Clearing the Heir, Part 2

This story continues the story presented in Chapters 1 to 4 of Clearing the Heir.

S.R. 1388, Yuletide

Brief synopsis of Part 1:

Just before Yule, Otho, Lotho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins pay a call to Bag End, armed with papers for Bilbo to sign to officially declare Otho his heir. Lobelia’s intention to stop over at Bag End and take inventory of the smial’s contents over Yuletide is interrupted by the arrival of an urgent message: Paladin Took, travelling through Bywater on his way with his family to Brandy Hall for Yule, has collapsed with a high fever. Would Bilbo, as a bachelor with no young children or other family who’d be put in danger, be willing to offer Paladin and his little family shelter until the good farmer was well enough to travel? (Assuming he did not die of the fever, that is.)

Of course Bilbo generously opens his home to his Tookish cousin’s family and finds himself minding three young lasses whilst Eglantine nurses her husband in Bilbo’s best guest room.

Best of all, Lobelia changes her mind about spending Yule at Bag End in the presence of a potentially deadly fever. She departs, taking Otho and Lotho with her but promising to return soon.

With Eglantine’s diligent care, the local healer’s efforts and Bilbo’s help, Paladin manages to fight off the fever. His recovery is both good and bad news, for Bilbo is quite sure that Lobelia will doubtless descend once again upon Bag End when the Tooks depart, whether they return to Whitwell or go on to Brandy Hall which was their intended destination before the fever struck.

From Chapter the Fourth: In which Bilbo discovers that Young Hobbits are to be Heard as well as Seen, has a Serious Discussion, and finds a Solution to a Problem.

They took tea all together, around the bed where Paladin sat propped up, and a merry occasion it was indeed. Of course, afterwards, Paladin was ready to sleep again, and after a time of story-telling, followed by a light supper, it was time to tuck the little ones into their bed once more. This time Eglantine was happy to do the honours, while Bilbo sat with his recovering cousin. 

‘I cannot thank you enough for taking us in,’ Paladin said. ‘I don’t know what we would have done if...’ 

‘I cautioned your wife about borrowing trouble, earlier,’ Bilbo said. ‘I might say the same to you.’ 

‘How can I ever repay you?’ the farmer persisted. 

‘We can talk about that later,’ Bilbo said. ‘Now tell me what you were doing, driving to Buckland while seriously ill?’ 

‘I didn’t think it was all that serious,’ Paladin said. ‘I cannot remember the last time I was ill. O aye, I had a headache, like as if one of the ponies had kicked me unawares, but... that was no reason... We always spend Yule at Brandy Hall, always. I promised my sister Ally we would, back when she was due to marry and be taken away to the Wilds of Buckland, away from her home and all her kin and all she loved, save that Brandybuck who’d stolen her heart away. She was in tears, I’ll tell you, the day before the wedding. “I cannot, Dinny, I cannot,” she sobbed. “Then don’t,” I says, for I’m a practical hobbit if naught else. “But I cannot live, not if it’s without him,” she says, and what am I to say to that? Either way, I’m to lose my sister!’ 

‘So what did you do?’ Bilbo asked. 

‘I promised her, I’d visit faithfully every Yuletide and spend a month in the bargain,’ Paladin said. ‘There’s naught to be done on the farm, that time of year. Harvest’s in, and planting’s yet to start, and if I work at it I can have all the harness repaired and the plough oiled and ready to go on my return.’ 

‘And so you bring a little bit of Tookland with you when you come,’ Bilbo said. He thought of the musical lilt of the Tooks he’d heard in Esmeralda Brandybuck’s voice, and how it grew broader and deeper in the company of her brother, during those Yuletides he’d spent at Brandy Hall. It was true, every time he visited Buckland at Yuletide, Paladin was there with his family. He’d kept his promise. 

‘Aye, a little bit o’ Tookland,’ Paladin said. ‘I’ve never missed a year since her wedding, not one.’ His eyes grew sorrowful as he thought of his promise, to be broken for the first time. 

‘You might not have to miss this year,’ Bilbo said, patting his hand. 

‘Ah, well,’ Paladin said, straightening, and deliberately changed the subject. ‘So, Eglantine told me you had visitors when we arrived.’ 

Bilbo laughed. ‘The Sackville-Bagginses,’ he affirmed. ‘So you see, you’ve already done me a great service, frightening them away with your threat of fever!’ 

Paladin chuckled. ‘The Talk is,’ he said, ‘that Lobelia thinks to be claiming Bag End one of these years, rather sooner than later if she has her way. I’ve even heard Talk that she intends to move in to succour you in your declining years. Did she bring a measuring stick with her, to work out where to put all her furniture?’ 

‘She doesn’t know that I’m planning to rival the Old Took,’ Bilbo said in a conspiratorial tone. ‘Don’t let’s tell her; we’ll let it be a surprise.’ 

Paladin grinned, but the grin faded. ‘Well I know what it is, not to have an heir,’ he said. ‘We’ve tried for years, my love and I, and all but given it up.’ 

‘All but?’ Bilbo said. 

Paladin shook his head. ‘The last one gave her such trouble,’ he said, ‘the healer warned us off having any more. I don’t know who’ll inherit the farm... perhaps I ought to just let Lalia have it. I’ve managed to scrape together enough each year to pay on our debt, but it’s a hard row to hoe. Fortinbras was always fair, but Lalia...’ 

‘Have you talked to Ferumbras?’ Bilbo asked delicately. 

Paladin snorted. ‘That one don’t wipe his...’ he changed, mid-phrase, but Bilbo hid a grin, knowing what he’d avoided saying, ‘...his nose without her permission.’ 

‘I didn’t say I don’t have an heir,’ Bilbo said, for an idea had been growing in his mind at the thought of Buckland. Frodo Baggins. He’s already a Baggins, as it were. How much trouble would it be...?

‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘not to change the subject, but I was thinking of going to Brandy Hall myself for Yule this year. Why, Yuletide has barely begun. If we wrapped you up well and laid you in the back of the waggon with a lantern under the blankets to keep you warm, we could leave first thing! I could drive straight through, and we could be to Brandy Hall before they light the Yule Log...’

*** 

Chapter the Fifth. In which Bilbo practises the Social Niceties with a little Guidance from a Young Hobbit

All of the hobbits sheltering within Bag End’s generous confines went to bed early that night, even that old bachelor Bilbo, who typically kept bachelor’s hours – meaning he didn’t bother to keep to much of a schedule. The hobbits who “did” for him, such as Hamfast Gamgee and Mrs Goodbody, had learnt to work around him or to go ahead with their work in his absence, for the old hobbit was as likely to go off on a whim without a word to anyone as he was to stay up deep into the night watching the stars or writing or reading or drawing his latest map.

Hamfast consulted with Mr Bilbo as needed, but as the old hobbit always agreed with his gardener’s suggestions, it was merely courtesy on Master Gamgee’s part. As for Mrs Goodbody, if the door to Bilbo’s bedroom was closed when she arrived, she knew to turn her attentions to the kitchen and more public parts of the smial, such as scrubbing the stones of the entryway, polishing the brass in the parlour, dusting everything and everywhere save the old Baggins’s study, where she wasn’t welcome even to set foot. Oh, Mr Bilbo had been pleasant enough about it, but he’d also been firm. Since he paid promptly and well, she wasn’t going to go against his plainly stated wishes!

...And if all the bedroom doors were left wide open, and the Sun was shining bright, and the old hobbit was nowhere to be found (or the study door was firmly closed) when she arrived, she knew she had the old hobbit’s leave to throw open the windows (weather permitting), roll up the rugs and have her sons carry them out and beat them well, then wash the windows and floors and wax the furniture while she washed and dried and ironed the curtains and bedding and clothes in the hampers. After one of these day-long efforts, the bedrooms would be fresh and clean and ready and welcoming. The old hobbit was fond of guests, after all.

Mrs. Goodbody might neglect her own home on one of those days, but the payment she received more than made up for it. On such days, Mr Bilbo even paid in advance! ...so she could send her youngest down to the Ivy Bush to fetch a meal for all the workers. Accompanied by the homely sound of laundry flapping on the lines, they’d picnic in the Old Orchard before launching into putting the smial back together after taking it apart to clean and scrub and polish.

In any event, everyone – meaning Bilbo and his unexpected guests – went to bed at about the same time as tiny Pervinca, the youngest of the visiting Tooks. As a result, the next morning’s wakening was much pleasanter for all concerned. Little Vinca wakened first, as young ones often do.

The owner of Bag End lay in his bed a few extra moments listening to the littlest lass, whose voice this morning resembled the chirping of a tiny bird. Bilbo considered it a great improvement over the distraught screams and wails of the previous morning. ‘Ma-ma-ma! Da-da-da! Ma-ma-ma! Goo’ mo’ning!’

To be answered by Eglantine’s cooing, ‘Morning-morning, lovie! Hush, now! Don’t waken Cousin Bilbo!’

Bilbo raised his voice as he got up from his bed and slipped on his clothes. ‘No need to worry! I was already awake!’ It was the polite answer even if it was not the most truthful one.

Emerging into the hallway, he encountered Paladin, holding little Vinca in his arms, a broad smile on his face. It was hardly necessary to enquire as to his health, but Bilbo did anyhow, of course. 

‘I’m feeling fine!’

‘I’m glad!’ Bilbo said, and meant it, but added, ‘But you’re not to overdo, young fellow! We don’t want you to bring on a return of the fever!’

‘All’s well that ends better!’ Paladin said stoutly, bouncing little Vinca in his arms until she squealed with delight. ‘The way I’m feeling, that fever’s about as likely to return as the King is.’ 

‘Please, dearie,’ Eglantine said as she emerged from the guest room and rested a pleading hand on her husband’s arm. She leaned closer and whispered so as not to alarm the children, though Bilbo read the words on her lips, ‘You were so very ill... I was so frightened...’

‘Not at all,’ Paladin said, though perhaps the words were meant for little Vinca, for he gently pinched her cheek as he said them.

‘And if you’ll allow me, Bilbo dear,’ Eglantine said, turning to their host and pasting on a bright smile, ‘I’d like to stir up for you a breakfast fit for the haying!’

‘I’d like nothing better,’ Bilbo answered with a bow, knowing the sense of obligation the Tooks were feeling and wishing he could think of a better way to ease their minds and hearts. He then reached and chucked Vinca under the chin. ‘I’d be much obliged, in fact, seeing how this one had to set me straight on eggses and ham just yesterday morning!’ 

Dropping his voice to a conspiratorial tone and raising his hand to his mouth as if telling a tremendous secret, he added, ‘Did you know that neither of them should be green? Eggses are brown or white, and ham should be pink! Why, if my chief assistant cook had not stopped me, I might have fried up some winter cabbage leaves instead of the ham I was intending!’

The chief assistant cook chortled in glee. 

Small Pimpernel wrinkled her nose at the memory of old Bilbo picking up a cabbage from the kitchen table as he’d bumbled his way through breakfast-making. She’d been quite relieved when Vinca had objected to adding cabbage leaves to the sizzling butter in the frypan and had taken it upon herself (despite Vinca’s having been named chief assistant cook) to inform Bilbo that cabbage leaves were not edible but had altogether another purpose.

Meanwhile, to Bilbo’s secret satisfaction, Paladin and Eglantine seemed to relax, at least a little, at their host’s free and easy attitude.

Probably thought the children would be a nuisance and a bother to an old bachelor like me, he thought to himself. ‘But really, they liven up the old smial in the nicest way!’

‘What’s that?’ Paladin said, startled, and only then did Bilbo realise he’d spoken the latter part of his thought aloud.

‘The children!’ he said. ‘I don’t know when I’ve had such a diverting time! Why, I never realised before the loneliness of the bachelor life. He looked around the faces of the young hobbits gathered there. ‘D’you suppose I might be able to find one of my own somewhere or other?’

‘You should look under a cabbage leaf!’ Pimpernel said. ‘Instead of trying to cook them, I mean.’

‘Nell!’ Eglantine said with a pretty blush, while Paladin ducked his head and chucked little Vinca under the chin. ‘But this isn’t getting breakfast on the table!’ she said quickly to change the subject, and to her plainly-spoken daughter, she added, ‘Come, Nell! I’ll need a helper in the kitchen whilst Pearl is packing up all your baggage again...’

‘There’s a rocking chair by the fire in the kitchen,’ Bilbo said to Paladin, putting a hand to the farmer’s arm to subtly steer him in the right direction. ‘I’m sure my chief assistant cook will enjoy your help with getting the chair to rock properly whilst she directs the kitchen activities.’ To his eyes, the farmer was not standing as straight as he had when he’d declared himself fully recovered. Sitting by the warm hearth and keeping little Vinca occupied should be a properly quiet and restful occupation for the fellow.

‘In the meantime,’ Bilbo said, guiding Paladin in the direction of the kitchen and then releasing him, ‘I’ll just throw a few things into a pack so I’m all ready to go with you once breakfast is done.’

‘O’ course,’ Paladin said, sounding a little dazed. Yes, Bilbo thought, the fellow would need to rest frequently over the next day or three if he wanted to recover thoroughly from that violent fever.

By the time he finished packing the necessities, including a goodly number of pocket-handkerchiefs, and strapping up his pack, a plethora of good smells were wafting from the kitchen.

As he entered the hallway from the bedroom, he saw Pearl emerge from the guest room. ‘Good morning, Uncle Bilbo,’ she said in a tentative tone.

He proffered a sweeping bow. ‘Good morning, my lady Pearl!’ he said.

To Bilbo’s surprise, the child looked confused or even a little concerned about the grand mode of address he’d employed. Perhaps Paladin, in choosing to live apart from the grand society of the Great Smials Tooks under Mistress Lalia, did not like his daughters to put on airs.

Bilbo’s supposition grew stronger at hearing her response. ‘I’m just Pearl.’

‘Very well,’ Bilbo said, affecting a solemn tone. ‘Pardon my error. I am woefully out of practice when it comes to offering good mornings to people. Let us begin again, properly this time.’ He theatrically wiped his brow, stood straighter and cleared his throat. ‘Good morning, Just Pearl.’

She giggled – a delightful sound – and blushed. Putting out her hand to the old hobbit, she said, ‘Please call me Pearl.’ With a shy smile, she added, ‘You could even call me Pearlie, as my da does.’

‘I should be honoured to do so,’ Bilbo intoned, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. Letting go, he offered her his arm. ‘May I escort you to breakfast, Miss, er, Pearlie?’

With endearing dignity for such a young child, Pearl dipped her chin in regal assent and slipped her small, soft hand into the crook of his elbow. ‘Lead on, kind Sir,’ she said, and he had the feeling she was quoting from a children’s book he dimly remembered reading a long time ago. She giggled again, and added, ‘I mean, Uncle Bilbo.’

So Paladin read tales of errantry to his children, did he? At the thought, a kindred feeling sprang up in Bilbo’s heart. He definitely wanted to get to know this branch of the Took family better.

*** 

Chapter the Sixth. In which a Young Hobbit saves Bilbo from himself

The most difficult part of their departure had not been persuading Paladin to lie down, well-bundled, in the shelter Bilbo had formed for him in the bed of the waggon. Working by lantern-light in the darkness of the winter morning after they’d finished eating Eglantine’s hearty early breakfast, he’d propped up blankets using four tall stools he’d borrowed from the Green Dragon some time ago (and had forgot to return; he was hoping Paladin would not mind carrying the stools back to their owner on his way back to Whitwell after Yule) and securely fastened oilcloths over all. He’d secured a lantern under each stool, lit the wicks and watched over them burning for a good half hour before he was satisfied that the stools were tall enough to prevent the heat rising from the top of the lanterns from setting their seats – or the blankets covering them – afire.

‘Balin could not have contrived something better, Bilbo old lad,’ he muttered to himself at last. He was rather proud of his invention. He’d been fascinated in his youth by tinkers’ vans, which were basically waggons with walls and a roof. In a country where most of the dwellings were delvings, a house that could be driven from place to place was a novelty. 

The pavilions hired by wealthy hobbits for grand occasions had also drawn his interest. These large canvas structures had flaps that could be raised to let the breezes through in warm weather or, alternatively, could be enclosed and warmed with braziers if the weather turned rainy or chilly. Again, Bilbo had been struck by the contrast between these temporary shelters, looking like giant birds perched in a meadow and likely to take wing at any time, and the walls made of solid rock (or wood, in some cases) that enclosed the smials typically found in the Shire, though Bag End was something of an exception to the rule.

He realised he’d been thinking aloud when young Pimpernel, who had followed him about, peppering him with questions throughout the process of creation, asked, ‘But what makes Bag End special, then?’ 

Bag End had unusually large rooms and high ceilings (quite convenient, considering the height of some of the folk who visited on occasion), for Bungo had spared no expense (and his wife-to-be, after an argument with her father, had thrust her inheritance into his hands and insisted he spend it freely) in building the smial. Bungo’s beloved, Belladonna, had grown up in the Great Smials, one of the grandest holes in the Shire, equalled perhaps only by Brandy Hall in Buckland (for size) and Budge Manse in Bridgefields (for elegance). Why, the Great Smials’ great room, the largest in the land, was large enough to accommodate all of the resident Tooks at once, plus distinguished guests, for a banquet or celebration or solemn convocation! (Though they might have to tuck in their elbows to fit, Bilbo thought to himself rather irreverently.)

Bungo had not wanted his bride to feel cramped in her new home, and so all he’d built had been on a grand scale, with taller than average ceilings and large, airy rooms. He had no ambitions to turn Bag End into a grand hole; his goal was a habitation that would accommodate the hobbits of a single Shire family rather than dozens or even hundreds of relations, yet still comfort his bride with familiar spaciousness. 

In addition, because Belladonna had a horror of closed-in places, her husband had carefully chosen a building site with a southern exposure. All along Bag End’s southern face, he’d included large windows to create sun-drenched rooms and contrived awnings that could be hung over the windows for shade in the summertime without sacrificing light and air.

‘Bag End on wheels, now there’s an interesting idea,’ Bilbo murmured, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands in his pockets.

His small shadow, young Nell Took, said eagerly, ‘Are you going to put all of Bag End on our waggon?’ She’d followed him everywhere as he’d converted her family’s waggon into a pavilion-of-sorts on wheels, peppering him with an unending stream of questions. ‘But that would take magic! Is your Wizard coming to tea?’

Bilbo bent to address her. ‘No, my Wizard is not coming to tea, sadly enough,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid we must manage it ourselves, just you and I.’

Nell tilted her head to one side in serious consideration. ‘You’ll have to do it, then. I don’t have that kind of magic,’ she said at last.

Eyebrows raised, Bilbo said, ‘But you do have some kind of magic?’

Nell nodded. Bilbo waited in vain for more.

After a few breaths, he said, ‘And what kind of magic is it that you have, young hobbit?’

She squinted up at him, squinched her nose, and said, ‘That would be telling!’

Nor had the most difficult part of their departure been creating his pavilion-on-wheels or packing up a bag for himself or making sure all the bedroom doors were propped open for Mrs Goodbody’s attention while he was gone (it would have been pointless to leave her a note with instructions since she’d never learnt to read) or setting Eglantine and Pearl to work making quantities of sandwiches to eat along the way since they would need to drive straight through so as not to miss the festivities at Brandy Hall and cause Paladin to break his longstanding vow to his sister.

No, but the most difficult part of their departure had been convincing Eglantine to leave the washing up after they finished second breakfast and prepared to depart for Buckland, just as the Sun was kicking off her bedcovers to start the task of brightening the sky above the Hill. He’d had to argue long and hard with her on that point. ‘I’ll let her know we’re leaving when I drop off the key as we pass through Hobbiton.’

‘But you gave her the Yuledays off!’ Eglantine said.

‘And long and hard I had to argue with her to do so!’ Bilbo said. ‘You might have thought I was taking bread out of the mouths of her children... For you see, the more work I make for the Goodbodys, the more coin I must pay them.’ At her stunned expression, he said mildly, ‘But isn’t that the right thing to do?’

‘You don’t simply pay them a set fee for their services?’ Eglantine said, and immediately apologised for having the temerity to tell him his business.

‘But I do,’ Bilbo said. ‘And yet, when I leave extra work for them to do, it seems only right to pay them more on top of the set fee...’

‘I never heard of such a thing,’ Eglantine said, and then apologised again, then looked away. At last, on meeting Bilbo’s questioning gaze once more, she said, ‘I suppose you learnt such things in the Outlands. I beg your pardon, Cousin...’

‘You have it,’ Bilbo said promptly. ‘I did learn it in the Outlands – the Wilds of Buckland, actually. Old Gorbadoc set a generous table. No matter how many visitors might appear on his doorstep, there was always plenty... and on festive occasions and celebrations, he paid his kitchen and serving staff more because he knew he’d made more work for them. And because he appreciated their efforts, they worked even harder.’ He raised a staying hand and added, ‘It’s not that I think the Goodbodys need to work harder for their own good, much less mine, so much as I know they need the coin but will not accept anything they feel they have not earned.’ And now I’m gossiping just as appallingly as a Took of the Great Smials! he thought to himself, his expression darkening. For shame!

Eglantine had the good grace to blush and drop her eyes, for she and Paladin were much the same. After he’d returned from his travels, Bilbo had offered to buy Adalgrim, Paladin’s father, free of his debt to Thain Fortinbras, incurred by Paladin’s grandfather in the wake of a disastrous flood. Fortinbras wasn’t the problem; Mistress Lalia was, for she enjoyed wielding power over those indebted to her husband. 

Nevertheless, despite his family’s reduced circumstances, Adalgrim had his pride. Though he’d made the offer to spite Lalia, Bilbo’s actions had opened a rift that had persisted until Adalgrim’s death.

Bilbo’s intentions to mend the rift now seemed to be hovering at the edge of a disastrous cliff.

And then young Pimpernel spoke. ‘O’ course hobbits ought to be paid for all the work they do!’ she said. ‘Isn’t that the whole reason for working?’

Bilbo smiled down at the questioning face raised towards him. ‘O’ course,’ he said. ‘Though, young miss, some hobbits simply work for the pleasure it gives them to do so! My father was one of those.’

‘My da is too,’ the child said confidingly. ‘If he were so rich he didn’t need to work, why, he’d work anyhow!’

‘He would indeed,’ Bilbo confirmed.

‘He loves the farm,’ Eglantine said, almost apologetically.

‘As he should,’ Bilbo said with a firm nod. ‘Why, his grandfather, and his father and uncle, and Paladin himself have taken the land and wrestled it and cosseted it and cared for it until it is one of the finest farms in the Tookland!’ 

‘Why thank you, Cousin,’ Paladin said from the doorway to Bag End. And somehow the threatened breach seemed to diminish to insignificance with Bilbo’s acknowledgement of Paladin’s very real reason for his Tookish pride.

Out of the mouths of babes, he thought. Perhaps the child’s magic is her grasp of Truth. 

After further thought, Bilbo nodded to himself. Small Nell did have a charming habit of dropping unvarnished observations that had a keen enough edge to make the adults around her squirm. He wondered if this might be a characteristic of children who were young enough to retain a sense of wonder. Most adult hobbits, in his view, were dull as ditchwater, to tell the truth, and he had fallen into the habit of associating with his relations primarily on holidays – special days of feasting and storytelling and song, when even the adults tended to loosen the constraints that bound them in their everyday affairs. Belatedly, Bilbo realised that the Great Holes also abounded with children, teens and tweens during times of celebration. In retrospect, youthful energy and enthusiasm certainly livened up the festivities, from what he remembered of past visits. 

Looking into the matter might prove quite interesting.

Somehow Paladin seemed more relaxed in Bilbo’s presence from that time forward. And best of all, Eglantine dropped her argument against leaving the washing-up and tidying for Mrs Goodbody and her children.

*** 

Chapter the Seventh. In which Bilbo proves his Skill at Driving a Waggon with a little Help here and there

The trickiest part of the journey to Buckland turned out to be descending the Hill. Despite his long life and rich trove of experience, Bilbo, unused to driving a waggon, had little idea of the potential danger. His parents had hired a coach and driver when they travelled, or they’d ridden ponies across the fields to Tuckborough on visits to the Great Smials.

He had kept a pony since his return from the Lonely Mountain, but when that pony died, Bilbo saw no need to replace it. O he’d kept up the little stable that belonged to Bag End and maintained a supply of fresh hay and feed for visitors’ beasts – he was fond of visitors, after all. But in between visitors, the stalls remained empty.

Paladin’s ponies had enjoyed a fine rest whilst the little Took family had stopped with Bilbo, making it possible to drive straight through from Hobbiton to Brandy Hall at a relatively slow pace, or so the good farmer had told the old hobbit when Bilbo sought his advice. They’d stop at inns along the way to give the ponies a little water; at the same time, the travellers could refresh themselves and warm up with a mug of tea (cambric tea for the children, of course).

Farmer Cotton had put the ponies away upon the Tooks’ arrival, and Hamfast Gamgee had cared for the beasts and hitched them to the waggon when Mr Bilbo had finished his arrangements. Now that the moment of departure was at hand, the gardener took a firm hand. ‘I’ll drive you all down the Hill, Mr Bilbo,’ he said.

‘Now Master Gamgee,’ Bilbo began, but at seeing the gardener’s stern look and set jaw, he desisted. From his nearly fifty years of acquaintance with the fellow, he knew he’d be wasting his breath to argue. Though he was nominally the master in the relationship, he’d followed his father’s example in dealing with any hobbits who worked for him: invariably polite and carefully respectful of the workers’ special knowledge of their area of expertise.

Thus, Bilbo thought it best to begin again. ‘Thank you, Master Gamgee,’ he said. ‘I’d be most obliged for your assistance.’

He was rewarded by Ham Gamgee’s gratified look as the gardener climbed up onto the waggon seat and took the reins from Bilbo. ‘You take the brake,’ Hamfast directed his employer. ‘Pull hard when I tell you to.’

...which turned out to span the entire time it took to descend the Hill from the moment Hamfast turned the ponies’ heads downhill until they reached the bottom of the slope. Driving down the steep Hill turned out to be much more difficult than Bilbo had anticipated. At the bottom, when he released his white-knuckled hold on the waggon brake, his arm trembled and the muscles ached from the effort to control the waggon’s descent.

‘Whoa!’ Hamfast called, pulling the ponies to a stop. He turned and passed the reins to Bilbo. ‘Job well done, Mr. Bilbo,’ he said. ‘Twas a tricky bit of driving, but we managed.’ Bilbo saw the gardener’s lips twitch in an almost-smile as Hamfast added, ‘T’ tell the truth, I’d druther walk down that Hill, any road.’

He climbed down off the waggon and lifted his cap in farewell. ‘Tho’ I’ve never seen the need to go further than Frogmorton, it’s to my understandin’ that you’ll find no such hills between here and that-there stony Bridge of the Brandybucks’.’ His gaze sharpened, commanding Bilbo’s attention as he added, ‘But e’en on the smaller hills, you’ll be well advised to use the brake on the downsides.’

‘I am indeed well advised, Master Hamfast,’ Bilbo said, bowing to the gardener from his seat. ‘Thank you for your invaluable assistance!’

And such was his tone, which clearly conveyed the sincerity of his feelings, that the gardener found it necessary to suppress a delighted grin, at least until he’d turned his back and was part-way up the hill, in response to his master’s heart-felt appreciation.

Driving the waggon slowly along the East Road was child’s play by comparison, even with the unusual amount of snow that had fallen. Traffic from coaches and waggons had beaten down the snow on the road to manageable proportions, but to either side, drifts stood knee-deep – and deeper.

After turning in at the first inn, halfway to Frogmorton, Bilbo called to the stable hobbit who came out to take the ponies, ‘Just a little water and a few oats in a nosebag for each! We’ll be driving on...’

The fellow nodded and stared. Likely he’d never seen a pavilion on wheels before. Likely enough he might never see one again, either, considering Shire-folks’ resistance to change.

When he moved to the back of the waggon and lifted the flap aside just enough to speak to the occupants. ‘Are you all well back there?’

‘All is well,’ Paladin answered. His hands appeared, pushing the opening wide enough for him to exit, and he jumped down into snow that nearly reached his knees. ‘Fair bit of snow, e’en tho’ we’re no longer in the high hills...’ The farmer turned back to the waggon and pulled out some pony rugs, and Bilbo jumped to help him spread them over the ponies, that the beasts might not take a chill in the snowy courtyard during their brief rest.

‘Would everyone like to get out and stretch your legs whilst the ponies rest and drink?’ Bilbo asked. ‘I thought we might share a pot of tea before we go on.’

‘I do hope you’re keeping warm on the waggon seat!’ Eglantine said, following her husband out of the shelter of the blankets and tarps.

Bilbo and Paladin laughed together at her feminine concern. ‘Quite warm!’ Bilbo said. ‘No worries! I’ve been much colder than this!’

Each of the grown hobbits picked up a child from the waggon bed and carried her to the inn entrance. The common room was almost shockingly warm in contrast to the chill air outside, and it was not long before they were all sipping tea from steaming mugs. ‘My treat,’ Bilbo said, forestalling the farmer. ‘You may buy the next pot, at Frogmorton.’

‘You’re on,’ Paladin said, tucking his coin-purse away once more.

‘Da, may I ride on the waggon seat?’ Pimpernel said, breaking into the adults’ conversation about the weather and the state of the road and the anticipated duration of their journey.

‘It’s so cold!’ Eglantine protested.

‘She can wrap up in blankets,’ Paladin said with a shrewd glance at Bilbo. ‘I imagine it’s tiresome, driving mile upon mile... Aggie always shares the seat with me when I’m driving, helps to keep me awake on the long stretches, but you’re all alone there...’

‘I’d be glad of the company,’ Bilbo responded, and to his surprise, he found that he was not merely being polite.

‘I won’t let you fall asleep!’ little Nell promised.

‘I will hold you to that, young hobbit,’ Bilbo said in his most affable tone. ‘D’you know any stories or songs to while away the hours?’

‘Ever so many!’ the child said with glee. ‘And if I run out, there’s always the stories and songs that you know, Uncle Bilbo!’

The adults laughed together, and Paladin ruffled his daughter’s curls. ‘She does love stories, she does indeed. She’s learnt her letters already,’ the farmer added proudly.

‘Already!’ Bilbo said in astonishment. Why, the child couldn’t be much more than eight or nine years old!

Apologetically, Eglantine said, ‘She loves the stories so... When I’d read to the girls, or their da would, she’d always beg for more. But, of course, there’s more to do on the farm than reading to younglings. I’m afraid she learned to read simply because of her impatience (though it pains me to admit such) to know more o’ the story than we had time to read aloud, once teatime ended and the day’s reading was done...’

Meanwhile, Bilbo noticed Pearl, whom he had earlier heard quoting a tale of errantry, biting her lip, and Pimpernel’s face fell, while a deep blush rose in her cheeks. He had a feeling that the parents often chided this child for her impulsiveness and impatience. In point of fact, the old hobbit valued such qualities, though he was more inclined to label them in terms of curiosity and eagerness.

‘No need to apologise,’ he said, and he reached out and cupped the child’s face in a gentle hand, raising her tear-filled eyes to meet his. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I was much the same at your age...’

‘You are too kind,’ Eglantine said.

‘Not at all,’ Bilbo replied, and meant it.

***

Chapter the Eighth. In which Bilbo has an Inkling of Days to Come

As Bilbo and his helper drove along, chatting merrily, with the Sun now behind them, Bilbo watched the shadows growing and thought the temperature might just be dropping. To be honest, he scarcely noticed the cold, warmed as he was by little Nell’s company. Everything was new and fresh in her eyes; she often interrupted Bilbo – or herself – to point and exclaim, and her enthusiasm was catching. At the moment, she was in raptures at spying the red breast of a robin hopping about under some bushes, pointing an eager finger and bouncing on her seat. Bilbo found an answering grin lighting his face, and he set aside the story he was telling long enough to teach her how to imitate the robin’s winter song. She proved an apt pupil.

Preparing to resume the current story, he settled his muffler a bit more snugly around his neck and looked down at his small but faithful companion. ‘Are you warm enough, my dear?’

‘It’s not cold!’ Nell answered, followed by, ‘Look! I’m smoking a pipe!’ She blew out a large breath and laughed at the resulting “smoke” that floated away on the frigid air.

‘Still,’ Bilbo said, shifting the reins to one hand and using the other to tuck the lass’s blankets more tightly around her, ‘we wouldn’t want you to catch your death.’

Pimpernel laughed up at him. ‘How comical!’ she said. ‘Why should anyone want to go running after Death... much less catch him?’

Bilbo chuckled. The lass was absolutely delightful, from her unusually extensive vocabulary (explained by the fact that her parents were readers of the old tales, he thought) to her sense of whimsy, as yet untarnished by surrounding adults’ quashing of childish enthusiasm. (All too often, Bilbo had overheard from one adult or another, None of your nonsense, now, in groups of mixed ages, but it had never quite sat right with him, not in all his eight and ninety years.) ‘Why indeed!’ he answered, and the lass gave him an approving nod.

And all along the way, the old hobbit was thinking... coming to the realisation of the loneliness his life had become without his even noticing. Though he felt (and looked) hardly a few months older than the day he’d run out his door to follow a wizard and thirteen dwarves on their way, the cousins his age and other contemporaries had not enjoyed the same prolonged vigour with the passing of the years. As was the way of the world, they had aged; and ageing, they had gradually turned to other interests and pursuits suited to their increasing maturity and responsibilities. Bilbo, who’d embraced the timeworn saying You’re only as old as you feel, had been unable to empower his cousins to hold back the clock. As time passed, they had less and less in common, and Bilbo became ever more isolated and, truth be told, eccentric by Shire standards.

Driving along with young Nell, taking turns telling stories, sharing jokes, pointing out interesting sights... stirred a longing deep within the old hobbit that he hadn’t missed, up until the Tooks showed up at his door and rubbed his face in his isolation. Even in the midst of smiling and laughing and singing, his mind was working at the problem. He’d no desire to marry – all the lasses who’d interested him before his journey to the Lonely Mountain had married and grown old, in any event. Thus, there seemed little chance he might fill Bag End with song and laughter and children of his own. Yet, for the first time, he could see himself as a selfish beast, knocking about an echoingly empty Bag End, when he had plentiful resources to bring some good to others. In taking on an orphan, such as Drogo’s son, it seemed he might do himself a great deal of good along with the benefit he could offer young Frodo.

The early winter darkness was falling when they came to Frogmorton, roughly halfway between Hobbiton and the Brandywine Bridge. After stopping at the inn there to water the ponies and warm themselves by the fireside with mugs of hot cider, Paladin himself joined Bilbo on the waggon seat, brushing off any expressions of concern, though he acceded to Eglantine’s request that he bundle himself in blankets along with his heavy coat and woollen cloak and hood. ‘All the lasses are secure inside your marvellous “pavilion”... but are you not tired of the driving yet?’

‘Why, we’ve just got started!’ Bilbo returned heartily. He shook the reins, and the ponies took the hint and leaned into their collars, then took off at a walk. Soon they’d left the well-swept yard and were on the road again, now lit by the lanterns hanging on the sides of the waggon. The journey would be slower through the dark hours, for the limitations of the lantern-light meant it would be safer to keep to a walk rather than trotting part of the time.

‘We’re halfway, you mean,’ the farmer said quizzically, and then his face cleared and he laughed. ‘Ah, you mean we’ve just started from Frogmorton! O’ course!’

Laughing together seemed a good omen for the dark journey ahead of them. It seemed Eglantine was also reassured at the sound, for they soon heard her voice, somewhat muffled under the coverings, raised in song. For several miles, the hobbits on the waggon seat sat without speaking, charmed by the sound of mother and little ones singing, Pearlie making a pleasing harmony, Nell sometimes following her mother and other times echoing her older sister, and little Vinca adding her chirps and squeaks and wandering in her own sweet way between the notes.

As they progressed, the children’s voices fell away, one by one, first tiny Pervinca and then Nell as sleep stole over them, almost without their noticing, it seemed. Pearl and Eglantine sang on for a mile or two more, until finally the mother sang alone, a Tookish lullaby that Bilbo remembered his own mother singing to him. At last the song ended, and Bilbo surmised that Eglantine slept as well.

The farmer and the wanderer drove along the darkened road in comfortable, companionable silence. Bilbo noticed, by the light of the lanterns, when Paladin’s chin drooped and then rested on his chest, and he nodded in satisfaction. ‘Don’t you worry about me falling asleep whilst driving,’ he murmured. ‘I’m not the one who just recently got over a fever!’

When Paladin at last awakened after a long and blessed sleep, the sky was beginning to lighten in front of them though the stars still shone brightly above their heads. ‘What, the dawning already?’

‘How quickly passes the time,’ Bilbo said lightly, though deep within himself he was remembering Paladin as a small lad with his sisters and parents in the midst of the commotion caused by the auctioning off of “the effects of the late Bilbo Baggins Esquire, of Bag-End, Underhill, Hobbiton”. When Bilbo had returned from his journeying, Paladin had been about the same age as young Samwise Gamgee was now. How quickly the years had passed, indeed. And a warning chimed deep within, that he should not let the grass grow under his feet now but go boldly forward with the plan he was formulating.

They stopped and breakfasted at the Stonebows Inn at the Bridgefields end of the ancient stone bridge spanning the Brandywine. Bilbo allowed Paladin to pay for the meal, though after they walked out to the waggon, as they were depositing the children under cover, he told Paladin and a blushing Eglantine that, while he felt more-than-adequately rewarded for hosting the Tooks and driving them to Buckland, the meal “didn’t hold a candle” to Eglantine’s “breakfast fit for the haying”.

‘In fact,’ he added, ‘I am most probably in your debt, since without your kind agreement to allow me to travel with you, I’d’ve had to walk through snow up to my knees whether attending Yuletide in Tuckborough or Bucklebury! You’ve probably saved me from a nasty bout with the Old Gaffer’s Friend, at the least!

Though young Pimpernel begged again to ride on the waggon seat, and Pearl clamoured for a turn, their mother could not be persuaded, for a gentle snowfall had begun to sift down from the sky as they left the inn to claim ponies and waggon once more. Bilbo was equally firm with Paladin, insisting that he ride in the covered waggon bed, with its warming lanterns.

Thus it was that he alone sat on the waggon seat, guiding the ponies along the snowy road from the Gate to the Hall. They made good time, for under the light of the Sun, smiling through the clouds, the ponies could now alternate trotting with walking. In truth, he was glad for the time to himself, the better to think his own thoughts and to formulate his plan, for deciding to take on an orphan was one thing. Gaining the agreement of those who were currently responsible for said orphan’s well-being would be quite another.

Bilbo quite enjoyed the drive. His passengers were quiet – sleeping, he thought, even hoped for Paladin’s sake. The road was well-kept, making for a smooth, gently rocking ride and no jolting from a wheel dropping into a hole. Though the snow had gradually grown shallower, the closer to the River they’d travelled, there was still plenty enough to cover the ground, perhaps ankle-deep in Buckland, or so Bilbo estimated. The snow blanketing the smials, outbuildings, fences, bushes and trees, along with the large, lacy flakes falling from the sky, made for a peaceful landscape, lulling Bilbo to a restful state though he stubbornly maintained some wakefulness since he was driving a waggon laden with hobbits, including small children.

Just outside Bucklebury, he was startled into full wakefulness by shouts and movement to both sides of the lane. The ponies, equally startled, threw up their heads, breaking from their steady trot into an uneven gait that reflected their unease. Bilbo shook himself and quickly sat up straight on the seat while taking a firmer grip on the reins.

‘Hoi there!’ he called. ‘What do you think you’re about?’ Though surprised, he was not angry but merely concerned lest the ponies be frightened into bolting. He might be a competent driver under normal circumstances, but he wasn’t so confident of his ability to deal with a runaway...

He’d nearly driven into a large group of teens and tweens – two groups, rather, separated by the road and engaged in a glorious battle featuring snowballs. Snow was not just falling from the sky but was flying in every direction, and Bilbo was driving through the middle of it all!

‘Welcome to Buckland!’ shouted a tween, taller and fairer than the rest and flashing a cheeky grin. With almost elf-like grace that reminded Bilbo hauntingly of a young Primula Brandybuck, the tween scooped up another double-handful of snow, moulded it quickly into a missile, cocked back his arm and threw, aiming at someone on the opposite side of the road. Had his aim been true, the snowball would have flown over the ponies’ backs and into the opposing force.

Unfortunately, just as he released his shot, another tween jostled against him, spoiling his aim.

Thwack!

Bilbo spluttered as the large snowball impacted his face, filling his mouth and blinding him momentarily, but he maintained enough presence of mind to keep a firm grip on the reins and pull back. He spat out snow, clearing his mouth, and shouted, ‘Whoa! Whoa there, my pretties! Steady now!’

He shook his head, trying to regain his vision, but it wasn’t until he felt Paladin’s ponies begin to steady, by way of the easing of the ponies’ pull on the reins, that he felt confident enough to shift the reins into one hand so that he could wipe away the snow from his eyes with the other.

Taking up the reins in both hands again, he pulled-and-released, pulled-and-released, all the while crooning, ‘Whoa now, whoa,’ until the waggon slowed to a stop, whereupon he sat, trembling slightly at how close disaster might have come to them, had the ponies spooked and bolted whilst he was blinded.

When he regained his presence of mind, two things impressed themselves upon his senses. For one, the snow to either side of the road, though covered in footprints, was empty, the combatants having obviously scattered and fled.

For another, Paladin was calling from the waggon bed. ‘What is it? What’s happening?’

Bilbo drew a deep sigh, took a careful look at the ponies to ensure they were continuing to settle down and weren’t about to take fright again, and then turned in his seat to answer.

‘We’ve arrived at last! Welcome to Buckland!’

*** 

Author’s notes: Some text may have been drawn from or inspired by “A Long-Expected Party” in The Fellowship of the Ring and “The Last Stage” in The Hobbit, both by J.R.R. Tolkien. The “Old Gaffer’s Friend” is a Shire term for pneumonia.

*** 

To be continued in Part 3: A Breath of Fresh Heir

*** 

This is a re-creation of the story that was deleted earlier today. The reviews, along with the previously edited versions of Chapters 5–7, are gone. I apologise to all the wonderful reviewers who took the time and effort to share their thoughts; I sincerely appreciate you. Knowing that someone is reading is motivating and fuels the writing process; more than that, quite often a reader's observation will spark a new idea or point out a plot hole that needs filling, making for a stronger story.

These chapters were recreated from the draft copy of the story and edited again into the final form posted here. Beg pardon if they do not match any particular memories you might have of earlier reading. Finishing the story was meant to be my birthday mathom. Actually, I discovered the disappearance of the story when I went to upload the final chapter, along with the absence of several stories on my want-to-read list that I was planning to spend the rest of today enjoying! Thankfully, those who maintain SoA for our benefit jumped in quickly to prevent more stories from being deleted. I feel for the other authors who also lost work and reviews, and I fervently hope that you have backup copies and will be able to restore the lost works. I am looking forward to reading them, as I have mentioned in multiple reviews.

Thanks for coming along on the journey. May all hackers someday come to regret their destructive impulses, and may Stories of Arda live long and prosper (to borrow from a different fandom, where I first cut my fanfic teeth, in a manner of speaking, when I was only in eighth grade, not long after Noah and the animals debarked from the Ark, if memory serves...).