Even though Frodo Baggins had an extremely unhobbity lack of interest in pony racing, he couldn't help being drawn occasionally into the sport. Keen pony fanciers were all around him. Not only were his cousin Milo Burrows and cousin-by-marriage Lad Whitfoot joint owners of a famously fast pony named Fleetfoot, but Sam was also a friend of Lad's. During the summer months, Sam always looked forward to going to Michel Delving to see Fleetfoot race. And if Merry and Pippin were in the neighborhood, they also were eager to come along.
It was in the company of Milo and Sam that Frodo rode to Michel Delving a few days before Lithe, for they'd been invited stay at Lad and Angelica's house during the Lithetide races. These races, held on the fairfield just outside the town over the midsummer holiday, were the biggest event of the year for both the farmers who could only race during the spring and early summer, before their ponies were needed for bringing in the hay, and the wealthier gentlehobbits who kept a pony or two exclusively to run. Hobbits from all over the Shire traveled to see the races, and to place wagers on their favorites.
"And there's something in particular I want to show you," Milo had promised them before they set out from Hobbiton, but he would say no more about it during their ride.
They arrived at Lad and Angelica's home on the northern outskirts of Michel Delving in the middle of the afternoon. After being welcomed warmly by their host, Sam helped Lad bring the baggage into the house. Frodo accompanied Milo to the stables to see to their ponies and to see Milo's two eldest sons; Angelica had informed Milo that he would find the boys there. The boys had come to Michel Delving a few weeks earlier at the beginning of the racing season, and were practically living in the stalls.
"They looked so forward to coming back again this spring to help bring Fleet up to form, just as they did last summer," Milo explained as they rode on the lane that took them around to the far side of the stables. As they approached, the stable door that opened onto the lane was flung open. Mosco and Moro, sturdy boys of eighteen and fifteen respectively and very much like their father, came flying out to greet them with shouts and hugs. A third lad, the stable-boy Sandy, hung back shyly.
"How is Fleet?" Milo asked once there had been enough hugs, and the three riding ponies had been given to the boys to tend.
"In top form," said the elder boy, Mosco, who rode Fleetfoot in the races. "I've just had him out for a gallop and he's as fast as he ever was! We just finished brushing him down when you came. He's in his stall if you want to see him."
Milo accompanied his son to see Fleetfoot, and Frodo went with them. Fleetfoot's stall was nearest the door, and surprisingly roomy. The shaggy black-and-white pony within had been freshly curried and had a blanket tied loosely over his back so that he wouldn't take a chill after his exercise. He looked very comfortable. Frodo said as much, and Milo laughed.
"A racing pony has a fairly easy life," he answered as he lifted the latch on the stall door and went inside. Fleetfoot, recognizing him, lifted his head and nickered in welcome. "He doesn't have to pull a cart or plough, just run as fast as he can. Our Fleet is as pampered as a lap-dog--aren't you, Fleety?" Milo gave the pony a pat. "He's nearly ten now, and in spite of what Mosco says, not so swift as he used to be. He's still a great runner and has done us proud as usual in the local races he's run so far this spring, but I think this will be his last season racing. Lad and I will have to talk it over once we see how he fares over Lithetide."
"What will you do with him then?" asked Frodo.
"He'll be given an honorable retirement. After the marvelous change he's brought about in my fortunes, it'd be monstrously ungrateful if I didn't repay him. Besides, he's become quite a pet to the boys, and Lad's and Angelica's children too. When his last race is run, he can look forward to a comfortable meadow to graze in and run as he pleases, and the occasional company of a broodmare."
"Company?"
"It's an idea we had," Milo explained. "Hobbits normally breed their ponies for sturdiness and steadfast temper, but why not breed a pony for speed? Lad and I are thinking of renting Fleet's services for the purpose to other racing fanciers."
"Will they actually pay you for the- ah- service?"
"If they think they can get a pony as fast as our Fleet from it, of course! As a matter of fact, that's what I wanted you to see."
"A colt?" Frodo had wondered; he couldn't imagine that Milo would ask him to ride all the way to Michel Delving just to see Fleetfoot. He'd seen the pony many times, on the racing course and off, and Fleetfoot knew him well. Fleetfoot, after snuffling at Frodo's jacket and finding a familiar scent, began to nip and tug on his pocket in search of sugar or some other treat. Frodo had none, but Milo produced a half-eaten apple from one of his own jacket pockets.
"Yes, a colt," said Milo. "We've already put our idea for breeding Fleetfoot to the test, and tried mating him with one or two good mares of Lad's. One colt Fleet has sired shows particular promise. He's a two-year-old now. We've kept him a great secret, but I wanted to show him to you and Sam before the races. Where is he?" he asked the boys, who replied that the colt was out in the paddock.
Milo led Frodo out through a narrow door at the other end of the stable. Lad and Angelica's smial was on the hill above; a footpath led up from the stables to it. Angelica and her little daughter Willa were at the paddock fence with Sam and Lad, looking at a leggy and shaggy black colt. "There he is," Milo said proudly. "He looks nothing like his sire, but he's just as fast."
When she spotted her uncles, Willa shrieked excitedly and ran up to them, demanding that they too come and see "her" pony.
"Your pony, Willa?" Milo laughed as he scooped the little girl up into his arms, and carried her back to the group at the fence.
"As far as Willa is concerned, Candlestick is hers," Lad said.
"Candlestick?" This struck Frodo as an odd name for a racing pony. Normally, they were given names to suggest remarkable speed.
Angelica explained, "Willa named him for the markings on his brow." Lad reached over the fence and took the colt's bridle, turning its head so that Frodo could see the long, thin white patch that spread between its large brown eyes and down its nose. "She fancied it looked like a candle aflame."
"So it does." Candlestick, like his father, was shy of strangers, but when Frodo extended a tentative hand, the colt pressed his nose into the hobbit's cupped palm, snuffled and snorted, and accepted him. "Does she ride him?"
"She does," said Angelica, "slowly, with one of us standing by. But she'll ride as well as the boys one day. Uncle Milo taught me to ride when I wasn't much older."
"Moro rides him when he trains against his sire," Lad added, "and they keep pace wonderfully well. Did Milo tell you? We're planning to introduce him in this year's Lithetide races."
"I hadn't yet, but I was about to," said Milo. "And will Moro ride him? Are you sure they're both ready?"
"I've seen them train together every day these past two weeks," Lad promised him. "The colt's ready to run, and Moro's as fit to ride as he'll ever be. Besides, Mosco can't ride both Candlestick and Fleetfoot if we run them both." The two fell into a professional conference on the subject. Willa had turned her attention to Sam, and was insisting that he bring her best friend Nellie next time so she could see the pony too. The two little girls had become friends during Angelica's frequent visits to Hobbiton with her children, and Sam promised that he would bring Elanor to Michel Delving once she was old enough to travel so far from home.
Angelica came over to give Frodo a welcoming hug and peck on the cheek. "I'm glad you came," she said. "I know how all this pony-talk bores you, but it's been ages since I've seen you. What's this gossip I hear about you spending so much time with that rather plain and dowdy niece of Aunt Lobelia's? You aren't fortune-hunting, are you, Frodo? Everybody says old Aunt Lobelia left her everything, but there's a very strange story going about that she has to marry you to get it."
Frodo laughed at these teasing questions. "No, it was the other way 'round. Lobelia left me Bag End under condition that I marry Thimula."
"Only Bag End wasn't Missus Sackville-Bagginses to leave to anybody," Sam added. Even though Frodo was in never in any real danger of being forced to marry to keep their home, Sam had never found Lobelia's last wishes as amusing as Frodo did.
"I'm helping Thimula to sort all Lobelia's papers out," Frodo told Angelica. "She's never had any money of her own before, and Aunt Lobelia left her far more than anyone expected. She lived in such a miserly and penny-pinching way, but she owned quite a lot of property around Hobbiton, not to mention acres of land in the Southfarthing and elsewhere in the Shire."
"Somebody else will marry her then," Angelica said confidently, "if you don't."
The conversation over dinner that evening focused primarily on the topic of the upcoming races. The boys were eager to tell their father about the races they'd run against each other, and Moro was particularly excited about the prospect of being allowed to ride Candlestick at his debut. Lad also had his carefully considered opinion about the colt's abilities and prospects. Angelica, to try and balance out this "pony-talk" with other subjects, asked after Rosie and the children. The new twins must especially be a handful! She didn't know how Sam and Rosie could manage four small children all at once--she only had two so far and found them quite enough for the time being, although she hoped to have more when Willa and Adalmo were a bit older. It was too sweet of Sam to name his new baby boy after Pippin Took.
"Are Pip and Merry coming to the races?" asked Lad.
"Pippin is," Frodo answered. "I had a letter from him last week. He was in Tuckborough with his family, and he'll definitely be here in time for the first race. He said he didn't know if Merry would be able to come with him."
"I suppose they'll be stopping at the inn by the fairfield," said Lad. "But why don't we invite them here--the more the merrier, as they say. That is, if you don't mind, dearest." He deferred to his wife.
Angelica wasn't very fond of Pippin or Merry, since the pair were too fond of reminding her about her chubby girlhood and persisted in calling her Jelly whenever they met, but she only smiled and said, "No, not at all, darling. We can give them the boys' room."
"Won't the boys want it?" wondered Sam.
"Oh no, Mr. Gamgee," said Mosco. "We hardly we use it. We sleep in the stable loft."
"Every night since they first arrived," Lad told his guests. "They spend all their days there too."
"Sandy sleeps in the loft," Mosco said, as if this were a sufficient explanation.
"We like it there," added his younger brother.
"You find it more comfortable than the room you've been given?" their father asked with a chuckle. "Then I suppose we'll have to see about getting you both a berth at the Hobbiton stables when you come home. You won't want your beds at the Old Place anymore."
After dinner, the boys went out to the stable. The grown-ups sat up awhile talking before they too went to bed. Frodo found he was tired after the long ride. Once he was in his nightshirt, he curled up beside Sam in the room Angelica had given them, and fell asleep quickly.
Early the next morning, he woke to the sound of the boys shouting as they came running up into the house.
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Son of Fleetfoot by Kathryn Ramage
Story notes: This story takes place around midsummer 1425 (S.R.).
Frodo's previous encounter with the Longchalks occurred in Frodo's Miss Adventure.
July 2009
