4.  Admonishments

May 1388

Frodo Baggins sighed contentedly and raised his cerulean blue eyes to gaze at the broad wooden beams over his head.  The old barn was one of the few buildings in Buckland to be built aboveground, and most hobbit children steered well clear of it, deeming the place ‘unnatural’ and preferring to remain safely under the ground if they wanted to be indoors.  The barn was largely unused these days, except for the storage of excess foodstuffs immediately after the annual harvest.

Frodo himself had always avoided it when he was younger; Bolo had frightened him dreadfully with stories of a ghost that haunted the hayloft and liked to eat little hobbits.  The time Bolo had left him tied up alone in here had been a terrifying experience, to say the least.  But eventually, Frodo had seen the holes in Bolo’s logic (why would a ghost, which was dead, need to eat anything?), and Frodo’s curiosity had overcome his fear.  He had explored the barn thoroughly, and, finding no ghost, had made it his refuge of choice.

It was ideal, really.  Up here, Frodo could find peace and quiet to study his books, or just to think.  In a pinch, it was also an excellent place to hide from Bolo and his friends, since Bolo continued to believe that Frodo was afraid of the ghost. 

Frodo spent most of his time alone, when he wasn’t having lessons with the other children.  He often found his solitude in a quiet meadow or up a tree in the woods, but the hayloft was perfect on a rainy day like today, especially since Bolo and Reginard Took, a friend of Bolo’s who had been staying at Brandy Hall for the last fortnight, had been hunting Frodo all afternoon.  They were furious with him for not cooperating with them and accepting the blame for dropping an expensive porcelain bowl.  The bowl was one of old Mistress Mirabella’s and had been on display on a high shelf in the dining hall.  Bolo and Reginard were of course not supposed to be even touching it, but Bolo had wanted to take it down and try it on for a helmet, most likely for the purpose of impressing Reginard’s lovely sister, Amarantha, with his daring. 

Frodo had been there at the time, helping to clear the table after luncheon because one of his aunts had asked him to, when Bolo dropped the bowl.  It broke in two on striking the floor, and Old Rory himself heard the crash.  Bolo and Reginard immediately implicated Frodo, apologizing very convincingly for failing to stop the ‘rascally’ younger hobbit before the damage was done.  Frodo himself quite naturally denied any involvement or even awareness of the incident.

Unfortunately for Bolo and Reginard, Amarantha, the only other witness, having no romantic inclinations toward Bolo, had come forward and supported Frodo’s side.  Rorimac ordered a thrashing for the two older boys, along with extra chores for the next three days, and Frodo had escaped almost unscathed (Bolo had caught up with him a little later and kicked him hard in the shins). 

Frodo rubbed the bruise ruefully.  Bolo had undoubtedly wanted to do even more damage, since Frodo had embarrassed him in front of Amarantha (at least, that’s how Bolo would see it), but Frodo could be very quick and hard to hold on to, when he needed to be.  He had lost Bolo quickly in the warren of passageways that was Brandy Hall, and now he was safely ensconced in his hayloft.

Stretching out on his stomach again, Frodo returned his attention to the book.  It was not one of his school books; Frodo found those rather dull and always did his lessons as quickly as possible to get them out of the way.  No, this was a special book, a history of the Elves, translated into Westron by his very own Uncle Bilbo.  It was a rather challenging read, even though Frodo’s reading skills were significantly superior to those of the other nineteen-year-old hobbits in Buckland.

Frodo looked up again at the sound of voices just outside the barn, and smiled grimly at the thought of his would-be trackers.

“D’you think he’s in here?”  That sounded like Reginard.

“I already told you, you dolt, he’s scared of the barn!”  Bolo replied irritably.  It had made Frodo feel oddly better when he’d discovered that Bolo wasn’t really much nicer to his ‘friends’ than he was to Frodo. 

“I’m getting hungry!” the impatient Took burst out.  “Let’s go get some more of Farmer Maggot’s mushrooms.”

Frodo raised an eyebrow.  He knew that Bolo often stole Farmer Maggot’s mushrooms and usually got away with it, but the one time Frodo himself had tried it, he had been caught and beaten by the crotchety old farmer.  Bolo had convinced him to come along that time, knowing the younger lad’s love of mushrooms and acting as if he was doing Frodo a favour, but Bolo had abandoned him the second they’d heard Farmer Maggot’s enraged yell, leaving Frodo holding most of the mushrooms.  Frodo had dropped the mushrooms immediately and tried to make a run for it, but Bolo was soon out of sight and Frodo had quickly become disoriented in the field of tall corn.  Farmer Maggot had apprehended the young thief easily.  Frodo had been only fifteen then, and a lot more gullible than he was now.

Bolo and Reginard now seemed to be heading away from the barn, and the last thing Frodo heard from them was Bolo agreeing to Reginard’s suggestion.  Frodo shrugged and picked up his book again.

*          *          *

Several hours later, Frodo was heading back into Brandy Hall.  The rain had stopped hours ago, although the sky was still overcast.  Frodo knew he had missed tea already, and if he didn’t hurry he would be late for supper.

Frodo hurried into the dining hall and took his customary seat beside his cousin Merry.

“Fwodo!” exclaimed Merry happily, dropping the spoon he’d been clutching with a clatter.

“Hullo, Merry,” Frodo replied, bending to pick up the spoon from the floor before planting a kiss on his six-year-old cousin’s curly brown head.  “What did you do today?”  Frodo liked to spend as much spare time as possible with Merry, and Aunt Esmeralda had already begun to let him baby-sit sometimes.

Merry paused to consider a reply to his adored older cousin.  “Well—me and Momma made out ‘structions, and then I played on my pony.”

Frodo smiled.  Merry was referring to his job of dipping Esmeralda’s quill in the ink pot while she carried out one of her many duties as future Mistress of Buckland: writing up instructions for the hobbits in charge of ordering and organizing the huge quantities of food that Brandy Hall consumed every week.  Merry’s ‘pony’ was a gaily-painted rocking-pony that Saradoc and Merimac had carved for the child last month.

“I’ll tell you what, Merry,” Frodo said to the child.  “If your momma allows it, I’ll take you to the stables tomorrow and show you the *big* ponies.”

Merry’s little pink mouth popped open in delight and he turned to his other side, fastening his wide brown eyes beseechingly on his mother. 

Esmeralda smiled at Frodo over the top of Merry’s head.

“If you are a good boy all morning, Merry, then you may go with Frodo after elevensies,” she said to her son seriously.

Merry nodded vigorously, reaching out to grasp Frodo’s hand in his excitement.  “Merry will be real good!” he promised earnestly.

Frodo grinned and squeezed Merry’s hand approvingly, then reached out to begin serving himself the excellent food that had been put on the table during their conversation. 

A few minutes later, his mouth full of mashed potatoes, Merry tugged on Frodo’s sleeve to get his attention again.

“Fwodo?” he said hopefully.  “Can I sit on one of the ponies?  I promise not to fall off!”

Frodo pretended to think about it for a moment.  “Well, all right,” he said finally.  “But you’ll have to hold on really tight!”  He had already been planning to let his cousin sit on old Mabelle, an extremely docile pony, knowing how much it would mean to Merry.

Merry nodded again, and turned eagerly back to his food.

*         *          *

After supper, Frodo returned his book to his room, which he thankfully no longer shared with Bolo.  Bolo had gotten a room of his own three years ago, and Frodo now shared with his ten-year-old cousin Berilac. 

Next, Frodo decided to head to Esmeralda and Saradoc’s rooms to see if he could play with Merry.  As he approached the doorway to Old Rory’s study, Frodo heard a noise behind him and, before he could react, found himself being roughly pushed into the study.  Turning around in surprise, Frodo found Bolo standing behind him, a satisfied smirk on his round face.  Bolo closed the door hastily and approached his smaller cousin.  Frodo tried not to show that he was worried, but with Bolo blocking the only exit, there wasn’t really any possible escape.

“You shouldn’t’ve made a fool of me today, Frodo Baggins,” Bolo said darkly, not taking his eyes off his cousin.  Frodo wisely refrained from pointing out that Bolo had made a fool of himself without any assistance from anyone. 

For the next several minutes, Bolo simply stood in front of the door, smiling ominously at Frodo.  Frodo was just beginning to wish Bolo would do whatever it was he’d been planning and get it over with, when they both heard the shuffling steps of Old Rory himself, approaching from down the hallway.  When the footsteps sounded as if they had reached the corner, several things happened at once.  Bolo grabbed a vase off the shelf next to him, pulled the door open behind him, and tossed the vase directly at a very surprised Frodo.

“Catch!”  Bolo whispered maliciously, before stepping backward to make his escape. 

Panic fluttered in Frodo’s stomach for a fraction of a second; the vase was quite large and unwieldy, there was no way he could catch it!  But somehow he managed, miraculously, and ended up holding the thing clumsily against his chest.

It would have nonetheless been an excellent revenge scheme, given Old Rory’s intolerance for hobbit lads playing in his study, except Bolo’s timing was slightly off:  He had waited too long to run, and collided with Old Rory on his way out.  Rorimac staggered but maintained a tight grip on the squirming Bolo, and peered into his study in dismay.

“Frodo Baggins!  Bolo Brandybuck!  What are you boys doing in my study, handling things you shouldn’t be?!”  the old hobbit thundered.  “Shame on both of you!”  Rorimac was rather surprised to see that Frodo was involved in this mischief; the lad was usually so quiet and well-behaved.  No matter.  Both boys had to be punished. 

Old Rory put the thankfully undamaged vase back in place and made the two boys sit in the chairs facing his desk.  Glaring at them sternly, he demanded an explanation.  Bolo, still struggling with bitter disappointment at the failure of his plan, couldn’t muster a single excuse or plea.  Frodo was still too shocked by the whole thing to find his tongue, and he knew the evidence was against him anyway.  There was no Amarantha to save him this time.

“Very well,” said Old Rory when it was clear that no response would be forthcoming.  “Miss Celosia mentioned needing some herbs for her medicine box.  You boys will get the list from her and find those herbs!  And don’t come home until you have them all!”  Rorimac shouted, chasing the boys out and closing the study’s round door with a bang.

Out in the hallway, the boys could do no more than stare blankly at each other for a moment.

“Come on then,” Frodo said finally, turning in the direction of the herbalist’s room.  Bolo jammed his hands angrily in his pockets and followed, knowing he could not disobey Old Rory.