Well, I’ve done it. I’ve gone and written a piece of fan fiction based on one of my favorite nonexistent places. The Shire. This little bit of writing was inspired by another writing prompt from a dear sister. She asked me to write about “what I thought was going on in the Shire between the time that the Black Riders came through and the time that Saruman decided to create his headquarters there.”

That is actually quite a bit of time to cover in one small snippet… and so you might find another piece pop on my blog at a later date set in a similar time, just covering different events.

But for now, here it goes! I’m risking my reputation by tampering with Tolkien’s world. But at least I had a bit of fun while doing it.

P. S.  I’ve never seen the movies… so be gracious… 😉

October 2 was obviously a day for sunshine, colorful leaves, and picnics. Rosie was well prepared. She had a picnic in her basket, a few leaves clinging to her skirt, and the Gaffer certainly thought she brought sunshine with her. Sam had left roughly a week earlier, and he was missed the second he stepped foot out of the Neighborhood. So Rosie had come to visit a few times, just to “bring him by a few mushrooms” or “a potato just dug out fresh.” Today, as Rosie neared Bagshot Row number 3, where the Gaffer lived among his garden tools and seeds, she carried a string of onions in her picnic basket, along with a few fish wrapped in paper and tied with string. She was nearing the round yellow door when a flapping of hurried feet behind her made her jump and turn around. 

“Mornin’, Miss Rosie,” said Ted, taking his cap off and rubbing his hand through his hair. Rosie nodded coldly and headed for the door. But Ted was a little too quick, and slipped in front of her. 

“Not so fast, as I’ve something to speak to you about if you’ve a mind to listen.” 

“I’ve a mind to get past you and in through that door,” said Rosie, stamping her foot. Ted grinned and clapped his cap back on his head. 

“Now don’t be huffy. I’ve got some news for you, heard it just this mornin’ in fact, ‘bout Gaffer’s boy and Baggins and all them.” 

Rosie tipped her head in the air, and took a step back. “I don’t think I’ve a moment to listen just now.”

“You’ll wish you’d listened.”

“Perhaps. But…”

“Have you ever wondered if those fellows might get themselves in any trouble?” 

Rosie looked at him with a glint in her eye. “You try an’ scare me big bully, and I’ll give you a fish in your teeth.”

“Not tryin’ to scare you, necessarily,” said Ted. “ I’m just passing on news I thought coulda been of interest.”

“But it’s not.”

“Even if Mr. Baggins could be in a tight spot?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“How bout Sam then? Care to hear about him?”

“No, please,” Rosie stopped and her voice faltered. 

“What’s this, Sandyman? Distressing of innocents on my property will not be allowed. I’ve an’ idea to set the dog on you.” The Gaffer came hobbling out of number 3, looking old and sad and wrinkled. He shuffled up close to Ted and pointed a gnarled old finger at the young hobbit, shaking it in his face. “Take yourself a step or three away, see?”

Ted laughed. “No, see, I’m just tryin’ to say something I’ve heard of Sam.” 

The Gaffer shrugged his shoulders, trying to convey indifference. “You’ve been hearing of Sam, have you?”

“Well,” began Ted, “it’s like this.”

“No, I won’t hear you,” Mr. Gamgee protested, hoping he’d go on. 

Ted didn’t hesitate. “I’ve got it from an acquaintance in Buckland. Seems as if a couple of Men on horses came through and raided the house. Haven’t heard from ‘em since. But I’d say they were probably taken. And if they’ve done anything to bother any Men I say good riddance.”

Rosie’s eyes snapped. “You shut your mouth, Ted. I don’t believe a word of it. The Big People don’t bother themselves with our kind.”

“Seems as if Men are a little more common around Crickhollow,” suggested Ted coolly. 

“That’s it, Sandyman. You’ve gone an distressed her. I’ll be gettin’ the dog if you’ll be so nice as to wait right there,” roared the Gaffer, more distressed himself then he cared to admit at the news. 

Ted seemed unmoved. “I was just curious if you’d heard. Apparently not.”

The Gaffer was on the verge of an explosive rage when Fredegar Bolger could be seen stumbling up the winding path, a small bundle swung over his shoulder. The sweat was dripping from the ends of his eyebrows and running in small rivers down his face and into his ears and shirt collar. As he approached the little group they could hear him muttering frantically to himself. 

“Stupid toad. If I ever come across it again I won’t feel a bit bad about stepping on his squishy head. I need some strong stuff to settle my heart. What a fright. I’m not very used to this. Anything for Frodo, of course, but, I mean, I can’t rightly walk down the path now without a fright. I think I’ll go to the Green Dragon and sit with my back to a firm wall. My heart won’t stop this pounding.” 

“What’s this, Bolger?” asked Ted, looking the weary hobbit up and down with a superior sort of twitch in his nose. Well, one was back. And he’d thought he’d heard that the whole lot had cleared out. Did this mean all the others were right behind him? A pity. 

“Just a toad, just a toad,” sputtered Bolger, looking startled at having been addressed. “Yes, just a toad. Never been better myself. But I’m becoming awfully jumpy nowadays.”

“You’re sweating pints, Fatty,” said Rosie, feeling for her handkerchief. The Gaffer and herself were so relieved to see at least one of the travelers that she felt like giving Fredegar a kiss and a muffin or two. Ted’s news could be dismissed. 

“And why are you so jumpy? What’s got into you? I thought you were to be staying with Frodo for a while longer until he got mostly settled in. Don’t tell me this nonsense that Ted’s been jabbering is true! But I dare say, the other are here too?” asked the Gaffer, coolly. 

“No, no. I’m the only one as came back for now. I’ve never been better. The others are long gone by now. I mean, definitely well settled in. Not sure how long the others are intending to be staying but it will be a good bit longer I’d say. Don’t be expecting em. I’m not.”

The Gaffer looked at him sideways, and Ted snorted. Rosie felt vaguely uncomfortable.  

“The walk back has messed with your head, Bolger,” said Ted. “Why don’t you just spit it out? You’ve had a fright haven’t you.” 

“No, it was only that toad. I nearly stepped on its head. I would next time.”

“You’re shaking down to your little toe,” retorted Ted with a smirk. Fredegar was silent. 

The Gaffer put a hand on Fatty’s round shoulder and gave him a nod. “Come in and have a jug with me inside. Never mind Sandyman. His mouth moves too much.”

Ted just laughed a little too loud and a little too long, winked at Rosie, and made off down the road, whistling tunelessly. He knew Fredegar wouldn’t talk in front of him, but he also knew that the hobbit had news. He could smell it. Well, he’d keep his ears open. 

Rosie, as bright red as an insulted rooster, took a deep breath to calm her mind and walked through the door into the Gaffer’s snug hole. Once all were inside and the door had been latched, the Gaffer sat down stiffly in his chair and dug at the cracks in the table with his fingernail. “I hope that Sandyman trips in a hole. Or better yet, two holes. I don’t care for him or his ways of stirring up peace-loving folk with news of trouble and danger and all those sorts of bothers.”

Rosie smiled at him. “Enough of him. We’ll forget him and have tea. Would you like to try some of the onion I’ve brought? I could broil up a piece of fish to have with our bread and butter and it looks as if Mr. Bolger here could use something.”

Fredegar nodded, then shook his head, and then he cleared his throat and looked down, stumbling over his words. “If it’s all the same to you, Miss Rosie, I’ve got something to be telling the both of you. I know I shouldn’t and I know Mr. Frodo would carry on but I’ve got a tickle in my conscience and it won’t be scratched til I tell you.”

The Gaffer looked up from the table, trying to be unconcerned. Rosie drew a chair up and seated herself, resolving to be calm. So Ted wasn’t completely wrong. There was trouble. 

“First off, I’ve got a letter for you, Rosie. It’s from Sam. He wrote it all in a hurry the night before… well, just read it.” The stout hobbit pulled a bit of folded paper from his pocket, smoothed the crinkles out by pressing it solemnly between his hands, and handed it to Rosie. 

Dear Rosie,

I do hope Fatty remembers to hand this over to you. We were in such a hurry I never found a half-decent moment to come and say goodbye. I wanted you to know, Rosie, that I won’t be back for a good while. Mr. Frodo has something that needs tending to and I’m going with him. Couldn’t just leave him to go alone. But I hope to come back by spring. Everything will need planting by then, and the gardener in me can’t miss the planting. Well, there isn’t much left to say. But you wouldn’t mind, Rosie, waiting for me til I can make it back? I’ve got something I want to say but I can’t say it in a letter. So if you’ll just wait for me I’ll be back by spring. And if you’d do me a favor and look after my Gaffer? Just drop in on him sometimes. He’ll get lonely. 

Mr. Frodo is calling, and so I’ll finish here. 

Your Sam 

Rosie finished the letter and put it in her apron pocket where she could reach it easily. After vigorously rubbing her eyes, which made them redder then ever, she sat very still next to the old hobbit, waiting for Fredegar’s to go on.

On seeing Rosie fold her paper, Fredegar took three deep breaths and continued.  

“Well, I don’t rightly know how it all fits together. But seems as if Mr. Frodo and the rest of the bunch were followed from Bag End to Crickhollow. It made ‘em all antsy I can tell you. Mr. Frodo decides that they’d best leave by the morning, and so they do. Peregrin and Meriadoc helped keep things rather jolly, but then they packed up and left by way of the Old Forest.”

“You’ve gotta be joking!” said the Gaffer. “The Old Forest? You can’t be serious. It’s not like Sam to be going off to places like that.” Rosie put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Let Fatty finish, Mr. Gamgee,” she said.  

“Well it’s as true as fact.” said Fatty sorrowfully. “They went off in the early hours, and I stayed at home so as to keep up the impression of someone living in Crickhollow. Everything seemed to be going well. I had been here a few days on my own, fixing things up for a long stay. And then they came.”

“Who?” asked Rosie. The Gaffer just closed his eyes, and tipped his chair back, trying to snore without sleeping. But his eyelids were trembling.

“The Men. The Big People,” whispered Fredegar, his eyes bulging out of his head. “The same ones as had been following our friends. I’d had a nervous afternoon. Something wasn’t right and I could feel it. Hardly ate a thing that evening. I was a wreck, checking out the window, drawing the blinds, pumping up the fire. I don’t know what I expected, but I couldn’t settle down. The sun was setting when I felt something. I don’t know, a horror. I couldn’t shake it, and I went to the window again. There were some tall figures, all in black and shadow, slipping through the gate and coming toward the house. There was something unearthly about them, and my nerves plumb snapped. I bolted the front door and took out the back. Never run so fast in my life.”

Rosie fingered her letter, and the Gaffer tried to steady his snoring. “But the others are alright, you’re sure? I mean, they left a few days before this,” she asked. 

“That’s what I don’t know, Rosie,” said Fatty. “I alerted the village that there were invaders at the house, but by the time the alarm was sounded they were gone. I saw ‘em pass me on the road and ride into the Old Forest, all on big black horses, snorting and sweating. They raided Crickhollow, the place was a total ruin, and I couldn’t stay there. No way I was gonna go live there now and carry on the show. I had to come back. But there’s one good thing. Whoever’s chasing the bunch is a couple days behind time. And if the boys are smart, they’ll stay well hidden.”

“Why would anyone be looking for my Sam?” cried the Gaffer, his irregular snoring breaking off altogether. “He’s a good boy, and he only went to look after Master Frodo. I wasn’t too pleased, I’ll be honest, but I’d thought he’d be back. And now he’s gone off! To the Old Forest no less. Without so much as a goodbye.”

“Well, Mr. Gamgee, I can’t rightly tell you. But, I’ll just say, those black riders were looking for Frodo, not your Sam. Frodo’s got a job to do and Pippin, Merry, and Sam all determined to be by his side through it. It shouldn’t be long. Just a few weeks I’d imagine. But we’d all better hope that these rider fellows don’t catch up to ‘em. It’d be bad for more then just our boys.”

The Gaffer seemed to collect his wits. “Well, if Sam’s gone I can’t help it. But I’d give my shovels and spades to know if he was safe. All of ‘em for that matter.”

Rosie got up. “They’ll be safe, they’ll be safe. We just mustn’t worry. I’ll go get some tea for you both.” 

Once down the stairs to the cellar, Rosie fingered the letter in her pocket, tears stinging her eyes. “I’ll be back by spring,” he’d said. Back by spring. But they were in danger? She couldn’t do anything about it. No, she was here, where she should be. But what if spring came and Sam didn’t? No, she’d wait for Sam. She’d wait til spring. She’d wait for however long it took for him to come back. And meanwhile, she’d do what she knew she must. The Gaffer needed his tea. 

 

Love,

Hannah Jo <3