33. Ruffians

Frodo couldn’t hold back a yelp of surprise as he was yanked roughly into the clearing by a very strong, very angry ruffian. As Frodo dared glance up for a second, he saw it was the one with the long, shaggy gray hair: Strasser.

“Lookit what I found wanderin’ about, Chattin!” Strasser exclaimed angrily. “This little sneak was hidin’ in the bushes, spyin’ on us it looks like!”

“I-I didn’t mean to, I was only walking past!” Frodo stammered, squirming helplessly in the man’s iron grip. “I wasn’t doing anything. Please, let me go!”

The other ruffian’s brows lifted in surprise as he observed Frodo, his reaction less angry and more intrigued than his companion’s. “Never mind the spyin’, Rob. You’ve caught yerself a Halfling!”

Strasser gasped, and peered down to get a closer look at the small creature in his grasp. “A Halfling.” He laughed roughly. “Well, what d’ya know? A Halfling!”

Frodo uttered another soft plea for them to let him go, but neither man paid any heed to his protests.

“What’s one o’ the little folk doin’ out here in the middle o’ nowhere?” Chattin muttered. By now he had crossed the clearing and was considering the Halfling before him.

“’E’s so tiny!” Strasser remarked in amusement, still gripping Frodo’s arms tightly. “Lookit the size o’ these arms, and them little pointed ears! How old d’you figger he is?”

“If he were the size o’ our kind, I’d think he were twelve or thereabouts, but there ain’t no tellin’ with the little folk,” Chattin replied, tugging at his filthy hair in thought. “’E might be fifty, fer all I know.”

“I’m twenty-six!” Frodo said indignantly, wondering why they kept talking about him so rudely and yet insisted on ignoring him.

Both Men looked down at him darkly, and Frodo suddenly wished he hadn’t spoken.

“’E knows what we’re sayin’!” Strasser said in surprise.

“Of course he does,” Chattin snapped. “Didn’t ya hear ‘im before?”

“Aw, shut it, Chattin,” Strasser growled in warning. “Put yer ugly, know-it-all head ta work figurin’ out what we kin do with him. Tie him up so’s he can’t tell anyone where we’ve gone?”

The other Man stared down at Frodo in a cold, calculating way that made the tweenager shiver. The Man smiled slowly, and Frodo liked the smile even less. “No, we’ll take ‘im with us. Don’t ya see, Strasser? He’s just a little ‘un, only a child in their years. He didn’t come all the way from Bree, that’s fer sure.”

“Then you must be right, Tony!” Strasser exclaimed, realization finally dawning, along with dark amusement. “This ‘ere must be one o’ them Shire Halflings, to be wanderin’ so nearby. The Shire must be round here somewhere real close!”

“For once in yer life, ya got somethin’ spot on, Rob,” Chattin replied. He bent down to ruffle Frodo’s dark curls, much to the tweenager’s disgust. “Where didja come from, boy?” the Man asked, yellow and rotted teeth displayed in a nauseating grin. “How far away d’you live, an’ in what direction? If ya just lead us the right way fer a bit, we’ll let ya go nice and safe. And if you don’t... well, can’t say we could let you off so easy.”

The little hobbit said nothing, but stared back at Chattin defiantly. He may have been a child still, but he understood quite well what they were asking. Frodo knew he could do little against two Men, but he felt he would rather die than betray the Shire.

Strasser’s temper rose when the Halfling didn’t respond right away, and he tightened his vise-like grip on Frodo’s arms, giving the boy a rough shake. “Answer him, ya little rat, or ye’ll regret it!”

Anger began to bubble up along with Frodo’s fear. “I will not lead you to the Shire,” he said hotly. “Let me go at once!”

Chattin snarled furiously and seized Frodo by the collar. “I’ll teach ya some manners, Halfling!” His big, meaty hand lifted, ready to strike the small hobbit.

Not stopping to ponder the irony of that proposal, Frodo lifted his hairy foot and kicked backwards as hard as he could. His heel connected solidly with Strasser’s knee, and the Man released him with a howl of pain.

Dodging the second pair of arms that tried to grab him, Frodo slipped away from the two rogues and scrambled away, sure that if he could just dart into the brush he could easily hide himself. He ran as fast as he could, not wishing to ponder the fate that would befall him if he didn’t escape.

But he wasn’t quite quick enough. Chattin, swearing volubly, overtook the boy within a few strides and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.

Strasser limped over to where the other Man now held Frodo in a firm grip. “Yer goin’ to regret that, little rat,” he growled, glaring at the tweenager murderously.

Frodo shuddered involuntarily, hoping they couldn’t see how frightened he was.

“That can wait,” Chattin growled. “We need ‘im to lead us to the Shire first, remember?”

Strasser snarled and slammed one fist into the palm of his other hand. The sound made Frodo jump nervously.

Chattin drew a breath as if to continue, then paused. “I think I heard somethin’, Rob,” he said suddenly, looking away from the hobbit in his grasp to stare into the forest.

In the brief silence that followed, Frodo’s sensitive hobbit ears detected the sounds of something—or someone—shuffling softly through the underbrush.

Hope surged in Frodo’s heart. If these ruffians weren’t expecting anyone, and it didn’t seem as though they were, then it must be Gandalf or Bilbo. Gandalf was a powerful wizard, whether he acted like it or not, and he could surely rescue him. Frodo prayed it wasn’t Bilbo. He couldn’t bear the thought of his dear uncle being put in danger because of such an incautious nephew.

Chattin hesitated. “Halflings never travel alone, ya know,” he continued uneasily. “They go round in packs, like deer—there might be more around, many more.”

Frodo looked at the Man hopefully. Perhaps if they thought he had wandered away from a large group, they would be afraid and let him go.

“Don’t go losin’ yer head, Chattin,” Strasser said contemptuously. “What’ve we got to fear from a bunch o’ little folk, eh?”

“They might be armed, Rob,” Chattin growled, lowering his voice. “Halflings are known fer bein’ wicked good shots with a bow an’ arrow.”

Frodo held his breath. He certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell them that hobbits hadn’t used such weapons in centuries.

Strasser hesitated, looking in the direction where the sounds of someone’s approach had grown louder. He put his face right down in front of Frodo’s, and suddenly Frodo became aware that there was a knife in the ruffian’s hand, being held against the tender skin of his throat.

“We’re gonna leave here without no interference from the rest o’ yer little rat folk,” he snarled. “Make one false move before we’re gone an’ I’ll slit yer throat before you can take two steps, understand?”

Frodo stared at the Man with frightened blue eyes and nodded carefully, very aware of the cold steel biting into his flesh.

“Put that away, ya fool,” Chattin hissed, releasing his tight grip on Frodo’s arms and placing a warning hand on his shoulder instead. Strasser whisked away his knife just as Gandalf the Grey himself emerged from the trees.

“Gandalf!” Frodo exclaimed, unable to disguise the relief in his voice. Surely the wizard would perform some magic to defeat the ruffians, and all would be well.

There was a moment of silence as Gandalf paused, leaning upon his staff a bit as an old Man would, and took in the scene before him: two tall, scruffy Men with a small hobbit in front of them.

“Frodo, my boy, you shouldn’t have wandered so far away,” Gandalf reproached him gently, betraying no alarm at the sight before him.

“I... I’m sorry, Gandalf,” Frodo replied, puzzled. Couldn’t Gandalf see the threat these rogues posed?

Strasser and Chattin, for their part, stared silently at the newcomer, and Frodo thought he could almost hear them thinking quickly, re-evaluating the situation.

“What a relief you found him, gentlemen,” Gandalf said, now addressing the ruffians. “However can I thank you?”

Frodo stared at Gandalf in shock, while Chattin and Strasser grinned in delight, hardly believing their good fortune. It finally dawned on Frodo that the two ruffians saw nothing more than a doddering old man leaning on a walking stick, and Gandalf was doing nothing to suggest otherwise.

“Oh, it was our pleasure, good sir,” Chattin said in a vague, mocking tone. “Would you be so good as to direct us to the Shire?”

“The Shire, hmm?” Gandalf said mildly. “Why do you wish to go there?”

Strasser started to snarl something, but Chattin cut him off with an elbow to the gut.

“We’re merchants,” Chattin said quickly. “We have... business there. Now will ya help us or won’t ya?”

“Certainly,” the old wizard said pleasantly.

Frodo opened his mouth to protest, but he had scarcely taken a breath when Chattin squeezed his shoulder in warning, hard enough to leave bruises.

“Now then,” Gandalf began, ignoring Frodo’s attempts to gain his attention. “You have a good distance to go yet, but you will want to head northeast from here. Once you come to a mountain range, travel due north for two or three days, and there you are!”

Frodo’s jaw dropped. As far as he knew, those directions led into the middle of nowhere, for the Shire was to the south. Indeed, they were standing at the northern edge of the Shire at this very moment.

“Thank you, good sir,” Chattin sneered, with a mocking little bow. Strasser grinned and wisely said nothing.

“You are most welcome,” Gandalf replied. “Now then, I’ll take the boy and be on my way. The rest of our party is most concerned.” The old wizard shook his head in disapproval. “Wandering off the way he did, not telling anyone where he was going...”

Frodo glanced quickly at Gandalf. ‘The rest of our party’ consisted only of Bilbo, but the wizard had cleverly made it sound like there were many more.

Strasser and Chattin exchanged looks briefly, but then Chattin released his bruising grip on Frodo’s shoulder and gave him a shove toward Gandalf.

Frodo didn’t need any further invitation, and walked swiftly across the clearing to Gandalf’s side. By the time he reached the wizard, Chattin and Strasser were nearly out of sight, having set off at a rapid pace. Frodo noticed with satisfaction that Strasser’s knee, the one Frodo had kicked, seemed to be paining him, for he was limping.

Despite his relief at seeing the ruffians heading away from his beloved Shire, Frodo found himself hopelessly confused. He looked up at Gandalf and noticed for the first time that the wizard’s eyes were flashing angrily as he watched Strasser and Chattin disappear into the forest. Frodo hoped never to see such an expression directed at himself.

Once the filthy Men were out of sight, Gandalf looked down at the young hobbit, and his eyes softened. Putting a hand on Frodo’s shoulder, he steered him gently away from the clearing. “Are you all right, Frodo?” he asked finally, scrutinizing the tweenager carefully as they walked.

“Yes,” Frodo replied, hoping Gandalf wouldn’t notice the lingering reaction that made his heart continue to pound and his hands tremble.

Gandalf paused and grasped Frodo’s collar, carefully pulling it aside enough to reveal finger-shaped bruises on the smooth skin of Frodo’s shoulder. The wizard frowned, then sighed heavily. “I am sorry you had to meet such people, Frodo,” he said. “I can only assure you that not all Men would behave so.”

“But Gandalf, why didn’t you stop them? They were no merchants, they wanted to rob the Shire!”

“Well, I did prevent them from achieving that aim, did I not?”

“But... all you did was send them in the wrong direction!” Frodo exclaimed.

Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow. “And what should I have done instead, young hobbit?”

“I don’t know,” Frodo admitted. “Something more—wizardlike, I suppose.”

Gandalf chuckled and then grew serious. “Frodo, you and even Bilbo know little of my true abilities, but a wizard’s powers are rather memorable to those unfortunate enough to have witnessed them,” Gandalf said gravely. “You may trust that I had only the best interests of the Shire in mind when I sought another tactic. Make no mistake; those ruffians will be stopped, but quietly, and not by me. It would not be advisable to... draw attention to this area.”

“What do you mean, Gandalf?” Frodo asked, puzzled.

Gandalf was silent for a moment. “There are some who take it upon themselves to protect the Shire’s borders, and they rely to a great extent on secrecy,” the wizard said finally. “As it is, the Shire enjoys a somewhat mythical status in the wider world, and it would be best to keep it so. If the rogues that wish to plunder your home were to hear of wizards defending the area, the rumours would only grow stronger, and more of them would come seeking the Shire.”

Frodo frowned. That sounded even more peculiar than what Gandalf had first said. The tweenager knew that a handful of hobbits, the Shirriffs, protected the borders of the Shire, but Gandalf seemed to be referring to someone else.

“You needn’t be large or powerful to accomplish your goals, Frodo, and many times it is best if you’re not,” Gandalf added, seeing Frodo’s confusion.

“Do you always speak so mysteriously, Gandalf?” Frodo asked somewhat peevishly.

“Oh, as often as I can manage it,” Gandalf replied with a smile.

At long last they came round the side of a clump of trees, and Frodo could clearly see the wagon up ahead, his uncle standing beside it.

“Bilbo!” the boy cried, relief washing over him as he ran forward to embrace his surprised uncle.

“Frodo-lad!” Bilbo exclaimed. “Did Gandalf find you? We had to take a small detour, and we were afraid you might have lost us.”

“I did,” Frodo admitted.

“Why, Frodo, you’re trembling!” Bilbo said, frowning slightly as Frodo pulled away from the embrace.

“I’m afraid he had a rather nasty encounter,” Gandalf said, all trace of humour gone now. He explained quickly what had happened to Frodo, and Bilbo went pale as he heard of his young ward coming into contact with two such brutish people.

“Here?” the old hobbit whispered. “So close to our borders? Oh, dear...” Bilbo peered at Frodo in concern. “Are you all right, my boy?”

The tweenager nodded quickly, hating the thought of making Bilbo worry. “I was frightened, is all. They wanted me to lead them to the Shire,” Frodo said quietly. “They wanted to hurt me when I refused, but Gandalf came along just then.”

Gandalf and Bilbo both stared at him in the sudden silence that followed.

“When you refused... Oh, Frodo,” Bilbo murmured, pulling his nephew into another hug. “My brave lad!”

Gandalf smiled, peering at Frodo as though he could see into his very soul. “You are a credit to your kind, Frodo Baggins,” he said quietly.

Frodo looked down, suddenly uncomfortable. He had been frightened out of his wits; he hardly thought that counted as bravery. “I didn’t think having an adventure would be quite like this,” the tweenager confessed.

Bilbo sighed. “No real adventure is all fun and games, dear boy, although I certainly didn’t expect anything like this!”

“I think you’d best stick close from here onwards, Frodo,” Gandalf said gently.

“Yes, sir,” Frodo replied, not really surprised.

“I thought you were safe enough within the Shire, but we shan’t take any chances now that we’re nearly past the border,” the wizard continued.

Bilbo and Gandalf exchanged significant looks, but before Frodo had a chance to wonder what they were thinking, Gandalf had gathered Hwesta’s reigns and they were on their way again.