Chapter Four: A Friend in Need

Early the next morning Frodo bolted his breakfast and ducked out of the Hall before anyone could decide that he was needed for something. Tucked under his arm was the wooden box; he had decided to seek out a more inspirational setting in which to finish his poem.

He wandered now along the footpath leading to the apple orchard, all around him the joyous bloom of the season. Hawthorn trees overhung the path like the arches of a great hall, a thousand buds swelling and opening, and the air throbbed with the fragrance of their blossoms. Beneath them plumes of lilac nodded above their fresh green foliage, glowing purple in the shade. The exquisite beauty of it all pierced Frodo’s heart like a sword, and he wondered that it had never moved him so before.

Even the sight of Otis Sandheaver coming up the path did nothing to spoil his mood. In fact, Frodo was filled with affection at the sight of him. If it hadn’t been for Otis, he would not have had occasion to meet Hyacinth yesterday, to take her arm, to gaze into her eyes… "Hullo Otis!" he exclaimed cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder. "Wonderful morning, isn’t it?"

He walked on and Otis stared after him, bewildered and somewhat crestfallen. Frodo Baggins glad to see him! Suddenly all felt very wrong with his world…

The orchard was dressed up in white lace like a country bride. Frodo threw himself down in the shade of a large, spreading tree, arms behind his head, and stared dreamily up at the sky through snowy drifts of apple blossoms. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair. Closing his eyes, he let Hyacinth’s lovely face and melodious voice fill his mind until he suddenly sat up and began writing as if possessed. When at last he set down his pen, Frodo lay back again with a satisfied sigh and held the parchment up to read over his work.

Without warning, it was torn from his hands as a familiar, spiteful voice said, "And what have we here, eh?" It was Otis! He had stealthily entered the orchard, convinced he would have no rest until he had restored normal relations with the Baggins. Standing just out of Frodo’s reach, he made a great show of examining the sheet. "Very interestin’…very interestin’ indeed!" he said in a mock-serious tone.

Now Otis was no hobbit of letters, and could make neither heads nor tails of the document. In fact, he was holding it upside down. But he had wits enough to see that it was very important to Frodo.

"Give it back, you lout!" cried Frodo, leaping up and advancing on him threateningly.

Otis didn’t blink. "Take more one step, Baggins," he sneered, "and I tears this into scraps!"

Frodo stopped abruptly, and glared at his tormentor in helpless frustration. "Give it back!" he repeated, but now there was a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Well now," Otis drawled, savoring the moment, "I don’t know as I’m in any hurry to do that…what’s it worth to you?"

"I don’t know what it’s worth to him, but I’ll tell you what it’s worth to me," said a new voice, as a hand reached over Otis’ shoulder and snatched the parchment from his grasp. He jumped in surprise, then whirled around with an oath…but the angry words died on his lips.

For Coronel Took had stepped out from behind the tree and now stood leaning against it, an amused smile on his face. "It’s worth my not giving your ears a boxing and your arse a good kick for disturbing my morning constitutional," he continued amiably, but his light, bantering tone was at odds with the menacing gleam in his eye. Otis needed no stronger hint to take to his heels, without so much as a backward glance.

Still recovering from his own surprise at this sudden reversal of fortune, Frodo gazed at his unexpected savior with mingled relief and gratitude. "Coronel, I…I’m much obliged to you!" he stammered.

Coronel waved off his thanks. "Think nothing of it, lad—Frodo, isn’t it?—after all, we Tooks and Brandybucks have to stick together, eh?"

Though Frodo had spoken little with Coronel since his arrival at the Hall, he knew that they were second cousins once removed and it appeared that Coronel knew it too. He tousled Frodo’s hair in a paternal gesture that Frodo normally would have loathed, but somehow didn’t mind coming from Coronel. In fact he felt honored by the attention; up until now the older tween had seemed scarcely to notice his existence.

Coronel now flopped down on the grass and turned his attention to the rescued parchment. "So what have we here?" he said, unknowingly echoing Otis’ words. He looked at it with idle curiosity.

Frodo began to squirm in growing chagrin. "Er, Coronel, might I have that back now?" he ventured uneasily, sitting down beside his cousin.

"Certainly lad, certainly…all in good time. But first, surely I’m entitled to a peek at this treasure after saving it from the clutches of your foe!" His casual perusal grew more intent, and he began to read aloud:

I love thee as I love the first
Young violet of the spring;
Or the pale lily, April-nurs'd,
To scented blossoming.

If Frodo was embarrassed before, he was now mortified. He began twisting the corner of his weskit into a bunch. "Coronel, please…"

"Half a minute, Frodo, I can’t stop now!" Coronel continued reading:

I love thee as I love the tone
Of some soft-breathing flute
Whose soul is wak'd for me alone,
When all beside is mute.

Frodo wished fervently that the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

Finally Coronel paused and glanced up at Frodo with new interest. "So you’ve got it pretty bad, eh? Who’s the lucky lass?"

His cheeks flaming, Frodo mumbled something unintelligible.

"Oh come now, you can tell Cousin Cory!"

"Hyacinth Hornblower," said Frodo, a little louder this time.

"Of course, the Hornblower lass!" Coronel gave Frodo a long, appraising look. "I commend you on your good taste, Cousin…she’s quite the looker, is Hyacinth. A bit old for you though, isn’t she? I believe she’s nigh on twenty-nine."

"Why should that matter!" said Frodo hotly, then stopped, shocked at his flash of temper toward his renowned cousin and benefactor.

But Coronel seemed unoffended. "No reason at all," he soothed. "Come to think of it, when did I ever let a little difference in age stop me? Well, happy hunting lad! When do you plan to present her with this testament to your devotion?"

"Oh! I could never give it to her!" exclaimed Frodo, horrified at the mere thought.

Coronel looked mystified. "Not give it to her…? Isn’t that the, ah, whole point of writing it? Why else if not to win her heart?"

"I…I just had to write what I felt," said Frodo, struggling to explain. "It seemed that if I kept it bottled up inside any longer I’d burst!"

"I see," said Coronel, though he clearly didn’t. "So…what are you going to do with it then?"

Frodo hadn’t really thought that far ahead. "I don’t know," he faltered. "Just…keep it, I suppose, and read it every now and then. And…write more like it!"

Coronel looked at him incredulously, then shrugged and smiled. "As you please…" He looked down at the parchment once more and read softly, as if to himself:

I love thee as the glad bird loves
The freedom of its wing
On which delightedly it moves
In wildest wandering.

"Seems a shame to waste it though…this isn’t half bad and the lasses really seem to go for this sort of thing." He stopped suddenly and a thoughtful expression came over his face. "You know, Frodo, even if you’re not keen to give this to her yourself, you could get someone to deliver it for you."

The idea both frightened and attracted Frodo. "Do you really think I ought?"

"Absolutely! Don’t you realize how thrilled she would be to know she’d inspired such deliciously romantic sentiments?"

"Would she?" Frodo was blushing again.

"Of course she would—who wouldn’t! Wisht, lad, I’d be thrilled to get such a poem!" said Coronel with a wink, and a sly glance to gauge Frodo’s reaction to his last remark. None was forthcoming but then he hadn’t really expected it, and continued on without missing a beat. "Such eloquence deserves to be heard—you must find a messenger!"

But whom could I trust on such an errand? thought Frodo, and he inwardly cringed at the prospect of taking anyone into his confidence regarding such a delicate matter. He would not have confided even in Coronel if he hadn’t coaxed it out of him. He looked hesitantly at his cousin, who at that moment was studying the ground in a modest, unassuming manner.

"Coronel, I—I don’t suppose you’d…?"

"Why Frodo!" He looked up, appearing surprised and deeply moved. "I would consider it an honor to be entrusted with the tender task of delivering this precious missive into the lovely hands of Hyacinth Hornblower, and no other! At your service, sir!" he said with a little salute and a disarming smile.

"Would you? O Coronel, that would be splendid!" exclaimed Frodo gratefully.

"Right, that’s settled then," said Coronel briskly. He finally returned the poem to Frodo. It remains only for you to sign this and say the word, and I’ll be on my way!

Frodo froze in the act of reaching for the sheet. "Sign it? No, Coronel, you still don’t understand…if she knew I had written it I think I should die!"

Coronel looked at him quizzically, at a momentary loss for words. "You are a shy one, aren’t you?" he remarked at last. "Very well then, an ardent, but secret, admirer you shall be! But you must at least sign it with an assumed name." He offered the parchment to Frodo once more, and this time he took it, only to sit staring at it blankly as he pondered these instructions.

A pen name—but what! Something like his own, but not too like…Odo? Dudo? Suddenly, it came to him. "Udo," he whispered. He seized and dipped his pen, then wrote hurriedly across the top of the page. After waving it back and forth a few times to dry the ink, he returned the document to Coronel.

His cousin looked at it and smiled. "To Princess Hyacinth from your devoted servant, Prince Udo," he read aloud. "I like it! Very fitting…you do look rather princely, you know."

"It’s not too like my own name, is it? She mustn’t suspect!" said Frodo anxiously.

Coronel smiled at him reassuringly. "You have my word, Frodo, that I will do everything in my power to make certain she does not! In affairs of the heart I am the very soul of discretion!"

"I don’t know how to thank you, Coronel…you’re a true friend."

A shadow passed over the older tween’s face for a moment, but then he was smiling again. "Not at all, my dear Frodo…anything to help a cousin, as I said. And please—call me Cory!" He sprang to his feet, then carefully folded the missive and tucked it into his breast pocket. And with a sweeping bow and a flourish, he was off down the path, whistling a merry tune.

Next week
Chapter Five: Spring Fever

Author’s notes:

Frodo’s poem is an excerpt from "I Love Thee" by Eliza Acton.

In defense of Frodo’s gullibility: At this point, dear reader, you probably have a better idea of where this is going than Frodo does. In fact, you’re undoubtedly wondering how he, or anyone, could be so incredibly naïve as to trust a charlatan like Coronel.

But I put it to you: is he any more gullible than Lord Manwë himself, for believing Melkor when he said he was very very sorry for trashing Arda and would never do it again? Even Tulkas saw through that, and he doesn’t strike me as the brightest star in the firmament. The Silmarillion explains that Manwë is so good he simply has a hard time seeing evil in others. And just so with Frodo…he assumes Coronel is as honorable as himself, and he is still young enough, and inexperienced enough, not to realize what a very risky assumption this is.