“Dear Frodo.” Lobelia brushed her lips to Frodo’s cheek in the sweetest, most motherly fashion she could manage. “How are you faring, you dear boy?”
“Do come in,” said Frodo, trying not to shiver from the icy lips touching his skin. He fought back the urge to scrub his cheek with his sleeve, and then take a bath.
Lobelia Sackville-Baggins swept past Frodo into Bag End, instantly sizing up the situation. Merry Brandybuck (a Brandybuck) and that rapscallion Pippin Took (one of those Tooks, no less) were sitting in the parlor, staring at her. Did Frodo know that these two… persons… were rumored to be responsible for nearly setting fire to all of Hobbiton last night? And who was… Lobelia scarcely glanced at the third person present in the room. One of those Gamgees.
“Please sit down, Lobelia.” At least Frodo had the decency to escort her to the finest chair in the parlor, she noticed, before he sat down near her. “Is Otho not with you?”
Lobelia pulled off her gloves and looked at Frodo with what she hoped was a combination of love, respect, and deep concern.
“We talked it over, and I decided to come alone, dear Frodo. We felt that too many people would intrude on your time of mourning.” Lobelia looked disdainfully at Merry and Pippin. “I assume that your little cousins are about to scamper on home?”
Pippin was thinking that if she said ‘dear’ once more he might throw up, but he was restrained from doing so by the thought of having to clean the parlor again.
“Really, Lobelia, I’m hardly in mourning!” Frodo said. “Bilbo’s just gone off adventuring for awhile.” He wondered if Otho had just lost his nerve at the last moment. Right now he was probably savoring a mug of good ale somewhere, enjoying a few moments of peace and quiet.
“Adventuring,” said Lobelia sourly. Her rapacious gaze took in as much of Bag End as she could see. It had been sixty years since she was here last, and Bilbo hadn’t so much as invited her and Otho for tea one time since.
Sam, who had disappeared for a few minutes, returned with a tray containing five cups, a teapot, and a plate heaped with small cakes. Lobelia’s approval at one hobbit who obviously knew his place as an efficient servant, was stifled at the sight of the cakes. Cakes from… She felt a righteous anger boiling up inside her. Cakes from the party! This unmannered, half-Brandybuck upstart was feeding her leftovers!
Frodo, meanwhile, was having the same restless feeling he always got when in the company of a Sackville-Baggins -- like itchy worms were climbing all over his skin. “How may I help you, Lobelia?” he asked, scratching absently at his arm.
“Don’t scratch, dear, it isn’t polite.” Ignoring the cakes, Lobelia gave Frodo her full attention. “What a dreadful mess Bilbo’s left for you, isn’t it? Such an unnatural disappearance, leaving people to talk, you know. And now you’re all alone in this drafty old place with no one to take care of you. Poor child.”
“I’m hardly a child,” Frodo chuckled. “And I’m sure I’ll be perfectly happy here until Bilbo returns.”
“How sweet.” Lobelia sighed. “You really believe he’s coming back, don’t you? But such delusions aren’t good for you, dear boy. Why, it hardly sounds as if you’re of sound mind. Otho and I were afraid of this very thing.”
So that was it. Frodo could see that Merry was about to explode in anger.
“Lobelia,” said Frodo evenly, “there is nothing wrong with my mind -- or my claim to Bag End, if that was going to be your next point. This is my home, and I am not leaving.” He stood up. “Was there anything else I can do for you?”
Lobelia’s jaw dropped at this impertinence. Was she being dismissed? She got to her feet, fuming.
”Don’t forget your gloves,” mumbled Pippin helpfully, his mouth full of cakes.
“Please give my regards to Otho and Lotho,” said Frodo, as he escorted his outraged relative to the door. “It was ever so nice to see you, Lobelia.”
Speechless with indignation, Lobelia swept imperiously out the door and down the path. Frodo put his back to the door, closing it, and slid down weakly until he was sitting on the floor. No one said anything for a long moment.
“Wow,” breathed Pippin at last, breaking the silence. “I’m glad I’m not related to her.”
“Ah, but you are, dear Pip,” Frodo smiled tiredly. “You and Lobelia are…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “…second cousins twice removed, through marriage. Why, dear Lobelia and you are practically mother and child!”
Pippin paled visibly and grabbed for one, no, two more of the cakes to sustain himself.
“Sam, you’re so lucky,” Merry sighed. “Your family isn’t as hopelessly intertwined every which way, like ours.”
“I always knew I was born lucky, whatever my Gaffer said,” Sam said with a grin. “But I never dreamed it was because of this!”
“Hah!” Pippin snatched up another cake. “Frodo, you need to adopt Sam as your heir and bring him here to live with you. Then he’ll be a Gamgee-Baggins, or a Baggins-Gamgee, or something, and as mixed up as the rest of us.”
“A Gamgee livin’ at Bag End? Not likely!” Sam chuckled. “That’s a powerful imagination you’ve got, Mr. Pippin!”
“I’m proud of you, Frodo,” announced Pippin. He looked at the empty plate, startled. “Where did they all go?” He turned to Merry accusingly. “You didn’t even leave any for Frodo.”
“I didn’t?”
“That was wonderfully done, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam admiringly. “I must say, your family certainly has some fascinating folks in it.”
“Fascinating…” Frodo sighed, still from his position on the floor. “Can any of you stay one more night? This is all going to take a bit of getting used to.”
Merry shook his head regretfully. “Can’t, Frodo, sorry. Pip’s parents and mine are waiting for us at the Green Dragon. We’re all due to leave for home in…” He looked at his pocket watch and gasped. “Pip, we have to get back there now.” Merry leaped to his feet and grabbed Pippin. “We’ll come back as soon as we can, Frodo.”
“I can stay, Mr. Frodo, at least long enough to get a proper dinner into you,” declared Sam.
“You do that, Sam.” Pippin fastened his cloak and followed Merry to the door, still blocked by his cousin’s slumped form. “Frodo, you’ll have to get up so we can get out.”
Frodo sighed again and got to his feet, then frowned at his cousins, then Sam.
“Why does no one think I know how to cook? I’m perfectly capable of throwing a bit of, uh… well, whatever it is you throw together, to have a proper dinner!”
“Mm hm.” Merry gave Frodo a hug. “Of course you are, Frodo, we know that.” He shot a worried look at Sam, who just smiled and nodded his head at him reassuringly.
“All right, then,” muttered Frodo. He returned Pippin’s fierce hug, then watched as his cousins dashed down the path.
Merry couldn’t help chuckling at the conversation he heard behind him, through the half-open door.
“Come on, Mr. Frodo -- I’ll show you where the kitchen is.”
“That’s not funny, Sam.”
top