Chapter Two: Like a Vision Fleeting

A young hobbit-maid stood on the path, glaring at the fighters with a fierce expression that did not in the least detract from her comeliness. From the rich auburn curls tumbling in soft masses about her face to the shapely, silky-furred feet peeping out from beneath her skirt, she was a picture of hobbit perfection.

Slender, elegant hands were firmly planted on gently curved hips; her delicate complexion was charmingly flushed with anger. Limpid brown eyes that seemed made for tender glances and pensive gazes, for reflecting starlight and firelight and a lover’s smile, were blazing with a different kind of light just now as she advanced on her victims.

From behind the wall came a low, appreciative whistle. The girl’s only acknowledgment was to shoot a scornful glance in its general direction before turning back to the erstwhile combatants, who were now shuffling their feet and staring at them as if wondering who they belonged to. "I do wonder, Horatio, whether you’ve any more sense than a newt," she growled. "We’ve not been here two days and I find you in a scrape already! What will Father say?"

At that the boy’s head snapped up, a look of alarm on his face. "Don’t tell him Hy! Please say you won’t!"

"I shan’t need to tell him, not with that shiner blooming on your left eye. And YOU!" she added, rounding suddenly on Frodo and dashing his feeble hope that he’d somehow been overlooked. "How dare you thrash my little brother like that?"

"He didn’t either!" protested Horatio. "It was me doing the thrashing…I was just about to finish him off when you interrupted us!"

The lass ignored him and continued to fix Frodo with an accusing look. "Well, what have you to say for yourself? Is this any way to treat a stranger and guest in your land? I had expected better manners from Bucklanders, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised!"

Frodo’s cheeks were burning scarlet, and he was completely unable to look at her or to make any kind of answer. For one long, painful moment there was complete silence, save for some muffled snickering from behind the wall. Then suddenly a small, high but quite furious voice broke in.

"Don’t you talk to my cousin like that!"

Merry, who had remained obediently perched on the wall all this time, could contain himself no longer. Even as Frodo looked up, startled, and managed to choke out, "Merry, no!" he jumped down and charged over to confront his beloved cousin’s foes.

The girl looked him up and down and though her eyes were still smoldering, the corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly. "And who might you be, young master? His squire?"

Merry pulled himself up to his full two-foot height. "I am Meriadoc Brandybuck, and my gaffer’s the Master of the Hall and of all Buckland too, and my dad will be too someday, and then I will, I guess, at least my mum says I will if I’m very good and don’t sass her back and go to bed as soon as she says to. And when I’m Master I won’t let anyone say mean things to Frodo anymore and they’ll catch it hot if they do!"

"Merry, it’s all right," said Frodo weakly, wishing he could just sink into the ground there and then.

The maid looked at Frodo quizzically, then turned back to Merry. "It’s good of you to want to look out for your cousin, Master Meriadoc," she said gravely. "And I’m sorry if you think I’m being hard on him. But you see, that’s my brother he was thrash—I mean, fighting, and I look after my own too."

Horatio started to protest, "I don’t need looking—"

"Shut up, Horrie!"

Merry frowned, feeling a little muddled. "It wasn’t you saying mean things to Frodo," he tried to explain. "Well, maybe you were, but you’re not the one I meant was going to catch it. It’s your brother, and those boys over there behind the wall, and all the other ones who say things about—about his parents."

The girl’s expression, which had begun to soften as she listened to Merry, now grew hard and intent as she shot a look at her brother. "What do they say about his parents?"

"Mean things. Things that aren’t true. Things about how they…" his voice trailed off as his confidence suddenly abandoned him. He looked timidly at Frodo, whose jaw was clenched tightly.

"How they what?" The maid’s voice was gentler as she too looked at Frodo.

Frodo turned away, and seemed to be struggling within himself. "How they died," he finally said in a strangled whisper.

When it became clear that he would not or could not say more, Merry reclaimed his courage as he saw another chance to come to Frodo’s aid and set the record straight. "That’s why they were fighting, don’t you see?" he explained, gazing earnestly up into the girl’s face. "Your brother said something about his mum, so then he just had to fight to defend her honor and all."

"What?" she gasped. Shocked, she turned slowly toward her brother, just in time to see him trying to sidle off down the road. "Horatio! How could you torment this poor boy in such a horrible way? I never would have thought it of you!"

"I didn’t know, I swear!" insisted Horatio. He looked at Frodo for the first time since the fight. "Please, you must believe that I didn’t know about your parents…I only said what those louts put me up to, I thought it was some kind of silly Buckland insult, you know, like we say ‘Your mum blows smoke rings with Dwarves!’ back home."

"What does that mean?" asked Merry with interest.

The lass was only half-listening to her brother, as a new thought had struck her. "His parents dead," she murmured to herself. Aloud she asked Frodo, "What did you say your name was?"

"Frodo…Frodo Baggins." He cautiously met her eyes for the first time.

"Ah! I thought as much…please allow me to offer my greetings, Cousin Frodo!"

Frodo blinked in surprise at this new development.

"Cousin?" echoed Horatio, looking, if possible, even more disconcerted than before.

"Yes, Horrie, if only you’d stop wool-gathering during our family history lessons, you’d know that Great-grandfather Hamilton’s sister Tanta married Largo Baggins, making us—"

"Making us third cousins," finished Frodo, for once grateful to his Aunt Dora for relentlessly drilling him on the Baggins family tree during his dreaded visits with her.

"Exactly!" she smiled at him. "I’m Hyacinth Hornblower, of the Longbottom Hornblowers… we’ve just arrived at Brandy Hall for an extended stay. My brother Horatio here you’ve already met, it seems!"

"Well, not properly," Frodo said a bit sheepishly. He looked at Horatio and extended a tentative hand. "Hullo, Cousin."

Horatio smiled in relief and pumped his hand vigorously. "Well met, Frodo! That is, er, perhaps not well met, exactly, but…"

"Forget it," said Frodo with a sudden grin that lit up his face.

"Are we cousins too, then?" asked Merry eagerly, feeling a bit left out.

"I’m afraid not, Master Meriadoc, at least only very distantly if at all," Hyacinth replied. "Although, if you go back far enough, it sometimes seems that everyone in the Shire is related in one way or another," she added with a smile.

Behind the wall Otis ground his teeth and cursed silently. This wasn’t going at all as planned…

As if she had read his thoughts, Hyacinth abruptly turned toward him, and those few of his companions who had not already slipped away. "As for you rotters," she snapped, "I mean to tell everyone at the Hall about this as soon as I return, so just you wait—"

Before she could finish, the remaining Brandy Hall Boys had scattered like chaff on the wind.

At the same moment, Frodo cried "No!" and, emboldened by desperation, sprang forward and caught her by the arm.

Hyacinth stared at him in surprise.

"Please don’t say anything," Frodo begged, his voice cracking with puberty and emotion. "I can bear the taunts, but not the pity!"

They stood thus for a long moment, their eyes locked, until finally Hyacinth broke the silence. "I understand," she said quietly. "As you wish, then…I will say nothing. And neither will you, Horrie, do you hear?" she added, glancing back at her brother.

"Not a word," vowed Horatio. "I’ll tell Father I ran into a tree branch or something!"

Frodo realized he was still clutching Hyacinth’s arm. "Please excuse me," he stammered, hastily releasing her and retreating to a more proper distance. "I—I hope I didn’t hurt you?"

"Not at all Frodo, I’m fine," Hyacinth reassured him, though she couldn’t help but rub her arm a little. After smoothing out her skirt and patting some stray wisps of hair back in place, her manner turned brisk and businesslike. "Well! While we didn’t get off to a promising start, I am delighted to meet you nonetheless, Cousin. And you, Master Meriadoc. I expect we’ll see you at dinner tonight?"

Frodo nodded, feeling suddenly tongue-tied again.

"Oh, are you having dinner with us?" cried Merry excitedly. "That means I’ll get to stay up late—I always do when we have new guests!

"Lovely!" said Hyacinth, smiling at him. "Well, until then…" She turned to go. "Come along Horrie, let’s get you cleaned up before Father sees you!"

Even after they had disappeared around a curve in the path, Frodo stood looking after them, seemingly lost in thought.

Merry was tugging at his sleeve. "Frodo? Frodo! Can we go home now?"

"What? Oh—sorry, Merry-lad! All right, come on then…" He swung Merry up onto his shoulder, which made the child laugh with pleasure, and started walking briskly back to the Hall.

As they went, Merry prattled nonstop about the fight, the Brandy Hall Boys, and the newcomers.

But Frodo’s replies were distracted, and he scarcely saw the way before him. His thoughts were still back on the River-path—reliving the same scene over and over.

At the moment he had stood gazing into Hyacinth’s eyes, his heart seemed to stop. And when it started again, he knew that the world had changed forever…

Next week
Chapter Three: Childish Things