Tolkien Fan Fiction Home Art/Tolkien Fan Fiction All the tales of the Valar and the Elves are so knit together that one may scarce expound any one without needing to set forth the whole of their great history.
The Tenant from Staddle
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  Post A Review  Printer Friendly  Help

[Prev][Index][Next]

6
The Bracegirdle Lawyer

~~~

The Bracegirdle Lawyer


"So, you entertained guests today, did you?" Sam asked as he moved the bowl he found sitting on the dresser’s top up onto the shelf where it was generally kept.

"Yes," Frodo admitted, "from a farm in which I have interests." He’d solemnly sworn Pando to secrecy about the identity of the visitors he’d had and their business, and he knew the lad would hold his tongue around the gardener. No need to remind Sam about lands outside the Shire until there was true reason for him to remember he had such things he must inevitably deal with himself. Sam and Rosie would be marrying so soon, and he wanted Sam able to focus on that, and not be reminded of the darker times they’d known out there.

"Not often as such actually come here," Sam commented as he looked into the drawer in which the spoons were kept and saw them properly arranged.

"True enough; but you know how much things have been changed as a result of the Time of Troubles."

Sam shrugged his agreement. All too much had been changed; but at least things were beginning to resume their usual beauty within the Shire. The sapling growing in the Party Field appeared to be a mallorn tree, and he was very optimistic at the moment, having seen how so many of the young trees he’d planted starting early in February had begun to grow up at such an unprecedented rate. "Marish is lovely, it is. And it seems as the crops is fair springin’ up in the fields, intent on makin’ up for the short rations and all from last year." He was pleased to see Frodo smile. "Did you come back last night?"

"No, this morning. I was pretty tired last night, and so I slept the night at the Whitfoots’ and rode back shortly after second breakfast."

"Nice ride?"

"Yes. Seeing the Sun again helped, I think." He laughed. "It’s almost as if Pearl were mothering me--she’s taken to having Bard carry me slices of cake lately, and yesterday she sent me a whole one and had him leave it with Mina."

"And did you eat aught of it?"

The pink spots on Frodo’s cheeks grew more pronounced. "I had a small slice last night, and Mina wrapped one in a napkin and placed it in my saddlebags. I ate it on the way home, although much of it was rather squashed."

"I trust as you didn’t feed it to the birds?" Sam noted the pink grew deeper once more and knew that at least a portion of that cake had indeed gone that way. "Well, Missus Maggot sent you a gift, she did--a basket of early mushrooms and a brandy cake."

"Bless her, the dear lady. A true queen among Hobbits, as I’ve said before, Sam."

"Indeed she is." Sam fetched a knife out and, after lifting the cake out of its basket, cut several thin slices and saw one onto a plate for Frodo, fetched a fork for him, and saw him settled with it and a mug of his special tea. "You been feelin’ cold?" he asked with a glance at the grey shawl.

"Only a bit."

"Woodbox is full."

"Yes." Sam noted that Frodo didn’t elaborate on that--the mysterious guests had evidently repaid his Master’s hospitality by fetching in more wood, he realized. Interesting. Not one of his relatives, then, most likely--gentry didn’t tend to think of that kind of helpfulness.

Sam found the saucer shoved under the settle and picked it up, then paused. There were traces of grease on it. Now, why would Mr. Frodo put meat on a saucer, much less set it on the floor? Then he went on to the parlor and found what he was certain was dog hair on the narrow sofa by the fireplace. What was this? Since when had a dog been allowed entrance into Bag End? Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. He picked up the tray Frodo had left here earlier and brought it back to the kitchen. Frodo had finished the slice of cake and was looking with interest at the rest. Smiling, Sam placed a second slice on the plate and got himself one. He’d found if he made certain the slices were thin enough Frodo would be able to eat more than one, and in the end eat more than he’d thought to be able to stomach at a time.

"Will you and Rosie be sitting for your gifts tomorrow?" Frodo asked.

"Yes, for a couple hours at least. Will you come to the Cotton’s house?"

"No--I find I have business in Overhill."

His Cousin Folco, then? Sam wondered. "Will you walk or ride Strider?"

Frodo thought for a moment. "I think ride. Usually I’d walk, but I seem to tire so easily since I felt out of sorts in March. But I intend to do a proper walking trip to Buckland after your wedding--leave you and Rosie some proper privacy for your wedding night and a few days more."

"I don’t like the thought of you maybe pressin’ yourself too hard, Master, if you take my meaning."

"Oh, I’ll take it slowly enough," Frodo promised. "But for now, if you feel up to it perhaps we’ll both have another slice of that cake."

Delighted, Sam fetched his friend a third slice and cut a slightly more substantial piece for himself.

*******


"I cannot believe just how easily the Travelers dealt with Lotho’s Big Men," Dremma Chubbs commented.

Rico Clayhanger nodded solemnly but held his tongue. It appeared that everyone was still on about the Time of Troubles, although what could be said now that hadn’t been rehashed to death since November he couldn’t imagine. Bartolo, he noted, wore that disgusted look he always got when the Travelers--in his mind mostly figuring Frodo Baggins--were mentioned. Rico suppressed a smile.

Largo Longbottom was smiling. "The fields Lotho had fired on our first estate are already leafing out, far more so than we’d looked to see. And I can’t believe how quickly the plum trees are growing at Cousin Lilac’s place. And it’s hard to think the Summer Garden in Lesser Grace was covered with those atrocities of Lotho’s last summer--the daffodils and narcissi and hyacinths are especially lovely, and it looks as if the iris and tulips will be particularly thick this year. As for the decorative rhododendrons and quince--you’d not believe they were little more than dead-looking sticks before Sam Gamgee came with his helpers and they cultivated around them. And the new camellia he planted in March is at least a foot taller than it was when it went into the ground."

Angelica Clayhanger, Angelica Baggins the elder as was, sought to explain. "Sam was telling my mother that he’s certain it’s due to the grains of dust he was given during his journey. Seems an Elf queen gave them to him, and he thinks she somehow laid a spell of special growth on them. He’s been putting a grain under every tree he plants, and digging pinches into the gardens he works on. My parents’ place certainly looks especially lovely, and my dad is doing much better in the last few weeks."

Daisy Boffin nodded. "And it’s hard to believe that Bag End is almost totally restored now, it and its gardens. After what the Big Men did there...." She shuddered, as did several others, both gentlehobbits and their ladies.

Her husband Griffo put his arm about his wife’s shoulders. "Well, at least Cousin Frodo is back where he belongs. Bless Lobelia for that. It was a terrible way for her to learn just how much evil Lotho brought about, though, for her to come out of the Lockholes and see how much devastation he and Sharkey’s folks left in their wake."

"Has Baggins said more about what they did out there?" asked a Chubbs relative.

"No--I’ve barely seen him save when he’s come to visit Ponto. He didn’t come to the last meeting of the family heads--was very tired after the week’s work in Michel Delving."

"Poor, dear Cousin Frodo," Delphinium Bracegirdle said softly. Rico noted the sour look Bartolo gave his beloved wife.

"I heard the Captains went out on another patrol up to the North Farthing, there near Long Cleeve," commented Largo.

"So Bartolo and I were told while we were in Michel Delving the other day," Rico answered him. "Something about a nest of Big Men possibly having been seen there."

The Chubbs relative gave a delicate shiver, an affectation he was much given to. "Save us from more dealings with Men," he muttered.

"They apparently intended to do just that," growled Bartolo, "Merry and Pippin, at least."

There was a ring at the bell, and after a few minutes Dremma’s maid Bella came in, giving a bit of a curtsey to the company. "Beg pardon, Mistress," she said, "but there’s an unexpected caller. It’s Mr. Frodo Baggins."

"He wasn’t sent an invitation..." began Dremma.

"Oh, he’s not here about the party, Mistress--says as he needs to have a word with Mr. Bartolo rather. I put him in the formal parlor, Mistress."

All looked at the Bracegirdle with openly expressed curiosity. "With you, Barti?" asked Angelica Clayhanger. "Now, what on earth would Cousin Frodo wish to discuss with you? You weren’t in on Lotho and Timono’s schemes, were you?"

"Certainly not!" Bartolo spat out. "Lotho Pimple was never more than a lout and an embarrassment. Best thing Benlo’s done since he was made family head was to strike him and Timono out of the Book, and I was glad I was there to see it done."

"And the Sackvilles followed suit," noted Griffo.

"Although I doubt Frodo’s done so from the Book of Baggins," Daisy said.

"Not," added Malco Chubbs, "that anyone except the Bracegirdles would ever claim Timono. Was he in the Longbottom Book, Largo?"

"No, thank the stars," Largo said with relief. "My dad never thought to include him under any circumstances, not after the row his father made when he was born, what with his mother being so ill and dying and all, and his dad insisting that we Longbottoms were failing our obligations to her by not sending a healer along with the midwife--even though he was the one who summoned the midwife himself and he’d not notified the family she’d come to her time--nor that she was ill."

Tiercel Bracegirdle had been prone to odd thinking for years before his son Timono’s birth. Alternately suspicious and expansive, he’d confused many who’d tried to like him for his wife’s sake. His insistence that Gardenia’s death in childbirth was the fault of her Longbottom relatives had confused everyone, and had led to much bitterness. Aunt Lilac Hornblower had tried to make Timono a part of the family and had constantly invited him to parties and treats; but when not even Frodo Baggins, who could get along (if quietly) with about everyone, hadn’t been able to abide him during a house party when the two were teens she’d given up on the lad. Perhaps it was only to be expected he and Lotho would make an alliance--not that it could have been considered a friendship.

Rico cast a sideways glance at Bartolo, evaluating the Bracegirdle’s response. Bartolo was glowering into his ale mug, obviously just holding down his fury.

"Well, Barti," Angelica persisted, "are you or are you not going to find out what he wants?"

"I don’t see," Bartolo said, glaring at her from under his eyebrows, "that I need to be in any hurry about finding out. After all, he’s given me no warning that he intended to interrupt my enjoyment of the party."

Dremma snorted. "Enjoyment, Bartolo Bracegirdle? And when was the last time you truly enjoyed anything? You shuffle around, perpetually bored and suspicious, the absolutely typical sullen Bracegirdle."

Malco shrugged. "You may as well go find out what’s bothering him--unless you’ve been writing odd contracts or something like."

Delphie colored and bristled. "I’ll have you know, Malco Chubbs, that my husband does not write inequitable contracts. He’s as honest as the day’s long, if not more so."

Rico could sense just the slightest lightening of his friend’s glower indicating he was pleased by his wife’s championship as Bartolo finished off his ale and slowly unfolded himself from his chair. "I may as well," the Bracegirdle allowed, "see him and send him on his way." He set his empty mug down on the table and, nodding to Bella to precede him, followed her out of the room.

"You don’t suppose Frodo found any problems in the documents you two took in the other day, do you?" asked Angelica.

"I don’t see how," Rico said. "I was the one presenting the sales contract, not him. He only had two wills."

Bartolo just heard that exchange as he allowed Bella to lead him to the door to the second parlor. He could see Frodo through the open door, wrapped as he so often was any more in that foreign cloak of his, his eyes fixed somehow on his own thoughts. Frodo’s face had always been extraordinarily expressive; now it was rather closed off. After dismissing Bella with a negligent wave of his hand, Bartolo stopped just inside the doorway, his head up, examining his caller, the distant gaze, the pale countenance, the growing number of silver hairs in the dark curls, rubbing at his left shoulder with his right hand, a definite look of pain momentarily showing on his face.

"You hurting, Baggins?" he asked as he closed the door behind him, realizing his voice sounded decidedly cold.

Frodo looked up, apparently startled to find he wasn’t alone, and his expression becoming guarded. "It’s good of you to agree to see me, Bartolo," he said, his voice studiously neutral.

"Nothing good about it. What’s this about? You can’t have found anything wrong with either of those wills. And it was Rico who wrote and presented the sales document, not me...."

"There was nothing wrong with either will, or with Rico’s sales contract from what I could see."

"You haven’t gone through the rest of it?"

Frodo shook his head. "They wouldn’t let me take it with me--said I needed the days off. No, Bard or one of the others will go through the rest of it, not me."

"So, you’re good at delegating responsibility, are you? Or has the great, responsible Frodo Baggins become uncaring in his advancing years?"

Frodo refused to be goaded, and his expression was again closed off. "Uncaring? If only."

"Then why are you here? If there’s nothing wrong with the documents I tender...."

"I need your services."

Bartolo looked at the Baggins with disbelief. "Need my services?" he asked. "And how on earth is it that Frodo Baggins needs the services of a Bracegirdle? Do you need one to carry your shrouded corpse to the grave or something like? That’s the only service I’d wish to offer you."

He was pleased to see that Frodo’s jaw was clenching. It was almost a full minute before Frodo answered, and it was plain he was modulating his voice. "I need a special contract written--a property lease agreement."

Bartolo started to turn away. Frodo stood and asked, his voice so reasonable it stopped the Bracegirdle more surely than a hand grasping his shoulder would have done, "Why are you leaving, Bartolo? Isn’t that what you, as a lawyer of the Shire, do--write agreements and contracts?"

Bartolo turned about, his expression suspicious and angry. "You already have a lawyer, Baggins. Or have you forgotten that Brendilac Brandybuck serves you as personal lawyer? Can’t he write a lease agreement for you? And what are you going to do--lease Bag End to that gardener fellow of yours?"

Frodo’s face was still closed, closed and almost utterly drained of color. His voice when he spoke was again utterly reasonable. "Not this agreement he couldn’t--not that I would wish him to do so."

For the first time the Bracegirdle lawyer felt honest curiosity stir him. "Why not? This something you’re ashamed of, Baggins?"

"No, not ashamed. I do find it somewhat embarrassing, perhaps; but it’s nothing to be ashamed of."

The idea that Frodo Baggins could feel embarrassment took the lawyer by total surprise. "You mean you’re secretly married or something? Need a lease agreement to deal with providing for a hidden child or the outcome of an assignation?"

Frodo gave a brief laugh that seemed to surprise himself as much as it did Bartolo. "No--again, if only...."

"Why can’t you have someone else write this contract, then?"

"There are only three within the Shire qualified to do so, Bartolo, and I don’t trust the other two."

Bartolo paused. There was only one type of contract only three within the Shire could write. "You have business with Bree, then?" he demanded.

"The other party to the contract is originally from the Breelands, from Staddle, to be precise. But...."

"If he’s moving here to the Shire you don’t need me to write a contract for you."

Frodo waved away the interruption. "He’s not moving to the Shire."

"Since when have you owned property interests in Bree?"

"To my knowledge I don’t have any property interests in Bree, although considering how little I know about what properties I hold title to outside the Shire so far I suppose it may prove possible."

The Bracegirdle lawyer looked at his companion with shock. He didn’t think he’d goggled, but he couldn’t be certain. It took a time to find his voice again. "You do own property outside the Shire?"

"Yes."

"What did you do--find some fantastic treasure and buy up a great deal of property hoping to sell it one day or something like?"

Frodo’s face was pale again, save for bright pink spots on his cheeks. "I left the Shire hoping to lose what I learned wasn’t a treasure after all but a threat. I certainly didn’t find any along the way, Bartolo."

"Then how did you end up with property outside the Shire?"

The pink spots grew more intense. "Aragorn settled it all on me."

"Who’s this Aragorn?"

"My friend." Bartolo noted how Frodo’s chin was raised as he said that.

"You have a friend who just for a lark settles uncounted property titles on you?" Bartolo demanded.

"Not just for a lark...." Frodo didn’t finish what he had apparently intended to say. At last he said, "One of the plots of land lies north of the Shire along the northeast side of the Brandywine, apparently. It once was a farmstead, although it’s not been worked for a very long time. A Hobbit farmer from Staddle decided to settle there, but was advised he’d have to arrange an agreement with me to do so."

"By whom?"

"By Aragorn’s kinsman."

"This kinsman is keeping watch of the properties this Aragorn gave you?"

"He was to do a survey of them...."

"A survey?" Bartolo was feeling well out of his depth.

"Yes. When he found a Hobbit on one of them he felt duty bound to tell him he needed to make an arrangement with me."

"So, what am I supposed to do?"

"You’re one of only three qualified to write agreements and contracts between a citizen of the Shire and one from outside it."

"Yes--with someone who resides in the Breelands. But what you’ve said indicates this isn’t inside the Breelands."

"That’s true."

"But who needs a contract when settling land outside the Breelands? It’s not as if it belongs to anyone...."

"This land has belonged to a specific family for a very long time, Bartolo, and has now been settled on me."

"If they owned it, why didn’t they farm it?"

"Absentee landlords?" Frodo suggested.

"How can you be a landlord when no one’s living on the property?"

Frodo shrugged and shook his head. "This property has been left to lie fallow since its former managers left it. I don’t know if they were called away northward, if they fled enemies, or if they were killed on the property--only that Aragorn’s family has claimed it since its former lords died, and probably with reason--the memories of his family are long."

"I’ll need to see the deed and title documents...."

"They’ve not been sent to me as yet."

"Then how do you know for certain this is yours?"

"I know only what Faradir told the tenant, and that he identified property markers the tenant recognized."

"And how do we know no one’s moved those property markers?"

"Well, as they include two great standing stones to the north and a line of rock slippage to the south, I’d say the property markers would be rather difficult for a mere farmer to shift." It was growing obvious that Frodo was beginning to tire as he suddenly sat back down, his features looking a bit grey as he closed his eyes and grasped at the pendant he wore. "I’m sorry--please, may I have a drink?"

Surprised and even a bit shaken, Bartolo went to the door. Bella sat on the small chair in the hall where she was often stationed during Dremma’s parties, reading. "Bella?" he called.

She looked up, shoving the book into her apron pocket as she stood, automatically straightening her skirts. "Mr. Bartolo?" she asked, "How may I help you?"

"A small glass of wine and a second of water, please; and perhaps a couple slices of chicken with cress between bread--and a mug of light ale."

Once she was gone on her errand, he returned and grasped Frodo’s left wrist. His pulse was rather quick, and his face a bit damp with sweat. When he finally opened his eyes it was to find Bartolo Bracegirdle examining him, his expression rather accusatory. "Tell me, Baggins, how long has your condition been this fragile?"

Frodo shook his head and looked away. "I’m well enough," he insisted in a low tone. "As long as I can do what needs doing, I’ll do what I can."

Bartolo let out a deep breath. "I see. Then your Took relatives who work with you in Michel Delving are a bit more than mere delegation of responsibility, eh? Are you really well enough to serve as deputy Mayor, do you think?"

"Do you want the job, Bartolo? Most of our folk are already convinced all it involves is officiating at banquets and weddings, you know--oh, and filing documents, of course. But then they have no idea of what else goes on there. I’d be glad to have you finish the investigations of what Lotho and Timono did, and how Marcos Smallburrow was involved, and the likes of Beasty Bracegirdle, and whether or not Lothario understood his part in the presentation of documents, and who’s to blame for Ferdibrand Took’s blindness."

"I never said as I wanted the job, Frodo."

"Unless you’re willing to shoulder it, I suggest you’d best not question my handling of it, then--unless you think I’m shirking it."

After a moment the Bracegirdle admitted grudgingly, "Everyone who counts says as you’re doing a fine job."

"Thanks for that."

Bella returned with the tray and knocked at the door. Bartolo went to take it from her, then rudely shut the door in her face. He turned to see an expression of marked distaste on the face of the Master of Bag End. The lawyer paused, then said, "Unless you’re up to taking the tray, perhaps you should just let me do it." He carried it to the table by where Frodo sat. Bella had brought three crusty rolls filled with chicken and cress, and a fourth filled with ham and pickle such as Bartolo himself preferred. He now felt a bit sorry for the way he’d treated the maid, but not sufficiently so that he’d open the door again to apologize, not that apologizing was something he did regularly anyway. He believed he was now in a position to satisfy his curiosity about why Frodo had felt impelled to make the mad decision to sell Bag End to Lotho and leave the Shire as he did.

He took the ham roll and the ale. "Tell you what, Baggins--you answer some questions, and I’ll think about it."

"I won’t promise to answer every question, but at least I’ll allow you to ask some."

The two exchanged serious looks, and at last Bartolo shrugged. "Take a quarter of a roll and the wine, Baggins." Then when Frodo had done so, he asked, "Why Lotho?"

"He came first with the price I’d asked of Ponto and Iris."

"You never ran out of money, did you?"

"I didn’t lie--almost all of the treasure Bilbo had left me was indeed spent."

"But considering you have farm shares and business partnerships spanning perhaps a good quarter of the Shire and Buckland, you certainly weren’t hurting for money."

Frodo didn’t answer, merely shrugged as he sipped at the wine.

"Didn’t you realize that allowing Lotho to have Bag End would put the final coat of paint on his fantasy that he was the most important and smartest Hobbit as ever lived?"

"How was I to know this was more true of him than every other Hobbit that’s ever been born, Bartolo? I’ve found it’s also a common fantasy among Men and even Wizards as well as among Hobbits. Even I have been subject to it. That he not only believed it but would act on it to try to take over the entire Shire was something I would never have imagined."

"He’s always had such dreams, Baggins. Always wanted to be King of the World, he did."

"Considering Sauron and Saruman--or Sharkey, if you prefer--shared the same ambition, I’d say he was in good company."

"You met Sharkey out there?"

"We all heard a great deal about him once we got to Rivendell, although none of us save Gandalf had known him before it became known he’d tried to betray all of Middle Earth. I suppose that Aragorn and Boromir might have met him, but not to do more than exchange courtesies, I’d think. I didn’t meet him personally until we were on the way home, at which time he was intolerably rude to all of us and stole Merry’s leaf pouch. He hurried to arrive here before we could do so."

"How come he hated us in the Shire?"

"He hated everyone, Bartolo; but he didn’t believe we Hobbits could stand up to him, even after he’d destroyed his life elsewhere. And he was furious because Pippin and Merry had witnessed his defeat and captivity while I’d evaded capture by his Uruk-hai and been allowed to hold for a time the one thing he believed he truly wanted." Frodo shuddered. "I’d hate to have seen what he’d have come to had he actually found It. Gandalf could perhaps have controlled It for a time, but even he saw It would destroy him in the end; and Gandalf proved far more powerful than Saruman ever appreciated."

"How did you get this thing this Man wanted?"

"He wasn’t a Man--he was a Wizard."

Finally realizing Frodo wasn’t going to answer the question he’d asked, Bartolo went on. "Did you intend to leave the Shire from the start?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To protect it."

"From what?"

"From evil--from greater evil than you can imagine."

"Did those Big Folk on horses catch up with you?"

"We realized they were pursuing us before we’d made it to the Woody End. We kept eluding them until we were well out of the Shire. But, yes, finally they caught up with us." He set the remains of his roll and wine back on the tray.

"Were they trying to kill you or something?"

Frodo was clutching at his shoulder as he nodded, and for the first time Bartolo realized the rumors were right--Frodo Baggins had lost a finger. "Or something," Frodo was whispering.

"Too bad they didn’t succeed," Bartolo said bitterly.

Frodo shook his head and looked away. At last he replied, "It’s not from lack of trying. And--" he turned back toward the lawyer, "in the end they might just succeed."

"So, you’re not truly well."

Frodo’s voice was toneless as he answered, "I’ll do what I must for as long as I can. I’ll do what I can to see the Shire healed."

After a few minutes of quiet, the Bracegirdle continued, "How’d you get these lands?"

"I was granted them."

"Why?"

"Aragorn said it’s customary."

"To give away family property?"

"It’s more--more than family property. It was Crown property."

"You mean----"

"Aragorn son of Arathorn is the name given our King when he was born, although he’s carried far more names than you might believe."

"What happened to the ones who tried to kill you?"

"Or something? They are finally destroyed. Merry and the Lady Éowyn of Rohan between them managed to destroy their chieftain; the rest fell with Sauron."

"And how was Sauron destroyed?"

"Because his Ring was destroyed. He’d put too much of himself into his Ring--he couldn’t survive Its destruction."

"And how did this Ring get destroyed?"

Frodo’s face again was totally without color. He barely shook his head, his jaws clenched, his mouth tightly closed, his pale lips thin. The lawyer thought his eyes looked haunted.

It was some time before Frodo reached for the cup of water, and Bartolo saw his hand was trembling as he picked it up and drank from it. Finally he put it down and held his hands clenched together in his lap. He spoke softly. "You are qualified to write a contract between one in the Shire and one in Bree, but not yet qualified to write one for Arnor in general. I wrote a letter to Lord Halladan, who is Aragorn's Steward here in the North Kingdom, last night and sent it to him on my way here. I don’t know how long it will take to get the answer back, for I’m not certain where in Arnor he is--he could be anywhere between Annúminas and Tharbad, or between Bree and Rivendell. I’ve asked him to have one versed in the law of Arnor meet with you in Bree to instruct you as to how such contracts are written. I doubt I’ll be up to leaving the Shire again for some time, if I ever do." He looked up at the lawyer from beneath his brows. "You may yet get your wish to help carry my body to the grave, Bartolo. I’ll try to remember to see that noted in my will."

"I’ll look forward to it, Baggins," the Bracegirdle replied. "Sounds as if you might have problems getting an heir, though."

A bit of color was finally returning to Frodo’s face. He took up the wine goblet again and sipped at it before replacing it on the tray to take up the water again and taking a deeper draught. He shrugged once more as he held the glass between his hands. "Actually, I have an heir or two--or more. Not of my body, perhaps, but I have heirs." He lifted the glass once more and finished the water it contained. After setting it back on the tray, he reached inside his jacket to an inner pocket and brought out a sealed envelope. "This contains the names to be used in identifying the parties to the contract. And I’d best be leaving soon if I am to see my cousin Folco before I return to Hobbiton and Bag End again." As Bartolo reached for it, however, Frodo pulled it closer to his chest, shaking his head. "First," he said, "you need to affirm you’ll take me as client for my legal dealings outside the Shire and agree on the fees you’ll accept; and then you’ll have to take the Oath."

Bartolo felt himself go pale, and then flush. "And why do I need to take the Oath?" he demanded.

"Don’t feel this is something special I demand only of you. Brendi has taken it, as have my bankers of discretion."

"You’ve made your own kinsman take the Oath?" Bartolo asked, his brows rising.

"If the Thain himself were my lawyer or my banker of discretion I’d make him take the Oath of secrecy, Bartolo Bracegirdle. All my life I’ve been the subject of rumors, gossip, and speculation, starting when I was small when Lobelia was insisting my own mother was unfaithful to my father, and that Bilbo was involved. It’s gone on ever since. I’m a Baggins, I’ll have you remember, and we Bagginses have never done well living in communal situations, for we like our privacy. Having to stay in Brandy Hall and hear all the murmurs of ‘poor lambkin’ and ‘the orphan who’s the Master’s heir’s ward’ and ‘odd questions he’s given to’ and ‘isn’t expected to take on a proper teen’s responsibilities’ for ten years gave me a marked distaste for having those who must know my business feeling free to share it with whomever they please. I’ll not give the Shire stones to throw at my head by letting folks in general know the details of what I do privately."

"But if the King himself has gifted you with property----"

"It’s not just property, Bartolo. I don’t want the details of what I went through out there generally noised through the Shire by those who don’t have the experience to understand what it was all about. I don’t want to have to deal with constant questions as to ‘why don’t you use your titles here, Cousin Frodo?’ and similar twaddle. I don’t want the Shire in general to have to understand just what I now know of the evil I tried to save it from, or how I came to that knowledge.

"I don’t know how long I have left. You’re right--I’m not particularly well, and I haven’t been so since--since the last time I was wounded. I can barely eat sometimes. I have times I can’t sleep. When I faced Saruman--Sharkey--before Wormtongue killed him, he told me I’d not know either a long or a happy life, and whether that was a foretelling or a curse or just ill wishes on his part I don’t know; but the fact is it’s turning out to be true."

Bartolo considered for a time. Finally he said, "Annual fees to be paid on the winter quarter day--twenty silver pennies a year for seven years."

Frodo shrugged, then countered, "A single gold piece of the King’s coin, and I agree to the term of seven years."

"But that’s more than I asked!"

"I know. But you are protecting not only my interests and privacy but those of my heirs as well, and it will help cover your expenses when you must travel outside the Shire."

It was exceedingly generous, a fact Bartolo had to admit. "All right," he said. "I accept."

"Now, take the Oath."

For a few moments the lawyer faced his new client, but at last spoke the Oath, knowing just how binding this was. At last Frodo nodded and handed him the envelope. "Here," he said. "But no others are to see its contents save the heirs to my titles and lands outside the Shire. Nor are you to discuss what I’ve told you today about my health or wounds or my concerns for my privacy."

"Not even with that gardener of yours?"

Frodo gave a twisted smile. "Who knows--in time he may find himself using your services to see to the administration of his own holdings in Arnor. But he doesn’t need to see what’s in the envelope, for he already knows."

"I don’t wish you telling anyone I’m working for you, Frodo Baggins."

"That I’ll agree to, Bartolo. Only Lord Halladan and whomever he sends to instruct you and those who become my tenants on my holdings in Arnor will know, besides my heirs should it come to that. I’ll draft the agreement when I’m back in Michel Delving and see it properly filed, and a copy of it and the first fee forwarded to your home in Hardbottle."

Bartolo felt a bit dizzy. He’d learned a great deal more than he’d looked to learn about Frodo Baggins, and now he was bound from discussing what he knew with anyone, including his wife Delphinium. He looked at Frodo, and saw he was looking to rise. "Eat at least half of one of those rolls, Baggins, or most like you’ll not make it to Boffin’s place. Did you walk?"

"No, I rode. Malco’s groom took Strider to the stable."

"Then I’ll have him brought around."

"Thank you, Bartolo." Frodo stood up and took a deep breath, then at the lawyer’s meaningful gaze he reached down for the discarded quarter of a roll and finished it. Then he held out his hand to shake that of the Bracegirdle. Bartolo paused only a moment, then took it, and found that in spite of the missing finger Frodo’s grasp was firm.

The lawyer gave a nod of his head as he pulled his own hand free, then suggested, "Remember, you should eat at least another quarter roll before you leave."

Frodo gave an amused smile, saying, "If you insist." He took up another quarter roll, and watched after as Bartolo turned to the door and quitted the parlor.

Bartolo spoke briefly with Bella, and then returned to the other parlor, keeping his mouth firmly shut. After a moment Frodo appeared in the doorway with a brief bow. "I’m sorry to disrupt your house party, Malco, Dremma," he said quietly, "but I had business I must discuss with Mr. Bracegirdle. I thank you for the courtesy shown me by your groom and maid, and will now be leaving." He turned to the rest of the guests, acknowledging each by name.

"It’s good to see you, Frodo," Delphinium said with genuine warmth in her tone. "I was so relieved when we learned you’d returned safely from wherever you went."

"Thank you, Delphie. Griffo, Daisy--I’ll be seeing you both at Sam and Rosie’s wedding, will I not?"

"We wouldn’t miss it for the world," Daisy promised him.

"Good, then," Frodo said. "Now I must go. Thank you again, Dremma, Malco." And with a more courtly bow than he’d given the first time he turned and left, leaving the rest to look after him.
[Prev][Index][Next]

Post A Review

Report this chapter for abuse of site guidelines.

hitcnt:1439

Tolkien Characters, Locations, & Artifacts © Tolkien Estate & Designated Licensees - All Rights Reserved
Stories & Other Content © The Respective Authors - All Rights Reserved
Software & Design © 2003 - 2024 Michael G Kellner - All Rights Reserved