainly he wasn’t Old Rory’s pampered fosterling. Nor did Saradoc or Esme coddle him in any way. How cousin Maseric ever got the impression was beyond him. Neither could he understand why everybody parroted the tween. He had become the laughing stock of Brandy Hall’s youngsters and though he strongly objected using his fists even if there was need, this new reputation stuck to him like bees to honey.

Frodo let out a shout of anger as he hit the bush repeatedly with his stick. He was seething. He had come up with a plan to silence the slander but Maseric had outwitted him. Frodo could not guess how the tween had known he would sneak to the riverbank after dinner and he didn’t even care anymore, not with his blood boiling and his eyes stinging with angry tears.

It was only when his arms ached that he stopped abusing the bush. Panting, trembling, and dizzy with exhaustion he stood in the darkness. Beads of sweat ran from his forehead and clung to his steaming skin. His reeling senses slowly tumbled into their place. He sighed heavily and with one last spirited movement cast the stick into the Brandywine’s dark waters and, closing his eyes, let his body stumble after it.

The water was pleasantly cool. It washed away anger and tiredness and after he had swum a few strokes Frodo turned on his back. Eyes gazing blindly into the star-clustered sky Frodo allowed the steady stream to carry his body with it.

It had not rained in weeks. Even night did not bring much relief from the sweltering heat which had drawn him to the river. He had also hoped that his sneaking out after dinner would annoy Saradoc enough to punish him. That, he had thought, would prove the rumours wrong. Unfortunately, while he had enjoyed his dip someone had sneaked up on him. Frodo had seen the shape in the last golden-red light of sunset as it gathered his clothes from under the bushes and hastened away. He had no doubt that Maseric was behind all this.

Confronting him, however, was out of the question. Saradoc’s anger was something he had expected and could cope with. His nudity was something altogether different. It was not the way home that bothered him. Darkness would cover him well enough. The Hall provided more of a problem. Folk did not seem to need much sleep in summer and many sat in cool parlours or gathered in the back garden for some drink and song until well after midnight. Had he had clothes he would have sneaked through the crowds unnoticed, but without and with Maseric probably spreading word of his predicament…

Frodo shuddered and dove.

He stayed at the riverbank until even the last thin line of light blue had vanished from the western horizon. Armed with a less than good excuse and with goose bumps on his still wet skin he made his way quickly from bush to tree. His heart beat fast and he was alert to every rustle in the leaves, every chirping cricket, and the voices he so feared to hear.

Had it not been his bare backside that waggled through the darkness he would have thought the situation comical. As matters were he could only hope that no one had noticed that this night, with its light breeze, downright invited couples to go for a walk. He shivered involuntarily and glanced at the sky willing the moon to remain behind the hills for another while.

Trees grew scarce the further east he went and the road, too, had come dangerously close on his forced route. He could already make out the lights of Brandy Hall; round, golden blots in the distance. They seemed unusually bright tonight – dangerously brilliant – and as Frodo rested his eyes on them, Buck Hill into the grinning visage of a goblin. A lantern flickered and to Frodo it seemed as if it beckoned to him.

‘Come thou who wanderest in darkness!’ it seemed to say and Frodo involuntarily pressed his body closer to the apple tree. The rough bark scratched his soft skin and Frodo sighed heavily feeling the helplessness of his situation. Worse than his nakedness was the vulnerability accompanying it.

If that wouldn’t make him the ridicule of Buckland for years to come! Stark-naked Baggins enjoying the midnight breeze! Master’s darling was a term of endearment compared to that. Oh, he had been trice the fool to go skinny-dipping at sunset in the first place. Saradoc would split his sides laughing if Frodo ever were to talk about tonight’s events. He was not yet desperate enough to give away the true reason for his quandary and so stick to the nickname he already had. There was still a slight chance he made it to his room – a very slight one, but nonetheless a chance. All he had to do was cross this dreadfully treeless field and become invisible. Though, thinking about it, becoming invisible first would probably be the better choice.

There was nothing for it. Mustering his courage Frodo scanned the dark scenery before he hesitatingly left the shelter of the tree. With long strides and on his tiptoes he hastened towards the growing lights of home and became more desperate by the minute. He would never make it into his room unseen.

“Oy, Frodo! Is that your shining white backside?”

Frodo, the firefly, his mind scoffed before he even had a chance to blush. Cheeks aflame, he stiffened. Panic contracted his insides. His eyes wildly darted to and fro searching for a tree, a bush, a leaf, anything. Finding nothing but his own hands to cover himself with Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and strained his ears. He did not dare to turn around for though he knew the voice for Merimac’s it would be too much to hope his cousin was alone. And, indeed, there were two pairs of feet advancing towards him.

“What happened to your clothes?”

“There was a dragon,” Frodo spluttered incoherently before he even knew what he was saying. “It spit fire and burned my clothes.”

Frodo’s skin prickled, warning him of the eyes that were upon him. He swallowed hard and made sure his hands really covered everything of importance while he kept his eyes stubbornly straight ahead, painfully aware of the flickering light of a lantern on his back.

“It must have been a very skilled dragon then not to scorch you,” Merimac announced as he slowly rounded him. He had a folded blanket under his left arm and was smirking broadly. Frodo’s blush deepened and he shifted uncomfortably when he heard Adamanta chuckle and chide her husband from behind his back.

“It was,” he agreed though his voice lost the vigour despair had lent to it. “Besides, it’s dark and you probably just don’t see any marks.”

“Don’t worry, she isn’t looking,” Merimac said casually as if reading his mind. His cousin’s face was barely visible since Frodo’s own form cast it in shadow. Yet he could see the grin that curled Merimac’s lips and the spark of curiosity in his eyes as he gaily wondered: “Was it huge and scary?”

“Yes!” Frodo found himself saying. “And loud and heavy.”

“And I didn’t hear it further down-river?”

“You didn’t?” Frodo was at a loss. His mind was reeling with the effort to find a suitable reply and in his despair he blurted out the first thing he could think of. “You must have been quite distracted then.”

Frodo did not need to see his cousin clearly to know about his indignation. “Mind your tongue, Frodo Baggins,” the older one scolded though Frodo was quite sure his cousin’s eyes rested on a spot behind him, and was that Adamanta giggling? “Or you can see yourself how you get into your chamber in this,” Merimac sniggered and made a vague movement with his hand, “rather pitiable state.”

That effectively silenced him. Frodo didn’t have much choice but to endure his cousin’s teasing, anyway. Better Merimac than Maseric. And tease his cousin did for though he seemed content about the lack of opposition he did do nothing to ease his plight but kept snickering. Frodo could all but see Merimac forming a richly detailed, entertaining story in his mind and was somehow convinced that he could not keep tonight a secret anymore. He shifted again and wondered whether he could dare to sneak a glance over his shoulder.

If Adamanta did as much as move her lantern closer…

“Tell me,” Merimac prompted and Frodo jumped, “what causes you to roam Buckland in naught but your skin?”

Frodo did not reply but kept his eyes on Merimac who unbuttoned his shirt deliberately slowly, waiting for the answer. “Tell me or I shall reconsider.”

“You’re blackmailing me!” Frodo called out in despair longing for a bit of the fabric Merimac so ornately covered his body with.

“Yes,” his cousin smirked, “and it’s quite delightful.”

“Don’t torment the boy so,” Adamanta called and Frodo couldn’t help but nod vigorous agreement.

“That’s not torment, dear. He would consider it torment if you handed the lantern over and would show us anything but your lovely back. Isn’t that so, lad?”

Frodo glared at his cousin feeling the anger from earlier this evening rise again.

“So, it was Maseric and his band, wasn’t it?” Merimac concluded oblivious of the danger he was currently in. “Don’t gape. I saw you today at the haying. You think I wouldn’t keep an eye on you? ‘Twas quite a scuffle.”

“I had to defend myself,” Frodo exclaimed.

“And you did so quite well, I must say. But, scallywag,” Merimac’s eyes bore into his and Frodo was struck by the sudden seriousness of his cousin’s expression, “you needn’t pick yourself older lads to wrestle with. Boys your age are a lot easier to handle, especially if you don’t antagonise an entire group.”

Frodo had no mind to quickly forgive Merimac his laugh and sulked. “I fought well.”

“Yes, and now you’re standing in front of me in the altogether. Quite a victory, wasn’t it?”

Frodo fumed at the laughter in his cousin’s voice, but managed to keep his temper. When his cousin finally slipped off his shirt and handed it over Frodo all but wrenched it from him. He had never been happier to find Merimac was so much taller than he, and never had he felt such relief because of a simple shirt whose stinging musk of pipeweed, sweat, and hay tickled his nose. As he slipped into it and hastily buttoned it up the troubles of the night departed and all tenseness, fear, and constant worry dripped from him like dirt washed away by a heavy shower.

“Let us handle this group of mischief-makers together, shall we?”

Frodo backed away immediately remembering the reason for his plight. “I can handle this alone. I am not…”

“… the Master’s darling?” Merimac asked. “Yes, I have heard about that too and it needs be dealt with. We’re going, Mantha,” he indicated to his wife and before Frodo knew it, his cousin had thrust the blanket into his right hand. Merimac, meanwhile, put his left on Frodo’s shoulder and offered his right arm to Adamanta who, to Frodo’s increasing embarrassment, was unsuccessfully fighting a grin.

“Maybe we should find a way to expose his backside to the public,” Merimac pondered and patted Frodo’s shoulder. “Of course, that would be your doing, secret background helper included, but Maseric mustn’t know about that. And, speaking of him,” Merimac chuckled again but sobered immediately when Frodo tried to evade his grip. “Should you decide to tell Sara about the loss of your clothes, don’t mention the dragon. His anger at Maseric will burn hotter if you mention him to begin with.”

Frodo sighed heavily. He did not like the idea of telling Saradoc, but at least he had a knee-long shirt now, and maybe his foster father would punish him just severely enough to silence the insinuation against him forever. Of course, that would not keep him from putting into action whatever plan Merimac had for Maseric’s backside. And as he walked next to his cousin and his wife he thought that his sunset dip might not have been in vain after all.

Chapter Two: Sweet Revenge

“… and when he went into the river I called for him. He was fuming when I took his clothes but even though I waited to give him at least a chance of catching me, he was too slow.”

A murmur went through the group of teens and tweens assembled around Maseric. One of the lads agreed that Frodo was ever so slow while others shook with silent laughter at the mere thought of Frodo chasing naked after Maseric.

“I kept myself hidden,” the tween went on after the excitement subsided, “and I watched him all the way home. He was crying like a baby and it was his luck, too, for it was one of the older women who found him. His face was all red and swollen when she led him to the Master’s office and…”

“I never saw him walk down the corridor,” Marmadoc pointed out, eyes sternly fixed on Maseric.

The crowd, some of which giggled while others had lowered their heads, embarrassed on Frodo’s behalf, glanced at him before returning their curious faces to Maseric.

The tween’s cheeks blushed and for a moment he hesitated, but quickly regained his composure. “So you’re one of them?”

“One of whom?” 19-year-old Marmadoc asked, not flinching under the older one’s stare.

“One of those who have been ordered to keep quiet. The Master tries to hush things up, of course, seeing that it is his darling Frodo who returned without any clothes. They wouldn’t want anybody to know that he brings shame to the name of Brandybuck.”

There was another murmur, though of fewer voices. Saradoc clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white to keep from leaping at Maseric and drag him to his office by the ear. If it were not for Merimac’s request and the determination in Frodo’s eyes he would have brought Maseric straight to his father. He might not be the Master yet, but he knew what he would do with a tween like Maseric. Find him work and let him labour until his hands were blistered and his feet were sore, so that he might learn to respect the Master of Buckland and his cousins, be their name Brandybuck, Baggins, Took, or Boffin.

It was true, Frodo struggled to find his place in Brandy Hall and there had been a fight more than once but Saradoc had not thought the teasing went that far. Even Merimac, who kept an eye on his fosterling during the haying, agreed that the tension between Frodo and Maseric had grown worse in the last couple of weeks. However, Saradoc had only learned about Frodo’s nickname the night before when Frodo had stood before him shamefaced, clad only in Merimac’s shirt. Saradoc had been about to demand that Maseric be brought to him but Merimac had stopped him, as had the terror in Frodo’s eyes. Unwillingly, he had agreed to let the two of them handle the situation alone, trusting Merimac, who loved Frodo as dearly as he did, not to let the boy down.

“You’re disgusting!” Saradoc heard Marmadoc say and a moment later his cousin rounded the corner, stopped short to stare at him in amazement and then smiled at Saradoc’s approving nod. At least not all the children took sides with Maseric.

~*~*~

“Tell me again, why can’t I help him?” Saradoc asked as he gazed languidly across the paddock where mares grazed side by side with their offspring. The fillies, though sprightly and more energetic than their mothers, never strayed too far from their side even while in play among themselves.

“You’re his foster father,” Merimac told him, back against the fence and eyes half closed because of the bright sunlight. “I’m only his cousin. You did enough by keeping quiet about his returning with no clothes. He and I will see to the rest.”

“I wish I could be after him myself. Master’s darling! What is he thinking?”

Merimac sneaked a short glance at his brother and smiled to himself. Saradoc’s anger had burned even hotter than he had thought, though he too had not been able to keep from snickering when Frodo first recounted his tale to him. “If you had gone after Maseric directly it would only have confirmed his accusation. No,” he shook his head. “Maseric needs to taste some of his own medicine, and Frodo shall be the one giving it to him. That will clear him of his reputation better than any punishment would.”

“I doubt that.”

“Why shouldn’t it work?” Merimac asked. “Frodo will silence the one who started it all. Maseric might have brawn but Frodo has wits; and my help.”

“I…”

Merimac turned and bore his eyes into his brother’s. “Don’t start that all over again. No, father needn’t know, not yet anyway. The boys have to settle that on their own. Meddlesome adults will only make matters worse.”

Saradoc raised an eyebrow. “Then, what are you, brother-mine?”

“A cousin,” Merimac smirked. “Just a cousin with a head full of mischief.”

Saradoc smiled but his expression was worried. “Try not to be too much of an example to him, will you? Keep in mind that it is I who has to deal with it if he ends up in trouble.”

~*~*~

“It won’t work,” Frodo whispered. He had made his way to Merimac and was now standing back to back with him looking anxiously this way and that so as not to arouse suspicion, Merimac assumed.

“It will,” he assured him while turning another fork of hay. “Trust an expert.”

The sun was burning bright from a crystal blue sky. Merimac had arranged for the haying to start at dawn and last till lunchtime so that no one ran the risk of a heat stroke in the afternoon. It meant working harder and faster but as far as Merimac could tell no one minded. He knew his lads, and he remembered well his own childhood, and understood that an afternoon off would work wonders on the boys – even if it was the weather that forced him to give them leave and not his own goodwill.

“He’ll see me.”

“He won’t.” Merimac stopped in his labour and blew upwards on his sweaty face. It didn’t cool him in the least. Sweat clung steaming to every inch of his skin. He and most of the other workers had abandoned their shirts and every face he looked at spoke of weariness and exhaustion. He wiped his brow and took a sip from his water skin which hung by the pony cart. As he did so he watched Maseric. The boy teased his cousin about the clothes-robbery whenever he laid eyes on him and Merimac hoped that lunchtime would soon arrive. Much to Frodo’s dismay Merimac had slapped the back of Maseric’s head once in passing when the boy uttered another accusation but that, Merimac thought, proved nothing. The children were, after all, under his wing.

He shook his head while pouring a little of the warm water into his hand and rubbing it onto his nape. “Look at him!” he nodded his head as he passed Frodo. “He’s bragging so much, he doesn’t even pay attention. Besides, I don’t think he believes you would strike back,” Merimac smiled and winked at him. “Just keep your temper a little longer no matter how much he provokes you.”

Frodo grumbled something under his breath and Merimac chuckled as he pulled the rim of his straw hat deeper into his eyes, took a strong breath of the scented hay around him, and listened to the chirping of grasshoppers.

When his arms started to ache, Merimac shielded his eyes against the sun and glanced into the sky. It was almost noon. He turned to find Frodo sitting at the rim of a full cart of hay, sipping from his water skin. The boy caught his glance at once and at Merimac’s nod a mischievous grin spread on his face and he hopped down.

No one noticed that Frodo’s eyes henceforth rested on the ground and that every now and then he would kneel down and with quick, calculated movements thrust his hands forward only to shake his head in disappointment. Those who did notice didn’t pay him much attention. Everyone was impatiently awaiting his call for today’s work to be finished.

Merimac shoved another forkful of hay onto the third cart and leant against its edge for a moment with his eyes closed. This heat was unbearable.

“Mac.”

It wasn’t more than a whisper but Merimac jumped nonetheless to find Frodo walking past him, his face triumphant and his hands closed to conceal a mysterious object. Merimac smirked and inconspicuously followed his cousin. The children had gathered around the carts where the last bits of hay were now loaded. Maseric was among them, oblivious of Frodo who strolled towards him with a barely concealed grin. Some of the boys looked up in expectation of another fight for a meeting of these two usually ended with just that. No one dared to interfere, though. The air seemed to tingle with anticipation while Maseric for the hundredth time boasted about how he had outwitted the Master’s darling and how the Nude, as Frodo was now called, had made his way back home with nothing to cover himself with.

Merimac felt his own heartbeat quicken and held his breath. His grip around his hayfork tightened even though he had no doubt that Frodo would stick to their plan. The boy was too keen on proving Maseric wrong – and if that involved a bit of embarrassment for the latter it was all the better.

That was it! Frodo had dropped the poor beast into Maseric’s comparatively loose trouser, only held by his braces and not by a shirt or a well-stuffed stomach.

“What is this, Baggins?” The tween wheeled round but since he did not have a collar to grab him by Frodo evaded his grip with one swift movement looking perfectly innocent.

“I’m working here,” Frodo told him unconcernedly. “If that doesn’t please you ask the Master to put me somewhere else. Since I am his darling he will surely find a better place for me.”

Several of the assembled boys giggled at that bold counter strike. Under normal circumstances Maseric would have lashed out at Frodo at once punching the glow of pride out of his cousin and silencing further remarks but today matters were far different.

Merimac smirked and called. “Do you have fleas in your breeches, Maseric?”

The tween fidgeted nervously. He stared at Frodo with a mixture of unease and anger, but Frodo only shrugged and grinned.

“You know, having a wash time and time again should prevent that,” Merimac went on in a voice loud enough to make sure everybody was listening and, more importantly, watching.

The boy quickly forgot Frodo and didn’t even take much notice of Merimac. He was jumping about nervously, clutching a different bit of his lower parts every few seconds. Merimac snickered. “I’m quite sure it won’t fall off.” He bit down a chuckle. “Though, thinking about it, it might.”

If the crowd – and there was a considerable number of Hall boys and stable hands clustered around them – was shaking with silent laughter before, a sound like the rippling of water dabbled through them now. Frodo, too, was giggling enjoying every clueless sound that escaped Maseric’s lips. The tween was fumbling his trousers frantically now and Merimac hoped the poor grasshopper would stay captured long enough for Maseric to grow desperate.

It did. Maseric slipped off his braces to the shrieks and howling laughter of the boys, his fingers not working fast enough to unbutton his breeches. Merimac bit his lip hard to keep a straight face. “Maseric! Will you show a sense of decency! No, really,” and he couldn’t help laughing out loud here, “that definitely belongs hidden. Couldn’t you wait until after we’ve had lunch?”

Panting and sweating, Maseric stumbled out of his breeches and crawled on all fours from the brown heap they made on the freshly mowed grass. His face was pale with fright and his eyes were wide as saucers. Children and adults were by now gasping with laughter, some clutching their bellies, others pointing and wiping the tears from their eyes.

“A grasshopper!” young Minto Puddifoot called out. All eyes followed his finger and within seconds a hubbub of voices filled the air.

“Beware, the deadly hopper!”

“The grasshopper of doom!”

And, of course, there were all kinds of nicknames somehow involving cowardice, nudity, and Maseric’s bare backside. Maseric, in the shower of hilarity, hastened to retrieve his trousers while Frodo glowed with the pride of a restored reputation. It was Marmadoc who first clapped the boy on the back and many soon followed his example.

Merimac smiled to himself and winked at his cousin when he caught the insecure look in the lad’s eyes. That was a well-deserved victory, and a look at Maseric told him that it was also a lesson learned. The tween, whose face glowed red with embarrassment, hung his head in shame and though he did sneak a spiteful glance at Frodo Merimac was sure that he would think twice before challenging his cousin again.

“Pack up, lads!” Merimac called contentedly. “All that commotion has got me hungry.”

The children cheered and as Merimac grabbed the head-collar of one of the ponies Marmadas came to his side and shook his head. “Did you have a finger in the pie?”

“Of course,” Merimac told him with a grin, “but don’t tell anybody.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

While his friend hastened to lead another pony Merimac padded his gelding’s neck and smiled to himself. Today everything was looking really bright. Now he only had to worry about Frodo and the ideas the boy might come up with soon.

~THE END~