6. Consequences

December 24, 1391

Just after second breakfast the day before Yule, Frodo Baggins was enjoying a bath. He wouldn’t normally take a bath in the middle of the day like this, but he had awoken to find himself alone at Bag End. Bilbo had left a note saying there was an emergency up the road at the Boffins’, and he had gone to see if he could help. He expected to be back by elevenses, and had left food out for Frodo’s first and second breakfasts.

Frodo leaned back into the warm water with a sigh. He hadn’t seen any reason to dress before first breakfast, with no one there to see him. He’d eaten and lounged about in his nightclothes for awhile, and then it was time for second breakfast. Frodo had eaten that too, and by then the fire in the kitchen hearth had died down. Feeling a bit chilled, Frodo had decided to draw a bath.

He felt quite lazy, but the normal routine of Bag End had been disrupted the last few days with Yule preparations. Frodo hadn’t had any lessons all week, spending his time helping Bilbo or playing instead.

Frodo closed his eyes and let his mind wander. He was still a little shocked at his own behaviour the day before. He had never imagined he was capable of standing up to a bully like Lotho Sackville-Baggins. But when Frodo had seen Lotho tormenting poor Samwise, his fury had been so great that his fear had been almost completely eclipsed. Frodo grinned to himself, imagining how his cousin Bolo might have reacted had Frodo ever spoken to him as he’d spoken to Lotho.

He just hoped Lotho would leave both Sam and Frodo himself alone from now on. Frodo didn’t want any trouble to arise that might get back to Bilbo.

But it was hard to dwell on his old worries when he was enjoying a bath. After a few more minutes of day-dreaming, Frodo reluctantly got out of the tub and dressed himself in a white linen shirt and brown trousers.

Frodo frowned in consternation as he finished emptying the tub. He’d quite forgotten to wash himself! Oh, well. Frodo shrugged this off with the unconcern of any grubby hobbit in his early tweens and went out to the parlour where he’d been hanging holly the evening before.

The room was half done when Bilbo returned a little while later.

“Glad to see you’ve managed without me,” chuckled Bilbo when he saw Frodo through the doorway.

“Is all well at the Boffins’, Uncle?” Frodo asked, smiling back tentatively.

“Mrs. Boffin is ill, I’m afraid,” Bilbo said with a sigh, coming to sit in a high-backed chair near Frodo. “She’ll be bedridden for a few days, I expect.”

“Does she have any children?” Frodo inquired. After his years adrift in Brandy Hall, Frodo always had a thought to spare for potentially unsupervised youngsters.

“Yes, Folco and his two sisters,” Bilbo replied. “But don’t worry, lad, old Mrs. Chubb is keeping an eye on them.” Bilbo was quite familiar with Frodo’s past and could guess his concern easily. Bilbo smiled affectionately at his young cousin. He’d always known the boy had a good heart.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Frodo said, and glanced around the room. Everything looked quite festive, but he had yet to do the high mantle. As Frodo paused, contemplating how he would reach, Bilbo stood and dragged over the chair he’d been sitting in. He placed it before the mantle, making sure it was stable, and gave Frodo’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Try this, lad,” Bilbo said. “I’ll go get us our elevenses, and then maybe you can run over to the Boffins’ and give poor Mr. Boffin one of those cranberry loaves we baked last night.”

“I’d be happy to, Uncle,” replied Frodo.

Once the elevenses dishes had been cleaned up, Frodo took the fragrant loaf that Bilbo had carefully wrapped and set out. He knew where the Boffin hole was, although he had never had occasion to visit. It was in a secluded spot, at the end of a lonely lane that branched off the path to town and wound its way through a lightly wooded area.

Frodo was knocking on the Boffins’ round red door within twenty minutes, and an exhausted-looking Mr. Boffin answered. Frodo introduced himself and explained his errand, and Mr. Boffin accepted the cranberry loaf gratefully.

“Glad to see you, lad,” Mr. Boffin said, smiling thoughtfully at the dark-haired child. “Come again sometime when things settle down. I’ve a boy about your age you might like to meet.”

“Thank you, I’ll do that, Mr. Boffin,” Frodo answered, before taking his leave. He enjoyed the walk back to the main road. The lane was quiet and peaceful, and he could hear the trees rustling gently in the breeze. Frodo tried to relax. Things had been going well at Bag End lately. The Yule preparations were almost complete and Bilbo seemed more cheerful now. Perhaps those Sackville-Bagginses had been mistaken after all, and Bilbo wouldn’t get tired of having him around.

A little further along, he noticed several sets of footprints in the snow that he didn’t think had been there the last time he’d passed. Frodo frowned, wondering who would come this far along the winding path but no further. All was quiet now, even the trees on both sides of the path, seemingly. Where had the owners of the extra footprints gone?

Frodo looked back toward the Boffin hole, puzzled. While he was turned, strong hands suddenly seized him by the arms. Frodo yelped in surprise and tried to pull away.

“Hold him, Ted,” snapped an unpleasantly familiar voice.

Frodo felt dread sinking in his stomach like a block of ice. He made himself look up to meet the eyes of Lotho Sackville-Baggins. Frodo swallowed once, willing his voice not to tremble. “Wh-what do you want?”

Lotho grinned down at him unpleasantly. “We have some unfinished business, Bucklander,” he sneered.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Frodo said as calmly as he could, but he was dreadfully frightened. This Ted who still held his arms in a bruising grip was clearly too strong to permit Frodo to wriggle free. And there was no Samwise present to carry tales this time; Lotho had Frodo at a distinct disadvantage and he knew it.

“You interfered with my fun yesterday, you little rat,” Lotho snarled.

“You were tormenting my friend!” Frodo exclaimed indignantly, despite himself. He was quite unprepared when Lotho suddenly punched him in the stomach. Frodo gasped in pain and doubled over, but Ted just pulled him upright.

“Your friend,” Lotho said, surveying the younger lad in satisfaction, “is the son of a gardener. If he’s your friend, then you’re even more worthless than I thought!”

Frodo could only stare disbelievingly at his assailant through watering eyes. Lotho hit him again and Frodo cried out. This time Ted let him fall to the ground, where Frodo tried to curl into a ball. He felt too winded to try running away now. Lotho smirked and kicked him hard in the ribs a few times, then crouched down beside his sobbing victim.

“Go back to Buckland, little rat,” Lotho hissed. “That old coot’s money belongs to us.” And then before Frodo could believe the ordeal was finally over, both Lotho and Ted ran back toward the main road.

Frodo stifled his sobs with an effort and listened carefully. Once he couldn’t hear the older lads anymore, he climbed painfully to his feet. Well, Bilbo would certainly know Frodo was a troublemaker now, if he hadn’t realized before. It was only a matter of time before Bilbo decided to send him back to Brandy Hall. But what had Lotho meant about money? Frodo shook his head, confused and cold and hurt. He started to walk back to Bag End, crying softly and clutching his injured middle.