A/N: Frodo is 30 (16 in human terms), Halfred is 29 (15), Sam is 18 (9), Marigold is 14 (7).

55.  A Friend In Need

December 15, 1398

My dear Frodo,

Your news is most disquieting.  I do not know what the Sackville-Bagginses mean by challenging Bilbo’s will, for I feel sure another copy will come to light before long.  From what I know of Lobelia, she has some scheme in mind, and it cannot bode well for you, dear cousin.  I urge you again to leave dreary old Bag End to its lonesome and come stay with us until Bilbo’s return!  Merry would be delighted to see you, as would Esme and I.  Please consider it.  I cannot think that Bilbo would want you moping around all alone for such an extended period.

As to your query, I can assure you that Esmeralda and I both witnessed Bilbo’s second will, the one which leaves everything to you.  Happy we were to do it, too.  We were the first to sign, and we did not see who the others were.  I asked around Brandy Hall and determined that Old Rory witnessed directly after we did.  I could uncover no others.  Paladin and Eglantine were to be there, I remember, but Paladin fell ill at the last minute and they did not come.  Bilbo did not seem overly concerned about finding replacements, but I regret he did not tell me who he was thinking of.  I know they are not at Brandy Hall, in any case.  I fear one of them might have been the Widow Brandybuck, but as you know she passed several years ago.

I regret I can be of no help in identifying a fourth witness.  But don’t be down-hearted; you have many relatives besides Bilbo who would fight tooth and nail on your behalf.  If the S-B’s press their claim, they will have some very angry Brandybucks (and Tooks, I daresay) to contend with.

Your affectionate cousin,

Saradoc Brandybuck

Frodo put the letter next to Paladin’s and sat back with a sigh.  Saradoc said much the same thing as Paladin; he was one witness away from being able to prove the contents of Bilbo’s second will, but he had no idea where to look next.

He felt a twinge of guilt for keeping the whole story from both of them.  But if they knew that the S-B’s had Bag End already, and custody of Frodo, they would never allow him to remain, and Frodo would lose all hope of finding the will.

Frodo tucked the letters safely away and peered into the hall.  Deciding the S-B’s were in bed, he crept out to resume the search.

“I’m hearing disturbing things about you, Frodo,” Lobelia said the following morning after second breakfast.

Frodo glanced quickly at Lotho’s smirking face.  What had his cousin seen?

“It appears you’ve been doing a great deal of late night wandering, and we can’t have that,” Lobelia continued.  “I’ve decided to move you out of that little room of yours and into the nicer one across from Otho and me.  I think you’ll be more comfortable there.”

“I’m satisfied with my current room, thank you,” Frodo said firmly.  It would be far more difficult to sneak about at night from the room Lobelia mentioned.

“Nonsense.  It’s all arranged.  Those Gamgee boys are coming by this afternoon to move your things.  Now I don’t want you helping them, mind.  You’ll spend the day out of doors.  Some fresh air will cure your insomnia.”

Frodo stared at her.  It had been chilly and damp all week, and today it looked like rain.  But he decided anything was preferable to being cooped up with his cousins, so he didn’t argue.

This pattern continued several days; Frodo’s new room was certainly nicer than his old one, although not as homey.  And he couldn’t leave it at night without waking the S-B’s, so he found himself catching up on his sleep instead of searching for Bilbo’s will.

It didn’t seem to do much good, though.  Frodo felt more tired than ever.  Tired of the S-B’s, tired of finding no hint of the missing will, but most of all, tired of worrying what had happened to Bilbo.

Frodo thought about this often, during the long drizzly afternoons he spent wandering aimlessly after his morning lessons with Sam.  Did Bilbo even want to come back?  Frodo knew his presence had been a hindrance to Bilbo’s adventurous lifestyle, but selfishly, he hadn’t cared.  He had been too happy to have Bilbo all to himself.  And now his favourite cousin had been gone nearly four months.  Four months, when Bilbo had planned to be back within one.

One morning Frodo was even more listless than usual, much to Sam’s consternation.

“Was it all right, Mr. Frodo?” the eighteen-year-old asked anxiously.

Frodo tried to rouse himself from his stupor.  He felt a twinge of shame when he realized he hadn’t heard a word of the passage Sam had just read.  It was no first reader; Sam’s vocabulary had increased impressively in the last few years.

“You’ve come such a long way, dear Sam,” Frodo murmured.

Samwise cocked his head.  “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, truly.  It’s only this stubborn head cold making me a bit slow.”  Frodo sniffled and allowed his head to rest on his forearm, and looked sideways at Sam.  “Read on a little, would you?  I do like to hear you read.”

The sandy-haired lad looked worried but pleased by Frodo’s praise.  He lifted the book again and began to read.

After awhile, Frodo stopped trying to understand the words and simply let the childish voice wash over him.

When the reading stopped, Frodo hardly noticed.  He felt a small hand shake him hesitantly by the shoulder, but his head was simply too heavy to lift, and pounding besides.

“Ma!” he heard Sam cry from far away.  “Somethin’s wrong with Mr. Frodo!”

The words didn’t quite make sense, but Frodo felt he should respond somehow.

“Mr. Frodo?” another voice said, and another, larger hand touched his arm.  The he felt the hand touch his forehead and quickly draw back. 

“He’s burnin’ up.  Halfred, run and get your dad.”

Frodo awoke to unfamiliar surroundings.  A bare earthen ceiling flickered in and out of view by the light of a candle.  He didn’t know where he was, but he felt safe, and his mind was too fuzzy to wonder any further.  He was cold, but the heavy quilt over him felt wonderful.

Sometime later, he became aware that he was not alone.  He opened aching eyes.

“Do you want to play with Freddy?” the little lass by his bedside said, offering him a grey mouse with twitching whiskers.

Frodo couldn’t help smiling a little.  “Maybe later,” he said.  “But thank you for the kind offer,” he added when Marigold’s face fell.

She brightened.  “I think he likes ye.  Know what else he likes?  Seeds.  But only real little ones.  I reckon that’s ‘cause his mouth is too small to eat bigger ones, if you follow me.”

It took Frodo’s sluggish mind a moment to catch up.  He opened his mouth to answer.

“Oh, but I must tell my Ma you’re awake.  I’m not ta talk to you or bother you in any way,” Marigold said decisively before trotting out of Frodo’s line of sight, Freddy dropped hastily in her apron pocket.

“Wait!” Frodo’s voice came out as a croak.

Marigold reappeared, looking at him curiously.  “Aye?”

“Where am I?  I mean... I know I must be in your family’s hole, but I don’t recall quite what happened.”

Marigold perched on the edge of the bed, peering at him with interest.  “Truly?  Ye don’t remember nothin’?”

Frodo shook his head.

“Goodness!” Marigold said, clearly impressed.  “Ye fell ill, seemingly.  Ma and Dad argued over what ta do with you, when they couldn’t wake you.  Ma declared she’d not send ye home to the care of ‘that woman’.  Then Dad didn’t know what ta do, sayin’ it wouldn’t be fitting ta keep ye here with the likes of us.  But he didn’t want ta send ye home, neither.  Then they thought ta change up their bed an’ tuck ye in there, but Sam and Hal said that would make ye real uncomfortable, putting our parents out o’ their bed.  They thought ye’d be happier in here, even though it ain’t so nice and private.”

“Where?” Frodo asked when Marigold finally paused for breath.

“Why, in Hamson’s old bed, o’ course!  We still had the bedframe; t’weren’t any trouble to bring it back in here and set it up nice and fresh for ye.”

Frodo finally noticed two other beds crowded into the little room.  “Sam and Hal’s room?” he guessed.

Marigold confirmed this with a nod.  “Aye, that’s right.  Dad was mighty reluctant, and told us all that ye weren’t a lost puppy being taken in, and we must all behave accordingly.  I don’t think ye look anything like a puppy though, beggin’ your pardon.  Sam’s real excited to have ye for a guest.  Been practicing his manners and everything.” Marigold nodded knowingly.  “Not me, though.  I always have good manners, whether we have gentlehobbit visitors or no.”

“I daresay you have,” Frodo said gravely.

Marigold beamed at him and started to say something else when Bell came in, the light of the candle she carried brightening the room.

“I see you’re awake, Mr. Frodo,” she said, with a warning look at Marigold.  “How are ye feeling?”

“All right, thank you,” Frodo said.  “Mrs. Gamgee, I’m so sorry to put you out.”

“Nonsense,” she replied.  “T’is our honour.  And don’t bother puttin’ on a brave face; I’ve raised six little ones and there ain’t no foolin’ me.”

Frodo groaned and let his head fall back on the pillow.  “Well then, I suppose I should tell you I have a cold.”

“Ye don’t say,” Bell smiled wryly.  “I should think ye would’ve noticed by know that it’s a bit more than a cold.  You pretty well fainted o’ fever a few hours ago.  I don’t know what you’re thinkin’ of, wandering out in the rain as ye do.  If ye don’t mind my sayin’ so.”

“I don’t mind,” Frodo said tiredly.

“But never fret.  Ye feel a mite cooler already.  You’ll be back to yourself in no time at all, and that’s a fact.”

“Thanks in no small part to you and your family.”

“Sticklebacks!  Now have some tea.”

The room seemed to spin when Frodo sat up, but he definitely felt better than he had that morning.  He sipped the tea and wondered what he ought to do about leaving.  He hated to trespass on the Gamgee’s kindness any longer than necessary, but he feared he might fall flat on his face if he tried to get up now.  But it must be quite late, and surely they didn’t want him to stay the night.

Frodo’s dilemma was solved for him because he fell asleep again before he could say anything to Bell.

December 20, 1398

When he woke in the morning, Bell plied him with food such as he hadn’t eaten since Bilbo went away.  She insisted on bringing him first and second breakfasts as well as elevenses.  By luncheon he felt well enough to eat with the family in the kitchen, and Frodo felt he never wanted to leave.  But he’d already imposed far too long, and at his insistence, Bell reluctantly allowed him to leave before afternoon tea.

Halfred saw him all the way to the door, for he was still tired and a trifle unsteady, although the fever had gone.

The round green door opened before Frodo had time to open it.

“Well, there you are,” Lobelia snapped.  “Awfully inconsiderate of you to make yourself scarce, today of all days.”

“What’s special about today?” Frodo demanded.

“Dear Otho and Lotho have gone to pay their respects to old Aunt Daffy, of course, leaving me alone the rest of the week.”

Frodo stared at her tiredly.  He had forgotten about that, but didn’t see what it had to do with him.  He wanted to go in and lie down, but Lobelia wasn’t stepping aside.  Halfred shifted uncomfortably, clearly unwilling to leave until Frodo was safely indoors.

Lobelia’s eyes narrowed.  “What are you doing here at this hour, anyway?  You know I like you to be out of doors in the afternoons, enjoying the fresh air.”

“Let me in, Lobelia, I’ve been ill,” Frodo said, ignoring Halfred’s start when Lobelia revealed the reason he was outside in bad weather so much.

“Or maybe it has something to do with this.”  Lobelia drew something out of her pocket and showed it to him.  It was a key.  “It appears to be the key to a trunk,” she said accusingly.  “But it doesn’t open any of the trunks in Bag End.  Any of the trunks I could find, anyway.”

Frodo was puzzled for a moment, but then he recognized the key and remembered what trunk it opened.  Then he remembered where that trunk currently was, and knew he must give Lobelia no hint, or there would be a great deal of trouble for more than just himself.

“And these are Master Bilbo’s things, which you want to hide in my house?” the Gaffer said, looking again at the trunk.

“Yes, sir,” Frodo confirmed.

No one said anything for a moment, and then Bell grasped the trunk by one of its handles, testing its weight.

“We could keep this well hidden in the pantry,” she said thoughtfully. “Behind the flour, if you follow me.”

“No.” Hamfast was shaking his head.

Frodo looked down. His desperation had led him to ask too much of the Gamgees...

“We’ll put it in the space under the bed,” the Gaffer finished.

Bell brightened. “Aye, that will do even better. Come along, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo lifted the trunk, waving off Halfred’s help, and followed Hamfast, wondering.

The Gaffer led him to one of the bedrooms, where he pushed the bed against the far wall. Frodo stood uneasily in the doorway until Bell came up behind him and nudged him gently inside. She went to her husband and handed him the hammer she’d fetched.

Hamfast nodded his thanks and turned the hammer around. To Frodo’s amazement, the old gardener began prying up floorboards where the bed had been.

When Hamfast sat back on his heels, it took a moment for Frodo to realize what he was seeing. The Gamgees apparently had a hollow space in the ground concealed by the floorboards under their bed. There wasn’t much in it but a few papers and a small sack.

Frodo felt awkward about having this secret revealed to him, but Bell and Halfred displayed no resentment. The tween never failed to be amazed by their trust in him.

As the Gaffer took the trunk from him and lowered it carefully into the hollow space, Frodo said, “I do apologize for imposing like this.”

“Nonsense,” Hamfast said gruffly. “You did right, bringin’ this here.” At Frodo’s look of surprise, he added, “We’ve long told ye to count on us for help in any circumstance. Did you not think we meant it?”

Frodo unstuck his dry tongue from the roof of his mouth.  “What has that to do with me?” he asked neutrally.

“Impudent boy!”  Lobelia grabbed at his arm.  “I found this key in your desk, and now I know you’ve been concealing Bilbo’s treasure from us!”

“I have concealed no treasure,” Frodo insisted truthfully, for the things he had hidden were of mostly sentimental value.

“Lying Bucklander!” Lobelia shrieked.  “I demand you show me the trunk this key opens, at once!”

“I will not,” Frodo said.  He could have lied and pretended to be ignorant, but he didn’t want to be what Lobelia had just accused him of.  He braced himself for further tirades from the furious lady, but she plunged her hand in her other pocket and seemed, inexplicably, to regain control of herself.  This made Frodo even more nervous.

“Very well,” Lobelia said coldly.  “But you will be punished for your wilful disobedience, and it will make any punishment that old softie Bilbo ever inflicted seem like a summer’s picnic.”

Frodo stared, too surprised to respond.

“And don’t think you’ll get off lightly just because my Otho is out of town.  You’ll get a beating that will stick.  You, boy!” she barked at Halfred, who was still standing there, white with shock.  “Run back home and fetch your father.  I have a chore for him.”

Halfred hesitated, looking at Frodo.  Frodo nodded at him to proceed.  What choice was there?

“And tell him if he wants to continue in my employment, he’ll carry out the task to my satisfaction,” she screamed at Halfred’s retreating back.

Hamfast Gamgee looked up slowly when Lobelia finished speaking.  He met the gaze of the young master across the room.

The lad looked paler and tireder than usual, not surprising given he was still recovering from a fever; but the queer blue eyes were bright and calm as they met the Gaffer’s gaze.

“I can’t do as ye ask,” he told Lobelia, maintaining a respectful tone of voice with great effort.

Lobelia glared.  “That boy needs to be taught a lesson.  He snoops around the place still, after many warnings.  And now I find he’s concealing some of my property.”

“Bag End belongs to Mr. Frodo, by rights,” Hamfast said.  “He can do as he likes with it.”

Lobelia's fist clenched in her dress pocket, but she went on calmly.  “I hadn’t expected to hear such insolence from you as well, Hamfast,” Lobelia sniffed.  “It is not your place to question my methods.  Now I demand you punish him.”

“I won’t touch him,” the Gaffer repeated flatly.  “’Tis out o’ the question.”

Lobelia reached into her pocket again and took a deep breath.  “Now be sensible,” she said icily.  “Do you really want to lose your job over this?  You won’t find another for months, not at this time of year.  Will you really let your family go hungry this winter?”

Hamfast unclenched his jaw to tell her they’d manage somehow, even if he didn’t know exactly how at present.

“He’ll do it!” Frodo burst out suddenly.

“Good.”  There was a note of triumph in Lobelia’s voice.  “Punishment will be first thing in the morning, to give Frodo time to meditate upon his misdeeds.  And I’ll be there to see it’s done properly, so you can’t go easy on him, mind,” she added before leaving the room.

Hamfast turned to face Frodo.  “I appreciate what you’re tryin’ to do, lad, and that’s a fact.  But I won’t do as she asks.  It’s outlandish, that she would try such a thing.”  Corporal punishment was not uncommon among the Shirefolk, but rarely applied to hobbitlings in their tweens.  Such a drastic course of action would be reserved for only the most incorrigible.

“She’s been acting strangely, more and more,” Frodo said quietly.  “I don’t understand it.  But what about your family?” he repeated Lobelia’s question, albeit in a very different tone.

“We’ll manage, Mr. Frodo,” Hamfast said proudly, and he knew they would have to, for quite apart from his own feelings, his family would never forgive him for giving in to Lobelia’s preposterous demands.

“There must be another solution,” Frodo implored.

“None that I can see,” the Gaffer said grimly.  Frodo looked away, his face determined.

The next morning, Lobelia met Hamfast at the gate with a victorious smile.

He had been prepared to tell her he would resign his job if she continued to insist on punishing Frodo in this way, but the words died in his throat.

“He’s gone,” Lobelia said, tossing a bit of parchment in the air.  She laughed delightedly, her eyes a bit crazed.  “It’s mine, it’s finally mine.”  She went back inside and Hamfast picked up the note and put it in his pocket.

When he had finished his daily upkeep of the grounds, he went home and showed the note to Sam.

“’Dear Cousin,’” Sam read, “’I have gone to stay at Brandy Hall.  Sincerely, Frodo Baggins.’”

The note was short and curt, by hobbit standards.  Hamfast sighed.  It wasn’t right at all.

“That woman!” Bell exclaimed, slamming a pot on the table.  They all jumped at the unexpected outburst.  “I want Master Bilbo ta hurry back just so I can have the pleasure of seein’ him throw her out on her ear!”

“I thought we wanted him to go to Buckland,” May said uncertainly.

“Not like this,” Hamfast said gruffly.  “He only did it ta save my job.”

“Why didn’t he just stay with us?” asked Marigold.  “He seemed happy here.”

“Aye, that he did.”  Bell gave her youngest daughter a squeeze.  “I wish he could have, love.  I do hope he thought ta dress warmly, at least.  There’s a chill in the air, and him just gettin’ over a fever.”  Bell shook her head angrily and stalked out of the room.

Sam was still holding the note.  Frodo Baggins.  He traced the beautifully-formed letters with his finger.