Sophinisba Solis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sophinisba) wrote2007-05-22 11:00 am
sophinisba) wrote2007-05-22 11:00 am
Entry tags:
hobbit fic, chapter 2/11, Stop
Here is the second chapter of my as-yet-untitled post-quest AU. Chapter 1 is here.
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter, R later on.
Main characters: Frodo and Rosie. (This chapter also features Merry, Pippin, Ted Sandyman, and Robin Smallburrow.)
Genre: Angst, post-quest Shire AU. Multiple pairings of male and female hobbits.
Summary: Frodo and Rosie each try to go on with their lives after losing Sam.
Warnings: Severe angst, character death; this chapter: nonconsensual sexual situations.
More detailed summary/warnings/pairings/spoilers here.
Notes: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
danachan for beta and encouragement.
Crossing the river Frodo felt the pang in his shoulder, familiar enough, but sharper and colder than it had been in the long months since the spring.
"Is something wrong, Frodo?" Merry asked.
"No, it's nothing."
And if Sam were there he'd not have let it go at that. But Merry and Pippin only exchanged glances, silent, reluctant to push him too hard.
That night Gandalf told the hobbits to curl up together under the blankets with Frodo in the middle, for he needed to be kept warm. But Frodo felt he could only be making everyone miserable and cold.
Rosie knew Ted Sandyman well enough – as well as she needed to, anyhow. She knew that Sam had been on good enough terms to speak to him in the old days, knew he usually came away bothered after he did.
When Ted looked at her now it always felt like salt in an old wound.
He was a worse gossip than the old wives, and she knew that he knew that she'd been Sam's, and that Sam wasn't hers any longer.
The day the ruffians came to Bywater, Ted wrapped an arm around her shoulders and whispered, "Mine now, Rosie lass."
The inn at Bree looked a pleasant house to familiar eyes, as theirs were now. And after all the foreign lands and cities they'd seen, all of Bree looked rather homelike and almost hobbity. So it was a relief, after a wet and wild evening, to gaze on the sign of The Prancing Pony, and it was twice as pleasant again to sit and warm themselves by the fire while Butterbur, who paid attention to them this time, told them the strange news of the past year.
He still had a room set aside for four hobbits, and he only charged them for three. Gandalf took a room of his own, sensing that the hobbits cared for privacy more than protection and knowing there was no danger for them here. This time they were able to stay in their rooms for the whole night, and they did not bother joining the company in the common-room.
It was the first time they'd slept in proper beds under a proper roof since Rivendell, three weeks back. The beds here were not as fine, but they were the right size, and Pippin snuggled into one as soon as they entered. The room, once Merry got the fire going, was warm and cozy.
It occurred to Frodo as he sat down in a chair that very soon they would be reaching a place where everything was, well, what he had once considered the "proper" size. His legs would not dangle above the floor when he sat at table; he would not need two hands to lift a mug of ale; Gandalf would part with them soon and Frodo would cease to encounter people who towered over him, unless he counted Merry and Pippin.
"What will that be like, then," he wondered aloud, "to be a hobbit among hobbits again?" What was it about the thought that he found so frightening? "No more excuses, I suppose. Everyone expects you to feel at ease once you're among your own people."
"I don't know about that," said Merry. "I expect the three of us will always feel a bit apart from the rest of them. Nothing wrong in that, nothing to make excuses for."
Frodo looked down at his hands. He ought not to have said anything out loud. No reason to expect the others to feel the same way he did.
"Anyway," Pippin added, "it's not as if you were ever a typical hobbit among hobbits."
"The Hobbiton folk always did think me queer," Frodo agreed.
"Course they did," said Pippin. "That's what they always said about Merry and me as well -- about all the extraordinary hobbits, actually. It's the ones who don't fit the old mold who end up doing great things."
It wasn't ever something they said of Sam, though.
"Three of a kind, they used to say about us," said Merry, coming to stand just behind Frodo's chair and beginning to massage his shoulders.
Frodo said nothing, for he could not keep from feeling Merry's words as an insult to Sam. Not three, he thought. Two.
Merry pulled the braces off Frodo's shoulders to let them hang from his waist, and he set about working his fingers deeper in Frodo's taut muscles. "You don't mind this, do you, cousin?"
Frodo shook his head. He barely trusted his voice to say so, but the sensation was good. The sharp pain in his shoulder had faded since the sixth, but there was still an ache there, stronger than it had been all through the summer in Minas Tirith. Frodo supposed it made him hunch forward, though the others didn't tell him so.
Merry's fingers were warm from working at the fire, and once he slipped them under Frodo's collar the touch on his skin was quite lovely. Frodo did his best to relax back into that touch, lowering his shoulder blades, letting Merry's fingers ease out the knots that seemed to work themselves tighter each day.
He tensed slightly again when Merry moved closer to the center, the join of his shoulders and neck. Merry lifted the chain from around Frodo's neck and handed the jewel to Frodo so it wouldn't get in the way. The scar from the other chain, the Ring's chain, had faded, but it was still just visible, and certainly, Frodo thought, as Merry's fingertips brushed against the sensitive tissue, Merry would feel it. Then for a fraction of a second Merry's left thumb touched the bite, a few inches below the base of his neck, and Frodo shuddered, but forced himself to breathe.
"Could you – a little further down, perhaps? More spread out, like you were doing before, the shoulders more than the neck?"
"Of course," said Merry, complying immediately. But then he added, "As long as it isn't because you think I mind touching this," and he bent slightly to lay a single, gentle kiss on the mark of the chain.
Frodo tried to keep his breathing steady and not to tense further. There was no real reason to object to it. "No," he said. "It's just... that's where I feel it more."
"Only makes sense you would," Merry agreed, pausing to undo the top two buttons of Frodo's shirt so as to give more room to his hands. "And it's only a question of saying what you want, you know. I could also..."
He was moving his hands then, sliding around both sides to meet at the old wound on his left side, and his touch still so warm across that always frozen flesh that Frodo almost wanted it, and couldn't help making a noise, and waited three full seconds before pulling away.
He stood up abruptly and turned around to face Merry, but then couldn't quite look at him or think what he'd meant to say. He shoved the gem and chain in his breeches pocket and busied himself refastening his buttons and braces instead.
"Or I could not," Merry said in his normal voice, without alarm, without judgment. "It's only a question of you being honest with us."
"What is that, Merry, have I lied?" said Frodo, not knowing what to do with his hands now that his clothing was all back in place.
"It isn't that," said Pippin, who'd somehow come to stand at his side and taken his hand, "Only that you don't say anything at all. Makes it difficult for us to know how to help."
"I'll be fine," said Frodo. "You two take care of each other and I'll take care of myself. I'm a grown lad now." Even though he felt like a sullen child for saying it.
Merry was standing only an arm's reach away, and he reached, laid three fingers very gently on Frodo's shirt, above the scar of the Morgul-blade, and Frodo didn't move away.
"I can't stand feeling so distant from you," said Merry. "Come now, just because Pippin and I survived some other trials together, apart from what you and Sam endured, it doesn't mean we can't help you. And it doesn't mean you can't trust us anymore."
"I trust you." The tremor in his voice must make it sound like a lie, but it was true; he trusted the two of them more than anyone else living.
"Right then, Frodo," said Pippin. "Enough tiptoeing around what needs to be done. It's a good, warm, cozy room, and we shall be merciless with you tonight. We shall not let up until we're satisfied, all three of us."
No more tiptoeing around the truth then. They would demand he tell them every detail of what had happened, never mind how painful it was for Frodo to speak of it. There was something of the feeling of an ambush. Frodo felt they must have discussed this ahead of time, must have made the decision to confront him here, in Bree, and make him talk. "Was this Gandalf's idea, then?" he asked with annoyance, "or did Elrond put you up to it? Part of the healing process or some such nonsense." He realized his words were harsh, but he was tired of being the object of everyone's concern. Maybe this kind of tantrum would be just the thing to get them to leave him alone for a bit.
Merry looked perplexed and amused, but not offended. "Elrond put us up to this? Ah, no, I don't think so, dear Frodo." He took a step closer to Frodo and kissed him briefly on the mouth. Then, once again, slowly and patiently, he slid the braces off Frodo's shoulders and set to work on his shirt buttons. "They're concerned about you, they want you to be well, but this was just a little idea hatched between cousins."
"It really isn't the kind of thing we discuss with the immortals," Pippin murmured in Frodo's ear, licked from lobe to tip, then wrapped his arms around the two of them and breathed calmly, his nose and mouth pressed into Frodo's hair.
Frodo froze in the embrace, then spoke, slowly and evenly, "What are you doing?"
"What we used to do, Frodo," said Pippin, pausing to kiss his jaw and then his neck. "It's been far too long."
Frodo worked very hard to keep still. He had never felt angrier at his cousins, in all the years that he'd loved them. He had never felt so betrayed. "Please stop," he said.
"Is it too much?" Pippin asked. "Should we go more slowly?"
"Please don't touch me."
Merry drew away first, nodding to Pippin, who quickly ceased with the kisses but still kept his arms wrapped around Frodo, his head resting on Frodo's shoulder.
Merry touched Pippin's arm, very gently beginning to ease him away. "We don't mean to pressure you, Frodo," he said. "It's something Pippin and I both want and we thought you did too. But we can go as slowly as you want or give it up all together. It's your choice."
Frodo, still not moving, practically hissed, "Pippin, let me go." And once he did Frodo ignored him, turning his the full force of his anger on Merry.
"I have had no choice," he said, biting off the words, "in any of this. I didn't choose for Bilbo to leave me alone or to leave me with... that thing. I did not choose to go on this journey or to be betrayed by my companions, or even to have Sam come with me to the end. I did what needed to be done. Do you understand that?"
Merry nodded solemnly. Pippin stared.
"And you two have the gall to come here and act like you care about me, and then suggest that all I need to make me feel better is sex? Is that what you think comfort is? Is this what you think it means to help out a friend who's dead inside? Shag him silly till he forgets that he's in pain?"
"It's not about making you forget anything, Frodo," Merry said quietly.
"Well what is it then?"
"It's to remind you there's some good left in the world. That the world was worth saving, that there can still be joy..."
"Oh, I understand now. It was all worth it. Fine for me to lose my mind and fine for me to kill Sam if it means that afterwards we can still go at it, we can all three of us come. That's lovely, Merry, thank you so much for enlightening me."
"Frodo, you know I didn't mean..."
"You never understood him." Frodo was shouting now; Gandalf would hear him in the next room. "Fine to let Pippin in on the game even when he wasn't even a tween, but not Sam. You never understood how I could care so much for someone so far beneath me, you jealous, arrogant brat."
Frodo didn't mean that, didn't understand where such hateful words were coming from, but he felt unable to hold them back.
Pippin was reaching for him again, probably trying for a simple embrace of comfort this time, but Frodo was having none of it. He actually slapped Pippin's hand away, and backed away from both of them toward the door.
"Not three of a kind. Not the three heirs to three great estates. And not a threesome in the sack for old times' sake, my absurd and most depraved hobbits. We are not a set anymore, do you understand? It's the two of you -- you're made for each other, if you hadn't noticed. And so were Sam and I. Two."
He got out the door then, somehow, slammed it, probably. And Gandalf was standing in the doorway of the next room, silent, waiting. Frodo went to him and hugged him, his anger melting away to pure, desperate sadness till soon he was weeping, face buried in the wizard's beard. Gandalf held him close and after some minutes shuffled back, eased him into the room and shut the door. Gandalf lifted him and helped him to sit down in the large armchair by the fire, and stayed with him for a long time, until he had no more tears left and his head began to ache, and he regretted breaking down. Stayed with him after that, and brought him a cup of water, then some tea (which Frodo supposed was probably a light sedative), and asked him no questions about what had happened.
There was a soft knock at the door and Gandalf only gave Frodo a questioning look. Frodo shook his head. "I can't talk to them," he said, "not tonight." Gandalf nodded, stood, went to the door and stepped out quickly rather than let the others in. He spoke in a low voice and so did the two hobbits in the hallway, and Frodo slumped down in the chair, then wearily crossed the room to the spare bed. It was large enough for three or four hobbits; Frodo felt small and awkward in it and didn't mind in the least.
When Gandalf came back inside Frodo was near sleep, but he roused himself enough to prop his head on one hand and say, "I don't know how I'll take it, back in the Shire. I've longed so much to return but I don't believe I could possibly..." And he relaxed, lying back down on the pillow, knowing that once again that Gandalf would understand.
"You will have your family and friends to support you," Gandalf said. "And if you are not happy there you need not stay. For the time at least, I believe it will be good for the three of you to see your home again, and that the other Shirelings will be pleased to have you back."
Frodo nodded, closing his eyes. And since he was lying on his side the skin of his cheek rubbed against the pillowcase in a way that was not entirely unpleasant.
"Your cousins wished to apologize for upsetting you."
"Yes," Frodo said sleepily. "We'll have apologies and forgiveness and probably tears later, tomorrow most likely. Right now my head just couldn't take it. They'll understand, I think."
Frodo was unsure of whether Gandalf answered anything out loud. But there was an answer in his gentle movements as he brought a warm blanket up around Frodo's shoulders and touched his brow before blowing out the candles and retiring to his own bed. And for the first time in weeks Frodo slept soundly and without pain.
Rosie's father said it was all very well for her to be traipsing about when she was only opposing the likes of Ted Sandyman and Pimple Sackville-Baggins, but once the Big Folk arrived that was serious business, and Rosie should keep out of it. And Marigold, if she knew what was good for her, would do the same.
Rosie laughed at the idea of Marigold following Rosie's example, and laughed harder at the thought of Marigold backing away from anything she'd set out to do. Still, she didn't like to disobey her father... directly. So in those days she still did her best to stay clear of the Men. She was as courteous to them as anyone could stand to be to people who had no notion of courtesy.
And so was Marigold, on the surface. After all, a young hobbit lass wouldn't save the Shire by standing up and challenging a great big ruffian to a fair fight. Nor could any hobbit do that on his own, she explained patiently, when Tom said he meant to go off and join Fatty and his rebels in the hills.
"What fighting we can do has to go on underground," said Marigold, "and by that I don't mean hiding in caves."
It was the kind of fighting one did by pretending to turn over the whole crop and then quietly carrying some food away under one's dress. By preparing food and mending clothes for the rebels who had run away from their homes. By running messages in codes and whispers when the Quick Post was outlawed. If you got caught, you said it was for your dear ailing cousin (which was usually pretty near true as well, what with almost everyone being one kind of cousin or other, and all the Shire being dear, and all the Shire being in grave danger).
With Marigold it got to be more than that. The Shirriffs stopped believing her, and the authorities got to know her name. Her sisters told her it had gone too far, that she should be thinking of her family. But Marigold said Sharkey was the one putting her family in danger, and she couldn't lie back and let that happen.
"I can't follow you there," Rosie had said.
"I'm not asking you to. You've got your own family to think of. And you've always looked out for my family as well. I don't think I could leave if I didn't know you'd still be taking care of them."
So Rosie listened to her father when he told her to stay in town, when he said not to take on risks she didn't need to. But she listened to Mari's father as well, since Mari wouldn't.
Rosie hadn't been up to anything too terribly risky that night, but then again, it was risky to go out with your friends for a drink nowadays. It was a great accomplishment to buy vegetables at the market. It was a breach of order to visit your cousin in the next town without permission, whether he was ailing or not.
Gaffer Gamgee was ailing in a drafty little shack at the edge of town. His health hadn't been the best before the Troubles started, but now he'd lost his home and his livelihood and his potato patches. His youngest son had been missing for more than a year, and his youngest daughter had been hiding for just over a week. And he just couldn't understand why any of this was happening.
"Do you know where our Marigold's gone to?" he asked Rosie when she came to see him.
"I can tell you she's safe, sir," safer than she would be here anyhow. "It's just not the best time for her to be at home," where they know where to find her, "with all the work she has to do these days."
"Do you see her, lass? Can you tell her to come home? Daisy takes good care of me, but I miss my little girl."
Daisy took care of him as well as she could. She knew a good deal about sickness and healing, and she knew and loved her father well, but with the Post cut off and with the Gamgees poor and now undesirable, it wasn't easy for her to get what she needed to cure him. The Cottons had escaped the Shirriffs' attention and the Men's, for the most part, so Rosie was able to carry some of the medicines Daisy asked her for, though food was scarce for everyone these days.
"Mari's got to keep out of sight for a little while," she said, "but if I see her I'll be sure to give her your message."
Rosie had done nothing wrong that night, as far as she was concerned, but she'd broken the Rules by sharing in a way that wasn't recommended, and she was breaking them again by walking home at this time of night. She took a slightly roundabout way, closer to the edge of the town, so that she wouldn't have to pass by the Shirriff's post on Middle Lane and perhaps be asked to explain herself.
It still wasn't very late, but the doors were shut and the lights in the houses had been put out. Rosie shivered in the chill of the night, and shivered more at the sounds of footsteps, the darting movements in shadows. She trusted her Bywater neighbors, but the folk in the New Homes by the Gamgees' were those who'd been turned out of their own smials in the last few months, and some of them were more than a little desperate. And if they could report someone else for breaking the Rules maybe they thought they could win some favor for themselves. So Rosie cursed her timing and cursed her luck and, silently, cursed her dear Marigold for leaving her father alone at a time like this.
"Walking all alone at night? Don't you fear for your safety?"
"I've nothing to fear from the good people of Bywater, Ted Sandyman," said Rosie, though in truth she knew very well that she did, and she couldn't deny that she'd nearly jumped out of her skin when first he'd spoken. Just her luck to run in to him, of all the hobbits she preferred not to meet on a dark night in a sunless year.
"Not safe for a helpless young thing like yourself," he scolded. "Seems to me you're only asking for trouble."
Or likely it was nothing at all to do with luck. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd followed her from home to the Gamgees' and back here, waiting till she was at her most vulnerable.
"All I'm asking for is a short walk home to my father's house in peace," she said, turning to go.
"Then I'd better walk with you." And he did, walked quickly to keep up with Rosie's nervous step, and reached out to slip his arm around her waist. Rosie moved away immediately and instinctively as soon as he touched her, noticing that she felt a chill up her spine and a faint sickness in her stomach, but determined to stay calm. She stepped off to the side, kept walking, speeding her pace even more. Ted matched it.
"Now, Rosie, no need to be so standoffish. I'm only trying to do you a favor."
"If I wanted your company I'd ask for it."
"Seems to me you are asking for it."
"Tell me what you're asking for, Ted. If you're looking for a sweetheart or for a quick tumble you'd best look elsewhere. You know very well I've been spoken for."
"That was a long time ago."
"Not so very long." Steady.
"It's been a year since last we heard from him." More than that. Marigold's deadline had passed without comment from either of them, though certainly Rosie had noted the date and mourned. "What, don't tell me you still believe he's coming back for you!"
"That's -- " true. And she had to stop walking then. She was getting short of breath and it was no use, as she knew she couldn't outrun him. Standing firm on two feet, facing him, she told him plainly, "That's no business of yours."
"What's that, then, Rosie? Did you think you'd stay the virgin princess of Bywater since your Sam went away and left you for the Brandybuck bastard?"
No use responding to that. Best stick to the issue at hand. "I thought I would decide who I wanted to kiss and who I wanted to lay with. That's something every hobbit decides for himself, Ted."
"Right you are. And I decided I was gonna have you, see? Wouldn't stand in my way once I made up my mind, would you, Rosie?"
And he was reaching for her again, and anticipating her attempt to escape this time. Then she was up against the wall of the Proudfoots' house, and she'd known Ted was stronger than she was, but she'd never known he could be so quick. "Are you going to give me what I want?" he said. And she'd never liked his voice very much, but she hadn't known it could sound so brutal, so hungry and at the same time so cold.
"Let me go," she whispered furiously, struggling against his hands at her waist and her shoulder, and then he pressed the rest of his body up close and she realized she had no reason to keep her voice down. "Let me go!" This time it was a shout, and Ted's hand clapped over her mouth and his breath hot and bitter at her neck.
"I don't think you want to be calling attention to yourself and your situation right now. You know Sam's not coming to rescue you. I don't think you're expecting any help from your neighbors either."
And he was probably right that they wouldn't come, even if she screamed. Just last week Sharkey's Men came to this very house and carried away the eldest of the boys. And while the Proudfoots kicked and fought and yelled, everyone else stayed in their own homes, not even daring to look out from behind their windows.
"I think we'd both have a much better time," said Ted, "if you'd just come along quietly with me. Are you ready to do that?"
When he took his hand off her mouth, Rosie spoke loudly and clearly, and her voice shook only a little. "Don't rape me, Ted Sandyman."
"Aw, now," – he frowned, almost sneered, and she couldn't tell if she'd helped herself by making it plain or just made things worse by making him angry – "why d'you want to go and call it that?"
"Why do you want to make it that?"
A few months ago, she never would have thought of using those words. But then, a lot of things had changed in the last few months.
"I'm not." Ted still kept his voice low, probably his idea of seductive. "You're the one what's making it that by putting up such a fight. Just come with me, why don't you, and it can be nice and gentle like. I know you, Rosie. You walked along the edge of town so it would be easy for us to slip away. Come on then, let's slip away. Nobody needs to know."
Ted was right about one thing, Rosie thought then. No one would be coming along to rescue her. No father, no brother, no neighbors, and certainly no Sam. Not even a friend like Marigold to tell her how she could be brave. So it was all up to Rosie, and that was as frightening again as anything that had happened this evening.
"Will you make it easy, Ted?" she said softly, hoping she sounded meek.
"You'll love it, Rosie."
"Let's get on with it then."
He smiled and slowly, almost tenderly, eased off, gave her just enough room. And she didn't think it would work, didn't think her luck or her strength were enough to make it work, but she brought her knee up sharp and it hit just where she needed it to, and he grunted, stunned, stumbling back, and she took her only chance to break away. She ran between two of the houses, back into the middle of town and the little shed where there was always one Shirriff or another on duty these days. It was a gamble, as all the rest of it had been. The Shirriff was as likely to take her to the Lockholes as to help her out. And Ted Sandyman had no official post but he was likely more powerful than any young hobbit with a feather in his cap.
Still, she had to try something.
Ted wasn't badly hurt, and he was following her, drawing closer. It would be quite hopeless to try to run all the way home, or to slip away into the woods alone. The Shirriff, whoever he was, was her only hope, and all she could do was keep running and hope this Shirriff would be on her side. A few more paces and she could make out a startled and, to her great relief, kind and familiar face.
"Robin!" she called out, then corrected herself quickly, "Shirriff Smallburrow, I need your help!"
"What's going on?" he called back, stepping out of the little shack, putting his cap in place as he strode toward them.
And as she came closer Rosie's relief started to give way to disappointment. For she liked Robin, thought he would do his best to help her, but she also thought that, for a rescuer, he was awfully small and meek looking, and might not manage to do much.
Ted had caught up to her by now, and Rosie, who had nowhere else to run to, stood still and tried to get her breath back, even as he took hold of her again and her breath went short and shallow with a new kind of panic.
"She's breaking the Rules," he said to Robin. "Shouldn't even be out at this time of night, and besides that she was visiting the Gamgees. Probably carrying contraband, or carrying secrets for the rebels."
"Or carrying medicine for an ailing old hobbit," Rosie replied, "but if that's what you stopped me for, then arrest me." She knew the words were reckless – hobbits who got arrested seldom came back, and when they did it seemed they'd been beaten in as horrific and colorful a way as possible, made into warnings for their families and neighbors. Even so. "Take me to the Lockholes, if I've done something wrong, but don't take me into the woods and rape me." Both Ted and Robin flinched as she said the word again, though of course for different reasons. And Rosie, apart from being terrified, was now also irritated, impatient.
"Ted?" Robin sounded frightened, bewildered and angry at once. "Explain this to me, will you?"
"She thinks she's better than us, Robin, just needs to be taught a lesson."
"But you wouldn't..."
"What does it matter? Listen to me. We can do whatever we want now, don't you see? We've got Sharkey and his Men on our side..."
"But what are you saying, Ted? What are you doing?" And Rosie felt Ted's grip on her loosen just a bit, as if he were still set on having his way but didn't want to appear to be getting it by force. Robin continued, "This is Rose Cotton, our neighbor! Her father's done business with your father since before we were born, and neither one ever tried to cheat the other out of a pound of wheat or a pound of flour just because he could."
"Aw, leave it alone, Cock-Robin."
Ted tried to walk away, still holding on to her, but Rosie stood her ground, and then Robin was trying to pry Ted's hands off her. Ted pushed back against him and swung out his fist, missing Robin's jaw and glancing off the side of his face. And Rosie, who'd been doing her best to pull away, lost her balance once he let go, and fell down on the ground.
"Hands off her!" Ted shouted when Robin moved to help Rosie stand up. "I'll beat you to a pulp and then I'll have you reported..."
But Robin, moving slowly, still keeping his eyes on Ted, took another step toward Rosie and held out his hand. She grabbed it and pulled herself to her feet.
"Thank you," she whispered, thinking she ought to try running again, but knowing she'd not get very far if Ted decided to chase after her. She stood at Robin's side and stared Ted Sandyman down. He was shaking with fury now.
"I'll have you – "
"You're stronger than I am," Robin said, interrupting. "If you come at me again I'll fight you, don't think I won't, and I daresay Rosie and I could take you down if we went at you together, but you could call in Sharkey's Men and have both or either of us beat and taken off to the Lockholes. And then you could have your way, as you put it. But I don't think that is your way, Ted. You're not a ruffian come from outside our borders, and you're not the kind of scoundrel to force a lass when she's said she doesn't want you. You're a hobbit, Ted, and you don't really mean to do this."
"You don't know the first thing about what I want."
"Maybe I don't know you at all then."
"You – "
"I remember you used to go to the Green Dragon, and you'd have more beer than was really good for you, but I didn't try to stop you, because I like a good beer, and I'm not one to get in the way of another hobbit's good time. That's not a Shirriff's job anyhow, or at least it never was."
"I think you have a lot to learn about what a Shirriff's job is," said Ted, but he said it without conviction, and Rosie noticed he looked tired, was slumped against the wall. And Robin ignored his words.
"I remember how you used to argue for fun, and other hobbits would argue with you because you were wrong. But at the end of the night, you'd shake hands with whoever it was, and you'd come back another night to argue all over again. You never tried to hit them, and you never stopped being friends. You never stopped being one more hobbit in a country full of hobbits. I don't want to think you've become something else now, Ted. Just because these other folks are here and they've got some new Rules, that doesn't mean that we stop being who we are."
Then Ted said, "You're wrong, Robin. Things have changed. There won't be no going back to how it was before." But he didn't hit him, and he didn't make another grab for Rosie. In fact, he didn't look at her again, only added to Robin, "Keep her for yourself for the night then. I'll get my own in time. And both of you will get what you deserve." There was a threat in the words still, but it was no longer there in his tone.
And he turned away, and walked back toward where he'd come upon Rosie. The houses around were all still dark, and soon enough Ted's form had disappeared into the darkness while they watched, and then Rosie became aware that she was leaning on Robin Smallburrow, that she was almost too exhausted to stand. "My family's expecting me," she murmured. "I was supposed to be back an hour ago."
"Are you hurt, Rosie? Would you like to sit here and rest for a little while?"
"No, thank you, Robin." And she realized she'd needed to say that. Looked him in the eyes, "Thank you, Robin. I don't know what I'd have done, and if it'd been anyone else on duty..."
"Oh, no need to worry yourself about that," though from the sound of his voice there were a host of other things he was worried about, and with good reason. "Just did what any hobbit would have done. And what I said was true, Rose. I don't think he wanted to do what he was threatening you with. I think you'd have been all right on your own, but if I could make it any easier for you then I'm glad of that."
Rosie didn't believe him, but she nodded her head in agreement and thanks.
"If you don't want to stay here any longer, would you let me walk you home?"
Rosie wanted to weep, and instead she only said, "You won't be in trouble for leaving your post?"
"Oh, perhaps," he said with a shrug, "but I'll be in enough trouble for everything else, I doubt that will make any difference."
He took a few moments to lock up his shed and hang up a sign on the little door, "Away on Official Business."
"Is escorting a frightened lass home at night official business then?" Rosie asked, relieved to know that she could still smile.
He smiled back. "Most worthwhile thing I've done since I took this job."
He carried a lantern in one hand and helped to hold her up with the other, and they walked the short path, and met no one else on their way.
When Gandalf left them and turned south toward the Barrow-downs, Frodo felt he had really been abandoned. But the hobbits kept riding, and as they tried to make sense of Gandalf's words, and of the strange talk they'd heard in Bree, and of the stranger things they saw along the road, Frodo remembered that he always had liked his cousins' company, Merry's way of trying to puzzle through a mystery, and Pippin's way of seeing hope ahead, no matter how dark the road got.
"I am glad you're with me," Frodo said. "I could never have made this journey alone."
A few days later they heard Robin Smallburrow had been sent to Frogmorton to join another troop of Shirriffs. There was no mention of Rosie's encounter with Ted Sandyman, but the official story said a Shirriff needed to respect the Chief and the Rules, and not concern himself with who was whose neighbor.
Rosie said they needed to protest, that he'd been sent away from his family just for helping her, and that made it Rosie's place to speak out.
"No," said her mother, "now's not the time. We'll not risk losing you, Rosie. There's been enough hobbits punished already."
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Rating: PG-13 for this chapter, R later on.
Main characters: Frodo and Rosie. (This chapter also features Merry, Pippin, Ted Sandyman, and Robin Smallburrow.)
Genre: Angst, post-quest Shire AU. Multiple pairings of male and female hobbits.
Summary: Frodo and Rosie each try to go on with their lives after losing Sam.
Warnings: Severe angst, character death; this chapter: nonconsensual sexual situations.
More detailed summary/warnings/pairings/spoilers here.
Notes: Thanks to
danachan for beta and encouragement.Crossing the river Frodo felt the pang in his shoulder, familiar enough, but sharper and colder than it had been in the long months since the spring.
"Is something wrong, Frodo?" Merry asked.
"No, it's nothing."
And if Sam were there he'd not have let it go at that. But Merry and Pippin only exchanged glances, silent, reluctant to push him too hard.
That night Gandalf told the hobbits to curl up together under the blankets with Frodo in the middle, for he needed to be kept warm. But Frodo felt he could only be making everyone miserable and cold.
Rosie knew Ted Sandyman well enough – as well as she needed to, anyhow. She knew that Sam had been on good enough terms to speak to him in the old days, knew he usually came away bothered after he did.
When Ted looked at her now it always felt like salt in an old wound.
He was a worse gossip than the old wives, and she knew that he knew that she'd been Sam's, and that Sam wasn't hers any longer.
The day the ruffians came to Bywater, Ted wrapped an arm around her shoulders and whispered, "Mine now, Rosie lass."
The inn at Bree looked a pleasant house to familiar eyes, as theirs were now. And after all the foreign lands and cities they'd seen, all of Bree looked rather homelike and almost hobbity. So it was a relief, after a wet and wild evening, to gaze on the sign of The Prancing Pony, and it was twice as pleasant again to sit and warm themselves by the fire while Butterbur, who paid attention to them this time, told them the strange news of the past year.
He still had a room set aside for four hobbits, and he only charged them for three. Gandalf took a room of his own, sensing that the hobbits cared for privacy more than protection and knowing there was no danger for them here. This time they were able to stay in their rooms for the whole night, and they did not bother joining the company in the common-room.
It was the first time they'd slept in proper beds under a proper roof since Rivendell, three weeks back. The beds here were not as fine, but they were the right size, and Pippin snuggled into one as soon as they entered. The room, once Merry got the fire going, was warm and cozy.
It occurred to Frodo as he sat down in a chair that very soon they would be reaching a place where everything was, well, what he had once considered the "proper" size. His legs would not dangle above the floor when he sat at table; he would not need two hands to lift a mug of ale; Gandalf would part with them soon and Frodo would cease to encounter people who towered over him, unless he counted Merry and Pippin.
"What will that be like, then," he wondered aloud, "to be a hobbit among hobbits again?" What was it about the thought that he found so frightening? "No more excuses, I suppose. Everyone expects you to feel at ease once you're among your own people."
"I don't know about that," said Merry. "I expect the three of us will always feel a bit apart from the rest of them. Nothing wrong in that, nothing to make excuses for."
Frodo looked down at his hands. He ought not to have said anything out loud. No reason to expect the others to feel the same way he did.
"Anyway," Pippin added, "it's not as if you were ever a typical hobbit among hobbits."
"The Hobbiton folk always did think me queer," Frodo agreed.
"Course they did," said Pippin. "That's what they always said about Merry and me as well -- about all the extraordinary hobbits, actually. It's the ones who don't fit the old mold who end up doing great things."
It wasn't ever something they said of Sam, though.
"Three of a kind, they used to say about us," said Merry, coming to stand just behind Frodo's chair and beginning to massage his shoulders.
Frodo said nothing, for he could not keep from feeling Merry's words as an insult to Sam. Not three, he thought. Two.
Merry pulled the braces off Frodo's shoulders to let them hang from his waist, and he set about working his fingers deeper in Frodo's taut muscles. "You don't mind this, do you, cousin?"
Frodo shook his head. He barely trusted his voice to say so, but the sensation was good. The sharp pain in his shoulder had faded since the sixth, but there was still an ache there, stronger than it had been all through the summer in Minas Tirith. Frodo supposed it made him hunch forward, though the others didn't tell him so.
Merry's fingers were warm from working at the fire, and once he slipped them under Frodo's collar the touch on his skin was quite lovely. Frodo did his best to relax back into that touch, lowering his shoulder blades, letting Merry's fingers ease out the knots that seemed to work themselves tighter each day.
He tensed slightly again when Merry moved closer to the center, the join of his shoulders and neck. Merry lifted the chain from around Frodo's neck and handed the jewel to Frodo so it wouldn't get in the way. The scar from the other chain, the Ring's chain, had faded, but it was still just visible, and certainly, Frodo thought, as Merry's fingertips brushed against the sensitive tissue, Merry would feel it. Then for a fraction of a second Merry's left thumb touched the bite, a few inches below the base of his neck, and Frodo shuddered, but forced himself to breathe.
"Could you – a little further down, perhaps? More spread out, like you were doing before, the shoulders more than the neck?"
"Of course," said Merry, complying immediately. But then he added, "As long as it isn't because you think I mind touching this," and he bent slightly to lay a single, gentle kiss on the mark of the chain.
Frodo tried to keep his breathing steady and not to tense further. There was no real reason to object to it. "No," he said. "It's just... that's where I feel it more."
"Only makes sense you would," Merry agreed, pausing to undo the top two buttons of Frodo's shirt so as to give more room to his hands. "And it's only a question of saying what you want, you know. I could also..."
He was moving his hands then, sliding around both sides to meet at the old wound on his left side, and his touch still so warm across that always frozen flesh that Frodo almost wanted it, and couldn't help making a noise, and waited three full seconds before pulling away.
He stood up abruptly and turned around to face Merry, but then couldn't quite look at him or think what he'd meant to say. He shoved the gem and chain in his breeches pocket and busied himself refastening his buttons and braces instead.
"Or I could not," Merry said in his normal voice, without alarm, without judgment. "It's only a question of you being honest with us."
"What is that, Merry, have I lied?" said Frodo, not knowing what to do with his hands now that his clothing was all back in place.
"It isn't that," said Pippin, who'd somehow come to stand at his side and taken his hand, "Only that you don't say anything at all. Makes it difficult for us to know how to help."
"I'll be fine," said Frodo. "You two take care of each other and I'll take care of myself. I'm a grown lad now." Even though he felt like a sullen child for saying it.
Merry was standing only an arm's reach away, and he reached, laid three fingers very gently on Frodo's shirt, above the scar of the Morgul-blade, and Frodo didn't move away.
"I can't stand feeling so distant from you," said Merry. "Come now, just because Pippin and I survived some other trials together, apart from what you and Sam endured, it doesn't mean we can't help you. And it doesn't mean you can't trust us anymore."
"I trust you." The tremor in his voice must make it sound like a lie, but it was true; he trusted the two of them more than anyone else living.
"Right then, Frodo," said Pippin. "Enough tiptoeing around what needs to be done. It's a good, warm, cozy room, and we shall be merciless with you tonight. We shall not let up until we're satisfied, all three of us."
No more tiptoeing around the truth then. They would demand he tell them every detail of what had happened, never mind how painful it was for Frodo to speak of it. There was something of the feeling of an ambush. Frodo felt they must have discussed this ahead of time, must have made the decision to confront him here, in Bree, and make him talk. "Was this Gandalf's idea, then?" he asked with annoyance, "or did Elrond put you up to it? Part of the healing process or some such nonsense." He realized his words were harsh, but he was tired of being the object of everyone's concern. Maybe this kind of tantrum would be just the thing to get them to leave him alone for a bit.
Merry looked perplexed and amused, but not offended. "Elrond put us up to this? Ah, no, I don't think so, dear Frodo." He took a step closer to Frodo and kissed him briefly on the mouth. Then, once again, slowly and patiently, he slid the braces off Frodo's shoulders and set to work on his shirt buttons. "They're concerned about you, they want you to be well, but this was just a little idea hatched between cousins."
"It really isn't the kind of thing we discuss with the immortals," Pippin murmured in Frodo's ear, licked from lobe to tip, then wrapped his arms around the two of them and breathed calmly, his nose and mouth pressed into Frodo's hair.
Frodo froze in the embrace, then spoke, slowly and evenly, "What are you doing?"
"What we used to do, Frodo," said Pippin, pausing to kiss his jaw and then his neck. "It's been far too long."
Frodo worked very hard to keep still. He had never felt angrier at his cousins, in all the years that he'd loved them. He had never felt so betrayed. "Please stop," he said.
"Is it too much?" Pippin asked. "Should we go more slowly?"
"Please don't touch me."
Merry drew away first, nodding to Pippin, who quickly ceased with the kisses but still kept his arms wrapped around Frodo, his head resting on Frodo's shoulder.
Merry touched Pippin's arm, very gently beginning to ease him away. "We don't mean to pressure you, Frodo," he said. "It's something Pippin and I both want and we thought you did too. But we can go as slowly as you want or give it up all together. It's your choice."
Frodo, still not moving, practically hissed, "Pippin, let me go." And once he did Frodo ignored him, turning his the full force of his anger on Merry.
"I have had no choice," he said, biting off the words, "in any of this. I didn't choose for Bilbo to leave me alone or to leave me with... that thing. I did not choose to go on this journey or to be betrayed by my companions, or even to have Sam come with me to the end. I did what needed to be done. Do you understand that?"
Merry nodded solemnly. Pippin stared.
"And you two have the gall to come here and act like you care about me, and then suggest that all I need to make me feel better is sex? Is that what you think comfort is? Is this what you think it means to help out a friend who's dead inside? Shag him silly till he forgets that he's in pain?"
"It's not about making you forget anything, Frodo," Merry said quietly.
"Well what is it then?"
"It's to remind you there's some good left in the world. That the world was worth saving, that there can still be joy..."
"Oh, I understand now. It was all worth it. Fine for me to lose my mind and fine for me to kill Sam if it means that afterwards we can still go at it, we can all three of us come. That's lovely, Merry, thank you so much for enlightening me."
"Frodo, you know I didn't mean..."
"You never understood him." Frodo was shouting now; Gandalf would hear him in the next room. "Fine to let Pippin in on the game even when he wasn't even a tween, but not Sam. You never understood how I could care so much for someone so far beneath me, you jealous, arrogant brat."
Frodo didn't mean that, didn't understand where such hateful words were coming from, but he felt unable to hold them back.
Pippin was reaching for him again, probably trying for a simple embrace of comfort this time, but Frodo was having none of it. He actually slapped Pippin's hand away, and backed away from both of them toward the door.
"Not three of a kind. Not the three heirs to three great estates. And not a threesome in the sack for old times' sake, my absurd and most depraved hobbits. We are not a set anymore, do you understand? It's the two of you -- you're made for each other, if you hadn't noticed. And so were Sam and I. Two."
He got out the door then, somehow, slammed it, probably. And Gandalf was standing in the doorway of the next room, silent, waiting. Frodo went to him and hugged him, his anger melting away to pure, desperate sadness till soon he was weeping, face buried in the wizard's beard. Gandalf held him close and after some minutes shuffled back, eased him into the room and shut the door. Gandalf lifted him and helped him to sit down in the large armchair by the fire, and stayed with him for a long time, until he had no more tears left and his head began to ache, and he regretted breaking down. Stayed with him after that, and brought him a cup of water, then some tea (which Frodo supposed was probably a light sedative), and asked him no questions about what had happened.
There was a soft knock at the door and Gandalf only gave Frodo a questioning look. Frodo shook his head. "I can't talk to them," he said, "not tonight." Gandalf nodded, stood, went to the door and stepped out quickly rather than let the others in. He spoke in a low voice and so did the two hobbits in the hallway, and Frodo slumped down in the chair, then wearily crossed the room to the spare bed. It was large enough for three or four hobbits; Frodo felt small and awkward in it and didn't mind in the least.
When Gandalf came back inside Frodo was near sleep, but he roused himself enough to prop his head on one hand and say, "I don't know how I'll take it, back in the Shire. I've longed so much to return but I don't believe I could possibly..." And he relaxed, lying back down on the pillow, knowing that once again that Gandalf would understand.
"You will have your family and friends to support you," Gandalf said. "And if you are not happy there you need not stay. For the time at least, I believe it will be good for the three of you to see your home again, and that the other Shirelings will be pleased to have you back."
Frodo nodded, closing his eyes. And since he was lying on his side the skin of his cheek rubbed against the pillowcase in a way that was not entirely unpleasant.
"Your cousins wished to apologize for upsetting you."
"Yes," Frodo said sleepily. "We'll have apologies and forgiveness and probably tears later, tomorrow most likely. Right now my head just couldn't take it. They'll understand, I think."
Frodo was unsure of whether Gandalf answered anything out loud. But there was an answer in his gentle movements as he brought a warm blanket up around Frodo's shoulders and touched his brow before blowing out the candles and retiring to his own bed. And for the first time in weeks Frodo slept soundly and without pain.
Rosie's father said it was all very well for her to be traipsing about when she was only opposing the likes of Ted Sandyman and Pimple Sackville-Baggins, but once the Big Folk arrived that was serious business, and Rosie should keep out of it. And Marigold, if she knew what was good for her, would do the same.
Rosie laughed at the idea of Marigold following Rosie's example, and laughed harder at the thought of Marigold backing away from anything she'd set out to do. Still, she didn't like to disobey her father... directly. So in those days she still did her best to stay clear of the Men. She was as courteous to them as anyone could stand to be to people who had no notion of courtesy.
And so was Marigold, on the surface. After all, a young hobbit lass wouldn't save the Shire by standing up and challenging a great big ruffian to a fair fight. Nor could any hobbit do that on his own, she explained patiently, when Tom said he meant to go off and join Fatty and his rebels in the hills.
"What fighting we can do has to go on underground," said Marigold, "and by that I don't mean hiding in caves."
It was the kind of fighting one did by pretending to turn over the whole crop and then quietly carrying some food away under one's dress. By preparing food and mending clothes for the rebels who had run away from their homes. By running messages in codes and whispers when the Quick Post was outlawed. If you got caught, you said it was for your dear ailing cousin (which was usually pretty near true as well, what with almost everyone being one kind of cousin or other, and all the Shire being dear, and all the Shire being in grave danger).
With Marigold it got to be more than that. The Shirriffs stopped believing her, and the authorities got to know her name. Her sisters told her it had gone too far, that she should be thinking of her family. But Marigold said Sharkey was the one putting her family in danger, and she couldn't lie back and let that happen.
"I can't follow you there," Rosie had said.
"I'm not asking you to. You've got your own family to think of. And you've always looked out for my family as well. I don't think I could leave if I didn't know you'd still be taking care of them."
So Rosie listened to her father when he told her to stay in town, when he said not to take on risks she didn't need to. But she listened to Mari's father as well, since Mari wouldn't.
Rosie hadn't been up to anything too terribly risky that night, but then again, it was risky to go out with your friends for a drink nowadays. It was a great accomplishment to buy vegetables at the market. It was a breach of order to visit your cousin in the next town without permission, whether he was ailing or not.
Gaffer Gamgee was ailing in a drafty little shack at the edge of town. His health hadn't been the best before the Troubles started, but now he'd lost his home and his livelihood and his potato patches. His youngest son had been missing for more than a year, and his youngest daughter had been hiding for just over a week. And he just couldn't understand why any of this was happening.
"Do you know where our Marigold's gone to?" he asked Rosie when she came to see him.
"I can tell you she's safe, sir," safer than she would be here anyhow. "It's just not the best time for her to be at home," where they know where to find her, "with all the work she has to do these days."
"Do you see her, lass? Can you tell her to come home? Daisy takes good care of me, but I miss my little girl."
Daisy took care of him as well as she could. She knew a good deal about sickness and healing, and she knew and loved her father well, but with the Post cut off and with the Gamgees poor and now undesirable, it wasn't easy for her to get what she needed to cure him. The Cottons had escaped the Shirriffs' attention and the Men's, for the most part, so Rosie was able to carry some of the medicines Daisy asked her for, though food was scarce for everyone these days.
"Mari's got to keep out of sight for a little while," she said, "but if I see her I'll be sure to give her your message."
Rosie had done nothing wrong that night, as far as she was concerned, but she'd broken the Rules by sharing in a way that wasn't recommended, and she was breaking them again by walking home at this time of night. She took a slightly roundabout way, closer to the edge of the town, so that she wouldn't have to pass by the Shirriff's post on Middle Lane and perhaps be asked to explain herself.
It still wasn't very late, but the doors were shut and the lights in the houses had been put out. Rosie shivered in the chill of the night, and shivered more at the sounds of footsteps, the darting movements in shadows. She trusted her Bywater neighbors, but the folk in the New Homes by the Gamgees' were those who'd been turned out of their own smials in the last few months, and some of them were more than a little desperate. And if they could report someone else for breaking the Rules maybe they thought they could win some favor for themselves. So Rosie cursed her timing and cursed her luck and, silently, cursed her dear Marigold for leaving her father alone at a time like this.
"Walking all alone at night? Don't you fear for your safety?"
"I've nothing to fear from the good people of Bywater, Ted Sandyman," said Rosie, though in truth she knew very well that she did, and she couldn't deny that she'd nearly jumped out of her skin when first he'd spoken. Just her luck to run in to him, of all the hobbits she preferred not to meet on a dark night in a sunless year.
"Not safe for a helpless young thing like yourself," he scolded. "Seems to me you're only asking for trouble."
Or likely it was nothing at all to do with luck. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd followed her from home to the Gamgees' and back here, waiting till she was at her most vulnerable.
"All I'm asking for is a short walk home to my father's house in peace," she said, turning to go.
"Then I'd better walk with you." And he did, walked quickly to keep up with Rosie's nervous step, and reached out to slip his arm around her waist. Rosie moved away immediately and instinctively as soon as he touched her, noticing that she felt a chill up her spine and a faint sickness in her stomach, but determined to stay calm. She stepped off to the side, kept walking, speeding her pace even more. Ted matched it.
"Now, Rosie, no need to be so standoffish. I'm only trying to do you a favor."
"If I wanted your company I'd ask for it."
"Seems to me you are asking for it."
"Tell me what you're asking for, Ted. If you're looking for a sweetheart or for a quick tumble you'd best look elsewhere. You know very well I've been spoken for."
"That was a long time ago."
"Not so very long." Steady.
"It's been a year since last we heard from him." More than that. Marigold's deadline had passed without comment from either of them, though certainly Rosie had noted the date and mourned. "What, don't tell me you still believe he's coming back for you!"
"That's -- " true. And she had to stop walking then. She was getting short of breath and it was no use, as she knew she couldn't outrun him. Standing firm on two feet, facing him, she told him plainly, "That's no business of yours."
"What's that, then, Rosie? Did you think you'd stay the virgin princess of Bywater since your Sam went away and left you for the Brandybuck bastard?"
No use responding to that. Best stick to the issue at hand. "I thought I would decide who I wanted to kiss and who I wanted to lay with. That's something every hobbit decides for himself, Ted."
"Right you are. And I decided I was gonna have you, see? Wouldn't stand in my way once I made up my mind, would you, Rosie?"
And he was reaching for her again, and anticipating her attempt to escape this time. Then she was up against the wall of the Proudfoots' house, and she'd known Ted was stronger than she was, but she'd never known he could be so quick. "Are you going to give me what I want?" he said. And she'd never liked his voice very much, but she hadn't known it could sound so brutal, so hungry and at the same time so cold.
"Let me go," she whispered furiously, struggling against his hands at her waist and her shoulder, and then he pressed the rest of his body up close and she realized she had no reason to keep her voice down. "Let me go!" This time it was a shout, and Ted's hand clapped over her mouth and his breath hot and bitter at her neck.
"I don't think you want to be calling attention to yourself and your situation right now. You know Sam's not coming to rescue you. I don't think you're expecting any help from your neighbors either."
And he was probably right that they wouldn't come, even if she screamed. Just last week Sharkey's Men came to this very house and carried away the eldest of the boys. And while the Proudfoots kicked and fought and yelled, everyone else stayed in their own homes, not even daring to look out from behind their windows.
"I think we'd both have a much better time," said Ted, "if you'd just come along quietly with me. Are you ready to do that?"
When he took his hand off her mouth, Rosie spoke loudly and clearly, and her voice shook only a little. "Don't rape me, Ted Sandyman."
"Aw, now," – he frowned, almost sneered, and she couldn't tell if she'd helped herself by making it plain or just made things worse by making him angry – "why d'you want to go and call it that?"
"Why do you want to make it that?"
A few months ago, she never would have thought of using those words. But then, a lot of things had changed in the last few months.
"I'm not." Ted still kept his voice low, probably his idea of seductive. "You're the one what's making it that by putting up such a fight. Just come with me, why don't you, and it can be nice and gentle like. I know you, Rosie. You walked along the edge of town so it would be easy for us to slip away. Come on then, let's slip away. Nobody needs to know."
Ted was right about one thing, Rosie thought then. No one would be coming along to rescue her. No father, no brother, no neighbors, and certainly no Sam. Not even a friend like Marigold to tell her how she could be brave. So it was all up to Rosie, and that was as frightening again as anything that had happened this evening.
"Will you make it easy, Ted?" she said softly, hoping she sounded meek.
"You'll love it, Rosie."
"Let's get on with it then."
He smiled and slowly, almost tenderly, eased off, gave her just enough room. And she didn't think it would work, didn't think her luck or her strength were enough to make it work, but she brought her knee up sharp and it hit just where she needed it to, and he grunted, stunned, stumbling back, and she took her only chance to break away. She ran between two of the houses, back into the middle of town and the little shed where there was always one Shirriff or another on duty these days. It was a gamble, as all the rest of it had been. The Shirriff was as likely to take her to the Lockholes as to help her out. And Ted Sandyman had no official post but he was likely more powerful than any young hobbit with a feather in his cap.
Still, she had to try something.
Ted wasn't badly hurt, and he was following her, drawing closer. It would be quite hopeless to try to run all the way home, or to slip away into the woods alone. The Shirriff, whoever he was, was her only hope, and all she could do was keep running and hope this Shirriff would be on her side. A few more paces and she could make out a startled and, to her great relief, kind and familiar face.
"Robin!" she called out, then corrected herself quickly, "Shirriff Smallburrow, I need your help!"
"What's going on?" he called back, stepping out of the little shack, putting his cap in place as he strode toward them.
And as she came closer Rosie's relief started to give way to disappointment. For she liked Robin, thought he would do his best to help her, but she also thought that, for a rescuer, he was awfully small and meek looking, and might not manage to do much.
Ted had caught up to her by now, and Rosie, who had nowhere else to run to, stood still and tried to get her breath back, even as he took hold of her again and her breath went short and shallow with a new kind of panic.
"She's breaking the Rules," he said to Robin. "Shouldn't even be out at this time of night, and besides that she was visiting the Gamgees. Probably carrying contraband, or carrying secrets for the rebels."
"Or carrying medicine for an ailing old hobbit," Rosie replied, "but if that's what you stopped me for, then arrest me." She knew the words were reckless – hobbits who got arrested seldom came back, and when they did it seemed they'd been beaten in as horrific and colorful a way as possible, made into warnings for their families and neighbors. Even so. "Take me to the Lockholes, if I've done something wrong, but don't take me into the woods and rape me." Both Ted and Robin flinched as she said the word again, though of course for different reasons. And Rosie, apart from being terrified, was now also irritated, impatient.
"Ted?" Robin sounded frightened, bewildered and angry at once. "Explain this to me, will you?"
"She thinks she's better than us, Robin, just needs to be taught a lesson."
"But you wouldn't..."
"What does it matter? Listen to me. We can do whatever we want now, don't you see? We've got Sharkey and his Men on our side..."
"But what are you saying, Ted? What are you doing?" And Rosie felt Ted's grip on her loosen just a bit, as if he were still set on having his way but didn't want to appear to be getting it by force. Robin continued, "This is Rose Cotton, our neighbor! Her father's done business with your father since before we were born, and neither one ever tried to cheat the other out of a pound of wheat or a pound of flour just because he could."
"Aw, leave it alone, Cock-Robin."
Ted tried to walk away, still holding on to her, but Rosie stood her ground, and then Robin was trying to pry Ted's hands off her. Ted pushed back against him and swung out his fist, missing Robin's jaw and glancing off the side of his face. And Rosie, who'd been doing her best to pull away, lost her balance once he let go, and fell down on the ground.
"Hands off her!" Ted shouted when Robin moved to help Rosie stand up. "I'll beat you to a pulp and then I'll have you reported..."
But Robin, moving slowly, still keeping his eyes on Ted, took another step toward Rosie and held out his hand. She grabbed it and pulled herself to her feet.
"Thank you," she whispered, thinking she ought to try running again, but knowing she'd not get very far if Ted decided to chase after her. She stood at Robin's side and stared Ted Sandyman down. He was shaking with fury now.
"I'll have you – "
"You're stronger than I am," Robin said, interrupting. "If you come at me again I'll fight you, don't think I won't, and I daresay Rosie and I could take you down if we went at you together, but you could call in Sharkey's Men and have both or either of us beat and taken off to the Lockholes. And then you could have your way, as you put it. But I don't think that is your way, Ted. You're not a ruffian come from outside our borders, and you're not the kind of scoundrel to force a lass when she's said she doesn't want you. You're a hobbit, Ted, and you don't really mean to do this."
"You don't know the first thing about what I want."
"Maybe I don't know you at all then."
"You – "
"I remember you used to go to the Green Dragon, and you'd have more beer than was really good for you, but I didn't try to stop you, because I like a good beer, and I'm not one to get in the way of another hobbit's good time. That's not a Shirriff's job anyhow, or at least it never was."
"I think you have a lot to learn about what a Shirriff's job is," said Ted, but he said it without conviction, and Rosie noticed he looked tired, was slumped against the wall. And Robin ignored his words.
"I remember how you used to argue for fun, and other hobbits would argue with you because you were wrong. But at the end of the night, you'd shake hands with whoever it was, and you'd come back another night to argue all over again. You never tried to hit them, and you never stopped being friends. You never stopped being one more hobbit in a country full of hobbits. I don't want to think you've become something else now, Ted. Just because these other folks are here and they've got some new Rules, that doesn't mean that we stop being who we are."
Then Ted said, "You're wrong, Robin. Things have changed. There won't be no going back to how it was before." But he didn't hit him, and he didn't make another grab for Rosie. In fact, he didn't look at her again, only added to Robin, "Keep her for yourself for the night then. I'll get my own in time. And both of you will get what you deserve." There was a threat in the words still, but it was no longer there in his tone.
And he turned away, and walked back toward where he'd come upon Rosie. The houses around were all still dark, and soon enough Ted's form had disappeared into the darkness while they watched, and then Rosie became aware that she was leaning on Robin Smallburrow, that she was almost too exhausted to stand. "My family's expecting me," she murmured. "I was supposed to be back an hour ago."
"Are you hurt, Rosie? Would you like to sit here and rest for a little while?"
"No, thank you, Robin." And she realized she'd needed to say that. Looked him in the eyes, "Thank you, Robin. I don't know what I'd have done, and if it'd been anyone else on duty..."
"Oh, no need to worry yourself about that," though from the sound of his voice there were a host of other things he was worried about, and with good reason. "Just did what any hobbit would have done. And what I said was true, Rose. I don't think he wanted to do what he was threatening you with. I think you'd have been all right on your own, but if I could make it any easier for you then I'm glad of that."
Rosie didn't believe him, but she nodded her head in agreement and thanks.
"If you don't want to stay here any longer, would you let me walk you home?"
Rosie wanted to weep, and instead she only said, "You won't be in trouble for leaving your post?"
"Oh, perhaps," he said with a shrug, "but I'll be in enough trouble for everything else, I doubt that will make any difference."
He took a few moments to lock up his shed and hang up a sign on the little door, "Away on Official Business."
"Is escorting a frightened lass home at night official business then?" Rosie asked, relieved to know that she could still smile.
He smiled back. "Most worthwhile thing I've done since I took this job."
He carried a lantern in one hand and helped to hold her up with the other, and they walked the short path, and met no one else on their way.
When Gandalf left them and turned south toward the Barrow-downs, Frodo felt he had really been abandoned. But the hobbits kept riding, and as they tried to make sense of Gandalf's words, and of the strange talk they'd heard in Bree, and of the stranger things they saw along the road, Frodo remembered that he always had liked his cousins' company, Merry's way of trying to puzzle through a mystery, and Pippin's way of seeing hope ahead, no matter how dark the road got.
"I am glad you're with me," Frodo said. "I could never have made this journey alone."
A few days later they heard Robin Smallburrow had been sent to Frogmorton to join another troop of Shirriffs. There was no mention of Rosie's encounter with Ted Sandyman, but the official story said a Shirriff needed to respect the Chief and the Rules, and not concern himself with who was whose neighbor.
Rosie said they needed to protest, that he'd been sent away from his family just for helping her, and that made it Rosie's place to speak out.
"No," said her mother, "now's not the time. We'll not risk losing you, Rosie. There's been enough hobbits punished already."
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I think your Robin Smallburrow is great, and I would like to see more of him. (Your Rosie is also great, and I don't think I could tell you that too much!)
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I would like to write some canon Robin sometime!
♥
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And dearest Frodo in pain and ... and ... you do angst so very well!
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And then in the Shire, poor Rosie trying to be brave and succor two families and stave off rape - from a fellow hobbit no less. How I love your Robin Smallburrow.
I am really looking forward to seeing how Frodo and Rosie will be with each other when he gets back. *sighs* Sam is such a loss, and they both love him so much.
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And good old Robin, for standing for Rosie.
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