The Unlikely Ones
Chapter Thirteen: Unexpected Visitors
a Lord of the Rings fanfiction
by Van Donovan
joy@crackerboxpalace.com
Although Frodo did not encourage it the days slipped into weeks and before he knew it the elanor had come into bloom and the sky had begun to sparkle blue more than grey of late. Everything was green and lush and Brandyhall was no exception. Beyond the field of elanor that Frodo had planted in the front gardens there was a host of other flowers that had taken the last two months to root and grow; lilies, geraniums, lilacs and marigolds lined the fence near the hole with ferns draping by the windows and daisies and poppies in the window boxes. Vegetables were coming into season as well, showing leafy cabbage and bright tomatoes on the vine. In their beds squash and pumpkins grew, almost ready for harvest. Frodo still spent most of his day in the gardens watering, weeding and tending to the plants and by now the people had grown accustomed to his presence in the gardens and were impressed by his green thumb that could make so much growth in just a few months.
Merry was impressed too, citing how very like Sam Frodo was in the gardening department. Frodo took the comments in stride, feeling both proud of them and a little disenchanted: he had thrown himself into his gardening after he and Merry had spoken that night about revealing their relationship to his father. Gardening let him keep his mind off that swiftly approaching date. He also knew after the convention came he would not have long to spend in the gardens and he wanted them to look as good as fast as possible so even once he was gone in spring they would not die out until winter; he did not, however, have high expectations.
"Hullo there sir gardener!" called a voice and Frodo looked up to see a fine looking gentlehobbit standing before the gates leading up to Brandyhall. Frodo stood up, wiping his hands on his breeches as he did and trotted over. The man was rather handsome with dark curly hair that was almost black and bright eyes that sparkled like the sky. Frodo nodded to him as he approached the gate.
"Hullo there," he answered not recognizing him from around town, "what can I do you for, sir?" he inquired.
"Is Master Brandybuck at home?" the other asked.
"No, he's out at work. Is there a message I could relay?"
The man smiled and it made his eyes twinkle. "Yes, perhaps. My name is Marco Baggins. I'm with the Green Thumb Brigade committee and Mr. Brandybuck purchased some tickets from us for the convention being held here in Buckland this week. I've come to deliver his tickets." Frodo felt his stomach flip-flop several times.
"Oh. He, uh . . . well I could take them, if you want. Or you could leave them inside, if you'd like?" Frodo felt weak in the knees suddenly. The convention was this week? Had time really flown so far? Marco seemed to be studying Frodo over, perhaps as if judging to see if Frodo was worthy enough to leave the tickets with. "You can come in and wait for him if you'd prefer of course," Frodo said and Marco seemed to think this over and agree.
"Very well," he said with a nod and Frodo opened the gate for him. They walked to the front door and Frodo let Marco in, sitting him in the main parlour while he went to make some tea for him and wash up a bit. Frodo was in the hallway with the pot of tea on his tray, about to step into the parlour to deliver the beverage when the front door opened, announcing Merry's arrival.
"Merry!" Frodo called, turning to look over his shoulder, careful not to let the tray slide. "We have a guest," he added before he forgot himself and became the recipient of a welcome-home kiss.
Merry smiled to Frodo and nodded, hanging his coat on one of the many coat racks inside the hall as he made his way into the parlor past Frodo to where Marco eagerly sat waiting for Merry on the couch. "Good afternoon Master Brandybuck," Marco began, getting to his feet as Merry came into view. He extended his hand for a welcoming shake but Merry had stopped advancing and his eyes were wide as if in disbelief.
"Frodo?" Merry asked, his voice suddenly weak.
"Yes? Merry what's wrong?" Frodo sat the tray on the coffee table and looked to Merry with concern in his eyes but Merry wasn't looking at him.
Marco's eyes were wide as he looked from Merry to Frodo as if for explanation. "Aaah," he seemed to decide an introduction was best and began with, "my name is Marco Baggins, I'm a member of the Green Thumb Brigade committee. I brought your tickets."
"Green Thumb," Merry repeated and blinked. "Marco Baggins you say? Uncanny."
"Excuse me?"
"You look just like a cousin of mine. Tell me, do you have any relation to Frodo Baggins? I'm sure you must."
Frodo looked at Merry a moment with surprise then back to Marco as if seeing him anew. Marco seemed a little embarrassed by the question. "Yes. He was my first cousin once removed on my father's side, although I never knew him."
"You look a lot like him; a bit rounder and darker but the eyes and the shape of your face. It just startled me." Merry shook his head as if to clear a thought and turned back to business. "You said you had the tickets I ordered then?"
"Aah, yes," Marco reached into his breast pocket and shortly produced two tickets for Merry made from heavy stock paper. "The convention opens at nine in the morning in three days time." Merry's head looked up from the tickets.
"Three days? My time flies." He let out a sigh and set the tickets on the coffee table. "Frodo, pour us some drinks while I get Mr. Baggins his payment."
Frodo nodded and watched the two older hobbits walk off to Merry's study while he poured their drinks. "So tell me Mr. Baggins," Merry said as he led the other hobbit down through the halls, "who are your parents?"
"Still on about my looking like Frodo Baggins are you? Were you a friend of his?"
Merry looked at Marco quizzically because most people knew rather well that he had been one of the four hobbits to accompany Frodo on his Quest. "You could say that."
"Aah. Balbo Baggins was my father, son of Dudo."
Merry laughed at the explanation as they arrived at his study. He opened a locked chest with a key from his pocket and pull out a bag of coins that he opened and counted out for Marco. "That explains a lot then. Aah, your family moved out Buckland a generation ago, that's why I haven't seen you before. Where are you living now?" he asked as he finished counting. He put the rest of the money back into the chest and relocked it. He picked up the two stacks he had and dropped them into Marco's open pouch.
"Michel Delving," Marco replied with a smile, tying his pouch closed after the deposit of coins into it.
"That's quite a trip you've made to be here then," Merry mused and turned to lead him back into the parlour.
"Indeed, but this is my job and I do like it, so I don't mind," Marco replied. Merry turned to shut the door to his office when he realized something. "You know," he said looking to Marco who was already halfway down the hall, "this makes us third cousins once removed?" He laughed and Marco looked at him for a moment then laughed himself.
"That's quite a stretch Master Brandybuck, hardly worth counting."
The days went swiftly, faster than Frodo would have liked for them to go. There was no mistake to say that he was looking forward to the convention, but he did not relish the idea that he would have to leave Merry for an indefinite period of time after the event. In fact, he loathed the idea. Merry didn't seem very happy with the way the days were spiraling quickly towards the convention. It was as if he had picked up on Frodo's notion that with the arrival of the convention the end of their affair would follow soon after.
Frodo tried to avoid letting his mood be gloomy, because the weather had finally cleared up and the rains had ceased. The gardens had little to lately because of how much work he put into them each day. The weeds did not grow over night and watering and trimming and tending and growing only took him until noon to complete each day. That meant from noon until when Merry returned home after work each day he had two or three hours to sit around alone feeling sorry for himself.
Several times Laurel had stopped by with raspberry tarts or meat pies to share with him but even her visits left him feeling lonely and dispassionate. Laurel was the only friend his age he'd made here in Buckland and he was determined not to grow close to her because he knew soon he'd be moving back to Hobbiton and likely never see her again. It wouldn't do to let her get too close and then be hurt when he left. He knew he should explain to her that in a few days -- wait, no tomorrow! the convention started tomorrow! -- he would be leaving, for good. The convention lasted three days and Frodo imagined at noon on the third day he'd be heading home. It depressed him more than he could imagine.
There was no mistake he loved his family dearly and that throwing himself into spring planting would help keep his mind off his pains, but the ideal that his dreams of loving and being loved by Merry would come true only to be torn apart by circumstances hurt too much to bear. In comparison to the joy and freedom he had here in Buckland, Hobbiton seemed like a prison.
The sound of heavy footsteps in the distance made his head look up from his reverie where he sat amoung the marigolds in thought. Down the lane he could see a most surprising sight: a line of horses -- not ponies -- leading a procession down the street in his direction. The sun glinted off the horses bridles and saddles and beyond the four or five he could make out was a handful of armed soldiers with mail that sparkled as the light hit it. He was stunned not because the procession was heading right for Brandyhall but because it was comprised of humans. At first he thought it was the Green Thumb Brigades caravan, even though he'd seen most of them arrive via the Great East Road several days ago.
He got to his feet, watching in stunned silence as four huge dark brown horses clopped up to the gates of Brandyhall with a white palfrey pony behind them and ten soldiers behind the palfrey. He kept his eyes on the soldiers, hesitant and more than a little frightened by their arrival. Buckland was under protection of the Northern Sceptre and the King Elessar himself had made an edict that men were not allowed in the Shire, so seeing a legion of men openly defying that law and stalking right up to Brandyhall, the home of the Master of Buckland, was most discerning.
Frodo was preparing for an attack or at least some sort of skirmish from them and wishing his had his hoe in his hands. Not that he thought a hoe would serve any good against soldiers that appeared armed to the teeth, but he was not the sort of hobbit to go down without a fight. The white palfrey seemed to make its way through the four standing horses and the ten soldiers and Frodo's eyes fixed on it. He felt something tight catch in his throat as he took in the form riding the pony.
Without a doubt it was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. She wore a gown made of gossamer silk and lace that hung down over her feet and danced at the pony's belly. Her skin was pale and light and she and the pony matched in the way the sun illuminated their features. Her face was round and friendly with bright eyes and a very sweet and mature smile. She sat sidesaddle on a bright white blanket and held to the pony's silver bridle with nimble fingers. Her hair was flaxen blonde and done up high in a canopy of curls upon her head, laced with pearls and sparkling bits of glittering glass. She looked young compared to the men with her, as though perhaps she was a child amoung men, but her eyes seemed wise and clear. It took Frodo a moment to realize she was looking at him with what seemed open joy. "Frodo?!" Her voice was like a clear bell, warm and strong but feminine and decidedly pleasant.
He blinked, realizing she'd just called him by name. The sun seemed to suddenly let up it's blinding glare on her clothes and hair and her glowing figure faded to that of just normal white cloth in the sun, although she was no less beautiful. With the return of colour though Frodo found her alabaster face fell back into creams and rosy cheeks and his heart lurched in his chest as he started forward, eyes widening. "ELANOR?!"
Her laughter filled the air, ringing like crystal as she took in his surprised face.
One soldier on top one of the horses nodded to him and Frodo's eyes flickered to look at him. Only then did he noticed that beyond the silver and green armour there was a tabard over this man's chest -- as well as all the others -- and on the tabard was a white tree surrounded by seven stars in an arc over it. "Men of Gondor," he breathed and then he looked back to Elanor. "Men of Gondor!" he cried again, laughing. "Elly, you're back!!" With that he was pushing open the gates to Brandyhall and running over to her, ignoring the men bemusedly watching him.
"Frodo what are you doing here?" she cried joyfully, taking her hand from the reins and nimbly sliding down off the pony as he made his way too her. They met in a strong, tight embrace, pulling back only after several long moments to study each other.
Frodo brought some rose tea out to Elanor, who sat like a fragile lily on the couch in the Great Hall. The men of Gondor had spoken with her and after assuring that she would be safe with the Master of Buckland they had returned to the road, setting out for Bree where they would take up residence for a night and then begin their long journey back to Gondor. They had been given pardon to cross into the Buckland to bring Elanor to master Meriadoc the Magnificent wherein they were entrusted to let the Master of Buckland return her to Hobbiton. Elanor had not expected to find Frodo working as the gardener of Brandyhall anymore than he had expected to see her arrive like a princess at his doorstep but there was no mistake that the both of them were happy to see each other.
"So . . . you're living here now?" Elanor asked, her eyes peeking over the top of her teacup and her soft smile hidden behind. Frodo blushed and could not meet her eyes. Elanor was the only person in his family that he had ever confided in about his crush on Merry. Still it was one thing to have a crush on someone and another entirely to have that crush realized. He was embarrassed to explain it all to his sister.
"Aah, yeah," he murmured softly, focusing his own gaze on his tea, blushing darker. "He should be home in an hour or so. I'm sure he'll be delighted to see you."
"And I him," she answered with a nod. There was a silence in the air a moment before she said, "How is it?"
Frodo felt his cheeks burn and wondered if he could honestly tell her. He remembered he was to return to Hobbiton in four days time or so and winced. "Wonderful," he whispered and he did not need to look up to know she had raised her eyebrow. "I told him," he said simply.
Elanor took in a breath that sounded a little too sharp, as things began to fall into place for her. "You told him? . . . and?"
"Well, I'm living here, aren't I?" he answered then finally took a sip of his tea, burning his tongue in the process.
Elanor just sat there in silence for a long time, as if unable to comprehend the information. Frodo sighed and figured more explanation was needed, so he looked up at her at last and smiled. "We're happy together. It's strange, but very nice. I . . .," he looked away and a frown graced his expression, "mother and father don't know. Merry plans to tell them in four days time." His tone could be nothing but somber.
"Oh, Frodo . . .," she breathed, suddenly hit with combating waves of joy, surprise and sadness all at once. Merry loved her brother? Honestly? Well, they were living together, although that didn't mean much; gardeners commonly lived with their masters. But they were going to tell their father, which would not bode well. Frodo was the oldest son and Merry. Well, Merry was the Master of Buckland and old enough to be Frodo's father!
"Its okay if you don't approve," Frodo said in a mutter. "No one does. That's why . . . why I'm going back home. We know it can't work. Not as a lie. And father would never approve."
"I'm so sorry," Elanor breathed and she set her tea down on the low table before them and Frodo did the same and she drew him to her breast and held him while he cried. It was strangely comforting to rest there in Elanor's arms, letting his tears soak her collar through. The comfort was from knowing she knew and understood -- at least a little, and perhaps she even accepted. Elanor was also his best friend and she had been gone several years to Gondor, so all the years without her came back too and he took comfort in her very presence. And although he did not know it, she took comfort in his as well.
That was how Merry found them half an hour later when he returned home from work early, having been informed of the men from Gondor and hurrying home to find out what it was about. He did not recognize Elanor at first, so seeing Frodo sleeping in her arms in his hall was something of a shock. She looked up at him with a travel-weary smile and a twinkle in her eyes that he recognized as Rosie's and that clued in him. "Elanorelle," he breathed in something resembling awe. She nodded sweetly and returned to stroking her brother's curly hair as he slept on in her lap.
"He told me that he's going home in four days, to tell our father. It has stressed him greatly," she simply said, her eyes not wavering from his face. Merry was a little shocked, wondering how much she knew and how much Frodo had told her. She answered for him, "I know enough but not everything. I must admit to being surprised. I hope you don't mind my intrusion to your home. I will take residence at an inn if you prefer to spend his last days here with you alone."
"That's not necessary," Merry murmured, starting over to her, watching her gently stroke her hand through Frodo's hair. He found it oddly comforting she seemed to know about them already. She knew, and it seemed, she didn't mind too much. Perhaps rather like Pippin. No, Pippin minded, but he accepted. Merry only hoped that Sam would see it the same way. "You're more than welcome to stay here in Brandyhall, for as long as you'd like to stay."
Frodo stirred and woke up, his eyes blinking as he sat up and took Merry's form in and then Elanor next to him. "I'm sorry," he murmured, rubbing his eyes not having intended to fall asleep. He met Merry's eyes shyly and felt better when the older hobbit smiled fondly at him. He left the comfort of Elanor's silk skirts and lurched towards Merry who greeted him with strong open arms and held him tightly.
"This is good," Merry said into Frodo's ear as he looked at Elanor who watched them amusedly. "Elanor will stay with us and then when you return home you won't be alone.
Elanor nodded enthusiastically sending her curls bouncing. "Of course, Frodo. I'm always here for you." Frodo nodded and pulled out of Merry's arms then, smoothing his shirt out and looking between the two of them fondly and sighed contently at the way they both gave him loving fond looks.
Perhaps he would make it after all.