Written for LJ hobbit_ficathon

FAMILY REUNION

Griffo looked at the invitation his wife had handed him. “Family reunion?”

“Aunt Dora’s idea. She has badgered Cousin Bilbo into hosting it. We *will* be expected to attend.”

Both of them glanced across the room at their son Folco, who with his best friend little Fatty Bolger, was busily engaged in a game of Miggle. Folco was, as usual, losing badly. He didn’t seem to mind--he was chattering aimlessly to Fatty, who was paying a bit more attention to the game board than to his friend’s rambling monologue.

Daisy sighed. “We have to go. And we’ll have to take Folco.”

Griffo nodded, resigned. It was always so awkward taking him anywhere, as one never knew what the child was going to say. He would never forget his embarrassment last year at the wedding of Betony Proudfoot to Togo Banks. It was not as though everyone did not already realize that the young couple had put the dessert before the main course, and as a result had to put the wedding forward, even though Cousin Betony was still two years short of her majority. But it was certainly not something to be spoken of.

But they had not reckoned with Folco, who did not seem to have outgrown the outspokenness of the youngest of children. In ringing tones heard by everyone, he had asked his father why Cousin Betony was “so fat, like Freddy’s mum before he got a baby sister?”

Griffo had hoped the earth would open up and swallow him, but he had no such luck, and his son’s proclamation had set every tongue there loose.

And of course, old Uncle Blanco Chubb-Baggins still carried a bit of a grudge from the time Folco had rather loudly noticed his unfortunate and unhobbity tendency to baldness. Fortunately, Uncle Blanco became a recluse soon after, and would not be expected at the Family Reunion. But Folco at any social gathering was a chancy thing.

“Well,” said Daisy, looking once more at the two lads at their game, “at least Fatty will be there.” She and Griffo had rather come to rely on their son’s friend to keep Folco’s foot out of his mouth, or, barring that, smoothing over the resulting awkwardness. It was a lot of responsibility for a nine-year-old, but Fatty didn’t seem to mind.

The Boffins left a few days early from their home in the Yale to go to Hobbiton. They would spend a little time before the Reunion with Daisy’s father Dudo, who was an invalid, and with Aunt Dora, who kept house for her brother.

Dudo was pleased to see his grandson, and was actually rather gratified by his grandson’s observation that he looked dreadful, for Dudo was one of those people who make the most of their ill-health, and he had an attentive young audience for his recital of all his aches and pains.

The morning of the event, Daisy came into the dining room for second breakfast, to find Aunt Dora perusing her usual huge stack of letters. She was a tireless correspondent, and often received letters asking her for advice on some domestic problem or another. She picked up one, and opened it.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed.

“What is it, Aunt Dora?”

“Apparently little Fredegar got into some giant hogweed and is laid up with blisters and a rash. The Bolgers will not be able to attend the picnic. They are still at home in Budgeford.”

“Oh dear!” Daisy’s dismay was not entirely due to sympathy for poor little Fatty’s plight--if he were not there the chances of Folco putting his furry little foot in his mouth rose drastically. Well, it could not be helped now, and she hoped the lad would soon recover.

After elevenses the Boffins and Dora Baggins made their way to the Party Field. Bilbo was already there, with his newly-adopted heir, young Frodo Baggins. Frodo stood proudly at Bilbo’s side, with Bilbo’s arm about his shoulders. It was clear that his new status had done the lad good. Daisy did not think she’d ever seen him looking so confident. She, as well as most of the Baggins relatives, had been very glad of Bilbo’s decision. She had often worried about the lad, doubtless running wild in Buckland, for everyone knew how those Brandybucks were. And too, it was nice to know that Bilbo had put paid to Otho’s hopes of someday becoming the Family Head. *”Baggins-Sackville-Baggins”* indeed! What an absurd idea!

Speaking of the Sackville-Baggins--there they were, having arrived in a pony-trap, when it was only a short walk from their smial. Lobelia, of course, wore a face that could curdle milk, and Otho his usual oily smile.

Lotho was swaggering along, sneering at everyone.

Lobelia was dressed of course, in the latest fashion, which did not at all suit her matronly appearance--especially her hat, a straw affair which seemed to be covered with an abundance of artificial fruit and colorful ribbons. She was distributing haughty nods left and right as she advanced. Daisy decided to make herself scarce. She looked about, and saw her friend Posey Grubb, and hastily headed in that direction.

“Have you seen Folco?” she asked her friend apprehensively.

Posey nodded. “He’s with my Herveus and some of the other children over there.”

Daisy looked in that direction, and then sighed with relief. The children were engaged in a noisy game of chase. Folco would hopefully be too out of breath to say anything unfortunate. She cast her eye over the Party Field. There was Griffo, talking to Olo Proudfoot. She returned her attention to Posey, and they were soon joined by Peony Burrows, as they discussed some of the latest fashions.

“I know,” Peony was saying, “that purple is supposed to be a popular color this year, but it is so seldom flattering to the complexion…”

Suddenly a voice cut across the Field and caught her attention immediately. It was Folco.

“She has a fruit basket on her head!” followed by a peal of childish laughter. Daisy slowly closed her eyes, and as the color rose to her cheeks she put her palm over her face, and shook her head. Peony, a very good friend, for they were the same age, put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

Daisy was almost afraid to ask who her child had insulted now. But she didn’t need to ask. A shrill voice that nearly every hobbit there had learned to dread, was raised in ire.

“*WHAT* did you say, young hobbit?”

Daisy moaned. One *never* said that to Folco.

Sure enough he repeated himself. “You have a fruit basket on your head,” he replied cheerfully, completely oblivious to the storm that was about to descend.

“What cheek!” shrieked Lobelia. She reached out and caught the tip of Folco’s ear between two sharp fingers. “Haven’t your parents taught you not to be insolent to adults? I have *never* heard such cheek! I ought to…”

Daisy had begun to head in that direction to rescue her hapless child, but Griffo had already reached their son.

“I’ll take over from here, Cousin Lobelia,” he said tightly. It was hard to retain a civil tone when addressing an angry Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

“You be certain to thrash him!” she shouted. “Hmmph! The cheek! To make such *personal* remarks!”

“I’m sorry,” Folco was saying, in that forlorn little voice he had, when he knew he’d said something wrong, but not quite why. Daisy had reached him now, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Why Lobelia? she thought. Of *all* the people at the picnic, why did he have to pick Lobelia to offend this time?

“You *ought* to be!” She was winding herself up into another tirade. Just then Aunt Dora reached her side.

“Lobelia,” she said, “the lad’s parents will handle this. Why don’t you come over here now, and give me your opinion of the fruitcake?”

Somehow, Aunt Dora managed to lead the still infuriated Lobelia away.

Bilbo appeared just then, at Griffo’s side. “Whatever was Lobelia on about this time?”

Daisy sighed. “He told her that her hat looked like a fruit basket.”

Bilbo grinned. “Did he now? What an observant and intelligent lad!” He bent down to Folco, who was staring, wide-eyed and fearful at the retreating Lobelia. “You were quite right, you know!”

Daisy and Griffo exchanged a look of resignation. But Folco’s face lit up at the praise. It was so seldom anyone ever told him he was right after he had made someone angry.

“Thank you, Cousin Bilbo,” he whispered.

“You are very welcome, Folco.”

Things settled down a bit after that; Griffo and Daisy were careful to keep Folco out of Lobelia’s line of sight, and after a while, things seemed to have settled back down. The Boffins made for the refreshment table, and once Folco had a plate filled with food, they thought it safe to once more mingle with the adults. Herveus Grubb and Angelica Baggins came along, and took Folco off with them for a game of Stones.

Lotho Sackville-Baggins had been amused at the little encounter with his mother. He’d not thought much of her new hat himself when he had seen it the first time that morning. The brat was right. It *did* look like a fruit basket. But of course, it didn’t do to say so. Lotho had made a point in fact of telling her how lovely it looked on her, when all it had really made him want to do was pluck one of the cherries off, and taste it. He shook his head, and tried to distract himself. There was Lavender Longhole, the Apprentice Healer. She was an attractive bit of goods. He did not see her Mistress Salvia around anywhere--perhaps he’d try his luck with Lavender. He began to stare at her with an expression he thought of as dashing. It was rather more a frightening leer. However, she seemed completely oblivious to his gaze.

Someone else noticed.

“He looks like our pig when we give her an apple,” said a childish voice.

It was that brat! The one that had insulted his mother! With an angry snarl, Lotho lunged in Folco’s direction.

For once, Folco did not stop to wonder what he’d said wrong. He ran, hotly pursued by the furious young Lotho. Folco ran blindly, until suddenly he felt his arm grabbed. He looked up in panic, to see the fruit-basket person staring down at him with gimlet eyes.

Lobelia looked up at Lotho. “What did he say?” she asked through gritted teeth.

Lotho tried to look unrattled. “He said I looked like a pig!”

Lobelia rounded on Folco. With a jerk, the child pulled his arm away and ran again, this time pursued by both Lotho *and* his mother. Where to go? He didn’t see his parents anywhere.

But--

There was Cousin Bilbo! Cousin Bilbo had said he was right this morning! He dashed over to the old hobbit, and hid behind Bilbo’s legs, peering out fearfully at his furious pursuers.

They both came up, Lobelia brandishing her umbrella. “Let me have that ill-mannered chit!” she screamed, “and I will teach him his manners!”

“No, Lobelia, you will not!” said Bilbo firmly, staring at her through cold blue eyes. “Be off! You cannot punish a lad for speaking the truth!”

Lobelia’s jaw dropped. “Well! I *never*…” she started.

“No, and you never will, if I have any say about it. Leave the lad alone.”

Just then Otho came up. He glared at Bilbo, who returned the glare with interest.

“Come, Lobelia! Lotho! We do not have to stay here and be insulted.” In a huff, he marched his wife and son over to their pony-trap.

Bilbo drew the trembling Folco out from behind him gently. He patted him on the head. “Thank you, my lad!”

Folco’s eyes grew wide. “What did I do?” he asked.

“Why, I just think my picnic will be much more fun, now they’ve gone, don’t you?”

Folco just nodded.

Bilbo patted his pockets, and then reaching in, drew out a paper wrapped toffee, which he presented with a flourish.

“You are a most intelligent and observant lad indeed,” he laughed.

Folco gave him a confused smile, and unwrapping the toffee, popped it into his mouth. It was nice to think he’d done something right for a change.

Bilbo took his hand. “I was about to go tell the Tale of how I outwitted the Dragon Smaug,” he said. “Would you like to come along and listen?”

“When Folco was nine, he had drawn the ire of the Sackville-Bagginses at a family picnic, when first he had said Cousin Lobelia’s new hat looked like a fruit basket, and then when he had said that Lotho’s face looked like a pig’s. Both of those statements had drawn tirades from Lobelia, who would have used her umbrella on the frightened lad if he had not had the sudden presence of mind to hide behind Cousin Bilbo’s legs. Cousin Bilbo just gave Cousin Lobelia a Look, and told her “Be off! You cannot punish a lad for speaking the truth!” Lobelia, Otho and Lotho had all left in a huff, and Cousin Bilbo had patted him on the head and given him a sweet. Nevertheless, his parents were not pleased.” From my story “Road to Edoras” Chapter 6