And this is the tale that River told...
Mar. 28th, 2015 03:05 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memChallenge: From Dreamflower02: Frodo's Parents: Drogo and Primula, Gen., Het. Why were they on that boat? What Happened?
Format: Short Story
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13 for mature subjects
Warning: Character Death
Characters: Primula Baggins, Drogo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins, Hamfast
Gamgee, and other canon hobbits including Frodo Baggins
Disclaimer: This story uses characters and locations from JRR Tolkien’s writing. No profit is being made on this and no harm was intended.
Beta: Dreamflower02
And This is The Tale That River Told”
…”They fool about with boats on that big river-and that isn't natural. Small wonder that trouble came of it, I say. But be that as it may, Mr Frodo is as nice a young hobbit as you could wish to meet. Very much like Mr. Bilbo, and in more than looks. After all his father was a Baggins. A decent respectable hobbit was Mr Drogo Baggins; there was never much to tell of him, till he was drowned.”
“Drowned?” Said several voices. They had heard this and other darker rumours before, of course; but hobbits have a passion for family history, and they were ready to hear it again.
Well, so they say,” said the Gaffer. “You see: Mr. Drogo, he married poor Miss Primula Brandybuck…”
J R R Tolkien
Taken from Chapter one of The Lord of the Rings, ‘A Long-Expected Party’
/////
She had always been so delicate in appearance, but Drogo knew better than to underestimate her strength. She wasn't always what she seemed. He found that intriguing and exciting and at times, he even found it a bit frightening. She was often referred to as a ‘mere slip of a lass’ but beneath all the layers of gingham and starched crinolines he knew, beat the heart of a warrior, a fierce, prideful, independent, lass who was more than ready to take on any task or cause about which she felt passion.
Her passion was what first drew Drogo to Primula Brandybuck. Not her passion for him, though that had been a pleasant surprise when it had shown itself. It was her passion for boating that had first endeared her to him. He had watched her defend the fine art of boating to a group of skeptical Hobbiton folk one evening while enjoying an ale with his friends at The Ivy.
She had become annoyed with Hamfast Gamgee, the apprentice gardener who was currently learning his trade at Drogo’s cousin Bilbo Baggins’ hole, when Hamfast had dared to make the remark, “I can't abide the thoughts of fishin’ from a boat like them queer folk in Buckland do. You’d not get me in one a them death traps.”
That had set Primula off on a tirade that had ended with the whole of The Ivy listening to this “mere slip of a lass” expound upon the virtues of drifting lazily on the river in the heat of summer. She was standing atop a chair with an ale in one hand as she defended boating to her audience. By the time she was finished, everyone, save for Hamfast, was ready to set sail. It had been amazing. She was so persuasive and so well-spoken.
The Baggins clan had always been fond of words and books and so Drogo found her articulate speech almost as alluring as he did the way her slim, milky-white ankles presented themselves just below the hem of her frock. Well, almost as alluring.
When she had finished her speech and returned to her seat, she had disappeared from view as a great many interested lads had surrounded her table and begun to attempt to get an invitation to Buckland for one of those lazy summer days in her boat.
With a sigh, Drogo, who had been entertaining the notion of approaching her himself, turned back to his drink. He knew well enough that such a lass would be likely to find him dull and not at all handsome. It was clear she had her pick of the lads and Drogo had learned early on that he was no one’s first choice. His efforts at courting had, to this point, yielded very few dates. He often wished he had his older cousin Bilbo’s easy charm or that he had been born handsome like his own father. It was odd how Bilbo, who seemed completely uninterested in any sort of settling down, could easily find himself in the company of several pretty lasses when Drogo, who desperately wanted to settle down and begin a family, was forever getting turned away by the lasses.
He’d heard what others said of him. They called him dependable. They said he was reliable and sturdy. Some older folk even expressed the thought that Drogo Baggins was good husband material and would give some lucky lass a pleasant, secure, life with lots of well- behaved children. In other words, Drogo Baggins was predictable and boring. Yes, he’d heard folks say that too. “A fine fellow, that Drogo Baggins, but dull as dishwater and as boring as watching grass grow. Oh, a lass could do worse, but if he’s as dull in the marriage bed as he is at the pub then she’d have to keep waking herself up in order to let him get her in a family way!”
That last little dig had been delivered by a lass that Drogo was courting and when he’d over heard it, that had been the end of the relationship, his longest to that point. Her words had stuck in his head and though he tried mightily, he couldn't seem to forget them. At times, when he felt like approaching a pretty lass for a dance, those words would come on him as clear as a bell as if they’d been spoken aloud that very minute. He often found himself blushing and turning away as if someone near him might actually be able to hear the cutting remark.
It was a complete shock to him when Primula Brandybuck put a slim-fingered hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m disappointed, Mr. Baggins.”
Drogo turned from his ale and looked into her lovely eyes with surprise. “You are?” he managed to say after a long pause in which he just drank in her beauty. In fact, he feared that he had stared at her long enough to make her believe he was incapable of speech but she didn't seem to notice.
“From where I stood atop my chair earlier, you looked to me like a boating hobbit, but I guess I was wrong about you,” Primula said.
Her warm smile and easy manner instantly put Drogo at his ease and he found himself standing and holding out a chair for her. “I might be, if I knew more about it all and had the proper teacher,” he said.
“Well, Mr. Baggins, I am the perfect hobbit to teach you about boating,” Primula smiled, taking the offered chair. And that, as they say, had been that. She had accepted the chair and they had talked all night. At first it had strictly been about boating and the Brandywine river and Buckland, but as the evening wore on, it had been about Drogo himself and children and favorite foods and cooking skills. The evening had flown by and from that night forward Drogo Baggins found that folks looked at him in a different light.
He was considered to be charming and witty and entertaining. He even had lasses that wouldn't look twice at him before that, come up to him and flirt shamelessly. He didn't care though. All that mattered to Drogo was that the dainty, slip of a lass from Buckland looked at him with adoring eyes and seemed genuinely proud to be seen on his arm in Hobbiton or in Buckland or anywhere in the Shire that they visited.
She had rescued him from a lifetime of dullness. It was as if just because she found him exciting, everyone else did. It was an almost magical transformation and even his relations noticed it. He felt that a bit of her light, for she sometimes seemed to shine more brightly that anyone in a room, had spilled onto him and given him a glow. She radiated a kind of sparkle that Drogo couldn't explain and even at times suspected was purely his own invention in the way that all folk attribute a special something to the love of their life. At other times, he was certain that what he perceived in her was there for all to see and not merely something devised by his love for her.
Their first years of marriage were filled with passion, a passion Drogo had not realized he possessed. Their courtship was brief for both realized that they wanted nothing more than to be together. Their marriage took her family by surprise and more than a few Brandybucks were heard to whisper, “What an unlikely match our Primula has made.” It was not said unkindly. It was just a surprise to them that their little slip of a lass had wound up with such a normal, safe, hobbit. Primula was marrying a proper Baggins!
The Brandybucks welcomed Drogo into their family with open arms and he soon felt as at home in Brandy Hall as he did in his cousin, Bilbo’s Bag End. Primula, ever a river-daughter, wanted to live in Buckland and Drogo gladly agreed. He loved his dear wife’s family and he had grown fond of that expansive, winding, river too.
Primula made good her intentions to teach him boating. They were on the river often and usually together. At first, Drogo had been skeptical that the little row boats favored by the folk of the Hall were up to the challenge of holding his full, healthy, weight, but he soon realized that he was completely safe in them. Once that worry was conquered, Drogo set out to become a boating hobbit. He learned to row and to turn. He learned the river’s currents and Primula showed him all the best fishing locations. He learned to take proper care of his boat, for Primula had given him his very own boat as soon as he mastered boating skills.
Drogo treasured the gift and was constantly touching up the paint on the boat or seeing to the oars. He was careful to always secure it to the dock or, if storms threatened, he was the first hobbit down by the big River dragging his boat onto the shore. Even Rory Brandybuck pronounced Drogo an expert boater.
Drogo was flushed with pride at his acceptance into the Buckland Boating Club for he was the first non-Bucklander ever admitted. He was nominated by Saradoc Brandybuck who was, in the matters of boating, one of the club’s most prominent members and Saradoc later told him in confidence, “The vote was unanimously in favor, Drogo. Not a single negative vote!” He was very proud of that even if his friends and family in Hobbiton saw it as something unnatural.
When he had told Bilbo about it while sharing drinks in The Ivy one night, Bilbo had been polite but Drogo could see that his dear cousin missed the full importance of it all. Bilbo didn't get to comment further because at that moment, Hamfast Gamgee, whom Drogo considered to be partly responsible for his having found the love of his life, spoke up and said, “I can't see where that’ll come to any good, Mr. Drogo. T’ain’t natural, all that floating about on the river. Hobbits weren't meant for that.”
“Now, Hamfast,” Bilbo had said, politely. “I'm certain the Brandybucks wouldn't have been doing it this long if it weren't natural.” But Hamfast just shook his head and frowned. As he walked away, Bilbo smiled. “Hamfast is a nice fellow but he is set in his ways, Drogo. He won't be won over by boats. Likes the soil underneath his feet too much to ever consider a life near the Brandywine.”
Drogo had smiled, little realizing that there could be any validity in the words of the young gardener. Drogo held that opinion right up to the end, or very near the end anyway.
Soon after that evening at The Ivy, Drogo found himself too excited to think about boating. His little slip of a lass had told him and everyone in the Hall one evening at dinner, again while standing on a chair to draw attention, that she and Drogo were going to be parents. Drogo was beyond happy and he scooped his darling wife off the chair and immediately set about protecting her from things like standing on chairs. Primula, in spite of her independent nature and dislike of coddling, allowed him this, for the duration of her pregnancy. For the first time in her life, she gave herself over to his wishes and allowed him to look after her and wait on her. His care seemed to please her at that point when at any other time she would have chafed at it.
If Drogo felt that his life was perfect before his child’s birth, afterward he knew unparalleled joy. The child was simply the most wonderful little hobbit that Drogo had ever seen. He and Primula were the typical hobbit parents, showing off their little one every chance they got and telling stories that only other parents would find of interest.
“He’s started rolling over. I think it’s early but the child is very intelligent. You can see it in his eyes. He will be walking in no time and the other day, I picked him up and I believe he said ‘pony’. In fact I'm certain he did. He looked right at me and just said the word pony,” Drogo told Bilbo enthusiastically when little Frodo was around nine months old.
“Indeed?” Bilbo said, trying not to look too skeptical. New fathers were always like this.
“As soon as he is a bit older, I'm going to get him a pony,” Drogo said. “If he is already asking for one, then he truly wants it.”
Bilbo was fairly certain that little Frodo had probably never even seen a pony since the lad was much too young to be carted about the barns in Buckland but if it pleased Drogo this much to think his son was a young equestrian then what could it hurt? Bilbo smiled and patted Drogo on the arm. “For now, a stuffed pony might be an option.”
The next time Bilbo saw the newest member of the Baggins clan, the child was cradling a stuffed brown pony in his arms. As Bilbo peered at the child he had to agree that the lad was indeed a very intelligent looking child. Perhaps that came down to having been born on Bilbo’s birthday. It was, after all, a very good birthday.
As Frodo grew, Drogo watched the lad became more and more the image of his mother. He had her coloring, and even her fair skin tone. Frodo was reed thin and when he laughed Drogo was filled with happiness. Nothing pleased him more than the sound of his lad’s laughter. This didn't change as the years passed. Frodo was indeed a clever child. He might have been the image of his mother but he was a book-lover like his father. Frodo ran and played with the other lads at Brandy Hall but on rainy days and late into the night the child loved to read. The stuffed pony, Frodo’s companion during his baby and faunt years, had been replaced by books. Drogo’s earlier assessment that his lad wanted a pony of his own had been incorrect for although Frodo liked animals, the lad preferred to walk everywhere. Given a chance, Frodo would wander the paths by the river with his Uncle Bilbo for hours. The two seemed to have a special bond and that pleased Drogo and Primula very much.
Drogo and Primula were consumed with the raising of their perfect lad but they were still very much in love. If anything, their relationship had deepened over the years. With a growing child to raise, especially one who was clearly full of mischief, and surprises, time alone with his little slip of a lass was harder to find but Primula devised a plan that worked wonderfully well. It was all back to where their relationship had begun; boating.
“One night a week, usually just after dinner, Prim and I leave Frodo with Esmeralda and Saradoc and we slip out for a bit of rowing,” Drogo smiled as Bilbo slid him another ale. They were again at The Ivy Bush doing a bit of catching up. Primula had taken little Frodo, who was growing like a weed now, with her to the market. They were visiting Bilbo for a few days and Primula was determined to cook Drogo’s self-proclaimed bachelor-cousin a proper meal. As Drogo looked at Bilbo, he suspected that his cousin was not lacking for proper meals. Bilbo was looking very well padded around the middle as befitted a hobbit of his age.
“So, you go out in a boat after the evening meal?” Bilbo asked.
“We do,” Drogo smiled. “Brandy Hall is a splendid place but it is also very crowded. It is difficult to find a quiet corner or a moment alone. By the time we are in our rooms at night, Frodo has things he wants to ask or things he would like to tell us. The lad is already a very good story-teller in the Baggins tradition don't you know,” Drogo said proudly.
“So, difficult to be alone then?” Bilbo said.
“Yes,”Drogo agreed. “Then Primula came up with the idea. We take a boat ride together in the evening. We can't go every evening but we make it a rule to take the boat out at least once a week. It gives us time to be alone together. We have the most amazing long talks like we did when we were first married.”
Bilbo nodded. “A lovely idea, but doesn't Frodo ask to come along?”
“No, he never has and I've wondered at that,”Drogo frowned. “He loves the river and he often goes boating with us or sometimes with Saradoc. The lad swims like fish now.”
There was a cough and they looked up to see Hamfast Gamgee and his wife, Belle at the next table. “You let that lad swim?” Hamfast asked.
“It's a fine skill for anyone living near the river. I often wish I could swim,” Drogo sighed.
“You do all that boatin but you don't swim?” Hamfast frowned.
“I tried to learn at first but I was just too old and set in my ways for it. By the time Prim and I were married it was too late for me to take up swimming,” Drogo said. “But we saw to it that our lad learned. Primula taught him when Frodo wasn't quite six. It seemed a good precaution and at that age, young ones take to water like ducks do.”
Belle’s eyes widened. “Oh, my! I don't know anyone that can swim. I don’t believe that I've ever seen it done.”
“That'd be because you live a safe distance from the river,”Hamfast said.
“Still, it must be wonderful to be able to swim like the fish do,” Belle said smiling dreamily.
“No family of mine will be swimmin or boatin on the river,” Hamfast declared. “Our lads will be safe on dry land.”
“It must be romantic though, out in a boat on the water,” Belle said smiling at Drogo. She’d always liked Mr. Bilbo’s cousin. He seemed a fine, sensible, family hobbit with just the right amount of adventure about him. He was a bit like her own, dear, Hamfast when it came to the solid, protective, family hobbit thing but sometimes Belle wished Hamfast were a bit more adventurous. She could imagine herself in a boat on the river but she couldn't see her Hamfast there at all.
Drogo smiled at her, “My Primula and I enjoy our evening boating trips.” He wouldn't say how much they enjoyed them or how often conversation turned to kissing and kissing turned into more. It wasn't proper to talk of such things in public and certainly not with another fellow’s wife. Certainly not with Hamfast Gamgee’s wife!
As Hamfast and Belle got up to leave, Bilbo turned to say good evening to them. Before he could, Hamfast came over to their table, sending Belle on outside, and he leaned over and said, “Beggin’ your pardon and meanin no offense, Mr. Drogo, but I'd be grateful if you'd talk less about that boating nonsense in front of my missus. You and them Bucklanders might think boating is a safe, normal thing to be getting on with but here in Hobbiton folks don't hold with it. I'll be keeping my family on dry land. All your talk of boatin turns my missus’s thoughts to silly dreams and I aim to keep her safe.”
Startled by this, Drogo stood and said, “My apologies, Hamfast. I have no intention of trying to sway anyone's thoughts on boating.”
Bilbo hid his grin and kept his eyes on the table.
Hamfast nodded. “I appreciate that, Mr. Drogo. Good night to you both then.” He was almost to the door of The Ivy when he turned around and said, “You be careful how you go out there on that river. Rivers are powerful things and no mistake. It's been here long before we were even thought of and it will be here when we’ve gone. You take care, Mr. Drogo.”
“Dear me,” Drogo said in a worried tone. I think I've offended him.”
“Hamfast is fine,” Bilbo said. “He’s just set in his beliefs. He’s not one for new things or even different things.”
Drogo sighed. “He certainly is the voice of doom, isn't he?” Later, that conversation would occur to Drogo and by then, Hamfast’s words would hold more meaning for him than anything ever would.
/////
“Just relax and hold tight to the boat, Drogo,” Primula said in a surprisingly calm voice. He wanted to panic but the sound of her even tone made that seem silly. The entire situation was silly. Here he was clinging to the side of the boat while his wife sat in its bow in nothing but her knickers, her damp curls clinging to her face, the moonlight glinting off the water dripping from the tip of her nose. In spite of his fear, Drogo had a moment to marvel at how lovely she was and how lucky he’d been that she had chosen him. He tightened his grip on the boat and pulled up slightly raising himself an inch or so out of the cold, dark, river and making the boat rock dangerously.
Primula steadied the little craft and shivered. “We have to think this through,” she said, still speaking in that even tone of voice that reassured him. “I do wish we hadn't lost the oars. I could row us toward the shore while you held to the side of the boat. It would be simple.”
Sadly, the oars were long gone, having been lost in the dark when, in the midst of a passionate embrace, Drogo had turned too quickly and sent the tiny boat tipping over on its side. They had both been tossed into the river and Drogo had panicked, splashing about helplessly and slipping underneath the water then resurfacing with a mouthful of water and fear tightening his chest. By that time, Primula was already back in the boat, her hand reaching out to him in an effort to pull him to safety. In his panic, he had nearly pulled her from the boat and back into the cold water but her calm, firm voice had kept him from it and now he was clinging to the side of the boat while his wife tried to figure out a way to pull him back in and get them to shore.
“I keep a coil of rope beneath the seat,” Drogo reminded her, starting to feel a bit desperate.
Primula sighed. “I know, dearest, but when the boat was overturned, we lost that too. Don't worry though. If we keep our heads we can get out of this mess and later, this will just be an amusing story that we tell to Frodo.” Her voice cracked slightly when she said their only child’s name but otherwise there was no trace of fear in his little slip of a lass’s voice.
There was a gust of wind that reminded Drogo that autumn was here now and tiny drops of rain began to fall leaving patterns on the water that disappeared and reappeared as he watched. He tried to loosen his grip on the boat a bit because he felt as if his nails were digging into the wood. “I believe the weather is about to change for the worse,” he said, trying to sound casual and failing. His teeth were chattering too. He looked at Primula and noticed that her skin was covered in goose flesh. “You’re cold,” he said.
“I'll be fine,” Primula said, voice softer and less sure than before. “If this is a storm that is coming then we need to get this boat to shore.” She said this as if it were a simple matter. “I have been considering this and I believe our best chance is if we both hold onto the boat and use it as a kind of floatation device. I will climb out on the opposite side just to keep us balanced and then we will both hold to the boat and kick our feet. It will propel us toward the river’s edge. We will go with the current even though that will put us on the far bank. The less resistance we have the better chance we have for success.”
“The water is very cold,” Drogo said. “You should stay in the boat. I can kick my feet and drag us to shore.”
Even as he spoke, he could see her shaking her head. “I know the river. It is dark now and we could easily become disorientated in the dark. Also, I am a strong swimmer and the boat will move better if it is balanced, one of us on either side. Hold tight to it and keep it balanced while I climb out.”
“But-“ He wanted to argue but he could see that she was right so he went quiet and closed his eyes and prepared himself for the long journey to the shore. To bolster his resolve, he thought of Frodo. His lad needed them, or at least, he needed his mum. “Prim, do you think you might be able to swim out to the shore for help? I think I could easily hold on until you brought help.”
“We do this together,”she said in a firm tone and he heard her slip into the water on the opposite side of the boat.
Primula put her injured, limp arm into the cold water. She was certain it was broken but she wasn't about to tell Drogo this. When he had rolled over in the boat just before they capsized, he had accidentally fallen against her arm and the pain had been almost unbearable. The few minutes she had been in the water before had helped numb it and she didn't believe he had seen her pain. His mind had been occupied with staying on the surface and reaching the boat. She couldn't swim to shore for help. He was correct. That would have been the fastest way and if he didn't panic, Drogo would have been fine until she had brought help, but her arm was useless and the dull ache was stealing her breath from her. Now, this was their only hope and really, she didn't think they had much chance. The shore seemed so very far away and the water was so cold.
“Prim?”
“I’m here!” She called. Not being able to see him was not reassuring but as she kept reminding herself, this was the only way. “I will start us and you simply have to kick in the direction that I turn us. Just kick evenly with your feet and hold fast to the boat, my love and don't stop talking. Tell me something and keep your mind on the story,” she said. Then she pushed them forward in what she hoped was the direction of the shore. As she did so, she heard him began.
/////
“They must be having a splendid time of it tonight,” Saradoc said, as he placed a blanket over a sleeping Frodo. The child had fallen asleep reading and was curled up on the sofa in the parlour. “They will have to carry this one up to bed when they get here.”
Esmeralda frowned but didn't reply.
“Don't tell me you’re cross with them over this,” Saradoc said, putting his arms around her waist and nuzzling her ear.
She pulled away and looked at him, a cold expression on her face, one he rarely saw and never in connection with Drogo and Primula. Esmeralda and Primula were as close as sisters and no one could help but like Drogo Baggins.
“Do you think you might be able to carry Frodo to his bed without waking him?” She asked quietly.
“Yes, I think I can do that, but Drogo will want to tuck him in when they return. You know how he dotes on the lad,” Saradoc said, also keeping his voice low, but the child slept on peacefully and deeply as only the very young can do.
“Take him to bed and then I will sit in their parlor and wait with him. Get him settled and then come down and get your coat and get a few of the lads from the hall, strong ones, lads that follow instruction well. Then, send someone to Hobbiton with the good carriage to get Bilbo,” she said in a tense voice.
Saradoc looked at his wife intently and then he bent over and picked the sleeping child up from the sofa. He didn't ask what Esmeralda knew or how she knew it. He had learned over the years that sometimes, especially when things very, very, bad, sometimes, Esmeralda just knew things. They didn't talk about it and he knew better than to doubt it. She was almost never wrong. His feet felt heavy as he carried the sleeping child down the long hall to his own bed and gently tucked him in.
/////
She could hear his sweet voice as he told her a story about a prank that Bilbo had played on a lad when he had been a child or maybe he was talking about something he had done, she wasn't certain for his voice seemed far away now like the shore. She didn't know how long she had been in the water or where they were in relationship to the shore. She couldn't feel her arm any longer but she was cold and sleepy now. She felt her hand slipping and then the boat rocked hard in her direction and Drogo shouted her name.
“Primula!”
“I'm here,” she said, putting as much strength into her voice as she could. “I'm still here, my darling.”
“I'm coming around the boat to your side,” he called.
She didn't question him or try to stop him. It would unbalance the boat but they would be together. She couldn't stand the thoughts of dying without him and she knew she was dying. She was too cold and had been for far too long. The storm was getting worse too. The rain had become steady and was falling hard enough to hurt when it hit her face and arms. As he reached her side of the boat, she tried to smile. “There you are.”
“How badly are you hurt?” he asked, for he had finally realized why she had not gone on her own for help.
“It doesn't hurt at all now,” she said. “The cold water has numbed it. I think my arm is broken but it will mend. You and Frodo will have to wait on me hand and foot until I'm recovered.”
“Frodo will be a big help. He's such a good lad,” Drogo said.
“Esme will take good care of him. She aches for a child but hasn't been able to have one. She and Sara will be good to the lad,” Primula said, in a far off voice. “He’s a special child and someday, he will be a fine hobbit with a wife and child of his own and he’ll remember us fondly and have such happy stories to tell.”
“You can't give up,” Drogo said, closing the gap between them awkwardly, still clutching the boat with both hands as he inched next to her. “We owe him his childhood and two loving parents. Hamfast Gamgee is not right about boats. He can't be.”
Primula smiled weakly and leaned her head against his chest. “I love you, Drogo Baggins and I'm sorry I brought you to this fate.”
“You saved me,” Drogo said. “You gave me a wonderful life and an amazing child and you shared your love of this river with me. I love you and all we are together where ever it takes us.” He stopped speaking as he felt her head slowing sliding down his body and getting dangerously close to the water. “No!” He shouted, and he took his hand from the boat and reached for her, grabbing at the first part of her that he could reach.
Thoughts of Frodo and Bilbo and his family swam before him. Memories winked in and out and he heard Belle Gamgee’s excited voice telling him how she didn't know anyone who could swim. Then he heard a choking sound and the voice of Hamfast Gamgee saying, “You take care, Mr Drogo.” He felt a hand clutch at his sleeve and tiny, slim fingers dug into his wrists as he sank beneath the water’s surface, even as he tried to pull Primula back above it. He did not realize that his hands were tight around her throat as they sank into the Brandywine.
/////
Much later when the bodies were found, the rumours started with everyone formulating a different tale about what had happened. Bits and pieces of the story were twisted and exaggerated until there was every kind of wicked tale going about. Some folks said that Drogo pulled her under while struggling to get to the surface and that they both drown because he panicked. Some said they quarreled and Drogo held her under by the throat; the bruises on her neck did much to support that rumour. Others blamed Primula because she was found nearly naked, saying she was drunk and had tried to tempt Drogo into the water knowing he couldn't swim but using her feminine wiles to get him into the river. Another story said they were both drunk and had staggered out of Brandy Hall and taken the boat out when they weren't sober enough to manage it. Some folks said they drown in the storm and someone started a rumour that they were on the water and got struck by lightning.
Gorbadoc Brandybuck put a stop to the talk in Buckland for Frodo’s sake though he was certain that the lad had heard most of the grisly details and the rumours anyway. Folks were forbidden to speak of the ‘boating accident’ as it was called in the Hall. Anyone that dared to do so, if caught, was banned from staying at Brandy Hall and this banishment happened to several folks before the others finally got the Master’s message clear. Old Gorbadoc did not suffer fools or gossips.
In spite of Gorbordoc’s efforts and the passage of time, the story was still passed around the Shire, it's differing versions each holding their own among the hobbits.
Though no one save Drogo and Primula knew the truth, Esmeralda Brandybuck told Frodo that his parents had loved him and each other deeply and they had drowned in each other's arms trying to swim to shore after falling from the boat.
Frodo knew the boat had been found floating on the water as peaceful as you please. If it had been capsized or if it had sunk, there might have been less to talk about, but whatever happened out there on the river, Frodo knew that his cousin, Esmeralda was right about part of it; his parents had loved one another and they had loved him too. The rest of the details were unimportant. Knowing wouldn't help things. They were gone.
GW
03-20 to 03-21-2015
The title of this story is from "The River's Tale"by Rudyard Kipling
"TWENTY bridges from Tower to Kew-
Wanted to know what the River knew,
Twenty Bridges or twenty-two,
For they were young and the Thames was old
And this is the tale that River told:"
Format: Short Story
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13 for mature subjects
Warning: Character Death
Characters: Primula Baggins, Drogo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins, Hamfast
Gamgee, and other canon hobbits including Frodo Baggins
Disclaimer: This story uses characters and locations from JRR Tolkien’s writing. No profit is being made on this and no harm was intended.
Beta: Dreamflower02
And This is The Tale That River Told”
…”They fool about with boats on that big river-and that isn't natural. Small wonder that trouble came of it, I say. But be that as it may, Mr Frodo is as nice a young hobbit as you could wish to meet. Very much like Mr. Bilbo, and in more than looks. After all his father was a Baggins. A decent respectable hobbit was Mr Drogo Baggins; there was never much to tell of him, till he was drowned.”
“Drowned?” Said several voices. They had heard this and other darker rumours before, of course; but hobbits have a passion for family history, and they were ready to hear it again.
Well, so they say,” said the Gaffer. “You see: Mr. Drogo, he married poor Miss Primula Brandybuck…”
J R R Tolkien
Taken from Chapter one of The Lord of the Rings, ‘A Long-Expected Party’
/////
She had always been so delicate in appearance, but Drogo knew better than to underestimate her strength. She wasn't always what she seemed. He found that intriguing and exciting and at times, he even found it a bit frightening. She was often referred to as a ‘mere slip of a lass’ but beneath all the layers of gingham and starched crinolines he knew, beat the heart of a warrior, a fierce, prideful, independent, lass who was more than ready to take on any task or cause about which she felt passion.
Her passion was what first drew Drogo to Primula Brandybuck. Not her passion for him, though that had been a pleasant surprise when it had shown itself. It was her passion for boating that had first endeared her to him. He had watched her defend the fine art of boating to a group of skeptical Hobbiton folk one evening while enjoying an ale with his friends at The Ivy.
She had become annoyed with Hamfast Gamgee, the apprentice gardener who was currently learning his trade at Drogo’s cousin Bilbo Baggins’ hole, when Hamfast had dared to make the remark, “I can't abide the thoughts of fishin’ from a boat like them queer folk in Buckland do. You’d not get me in one a them death traps.”
That had set Primula off on a tirade that had ended with the whole of The Ivy listening to this “mere slip of a lass” expound upon the virtues of drifting lazily on the river in the heat of summer. She was standing atop a chair with an ale in one hand as she defended boating to her audience. By the time she was finished, everyone, save for Hamfast, was ready to set sail. It had been amazing. She was so persuasive and so well-spoken.
The Baggins clan had always been fond of words and books and so Drogo found her articulate speech almost as alluring as he did the way her slim, milky-white ankles presented themselves just below the hem of her frock. Well, almost as alluring.
When she had finished her speech and returned to her seat, she had disappeared from view as a great many interested lads had surrounded her table and begun to attempt to get an invitation to Buckland for one of those lazy summer days in her boat.
With a sigh, Drogo, who had been entertaining the notion of approaching her himself, turned back to his drink. He knew well enough that such a lass would be likely to find him dull and not at all handsome. It was clear she had her pick of the lads and Drogo had learned early on that he was no one’s first choice. His efforts at courting had, to this point, yielded very few dates. He often wished he had his older cousin Bilbo’s easy charm or that he had been born handsome like his own father. It was odd how Bilbo, who seemed completely uninterested in any sort of settling down, could easily find himself in the company of several pretty lasses when Drogo, who desperately wanted to settle down and begin a family, was forever getting turned away by the lasses.
He’d heard what others said of him. They called him dependable. They said he was reliable and sturdy. Some older folk even expressed the thought that Drogo Baggins was good husband material and would give some lucky lass a pleasant, secure, life with lots of well- behaved children. In other words, Drogo Baggins was predictable and boring. Yes, he’d heard folks say that too. “A fine fellow, that Drogo Baggins, but dull as dishwater and as boring as watching grass grow. Oh, a lass could do worse, but if he’s as dull in the marriage bed as he is at the pub then she’d have to keep waking herself up in order to let him get her in a family way!”
That last little dig had been delivered by a lass that Drogo was courting and when he’d over heard it, that had been the end of the relationship, his longest to that point. Her words had stuck in his head and though he tried mightily, he couldn't seem to forget them. At times, when he felt like approaching a pretty lass for a dance, those words would come on him as clear as a bell as if they’d been spoken aloud that very minute. He often found himself blushing and turning away as if someone near him might actually be able to hear the cutting remark.
It was a complete shock to him when Primula Brandybuck put a slim-fingered hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m disappointed, Mr. Baggins.”
Drogo turned from his ale and looked into her lovely eyes with surprise. “You are?” he managed to say after a long pause in which he just drank in her beauty. In fact, he feared that he had stared at her long enough to make her believe he was incapable of speech but she didn't seem to notice.
“From where I stood atop my chair earlier, you looked to me like a boating hobbit, but I guess I was wrong about you,” Primula said.
Her warm smile and easy manner instantly put Drogo at his ease and he found himself standing and holding out a chair for her. “I might be, if I knew more about it all and had the proper teacher,” he said.
“Well, Mr. Baggins, I am the perfect hobbit to teach you about boating,” Primula smiled, taking the offered chair. And that, as they say, had been that. She had accepted the chair and they had talked all night. At first it had strictly been about boating and the Brandywine river and Buckland, but as the evening wore on, it had been about Drogo himself and children and favorite foods and cooking skills. The evening had flown by and from that night forward Drogo Baggins found that folks looked at him in a different light.
He was considered to be charming and witty and entertaining. He even had lasses that wouldn't look twice at him before that, come up to him and flirt shamelessly. He didn't care though. All that mattered to Drogo was that the dainty, slip of a lass from Buckland looked at him with adoring eyes and seemed genuinely proud to be seen on his arm in Hobbiton or in Buckland or anywhere in the Shire that they visited.
She had rescued him from a lifetime of dullness. It was as if just because she found him exciting, everyone else did. It was an almost magical transformation and even his relations noticed it. He felt that a bit of her light, for she sometimes seemed to shine more brightly that anyone in a room, had spilled onto him and given him a glow. She radiated a kind of sparkle that Drogo couldn't explain and even at times suspected was purely his own invention in the way that all folk attribute a special something to the love of their life. At other times, he was certain that what he perceived in her was there for all to see and not merely something devised by his love for her.
Their first years of marriage were filled with passion, a passion Drogo had not realized he possessed. Their courtship was brief for both realized that they wanted nothing more than to be together. Their marriage took her family by surprise and more than a few Brandybucks were heard to whisper, “What an unlikely match our Primula has made.” It was not said unkindly. It was just a surprise to them that their little slip of a lass had wound up with such a normal, safe, hobbit. Primula was marrying a proper Baggins!
The Brandybucks welcomed Drogo into their family with open arms and he soon felt as at home in Brandy Hall as he did in his cousin, Bilbo’s Bag End. Primula, ever a river-daughter, wanted to live in Buckland and Drogo gladly agreed. He loved his dear wife’s family and he had grown fond of that expansive, winding, river too.
Primula made good her intentions to teach him boating. They were on the river often and usually together. At first, Drogo had been skeptical that the little row boats favored by the folk of the Hall were up to the challenge of holding his full, healthy, weight, but he soon realized that he was completely safe in them. Once that worry was conquered, Drogo set out to become a boating hobbit. He learned to row and to turn. He learned the river’s currents and Primula showed him all the best fishing locations. He learned to take proper care of his boat, for Primula had given him his very own boat as soon as he mastered boating skills.
Drogo treasured the gift and was constantly touching up the paint on the boat or seeing to the oars. He was careful to always secure it to the dock or, if storms threatened, he was the first hobbit down by the big River dragging his boat onto the shore. Even Rory Brandybuck pronounced Drogo an expert boater.
Drogo was flushed with pride at his acceptance into the Buckland Boating Club for he was the first non-Bucklander ever admitted. He was nominated by Saradoc Brandybuck who was, in the matters of boating, one of the club’s most prominent members and Saradoc later told him in confidence, “The vote was unanimously in favor, Drogo. Not a single negative vote!” He was very proud of that even if his friends and family in Hobbiton saw it as something unnatural.
When he had told Bilbo about it while sharing drinks in The Ivy one night, Bilbo had been polite but Drogo could see that his dear cousin missed the full importance of it all. Bilbo didn't get to comment further because at that moment, Hamfast Gamgee, whom Drogo considered to be partly responsible for his having found the love of his life, spoke up and said, “I can't see where that’ll come to any good, Mr. Drogo. T’ain’t natural, all that floating about on the river. Hobbits weren't meant for that.”
“Now, Hamfast,” Bilbo had said, politely. “I'm certain the Brandybucks wouldn't have been doing it this long if it weren't natural.” But Hamfast just shook his head and frowned. As he walked away, Bilbo smiled. “Hamfast is a nice fellow but he is set in his ways, Drogo. He won't be won over by boats. Likes the soil underneath his feet too much to ever consider a life near the Brandywine.”
Drogo had smiled, little realizing that there could be any validity in the words of the young gardener. Drogo held that opinion right up to the end, or very near the end anyway.
Soon after that evening at The Ivy, Drogo found himself too excited to think about boating. His little slip of a lass had told him and everyone in the Hall one evening at dinner, again while standing on a chair to draw attention, that she and Drogo were going to be parents. Drogo was beyond happy and he scooped his darling wife off the chair and immediately set about protecting her from things like standing on chairs. Primula, in spite of her independent nature and dislike of coddling, allowed him this, for the duration of her pregnancy. For the first time in her life, she gave herself over to his wishes and allowed him to look after her and wait on her. His care seemed to please her at that point when at any other time she would have chafed at it.
If Drogo felt that his life was perfect before his child’s birth, afterward he knew unparalleled joy. The child was simply the most wonderful little hobbit that Drogo had ever seen. He and Primula were the typical hobbit parents, showing off their little one every chance they got and telling stories that only other parents would find of interest.
“He’s started rolling over. I think it’s early but the child is very intelligent. You can see it in his eyes. He will be walking in no time and the other day, I picked him up and I believe he said ‘pony’. In fact I'm certain he did. He looked right at me and just said the word pony,” Drogo told Bilbo enthusiastically when little Frodo was around nine months old.
“Indeed?” Bilbo said, trying not to look too skeptical. New fathers were always like this.
“As soon as he is a bit older, I'm going to get him a pony,” Drogo said. “If he is already asking for one, then he truly wants it.”
Bilbo was fairly certain that little Frodo had probably never even seen a pony since the lad was much too young to be carted about the barns in Buckland but if it pleased Drogo this much to think his son was a young equestrian then what could it hurt? Bilbo smiled and patted Drogo on the arm. “For now, a stuffed pony might be an option.”
The next time Bilbo saw the newest member of the Baggins clan, the child was cradling a stuffed brown pony in his arms. As Bilbo peered at the child he had to agree that the lad was indeed a very intelligent looking child. Perhaps that came down to having been born on Bilbo’s birthday. It was, after all, a very good birthday.
As Frodo grew, Drogo watched the lad became more and more the image of his mother. He had her coloring, and even her fair skin tone. Frodo was reed thin and when he laughed Drogo was filled with happiness. Nothing pleased him more than the sound of his lad’s laughter. This didn't change as the years passed. Frodo was indeed a clever child. He might have been the image of his mother but he was a book-lover like his father. Frodo ran and played with the other lads at Brandy Hall but on rainy days and late into the night the child loved to read. The stuffed pony, Frodo’s companion during his baby and faunt years, had been replaced by books. Drogo’s earlier assessment that his lad wanted a pony of his own had been incorrect for although Frodo liked animals, the lad preferred to walk everywhere. Given a chance, Frodo would wander the paths by the river with his Uncle Bilbo for hours. The two seemed to have a special bond and that pleased Drogo and Primula very much.
Drogo and Primula were consumed with the raising of their perfect lad but they were still very much in love. If anything, their relationship had deepened over the years. With a growing child to raise, especially one who was clearly full of mischief, and surprises, time alone with his little slip of a lass was harder to find but Primula devised a plan that worked wonderfully well. It was all back to where their relationship had begun; boating.
“One night a week, usually just after dinner, Prim and I leave Frodo with Esmeralda and Saradoc and we slip out for a bit of rowing,” Drogo smiled as Bilbo slid him another ale. They were again at The Ivy Bush doing a bit of catching up. Primula had taken little Frodo, who was growing like a weed now, with her to the market. They were visiting Bilbo for a few days and Primula was determined to cook Drogo’s self-proclaimed bachelor-cousin a proper meal. As Drogo looked at Bilbo, he suspected that his cousin was not lacking for proper meals. Bilbo was looking very well padded around the middle as befitted a hobbit of his age.
“So, you go out in a boat after the evening meal?” Bilbo asked.
“We do,” Drogo smiled. “Brandy Hall is a splendid place but it is also very crowded. It is difficult to find a quiet corner or a moment alone. By the time we are in our rooms at night, Frodo has things he wants to ask or things he would like to tell us. The lad is already a very good story-teller in the Baggins tradition don't you know,” Drogo said proudly.
“So, difficult to be alone then?” Bilbo said.
“Yes,”Drogo agreed. “Then Primula came up with the idea. We take a boat ride together in the evening. We can't go every evening but we make it a rule to take the boat out at least once a week. It gives us time to be alone together. We have the most amazing long talks like we did when we were first married.”
Bilbo nodded. “A lovely idea, but doesn't Frodo ask to come along?”
“No, he never has and I've wondered at that,”Drogo frowned. “He loves the river and he often goes boating with us or sometimes with Saradoc. The lad swims like fish now.”
There was a cough and they looked up to see Hamfast Gamgee and his wife, Belle at the next table. “You let that lad swim?” Hamfast asked.
“It's a fine skill for anyone living near the river. I often wish I could swim,” Drogo sighed.
“You do all that boatin but you don't swim?” Hamfast frowned.
“I tried to learn at first but I was just too old and set in my ways for it. By the time Prim and I were married it was too late for me to take up swimming,” Drogo said. “But we saw to it that our lad learned. Primula taught him when Frodo wasn't quite six. It seemed a good precaution and at that age, young ones take to water like ducks do.”
Belle’s eyes widened. “Oh, my! I don't know anyone that can swim. I don’t believe that I've ever seen it done.”
“That'd be because you live a safe distance from the river,”Hamfast said.
“Still, it must be wonderful to be able to swim like the fish do,” Belle said smiling dreamily.
“No family of mine will be swimmin or boatin on the river,” Hamfast declared. “Our lads will be safe on dry land.”
“It must be romantic though, out in a boat on the water,” Belle said smiling at Drogo. She’d always liked Mr. Bilbo’s cousin. He seemed a fine, sensible, family hobbit with just the right amount of adventure about him. He was a bit like her own, dear, Hamfast when it came to the solid, protective, family hobbit thing but sometimes Belle wished Hamfast were a bit more adventurous. She could imagine herself in a boat on the river but she couldn't see her Hamfast there at all.
Drogo smiled at her, “My Primula and I enjoy our evening boating trips.” He wouldn't say how much they enjoyed them or how often conversation turned to kissing and kissing turned into more. It wasn't proper to talk of such things in public and certainly not with another fellow’s wife. Certainly not with Hamfast Gamgee’s wife!
As Hamfast and Belle got up to leave, Bilbo turned to say good evening to them. Before he could, Hamfast came over to their table, sending Belle on outside, and he leaned over and said, “Beggin’ your pardon and meanin no offense, Mr. Drogo, but I'd be grateful if you'd talk less about that boating nonsense in front of my missus. You and them Bucklanders might think boating is a safe, normal thing to be getting on with but here in Hobbiton folks don't hold with it. I'll be keeping my family on dry land. All your talk of boatin turns my missus’s thoughts to silly dreams and I aim to keep her safe.”
Startled by this, Drogo stood and said, “My apologies, Hamfast. I have no intention of trying to sway anyone's thoughts on boating.”
Bilbo hid his grin and kept his eyes on the table.
Hamfast nodded. “I appreciate that, Mr. Drogo. Good night to you both then.” He was almost to the door of The Ivy when he turned around and said, “You be careful how you go out there on that river. Rivers are powerful things and no mistake. It's been here long before we were even thought of and it will be here when we’ve gone. You take care, Mr. Drogo.”
“Dear me,” Drogo said in a worried tone. I think I've offended him.”
“Hamfast is fine,” Bilbo said. “He’s just set in his beliefs. He’s not one for new things or even different things.”
Drogo sighed. “He certainly is the voice of doom, isn't he?” Later, that conversation would occur to Drogo and by then, Hamfast’s words would hold more meaning for him than anything ever would.
/////
“Just relax and hold tight to the boat, Drogo,” Primula said in a surprisingly calm voice. He wanted to panic but the sound of her even tone made that seem silly. The entire situation was silly. Here he was clinging to the side of the boat while his wife sat in its bow in nothing but her knickers, her damp curls clinging to her face, the moonlight glinting off the water dripping from the tip of her nose. In spite of his fear, Drogo had a moment to marvel at how lovely she was and how lucky he’d been that she had chosen him. He tightened his grip on the boat and pulled up slightly raising himself an inch or so out of the cold, dark, river and making the boat rock dangerously.
Primula steadied the little craft and shivered. “We have to think this through,” she said, still speaking in that even tone of voice that reassured him. “I do wish we hadn't lost the oars. I could row us toward the shore while you held to the side of the boat. It would be simple.”
Sadly, the oars were long gone, having been lost in the dark when, in the midst of a passionate embrace, Drogo had turned too quickly and sent the tiny boat tipping over on its side. They had both been tossed into the river and Drogo had panicked, splashing about helplessly and slipping underneath the water then resurfacing with a mouthful of water and fear tightening his chest. By that time, Primula was already back in the boat, her hand reaching out to him in an effort to pull him to safety. In his panic, he had nearly pulled her from the boat and back into the cold water but her calm, firm voice had kept him from it and now he was clinging to the side of the boat while his wife tried to figure out a way to pull him back in and get them to shore.
“I keep a coil of rope beneath the seat,” Drogo reminded her, starting to feel a bit desperate.
Primula sighed. “I know, dearest, but when the boat was overturned, we lost that too. Don't worry though. If we keep our heads we can get out of this mess and later, this will just be an amusing story that we tell to Frodo.” Her voice cracked slightly when she said their only child’s name but otherwise there was no trace of fear in his little slip of a lass’s voice.
There was a gust of wind that reminded Drogo that autumn was here now and tiny drops of rain began to fall leaving patterns on the water that disappeared and reappeared as he watched. He tried to loosen his grip on the boat a bit because he felt as if his nails were digging into the wood. “I believe the weather is about to change for the worse,” he said, trying to sound casual and failing. His teeth were chattering too. He looked at Primula and noticed that her skin was covered in goose flesh. “You’re cold,” he said.
“I'll be fine,” Primula said, voice softer and less sure than before. “If this is a storm that is coming then we need to get this boat to shore.” She said this as if it were a simple matter. “I have been considering this and I believe our best chance is if we both hold onto the boat and use it as a kind of floatation device. I will climb out on the opposite side just to keep us balanced and then we will both hold to the boat and kick our feet. It will propel us toward the river’s edge. We will go with the current even though that will put us on the far bank. The less resistance we have the better chance we have for success.”
“The water is very cold,” Drogo said. “You should stay in the boat. I can kick my feet and drag us to shore.”
Even as he spoke, he could see her shaking her head. “I know the river. It is dark now and we could easily become disorientated in the dark. Also, I am a strong swimmer and the boat will move better if it is balanced, one of us on either side. Hold tight to it and keep it balanced while I climb out.”
“But-“ He wanted to argue but he could see that she was right so he went quiet and closed his eyes and prepared himself for the long journey to the shore. To bolster his resolve, he thought of Frodo. His lad needed them, or at least, he needed his mum. “Prim, do you think you might be able to swim out to the shore for help? I think I could easily hold on until you brought help.”
“We do this together,”she said in a firm tone and he heard her slip into the water on the opposite side of the boat.
Primula put her injured, limp arm into the cold water. She was certain it was broken but she wasn't about to tell Drogo this. When he had rolled over in the boat just before they capsized, he had accidentally fallen against her arm and the pain had been almost unbearable. The few minutes she had been in the water before had helped numb it and she didn't believe he had seen her pain. His mind had been occupied with staying on the surface and reaching the boat. She couldn't swim to shore for help. He was correct. That would have been the fastest way and if he didn't panic, Drogo would have been fine until she had brought help, but her arm was useless and the dull ache was stealing her breath from her. Now, this was their only hope and really, she didn't think they had much chance. The shore seemed so very far away and the water was so cold.
“Prim?”
“I’m here!” She called. Not being able to see him was not reassuring but as she kept reminding herself, this was the only way. “I will start us and you simply have to kick in the direction that I turn us. Just kick evenly with your feet and hold fast to the boat, my love and don't stop talking. Tell me something and keep your mind on the story,” she said. Then she pushed them forward in what she hoped was the direction of the shore. As she did so, she heard him began.
/////
“They must be having a splendid time of it tonight,” Saradoc said, as he placed a blanket over a sleeping Frodo. The child had fallen asleep reading and was curled up on the sofa in the parlour. “They will have to carry this one up to bed when they get here.”
Esmeralda frowned but didn't reply.
“Don't tell me you’re cross with them over this,” Saradoc said, putting his arms around her waist and nuzzling her ear.
She pulled away and looked at him, a cold expression on her face, one he rarely saw and never in connection with Drogo and Primula. Esmeralda and Primula were as close as sisters and no one could help but like Drogo Baggins.
“Do you think you might be able to carry Frodo to his bed without waking him?” She asked quietly.
“Yes, I think I can do that, but Drogo will want to tuck him in when they return. You know how he dotes on the lad,” Saradoc said, also keeping his voice low, but the child slept on peacefully and deeply as only the very young can do.
“Take him to bed and then I will sit in their parlor and wait with him. Get him settled and then come down and get your coat and get a few of the lads from the hall, strong ones, lads that follow instruction well. Then, send someone to Hobbiton with the good carriage to get Bilbo,” she said in a tense voice.
Saradoc looked at his wife intently and then he bent over and picked the sleeping child up from the sofa. He didn't ask what Esmeralda knew or how she knew it. He had learned over the years that sometimes, especially when things very, very, bad, sometimes, Esmeralda just knew things. They didn't talk about it and he knew better than to doubt it. She was almost never wrong. His feet felt heavy as he carried the sleeping child down the long hall to his own bed and gently tucked him in.
/////
She could hear his sweet voice as he told her a story about a prank that Bilbo had played on a lad when he had been a child or maybe he was talking about something he had done, she wasn't certain for his voice seemed far away now like the shore. She didn't know how long she had been in the water or where they were in relationship to the shore. She couldn't feel her arm any longer but she was cold and sleepy now. She felt her hand slipping and then the boat rocked hard in her direction and Drogo shouted her name.
“Primula!”
“I'm here,” she said, putting as much strength into her voice as she could. “I'm still here, my darling.”
“I'm coming around the boat to your side,” he called.
She didn't question him or try to stop him. It would unbalance the boat but they would be together. She couldn't stand the thoughts of dying without him and she knew she was dying. She was too cold and had been for far too long. The storm was getting worse too. The rain had become steady and was falling hard enough to hurt when it hit her face and arms. As he reached her side of the boat, she tried to smile. “There you are.”
“How badly are you hurt?” he asked, for he had finally realized why she had not gone on her own for help.
“It doesn't hurt at all now,” she said. “The cold water has numbed it. I think my arm is broken but it will mend. You and Frodo will have to wait on me hand and foot until I'm recovered.”
“Frodo will be a big help. He's such a good lad,” Drogo said.
“Esme will take good care of him. She aches for a child but hasn't been able to have one. She and Sara will be good to the lad,” Primula said, in a far off voice. “He’s a special child and someday, he will be a fine hobbit with a wife and child of his own and he’ll remember us fondly and have such happy stories to tell.”
“You can't give up,” Drogo said, closing the gap between them awkwardly, still clutching the boat with both hands as he inched next to her. “We owe him his childhood and two loving parents. Hamfast Gamgee is not right about boats. He can't be.”
Primula smiled weakly and leaned her head against his chest. “I love you, Drogo Baggins and I'm sorry I brought you to this fate.”
“You saved me,” Drogo said. “You gave me a wonderful life and an amazing child and you shared your love of this river with me. I love you and all we are together where ever it takes us.” He stopped speaking as he felt her head slowing sliding down his body and getting dangerously close to the water. “No!” He shouted, and he took his hand from the boat and reached for her, grabbing at the first part of her that he could reach.
Thoughts of Frodo and Bilbo and his family swam before him. Memories winked in and out and he heard Belle Gamgee’s excited voice telling him how she didn't know anyone who could swim. Then he heard a choking sound and the voice of Hamfast Gamgee saying, “You take care, Mr Drogo.” He felt a hand clutch at his sleeve and tiny, slim fingers dug into his wrists as he sank beneath the water’s surface, even as he tried to pull Primula back above it. He did not realize that his hands were tight around her throat as they sank into the Brandywine.
/////
Much later when the bodies were found, the rumours started with everyone formulating a different tale about what had happened. Bits and pieces of the story were twisted and exaggerated until there was every kind of wicked tale going about. Some folks said that Drogo pulled her under while struggling to get to the surface and that they both drown because he panicked. Some said they quarreled and Drogo held her under by the throat; the bruises on her neck did much to support that rumour. Others blamed Primula because she was found nearly naked, saying she was drunk and had tried to tempt Drogo into the water knowing he couldn't swim but using her feminine wiles to get him into the river. Another story said they were both drunk and had staggered out of Brandy Hall and taken the boat out when they weren't sober enough to manage it. Some folks said they drown in the storm and someone started a rumour that they were on the water and got struck by lightning.
Gorbadoc Brandybuck put a stop to the talk in Buckland for Frodo’s sake though he was certain that the lad had heard most of the grisly details and the rumours anyway. Folks were forbidden to speak of the ‘boating accident’ as it was called in the Hall. Anyone that dared to do so, if caught, was banned from staying at Brandy Hall and this banishment happened to several folks before the others finally got the Master’s message clear. Old Gorbadoc did not suffer fools or gossips.
In spite of Gorbordoc’s efforts and the passage of time, the story was still passed around the Shire, it's differing versions each holding their own among the hobbits.
Though no one save Drogo and Primula knew the truth, Esmeralda Brandybuck told Frodo that his parents had loved him and each other deeply and they had drowned in each other's arms trying to swim to shore after falling from the boat.
Frodo knew the boat had been found floating on the water as peaceful as you please. If it had been capsized or if it had sunk, there might have been less to talk about, but whatever happened out there on the river, Frodo knew that his cousin, Esmeralda was right about part of it; his parents had loved one another and they had loved him too. The rest of the details were unimportant. Knowing wouldn't help things. They were gone.
GW
03-20 to 03-21-2015
The title of this story is from "The River's Tale"by Rudyard Kipling
"TWENTY bridges from Tower to Kew-
Wanted to know what the River knew,
Twenty Bridges or twenty-two,
For they were young and the Thames was old
And this is the tale that River told:"
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