10. Second Day of Yule

December 26, 1391

Bilbo did his best to be silent, but Frodo woke with a start just as he was about to close the door. Bilbo glanced back to find a pair of bleary blue eyes fixed on him.

“I’m sorry, dear boy, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Bilbo said softly, stepping back into Frodo’s bedroom. “How are you feeling?”

“All right, I think. What is the time?” asked Frodo, trying to sit up in his disorientation. Bilbo crossed the room hastily and pushed his young cousin gently back down, then lifted the lad’s nightshirt to examine his bruises. Bilbo struggled to suppress the seething fury he felt whenever he saw those bruises or recalled what Lobelia and Otho had said to the lad; he didn’t want to upset Frodo again.

“Hush, lad, don’t get up,” Bilbo said soothingly. “It’s very early. I was just about to head off on my... errand.” He had no intention of mentioning the Sackville-Bagginses to the groggy child; he wanted Frodo to go back to sleep, after all. Bilbo gestured to a plate of dried fruit and sliced bread sitting on the chair beside Frodo’s bed, along with a small pot of honey and a cup of juice. “I brought you some food for breakfast, my boy, nothing that needs to be cooked. Go back to sleep, Frodo-lad. I just wanted you to have something to eat when you woke up.”

“Oh,” Frodo murmured sleepily. “How long will you be gone, Uncle Bilbo?”

“Not more than two or three hours, I should think,” Bilbo replied, smiling despite himself at the rumpled, disoriented hobbitling blinking blearily up at him. “I’ll ask one of the Gamgees to look in on you in an hour or two, all right, Frodo-lad?”

“Just as long as it isn’t Daisy,” Frodo mumbled into his pillow.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, not certain he had heard correctly. The old hobbit shrugged and tucked Frodo in again, then left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Bilbo paused for a moment outside Frodo’s room, smiling to himself as he thought of the lad in his care. These protective feelings he kept experiencing continued to catch the old hobbit by surprise, although Hamfast had once assured him that this was a normal state of affairs for parents. It was at least comforting to think that there was a reasonable explanation for Bilbo’s desire to tear the Sackville-Bagginses limb from limb.

It was just past seven in the morning when a brisk knock was heard at the door of Number 3, Bagshot Row. Hamfast Gamgee put down his cup of tea, wondering who it could be. He wasn’t expecting anyone until seven-thirty, when he had arranged a ride for himself and Hamson down to Bywater with a neighbour who had a wagon. Hamfast was going to collect his Aunt Primrose; the ancient hobbit lady had been widowed last year and was coming to spend Yule with her Hobbiton relations.

Trying to stifle a surge of most un-hobbitlike curiosity, the Gaffer got to his feet and went to open the door.

“Why, Master Bilbo!” the Gaffer exclaimed. “Won’t you come in, sir?”

“Thank you, but I don’t mean to stop more than a minute,” Bilbo replied, stepping inside so Hamfast could shut out the chilly December morning. “I will be out for a few hours this morning, and I left Frodo alone. Could you or Bell possibly go up and check on him in an hour or so?”

“O’ course, sir, I’ll take care of it,” Hamfast said immediately, then hesitated. Samwise had come home the day before and told a little of what had happened between his master and his master’s heir. Sam had also told his appalled family that Lotho had given Frodo a proper beating, and the lad’s chest, stomach and back were black and blue. Hamfast studied his master carefully, wondering what he could appropriately ask. “Is Mr. Frodo well this mornin’, then, Master Bilbo?” he finally said.

Bilbo looked at him shrewdly. “I must thank you for your excellent advice the other day, Hamfast, although there was an unfortunate delay before I was astute enough to follow it. It turns out your suspicions about Lotho were well-founded.”

“I’m right sorry to hear that, sir,” said Hamfast.

“Frodo’s pretty uncomfortable yet, but I expect he’ll be recovered in a few more days,” Bilbo said heavily. “Anyway, tomorrow some of his favourite cousins are arriving. That ought to take the lad’s mind off his troubles.”

“Aye,” Hamfast agreed, then mentally went through what he would need to tell his wife. “’as Mr. Frodo eaten yet, sir?”

Bilbo looked mildly surprised at his gardener’s interest. “No, he was still asleep when I left, but I put enough cold food for first and second breakfasts in his room, so he won’t have to walk out to the kitchen and cook anything.” The old hobbit opened the door and took up his walking stick from where he’d laid it against the door frame. He gazed steadily at Hamfast. “Well, old friend, I’d best be off.”

“If I may ask, sir, where are ye headed?” Hobbits rarely travelled on the first two days of Yule, except for very particular reasons. Hamfast was thinking that if Bilbo was going toward Bywater, he could offer him a ride shortly. But when he looked back at Bilbo, he saw that the old hobbit’s mouth had set in a grim line, and his eyes had lost their habitual merry twinkle.

“I am going to have words with the Sackville-Bagginses,” Bilbo said.

“The lad is lucky to have you, sir,” Hamfast heard himself say, without meaning to say it aloud at all.

Bilbo blinked, but looked pleased by the compliment. “And I him,” the old hobbit said simply, and marched off down the road.

The Gaffer watched his master for a moment, then closed the door and went into the warm kitchen. Bell Gamgee was cleaning up the last of the first breakfast dishes. The children were playing by the hearth, with the exception of Hamson, who was outside watching for the neighbour’s wagon.

Bell looked up when he entered. “Was that Mr. Baggins I heard?” she asked.

“Aye,” replied Hamfast. “He’ll be out all mornin’ and wants someone to look in on Mr. Frodo in a bit.”

“Oh, aye,” Bell said with a smile. “And you’re askin’ me to do the lookin’ in, are ye?”

Hamfast smiled back at his wife. “Well, lass, after what Mr. Frodo did for our Sam, I’d say it’s the least we can do. The poor child is layin’ in his bed, so sore that Master had to leave his breakfast in his room for when ‘e wakes up.”

Bell looked concerned, but then smiled thoughtfully. “Why, Ham!” she exclaimed, in mock surprise. “I do believe you’re warmin’ up to the lad! I seem to recall a time when ye had your doubts about Mr. Frodo.”

The Gaffer looked down. His wife was quite correct, of course. He had judged the boy harshly, based on nothing more than Frodo’s coming from Buckland. But Hamfast was a just-minded hobbit, and he was willing to admit it when he’d been in the wrong. “Well,” Hamfast said slowly, “I’d say Mr. Frodo has shown his true nature, standin’ up for Sam and all. Master couldn’t’ve picked a more worthy heir.”

Bell gazed at her husband for a moment, then dried her hands on her apron and rested them lightly on his sturdy shoulders. “Well, I’ll tell you what, Ham,” she said, smiling. “I’ll do better than look in on Mr. Frodo. I’ll go up to Bag End and make the dear lad a proper breakfast!”

Hamfast stared at his wife, bewildered. “But Bell, Master said he left cold food in Mr. Frodo’s room.”

“Cold food!” Bell snorted disdainfully. “Nay, Ham, what the child needs is a nice, hot breakfast! Mr. Frodo’s a sight too thin for my liking, anyhow. I don’t mind havin’ a chance to put some meat on his bones!”

Hamfast laughed. “Aye, well, you know best, o’ course.”

“Ooh, can I come along and help you, Mum?” said a voice from the doorway. “Please? I promise I’ll be real good, honest!”

Bell and Hamfast turned to see their eldest daughter watching them hopefully.

“Well, I suppose it couldn’t do no harm, Daisy,” Bell sighed. “And I could use your help.”

“All right then, but you make sure an’ mind your manners, lass!” said Hamfast sternly.

“I will, Dad!” said Daisy innocently, gazing at her parents with round, bright eyes.