“But you won’t have any luck in the Old Forest,” objected Fredegar. “No one ever has luck in there. You’ll get lost. People don’t go in there.”

“Oh yes they do!” said Merry. “The Brandybucks go in – occasionally when the fit takes them. We have a private entrance. Frodo went in once, long ago. …”

~ From The Fellowship of the Ring, A Conspiracy Unmasked.

That is the passage that prompted me to write this little fic. I knew that one day I would write a story based around Frodo's adventure in the Old Forest, but I never had any idea what the story would actually *be* about. This remained true even when I finally sat down and began writing this story last March.

This has been a labor of love for me, for what started as a small novella soon turned into something quite bigger than I had expected. It didn't help that as soon as I started to comprehend just what this story was about, the Muses went and left me in a lurch for a month. Coming back to this story after so long was no easy task. But finally, after many stalls, writing blocks, hair pulling and head banging, it is finally ready for sharing.

As the timing of this story is when Frodo is still very young, and the only other hobbit of the Travelers is Merry, who is still a baby at this time, I've had to rely on a great many original characters to tell this tale in full. They are Edon, Sed, Fendi, Morti, Gil, Fuchsia and Piper. You will get to know them well as the story progresses, Edon and Gil in particular, and their story is very much related to Frodo's.

Now, enough nervous rambling and on with the story. :)

GF 9/30/05

In Darkness Buried Deep

 
 
 
Frodo is 14 (or about 9 in Man years)
Afterlithe 1383 SR
 
 

Chapter 1 – A Summer Race

“Whose bright idea was it to have races in such abominable heat, is what I’d like to know,” complained Morton Goodbody. He mopped the sweat off his brow with a damp handkerchief and frowned up at the sun. “It’s too hot to run. Just sitting in the shade under a tree is enough to make one break out in a sweat.”

“I’m thirsty,” agreed his good friend Sed Brockhouse, wishing they were enjoying the shade rather than slowly marching up Crickhollow Road on their way to the annual summer races at Hedge Field. They had been cajoled into participating by their parents and they were now regretting it. They were hot and miserable and were guaranteed to put in poor performances. There really was little point in them going.

“Yes, let’s go to the old bell tower,” said Morti’s first cousin Fendimbras Goldworthy, often called Fendi. “At least there will be wind up there. Even better, let’s go to Jumper’s Point.”

“The pond would be favorite,” Sed said.

“We’re committed to do this, in case you’ve forgotten,” said Edon, meaning the races. Edon was Sed’s brother and the eldest of the group at twenty-five. He regarded Sed, the youngest at twenty, and the cousins, who were both twenty-two. “Besides, the pond will be so crowded there will be no water left to jump into, and that rickety old tower is likely to topple over with all the lads and lasses crowded upon it.”

“You just want to go show off for Fuchsia Brownlock,” Sed teased and knew he hit the mark when Edon suddenly flushed a deeper shade of red than could be accounted for by the sun and heat. Fendi and Morti snickered next to him. “Very well then. Let’s go see my wise older brother make a mockery of himself. He has no hope of winning, not with Gil racing, and Fuchsia will never even notice he’s there, but if he wants to make himself the fool, then by all means we should be there to cheer him on.”

Edon wisely did not rise to the bait. He would need all the energy he had to run a decent race as it was. He did have to agree with his friends about the absurdity of having games in the middle of summer. Whoever thought this up had obviously not been thinking clearly, a result of the suffocating heat no doubt. In retrospect, he should have protested more, but as soon as he found out that Madagilus Banks would be racing, he had quickly agreed to the idea, committing his brother and friends to join him by default. Their teasing when he lost would be merciless; they have not forgiven him for getting them involved in this.

They turned a bend in the road and froze in mid-step, for they all heard it in the same instant: a loud rustling in the shrubbery that lined the road. They were still three miles from Hedge Field but Crickhollow was just over the slopes beyond the shrubs. Still, they were alarmed at the crashing to be heard coming through the shrubs, in their direction no less, and they waited to see what was the cause of the racket.

Mere moments passed before another hobbit emerged from the bushes. This new hobbit, not more than a scrap of a teen, dusted off his waistcoat and looked up from his feet, which were tangled in twigs, just in time to keep from colliding into Fendi. He gasped in surprise to find he had an audience and the four friends gasped to see him here, so far from home and alone.

“Frodo!” Edon exclaimed. “What are you doing out here? Where is your Cousin Esmeralda?”

“She’s home,” the lad replied. He looked pale and his eyes were puffy, but other than that, the young Baggins seemed perfectly intact and unharmed. He stood politely before them and waited, but it did not pass Edon’s attention that Frodo had failed to answer his first question.

“Does she know you’re out here?” Edon asked, trying a different approach.

Frodo nodded. “I’m going to watch the races,” he said. Then after a moment’s pause, he added, “I got lost.”

“Clearly,” Morti said.

The four friends looked at each other, uncertain what to do. They all liked Frodo well enough, for all that he was younger than them. He wasn’t afraid to do the things the older lads did and he was good at pinching things from farmers’ fields. Still, the lad tended to cause trouble and Edon had the distinct impression they were currently being lied to. After all, how could anyone possibly get lost going to Hedge Field? The field was right off the road, at its very end near the High Hay, and was designated by a giant boulder sitting upon its northern edge.

Knowing there would be no point in attempting to wrangle the truth from the lad, Edon said, “You may as well join us then. We’re going to the races also.”

“Oh good!” Frodo exclaimed, so happily and readily that Edon suddenly doubted his assessment. Maybe the lad really had been lost. Still, Frodo was also a good one for acting on the spot. All Edon could do was keep his eye on Frodo and deposit him back at Brandy Hall once the races were over. He would then discover by Esmeralda’s reaction if the lad truly should have been out and about. Just because Esmeralda had a bairn of her own now didn’t make her any less vigilant of Frodo, and she would worry if the lad went missing too long.

The five hobbits made their way down the road. Frodo joined them with ease and soon they were talking adamantly about the games to be had. ‘At least they stopped complaining,’ thought Edon and he smiled at Frodo.

The lad’s enthusiasm was infectious and it was made all the more so for the fact that he was rarely seen in such good spirits. Not until a year before, when Meriadoc had been born, had a smile ever graced Frodo’s lips since he was first brought to live at Brandy Hall. The transformation in the lad had been almost instantaneous, from a glum and reckless teen to a bright-eyed and proud “older brother” to his little cousin. Even so, the lad only seemed to smile when his cousin was around, so seeing him smile now was a treat.

Still, there were times, such as when they first met upon the road, when Frodo seemed to have slipped into his old ways. Edon wasn’t terribly worried about it though. As long as Frodo stayed with them, he wouldn’t get into any trouble. Or at least, not too much trouble.

A half hour later, they came to the field. The High Hay, or the Hedge as most folk called it, loomed tall and grand in the distance, and on the field, upon and around the boulder, were spectators of all ages, though mostly teens and tweens. The lasses wore bonnets or carried parasols to keep the sun from their eyes, and the lads sat in the shade of the boulder, ready to jump up and join the games when they were called. Four lads of about twenty-five years or so were currently racing from one end of the field to another, and the cheering was so loud and riotous that no one noticed the newcomers’ approach.

They joined the other lads sitting upon the ground but were obliged to sit in the sun; they had arrived late and all the best spots were taken. When they were settled and arranged so that they could see what was going on with the races through all the heads in front of them, Edon looked about and found Gil standing near the front of the boulder with his friends, speaking with Fuchsia and her friends.

Fuchsia was a comely lass, who had caught Edon’s eye the moment he had first met her. She had flecks of gold in her dark brown eyes and springy curls of soft saffron that framed her face quite prettily. She’d never had a harsh word for Edon, unlike most other hobbits when he and his family first moved here, and she had been the first of the gentry to welcome him. But that had been long ago and she never looked his way anymore.

Now she sat beneath a pine green parasol, laughing at something Gil said. She nudged him on the shoulder and responded to whatever his comment had been, much to the delight of the crowd standing about listening to their banter. Edon swallowed his jealousy and strained his ears, trying to catch a snatch of Fuchsia’s sweet laughter through the rest of the din. Sed was right; he would humiliate himself running against Gil, and Fuchsia wouldn’t even notice he was there.

“Edon!” Morti called, his tone exasperated. He had been calling Edon for a while.

“What?” Edon asked, snapping his attention back to his friends.

“Which do you think is more likely: being frozen solid in a blizzard or being carried away by a strong wind?”

“Blizzard!” Sed answered.

“Strong wind,” Fendi countered. “I was nearly pushed off the ground once by a strong wind.”

“In this heat, I’d say it’s more likely that we’d melt,” Frodo put in distractedly. He was digging in the dirt, looking at the rocks he found there, and didn’t seem to notice as the others laughed.

“Frodo has it. We’re all going to melt,” Sed agreed.

The current race ended, with a tween from Newbury winning the match. The Bucklebury crowd clapped good-naturedly while the Newbury crowd whistled and hollered. The next heat was again four racers, two from Bucklebury, one from Crickhollow, and one from Bridgefields over the River. The cheering reached a deafening roar as the race neared its end, the two tweens from Bucklebury in a neck-to-neck lead. The race was declared a tie to keep the peace and the next heat was announced: another lad from Newbury, one from Stock, and Gil and Edon.

“Good luck, Ed,” Morti said, and his friends and Frodo echoed the sentiment.

Edon and Gil met at the starting line, which was simply a piece of string fastened to the ground on either end by wooden pegs. A similar string at the other end of the field marked the turn-around point. They greeted the other racers sportingly before turning and regarding each other coldly.

“Hallo Eldon,” Gil greeted, deliberately getting Edon’s name wrong as he always did.

“Good day, Gully,” Edon greeted back, returning the favor.

They did not shake hands as the other racers had and the tension between them was palpable. There was no love between these two racers and everyone knew it. Everyone also knew there was no way Edon could win against Gil. Gil was taller to start, with long legs that moved him forward at a much quicker pace than the younger tween. Still, Edon managed to keep up for the first half of the heat, along with the other racers, but he was using all his reserves, while Gil was merely striding along. On the last half, Gil bolted and left his competition far behind.

After the race, Edon walked back to the boulder, defeated and demoralized, and watched as Fuchsia threw her arms around Gil and kissed him on the cheek.

“Good match, Ed. You only took about twice as long as I figured you would,” Sed teased when Edon, breathing hard and sweating profusely, joined them again.

“You were supposed to be running, Ed, not standing still,” Fendi put in.

“Really, even Frodo could run faster than that,” Morti said. Frodo looked up from his growing pile of rocks at the sound of his name and looked at them in confusion.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Edon said and threw another glance at Fuchsia and Gil, who were still celebrating the latter’s victory. Why had he come here?

An hour later, they were departing the racing field with all the other hobbits in one big clump back down the road. Those going only a short distance walked upon the outside of the road, while those going farther rode on pony-back or in carts down its cents. At Crickhollow, a large group of hobbits veered off and headed north, some heading for their nearby homes, some going further north to Newbury, but the majority remained on the road and continued west.

There was more room to walk now and the crowd shifted as the swifter walkers made their way to the front and the slower walkers stayed behind. Edon and his friends were soon walking near the middle of the group, and had returned to their debate on blizzards and winds, when suddenly from behind them they heard another group approaching, and the unmistakable tones of Gil Banks telling a tall tale.

“It’s true, I tell you,” Gil was saying. “He went into the Old Forest, climbing that very Hedge, and the next thing you know, we can hear this deep groaning, unlike any sound a hobbit can make. The next moment after that, Tim was screaming for mercy. We tried to get to him, but it was no good. The Hedge was too high, and by the time we reached the top, his screams had stopped. We looked and looked for him, but never a trace of him was to be found. He was eaten by the trees, I tell you.”

“How horrible!” Fuchsia exclaimed as Gil’s group surrounded and started bypassing Edon’s. Gil walked by Edon so closely that he knocked the younger tween in the shoulder – hard.

Gil turned then and looked surprised to see Edon standing there. He stopped to regard the younger tween. “I’m sorry. Didn’t see you,” he said curtly.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Edon muttered, glaring up at Gil.

“You know, Eldon, I don’t know who taught you to run, but you are actually supposed to pick up your legs and move them faster than normal walking speed,” Gil continued. “In case you didn’t know.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Gil and his friends continued on their way then, and Edon refrained from rubbing his shoulder. Morti, Fendi and Sed glared at the older tween but knew better than to speak up against him; a riled Gil was a force best not reckoned with. They were more than willing to let Gil and his friends gain a lead on them, but suddenly at Edon’s left side, a small voice was heard saying, “That isn’t true, about the Forest.”

Everyone stopped and looked down at Frodo; they had forgotten he was even there. Frodo came forward to stand slightly in front of Edon and he looked up at Gil with unwavering azure eyes. Gil glanced down at the teen, a look of amusement in his eyes. “Are you saying I’m lying?”

“I’m saying it isn’t true,” Frodo said.

“So you were there I suppose,” Gil said, still amused. “That’s how you know it isn’t true, is that it?”

“I wasn’t there, but I do know you’re afraid of heights,” Frodo said. “You wouldn’t have climbed the Hedge.”

Morti and Fendi snickered at this, as did some of Gil’s friends, but Sed and Edon look horrified. Edon grabbed Frodo by the shoulder and pulled him to stand at his side once more. Gil, who had thus far taken Frodo’s interruption good-naturedly, now narrowed his eyes at the teen. “As if I’m going to let my fears get in the way of helping my friends,” Gil said. “I, unlike some others I could name, actually care about my friends.”

“You would have helped him better by not letting him climb the Hedge in the first place then, or so it sounds to me,” Frodo persisted. He crossed his arms in front of him and looked up unblinking at Gil.

Gil laughed, then leaned down so he was eye-level with the teen. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t know any better, seeing as you have no friends,” he said. “But I did go into the Old Forest, boy, at night, which is more than could be said for you. Everyone knows you’re afraid of your own shadow, waking up at nights screaming like a faunt in the dark. Everyone can hear you, you know. You have about as much courage as Eldon does speed.”

“Gil, leave him alone,” Fuchsia said disapprovingly and pulled on Gil’s arm, turning the tween around. “He’s just a child. Let’s go.”

“Sorry, sprout,” Gil said, then the group started walking again and were soon far ahead of them, laughing and talking as though nothing had happened.

“You shouldn’t have done that Frodo,” Edon said. “Gil won’t forget the humiliation soon.”

Frodo shrugged. “He was rude to you,” he said in answer, his voice soft and tight.

“I appreciate the concern, Frodo, but let me worry about Gil in the future,” Edon said.

They started walking again and soon the four friends were once more debating the fierceness of snow and wind. Frodo dropped out of the conversation, as he did more times than not. If anyone had taken care to notice, they would have seen his pensive expression and the tense set of his shoulders. They would have seen him looking back over his shoulder, back toward the High Hay, now far behind them and no longer visible. They would have seen him play anxiously with the rocks in his pockets and shuffle his feet through the dirt. But they were concerned only with reaching Brandy Hall, and they were wrapped up in their own affairs.

When they arrived at Brandy Hall, Frodo left them quickly, dashing off in the direction of his cousins’ apartment. Edon let the lad go. There was no point now making sure he was brought to Mistress Esmeralda, as that was clearly where the lad was heading, and whether Frodo really was supposed to be at the races or not, his guardian would have everything in hand as soon as he walked into the apartment.

Edon and Sed followed their friends to the dining hall and soon forgot about the long, hot, miserable day as they were served tea.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 2 – Memories Stir

Frodo dashed through the tunnels, unaware that Edon watched after him as he rounded the corner. He knew only that he needed to get to his room as soon as he could. He didn’t trust himself to maintain control of his emotions for too much longer. The walk from Hedge Field had been long and slow in the company of his companions.

He had hid well how upset Gil’s words had made him, simply because Edon and his friends didn’t know him very well for all that they spent time together. However, he would need to gain control of himself before he entered his Cousin Esmeralda’s apartment, at least long enough to get him to his room. His guardian would notice immediately that he was in a dark mood and he did not want to explain why. If necessary, he would feign tiredness from his excursion to Hedge Field and excuse himself to his room until dinner.

He stopped outside the apartment door, took a deep calming breath that did little to calm him, and went inside. The windows were open to the nonexistent breeze and the parlor was filled with the smell of the afternoon tea brought in from the kitchens. The sun filled the room with soft yellow light and the roses out in the garden were being visited by many birds. It was a sight that always brought warmth to Frodo, but today it only made the heat less bothersome.

Esmeralda was nowhere to be seen but she could be heard in the nursery, cooing to the bairn. A hint of a smile touched Frodo’s lips as he thought of the bairn, his little Merry. He softly tiptoed to the nursery and peeked inside to find Esmeralda changing the bairn’s soiled napkin for a clean one, speaking bairn talk as she did so. The nursemaid, Scarlet, was off duty on Highday afternoons, so Esme had the bairn all to herself.

Frodo watched them in silence, not wishing to disturb them. He watched as Esmeralda finished changing the napkin and tickled the bottom of Merry’s feet, causing the bairn to kick and gurgle in delight. Merry waved his short, chubby arms with excitement and peeled with laughter each time Esme renewed her attack on his feet. He watched as Esme wrinkled her nose at the soiled napkin and deposited it into the lidded hamper, watched the way Merry’s eyes followed her about the room as he suckled on a closed fist and continued to kick his feet, silently asking for more play.

Typically, Frodo would have gone in to join them and help with the bairn in any way he could. He loved helping with the bairn, and holding his cousin and seeing those gleeful grey eyes looking back at him was the only time he ever felt truly at peace. If he were lucky, he would get to hold Merry and burp him after Esme finished nursing him. Sometimes, Merry would even fall asleep, and Esme would sing to them both as the bairn drifted off to untroubled dreams. Esme had a lovely voice, and with her Tookish accent, Frodo could close his eyes and pretend he was somewhere far from Buckland and Brandy Hall.

This time, however, he remained in the doorway, watching from a distance, a pang of longing gripping his heart. He would never begrudge his little cousin the security and comfort of his parents. He would never wish upon Merry any of the heartache he’d had to endure. He would never wish that upon anyone.

Still, the image of Esmeralda coddling her child, come so soon after Gil’s careless words, pierced through him in a way he couldn’t explain. Screaming like a faunt in the dark. Gil could not begin to guess what images those words evoked, what Frodo dreamt when he would wake in such a state and could not be comforted or cajoled. All the same, those words only served to remind Frodo of what he had lost and would never have again. Despite the happy scene before him, he found himself nearly crying as the old wound, which had never truly healed, reopened in his heart.

Esmeralda and Saradoc tried as best they could, but they could not begin to replace his parents and Frodo could never feel completely at home here. In a small, shut away corner of his mind, he understood that this was all temporary, that he would not remain here long. He could not explain how he knew it, anymore than he could explain why the sun always rose in the east, but he knew it undoubtedly. He could not begin to understand what it meant. All he knew was he could never believe his guardians when they told him this was his home, for he knew this wasn’t where he belonged. What he didn’t know was where he did belong. In a way, he envied Merry, who would never have to doubt his place in his parents’ lives, but he feared for the bairn as well.

The nightmares had started when Esme first announced she was with child. Back then, the fear had been that something would happen to the bairn, that both the bairn and Esmeralda would be lost somehow, that he would wake up late one night and find Esme dead, the bed sheets stained in blood and Saradoc pacing numbly in the corner of the room. He could not sleep for the fear and would sneak into his guardians’ bedchamber each night to watch Esme as she slept until the bairn was finally born. No amount of reassurance from Sara or Esme could settle his nerves and he watched Esme constantly, day and night, for the slightest sign of fatigue or illness.

Now, he worried constantly that something would happen to both Esme and Sara that would take them away from Merry. He knew, unequivocally, that unexpected things happened all the time, without any warning. There was a constant fretting at the back of his mind, and he was forever on the lookout for signs of danger or tragedy. If Sara did not come back from his duties on time for dinner, or if Esme suddenly needed to take a nap in the middle of the day, or even if Merry came down with a fever, all these events spelled certain doom for Frodo.

He kept his fears to himself as much as he could, knowing already what his cousins would say, knowing by heart their empty promises. ‘We’re not going anywhere.’ ‘We’ll be here no matter what happens.’ Those words meant nothing to Frodo, only that his guardians didn’t understand how truly dangerous life can be, how quickly one could be left to make their way alone in the world. He didn’t want that to happen to Merry. For all the joy that Merry brought him, he spent even more of the sleepless nights in fear than he had before the bairn’s birth.

Frodo felt the warmth drain from his face as a sudden, horrible thought occurred to him. Surely, his conviction that his time living here would be short did not mean that something would happen to Esme and Sara. Did it?

Frodo backed away from the doorway and retreated to his room before Esme noticed him. He closed his bedchamber door softly and plopped onto the bed. He drew his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his forehead on his knees, hiding his face.

The day had started out so promising, but now he was wishing it would end quickly. He had gone out with Saradoc on his rounds of the local farms, and had returned in time for his studies with Uncle Dino. Then he had helped Scarlet and Esme fold the bairn’s clothes – Merry had a lot for such a little thing – and had been rewarded with a few hours of playtime.

He had decided to go to the races, which gave him the excuse to sidetrack to Crickhollow and visit the hidden smial – his smial, the one he and his parents were to move into, had his parents not drowned. He had not spent long there; he had begun sneezing as soon as he entered the dank, musty hole and had to leave it quickly. Then he had run into Edon and his group, and they were nice enough to let him tag along; Edon could always be counted on for his kindness.

Then there was Gil.

Gil usually left Frodo alone, ignored him more accurately. When he did pay Frodo any mind at all, it was to relay a message from Esme or Sara, or Frodo’s Aunt Asphodel or Uncle Dinodas. Once he had even delivered a summons from Master Rorimac. Gil had actually spared a moment then to ask how Frodo’s day was going, though he had not waited for an answer. Frodo supposed a lad of Gil’s age and position had more important things to do than play post messenger to a wayward teen, but for all his briskness, Gil had never been cruel or mean. Until now.

Now, Frodo had spoken against Gil, for no other reason than Gil had nudged and teased Edon. Why had Frodo felt compelled to defend Edon, who could easily stand up for himself?

Frodo replayed Gil’s words in his mind. They still stung sharply and he flinched as he remembered them. It was true that he had no real friends, not like he’d had while living in Bucklebury with his parents. He still saw those friends occasionally when he went into town with Esmeralda, but more often than not, his time was spent with Merry in the Hall, or hiding in one of his numerous retreats. He tended to shy away from larger groups now, and his friends in Bucklebury always traveled in a large crowd.

Did that make him a coward then, as Gil had said? He had been truly relieved when he walked into Fendi, and Edon invited him to join them to Hedge Field; he didn’t think he could have come so close to the High Hay if he had gone by himself, and the crowd gathered there had been quite intimidating. The Forest itself had been quiet and still behind the Hedge, but Frodo could all but feel the menace pouring out of it, making him want to bolt and hide far away. So he was a coward then, and everyone knew it seemingly, as they knew about his dreams.

That was the harshest taunt, the mention of his nightmares. Gil might not have known it, but those nightmares more often than not were of his parents, or of his darkest fears. Just over three years had passed since their drowning, but it seemed more like an age of the world since that cold Astron afternoon. Yet at the same time, he could remember everything with perfect clarity, as if he were still in that awful moment of first discovering that his life was forever changed. …  

Aunt Asphodel and Aunt Amaranth were standing in the parlor of Asphodel’s apartment, whispering tightly to each other. Their eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and Amaranth still had wet streaks of tears running down her cheeks. She was clutching a handkerchief in her white-knuckled hand and she was trembling as she tried to regain control. Asphodel was focusing on her sister and didn’t notice Frodo standing in the room until the child spoke.  

“Aunt Amaranth, what’s wrong?” Frodo asked, and instantly both sisters tensed and stilled.  

Ami stifled a cry and turned toward the door and Del visibly collected herself before turning to her nephew. “Nothing’s the matter, dearest,” she said, her voice too cheerful and horribly forced, her smile tight and false. “Why don’t you go into the sitting room and have what’s left of luncheon while my sister and I speak?”  

“Yes, Aunt Asphodel,” Frodo said and walked out of the room. However, he did not go to the sitting room. He stayed behind the wall and listened. He knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but he had to know what was happening. He had never seen either of his aunts express sorrow before, much less cry, so he knew something awful must have happened.  

“Oh Ami,” Del said when she thought Frodo was out of earshot. Her voice was distressed now too and she sounded close to crying herself. “How do I tell him? What do I do? He’s already asked once why Prima and Drogo are so late in fetching him.”  

A cold chill ran up Frodo’s spine and came to a tingling stop at the base of his skull. His heart raced and his breath came shallow. Had something happened to his parents?  

“I don’t know, Del. Let’s just wait until Rory gets back. We don’t know for certain yet that it was them,” Ami said without conviction.  

“It was Drogo’s boat they found washed ashore. Who else could it be?” Del whispered and sobbed anew. “How do I tell him? What do I say?”  

Now Frodo’s knees were trembling and weak. He leaned against the wall for support as his stomach turned into knots and the blood drained from his face. His father’s boat had been found? What did that mean? Why would that cause such tearful reactions and why wouldn’t they want to tell him about it?  

“I always said boats were tricky things, and they’d come to a bad end,” Amaranth said, her voice teary again. “Oh, but Del, I didn’t mean it!”  

“Hush, love, I know. They know,” Del said, and Frodo could hear the brush of fabric as the sisters embraced.  

Frodo could take it no longer. He had to find his parents and find out what was going on. If his father had lost his boat and found it again, then that meant his parents were by the River somewhere. He would find them and ask them how they lost the boat and if that was why they hadn’t come at second breakfast to retrieve him and take him home.  

Frodo tiptoed silently down the tunnel to the sitting room. There was another door there, the servants’ door, and it led to the tunnels of Brandy Hall. He opened the door and slipped outside, then broke into a frantic run. He was outside the Hall and headed for the river before his aunts even realized he was missing.  

“Frodo?” Esmeralda’s concerned voice called. She placed her hand into his curls and waited for him to raise his head. At the sight of his unshed tears, she quickly moved Merry from her shoulder to the crook of her left arm. She sat upon the bed and drew Frodo into her right side. “What’s the matter, dearest?”

Frodo could only shake his head. If he told Esme what was bothering him, she would only fuss more. She would feel guilty as well, for not being able to help Frodo with his sorrows. “…waking up crying…” Should Frodo no longer be haunted by that day? Should he have accepted it and moved on by now? Hadn’t he accepted it? He thought he had, but perhaps that was what the nightmares meant – that he had not.

“Frodo-lad, do you want to talk about it?”

Again, Frodo shook his head. He bit back the tears and quieted his sniffles with slow, deep breaths. He would cry later, at night when he would not disturb anyone. Now, he needed to be good so as not to worry his guardian or the bairn.

Little Merry was staring up at him in perplexity as he sucked on his tiny fist, slobbering down his arm. Frodo managed a smile and Merry gurgled around his fist, creating air bubbles in the drool. He reached out for Frodo. “Ffffffbababada,” he gurgled happily.

Esme sighed. “Well, if you’re certain you’re all right,” she stated warily and waited for Frodo to nod. “Come into the parlor then and have your tea before it gets too cold.”

She kept her arm around Frodo until he was standing firmly on his feet. Then she shifted the bairn back to her shoulder and led the way to the parlor. She sat Merry in his playpen and sat next to Frodo on the settee and served him his meal. She kept a sharp eye on Frodo throughout the meal, but the lad showed no more signs of distress, being now completely absorbed in his little cousin.

She would never get any answers from Frodo now and she knew it. Though she tried again to discover what had caused Frodo to cry, he would only say that it didn’t matter anymore and not to worry about it. By the time Saradoc returned from his duties, Frodo was lavishing attention on the bairn and for all appearances seemed perfectly fine. He ate with his usual appetite, and even took his bath at his normal hour, coming immediately when Esme knocked upon the door.

In the end, Esmeralda let it go.  

The sun was sinking close to the horizon by the time Edon and Sed parted ways with Fendi and Morti. The cousins lived in the Hall, but the brothers lived down Bucklebury Road, a mile south of town, and they would have to walk quickly to make it home before supper.

They saw the cousins to their quarters, then turned about and made their way through the labyrinth of tunnels to the South Door. A left turn, a right turn, a handful of lefts, followed by a few more rights, a long run straight down the central tunnel, another right… They had traveled the path so many times over the years, they no longer had to think. Their feet led them as they chatted about their day and wondered what their mother and sisters were making for supper.

At last, they reached the South Parlor and were halfway through the room when a voice spoke from a nearby chair.

“Hallo Swiftfoot.”

The brothers knew that voice and they halted as Gil stood up. Sed fisted his hands, but Edon remained calm, if a bit annoyed. “Evening, Trotter,” he greeted back. “Where’s your entourage?”

“I saw Fuchsia to her apartment already,” Gil answered, knowing exactly what Edon meant. Edon blushed slightly but held his ground.

“Let’s go, Edon,” Sed prompted and started to leave. He looked back when his brother did not follow. “Edon. Ma will be waiting.”

“Go on ahead,” Edon said and shot his brother a look that would not be argued with.

Sed sighed and made a quick survey around the room. He was glad to see a few other hobbits about at the other end. Whatever confrontation his brother and Gil were about to have, it would remain mild and civil at least. “I’ll wait outside,” he said and stepped out the door.

“What do you want?” Edon turned to Gil when the door closed behind his brother.

“Nothing. I was just saying hello,” Gil answered and tilted his head at the younger lad. “Can’t I even say hello to you anymore?”

“Well, there’s something I want to speak to you about,” Edon said, undaunted. “Your behavior this afternoon was atrocious.”

“Yes, I know,” Gil admitted regrettably. “What about your behavior?”

“What about mine?”

Gil sighed as if his patience has long been tested. “You don’t get it; you never have. You want to impress her? You want to make her take notice of you? You want to steal her from me? Well, it’s never going to happen, not the way you’re going about it. You are the one who should have come to Frodo’s defense this afternoon, not her. But you did nothing, just as you always do.”

“Is that what that was about?” Edon asked, appalled. “You insulted Frodo just to get my ire?”

“It was bad judgment on my part, I admit. I shouldn’t have put him into the middle of all this, but it did remind me why we stopped being friends in the first place,” Gil replied. “I will do whatever it takes to defend a friend, while you just stand there and say nothing.”

“You can insult me, ridicule me as much as you wish, but you owe Frodo an apology. A real apology,” Edon said, not baited. “What you said this afternoon hurt him.”

“I’ll apologize in the morning, no worries,” Gil said.

“No, you don’t have any worries, do you?” Edon shot back. “You want to know the real reason why we stopped being friends? It’s because you are the most selfish hobbit I’ve ever known, and you only look out for yourself. Those few times when you supposedly came to your friends’ aid were really just to make you look good in front of her, and if that’s the kind of shallow and self-centered lad she wants, you can have her.”

Gil laughed and looked impressed. “Good show,” he said. “I almost believed that.”

“I’m not putting on airs.”

“Is that so? We’ll see how long it is then before I catch you staring at my lass again,” Gil said and smirked. “You’ve been in love with her since you moved here. Your desire for her is in your blood, but she’s in my arms and that kills you, doesn’t it? Do you really think they all believe you?”

Edon swallowed the anger boiling inside him and relaxed his hands, which he now realized he too had balled into fists. “This is about Frodo and how you treated him this afternoon, nothing else.”

“I said I would apologize,” Gil said. “I know I was acting out of line. I don’t need you, of all hobbits, to teach me proper decorum.”

“Then apologize right now,” Edon said but Gil didn’t move.

“I’ll go in the morning,” Gil repeated. “If I apologize now, before he’s had a chance to calm down, he won’t hear a word I say.”

Now it was Edon’s turn to smirk, but he did so with disgust. “Oh, I see now. If you go in the morning, there’s the chance that Fuchsia will emerge from her apartment down the tunnel while you’re about it and see you. I’m sorry. I was clearly out of line myself when I called you selfish. You are a good friend, and more’s the pity to me for letting you go.”

Edon turned away then, but he did not get far before Gil’s voice rose to stop him again. “My, but you are the noble one. Edon the Stout-hearted. You're fooling even yourself with this act, aren't you? Yet you seem to be overlooking the fact that you choose now, five hours too late, to grow a spine. This is quite a habit of yours. Do your current friends know how lucky they are in having you at their side? And then you call me selfish. Is it selfish of me to want to please her? To want her to be happy? What does it matter if everything I do is for her? And yet, you only want her because it will make you happy. So who’s the selfish one? Oh, and Edon… I let you go.”

Edon did not respond, but stalked out the door, leaving Gil to stand there on his own. Edon stormed past his brother, who jumped up from his perch on the stoop and ran after him. They didn’t say anything until they were on the Road and the Hall and Buck Hill had disappeared behind them. Then Edon stopped before a tree and ran his fist into the bole, splitting the skin over his knuckles.

“Now Ma will have words for you,” Sed warned, but Edon ignored him. His anger now drained, he picked up the pace again and continued down the Road as though nothing had happened.
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 3 – An Unexpected Request

The day started early for Edon and Sed. They woke before the sun and joined their sisters in the cool morning air to check the vines, as was their errand. There was no threat of frost during the dry summer months, so they went down row after row of heavy vines and sweet smelling nectar, checking for pests and the general state of things. The grapes were growing heavy and plump already, and this crop would be ready for harvesting soon. Their father would be pleased with this news.

Once all the vines were checked, and any pests dislodged, they went in for first breakfast and discussed their plans for the day. All the children had their studies, then the lasses would be going into town with their mother to look at yarn and ribbons for a sewing project, and their father was to meet with some of the other vineyard owners to discuss plans for the annual wine-tasting that was coming up soon. The lads would be going back out to Hedge Field. Fendi and Morti would meet them there, and together they would go to the Hay Gate. For the Gate was opening today and everyone was going to be there.  

Saradoc sat in his study, going over the ledgers and accounts for the week. Today was Sterday, and he was expected to give report to his father on the progress of the crop yields after second breakfast. He was tallying the expected yields for the barley and wheat fields when a light knock sounded on the door. He looked up just in time to see Frodo peek his head through the doorway.

“Come in, lad,” Sara said with a smile and waved Frodo inside. “Esme tells me you went to the races yesterday. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yes Cousin,” Frodo said and slipped into the room.

He lingered uncertainly by the door, shuffling his feet and looking about the room. He didn’t often come in here and he never felt comfortable sitting until being told to do so. Knowing this, Sara waved him inside again and patted a chair that sat close to his own. “Have a seat, my lad.”

Frodo moved to follow the order and settled into the large wooden chair. He continued glancing about the room, never meeting Saradoc’s puzzled gaze.

“I’m glad to hear you had fun,” Saradoc continued now. “Did you go alone?”

“I went with Cousins Fendi and Morti, and their friends Edon and Sed.”

Saradoc hummed at this. While he didn’t like to discourage Frodo from socializing – the lad too often kept to himself – he wished that Frodo would find more respectable lads to run about with. The last time Frodo had been found in their company, they had been snatching pies set out to cool on windowsills, upsetting quite a few hard-working mothers with their antics.

“I hope you did not get too much sun,” was all that he said. “You seem a bit flushed,” he added, his curiosity mounting. What could Frodo possibly want?

Frodo shook his head and bit his bottom lip. “I got as much as sun as I could stand,” he said and fidgeted with the chair arm. Finally, he took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I was wondering if I could race next year. Esme said you used to race and you were the fastest hobbit ever. I’d like to try to be as good as you.” Then he clamped his mouth shut and looked up at Saradoc expectantly.

Sara gaped at Frodo in delighted surprise. Frodo didn’t often show an interest in anything outside his reading and little Merry. Perhaps the lad had just needed time to adjust, and was now ready to come out of his shell.

“Of course you can race next year!” Sara exclaimed. “You’ll be old enough by then, and it’ll be a wonderful opportunity for you to meet some other lads closer to your own age.”

“I was wondering if I could go back out to Hedge Field to start practicing.”

“It’s never too early to start. If you can wait until after luncheon, I’d be glad to take you out and give you some pointers,” Saradoc offered. He needed to go out that way anyway, what with the Gate opening up. His brother would be there currently, supervising things, but Merimac had other business to attend to today, and their father didn’t like the Gate to be unattended when it was opened. There would be a gap of an hour or two when no Brandybuck would be about to keep order, but with the bounders on duty, that shouldn’t be much of a worry.

Frodo bit his lower lip and fidgeted with the items in his pockets. “I’d like to go out right now, if I may.”

“I will meet you there, then, but you are to go straight there and stay there.”

Frodo nodded and smiled shyly. He waited for the instructions he could see were coming.

“Take plenty of water with you, as it will be hot again today. If you start to feel overheated, get under shade immediately; don’t attempt to walk back here. I’ll be there as soon as I am able.”

Frodo nodded again, and hopped off the chair. He turned and hurriedly left the room. When he reached the hall, he leaned against the wall and let out a steadying breath. Then he picked himself up, dashed for the door, called farewell to Esme and Merry, and left.

Saradoc smiled after his cousin as Frodo left the room. He went back to his paperwork, his spirits high, feeling confident for the first time since his young cousin moved in almost two years before that Frodo living with them would work out after all.  

Not more than a minute passed before a knock sounded on the door. Esme tucked Merry into the crook of her arm and went to answer the call, muttering about who could it be so early in the morning; Scarlet wasn’t due to report for work until another hour. She opened the door and found Gil standing in the tunnel. She regarded him cautiously.

“Yes, Gil? What’s the matter, lad?”

“Nothing at all, Cousin, or at least, I’m hoping so. I was just wondering if Frodo is about? I need to speak with him,” Gil said.

“I’m afraid you’ve just missed him,” Esme said. “What is this about?”

“I’m most sorry, Esme,” Gil said, with a self-conscious duck of his head. “I’m afraid I said some things to Frodo yesterday, out of my turn. I was having words with Edon Brockhouse, as lads will do at times, and Frodo rather got himself into the middle of it. In my haste, I directed some words towards the lad that would have been best held back for Edon himself.”

“Or best not spoken at all if they did not have kind intention,” Esme couldn’t help but scold as she remembered Frodo’s tearful face from the day before. “Frodo was quite upset yesterday when he returned home. What exactly did you say to him?”

“I called him cowardly and a bairn,” Gil said. “I make no excuse, just beg apology.”

“That will be Frodo’s to give,” Esme said, her temper seething as her motherly instincts flared up. She bounced Merry on her hip, to remind herself not to get too upset, then let into Gil without mercy anyway. “You’ve a lot of nerve, Madagilus Banks, to say such words and untruths to my cousin. I don’t know what it is between you and this Edon lad, but you’d best not get Frodo in the middle of it again. If you two lads cannot conduct yourselves accordingly, then I suggest you both leave each other well enough alone from here on out. If you have any further such contacts with Frodo, you will be on your way to the Master before you know what’s to, and if he doesn’t take you over his knee and strap you good for your childish behavior, you can consider yourself lucky.”

“Yes, Cousin,” Gil said, accepting the scold without protest.

Esmeralda took several deep breaths to calm herself down. The bairn was whimpering, upset with his mother’s outburst, and she cooed at him reassuringly. When she spoke again, her voice was gentler, but still hard with steel. “Frodo will be back by afternoon tea. I expect to see you here at that time as well. I will also be speaking with your mother.”

Gil flinched slightly now and nodded. “Yes’m.”

Esme shook her head at him. “You’ve been doing so well, too. Good day, Gil.”

Gil backed away with a bow and left. Esme closed the door, harder than she ought. Merry was fussing now, still feeling his mother’s ire, and Esme found herself shaking with anger. She sought out Sara, knowing her husband would be wondering what the arguing had been about and needing to hand Merry over for a few moments until she was calm enough to handle him again.

Gil turned the corner, trying not to feel bitter at Esmeralda’s disappointment, and found Fuchsia leaning against the doorjamb of her family’s apartment. She shook her head at him, no sympathy in her eyes, just as he had expected. “You deserved that, you know,” she said, then stepped back inside and closed the door.

“You look lovely today,” Gil called through the door, then puffed out his frustration and continued on his way. He wouldn’t be walking in hand with her today, that much was certain.  

Frodo dashed down the tunnels of Brandy Hall, in his haste forgetting to stop at the kitchens for a water skin or even a basket of food. He needed to get to Hedge Field before he could change his mind. He had thought long and hard the previous night and he had come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t let his fears get the better of him anymore. He was getting older now, and had Merry to think about. Spending a few hours alone near the High Hay would be a good start to overcoming his fears, to his way of thinking.  

Twice a year, the Hay Gate was opened to allow the gardeners to tend the eastern side of the High Hay, the large hedge that protected the eastern border of Buckland from the Old Forest and all else from Outside. As the gardeners hacked away tirelessly in shifts from sun up to sun down, bounders stood guard, ready to shout a warning should the trees become restless and to light the bonfires that stood ready for the fuel of the torches that stood ablaze near at hand. The trees generally behaved themselves though, and the job of guarding the forest was often considered an easy week’s work. Every bounder secretly hoped he would be picked for the job and the ones that weren’t picked crossed their fingers for next time.

Hob Hayward was the first bounder on guard this first day. He spent much of the morning following Merimac about and being instructed on what needed doing. The gardeners knew their business and worked without instruction, but as the bounders rotated each time, they needed to be briefed on their duties. After going over the particulars about keeping the torches lit and bonfire logs well-oiled, Merimac pointed toward the open gate, hidden underground beneath the thick wall of the Hedge.

“Tweens will come here and try to get in,” Mac said. “Be on your guard and let none pass. I doubt any will get near enough to actually attempt it however; fear of the Forest is enough to keep them from getting very close. However, one bounder should be stationed at the Gate at all times, to shout a warning should they get too close. The only hobbits I want coming through the gate are the other workers.”

“Of course, Mr. Mac,” Hob said. “I’ll keep me eyes peeled on that, as well as everything else, and I’ll tell the other bounders as they get here.”

“They should be arriving shortly,” Mac said, then went to check on the gardeners, to make sure they had all they needed.

Hob went about his business, going over everything again in his head to make sure he had it all straight. Then when the other three bounders arrived, he went over everything again. One bounder was put in charge of watching the tunnel and the Gate, and the rest fanned out to cover the line of gardeners working on the Hedge.

The morning passed slowly and quietly, and the trees stood still.  

Edon and Sed reached Hedge Field first and sat in the shade of the boulder to await their friends. Edon scratched absently at the bandage wrapped around his hand and slowly unwound the itchy cloth. He flexed his fingers, the skin smarting tightly around the wounds. He was pleased to see that the cuts were already scabbed and healing. Tucking the bandage into his trouser pocket, he looked over at his brother. “How long’ll we have to wait, you wonder?”

“We said by elevenses,” Sed pointed out. “They better have remembered the food.”

“They’ll remember; no fear of that.”

“No, the fear is they’ll eat it before they get here,” Sed said knowingly. He and Edon laughed at the thought.

“I brought some muffins, just in case,” Edon said.

They sat in silence, listening to the breeze and watching the long grass bob and sway with the wind. Edon closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun, which was still slightly behind them. He basked in the serenity around him and for a moment forgot that he was sitting at the far end of Buckland, forgot to miss home, his true home, and simpler times.

Next to him, Sed was counting on his fingers, his lips moving as he silently went over numbers in his head. Edon knew without asking what his brother was doing: Sed was determining how much wine they’d be able to make this year, and how much profit they would make from it. Sed could never stop thinking about the vineyard for too long, especially when it was quiet. Edon also thought about the vineyard at such times, but he kept it from his mind now, allowing himself to forgot all responsibilities in this one moment of tranquility, before turning his thoughts to the Hay Gate.

Like most other tweens, they always went to the Hay Gate on opening day to see the turnout and to see who would attempt to get past the bounders at the Gate. Not that any of the tweens really wanted to succeed into getting past the bounder, nor did they wish to go any nearer the Old Forest than the Hedge would permit. But if they at least attempted, then they were thought of as brave and impressive, and could use that admiration to their advantage for a long while.

Legend had it that long ago in the summer of 1256, Hildigard Took, while visiting from Tookland, actually made it past the bounders and even dared to go into the forest itself. He was inside the forest for a full ten minutes before he was found and pulled back out. He was given great praise by his fellow tweens for his daring and great reprimand by his parents. Then, a year later, on the anniversary of his run into the Forest, he was at Great Smials eating his second breakfast when he suddenly clutched at his chest and fell over dead. Most hobbits claimed it was a poor heart that had plagued Hildigard his whole life, but many thought it was a curse of going into the Old Forest. Only the oddest of the Brandybucks ever went into the forest now, for whatever reason they saw need to do so, but no one else dared to attempt it.

The tale added a dangerously exciting air to the Gate Opening, as did the rumors that the Forest was prowled by wolves and goblins, and other unsavory creatures. Tweens would come from all over Buckland to stand in chilled awe of the Gate and the forest beyond. Dares were tossed about half-seriously and bets were made to see who would actually attempt to go near the Gate. Only a handful actually attempted it, and they inevitably stopped dead in their tracks and turned about before they even reached the shadow of the Hedge.

After waiting for many long minutes, Edon nudged Sed and pointed at the road. Many tweens, as well as a few of the older teens, had passed by, but now a hobbit came that they had not expected to see at all. For the second time in as many days, Frodo surprised the brothers with his very presence, and they watched as the lad turned off the road and came in their direction.

“Morning, Frodo,” the brothers intoned.

“Good day,” Frodo greeted. He came to a stop before them and lifted his hand to shield his eyes as he squinted down at them. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re waiting for Fendi and Morti. You?” Sed asked.

“I’ve decided I’m going to join the annual races next year. I’m here to practice running,” Frodo answered and sat down in the shade.

Edon and Sed shared a quick glance and Sed shrugged. “Practice makes perfect,” Edon supplied, “but you know, Frodo, most lads don’t start training until the end of spring, if they’re going to train at all.”

“It’s not really anything as serious as all that,” Sed added.

“Oh.” Frodo bit his lower lip and dragged his fingers through the dirt at the base of the boulder. Why hadn’t Saradoc mentioned that to him? “It’s just, I’ve never raced before. I want to be prepared,” he said, trying not to feel too foolish.

“You’ll certainly be prepared if you start practicing now,” Edon said kindly. “Maybe I should start training up now, too. I might actually beat Gil next year if I do.”

Sed snorted, letting his brother know what a ridiculous wish he thought that was. Frodo had quickly grown lost in digging for rocks again, as he had the day before, but now he looked up. “Why do you two fight?” he asked, in a flippant and distracted manner that made the question seem unimportant and harmless.

“That’s a long answer,” was all that Edon would say.

“It is because of that lass you both favor?”

Edon and Sed quirked their eyebrows at Frodo. For someone who never paid any attention to anything going on around him, he certainly knew a great deal. Perhaps he wasn’t always as distracted as he let on.

“Part of it is because of her,” Edon answered. “The rest is simply that he’s a horrible friend. He betrayed me.”

Frodo nodded, as if he had expected just such an answer, and let the matter drop. Sed further distracted him by saying, “You know, if you’re really keen on getting started with your training, why don’t you come with us to the Gate Opening? There’s nothing better than the Old Forest for making a hobbit run fast.”

Frodo made no answer to this, but became intensely interested in a fat, black spider crawling through the grass. He played with it, blocking its path and trying to get it to crawl onto his hand or an offered blade of grass, to little avail. The spider continued to side-step him and maintain its path.

At long last, they heard Fendi and Morti approaching. The cousins called over the field to them and the brothers stood to join them. They were about to say farewell to Frodo when the teen stood also and squinted up at them. “I’ll come,” he stated simply.

“You don’t have to,” Edon said.

“I was only joking, Frodo,” Sed said.

“I know, but I’m coming. Only, I have to be back here in an hour. Cousin Sara is coming to help me train.”

Edon shrugged. “As long as you’re certain,” he said and stepped toward the road.

The three hobbits approached the two cousins standing on the road. Frodo followed at a slower pace and soon trailed behind the others, but his gait was sure and determined. If he could face the Hedge, then he could face the Forest as well. Just before they reached the road though, Frodo called out, “Edon, wait.”

Edon stopped and turned back to Frodo. “Have you changed your mind? It’s all right if you do. I did the same my first attempt out.”

“No, it’s not that,” Frodo said, though he was thankful for the admission. He came up next to Edon and lowered his voice so that no one else could hear him. “Do you know Piper Redleaf of Bucklebury?”

“I do. Why?”

“The whole time you were watching Fuchsia Brownlock yesterday, Piper was watching you. She likes you.” Frodo didn’t wait for Edon’s stunned reaction, but continued on to the road, leaving Edon gaping where he stood.

“Are you coming or not?” Fendi finally called at him with a laugh and the friends continued on their way. Edon shook himself out of his shock and ran after them, not sure at all what to make of Frodo’s news.
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 4 – The Gate Is Open

They reached the Gate in a few short minutes, and joined the group of tweens standing in a crowd a quarter-mile from the Hedge. Frodo edged close to Edon and grabbed tight to the older lad’s shirttails, and the other lads huddled closer together as well. They joined the back of the crowd, grateful for the extra distance between them and the hidden entrance.

“Has anyone tried to get near it yet?” Morti asked in hushed tones to a lass just in front of them.

“Not yet,” she whispered back.

The minutes passed in excited silence, as lads and lasses nudged each other toward the Hedge, no one budging an inch from their spot. Frodo began to relax. He let go of Edon’s shirt and looked about the crowd with interest. He recognized only a few of the tweens from Brandy Hall and Buck Hill, and a handful from Bucklebury. The rest must be from Newbury, Crickhollow and other nearby settlements and towns. Many of them were giving Frodo curious and impressed looks; he was easily the youngest hobbit there. Frodo didn’t notice this however.

Morti and Fendi pulled out their sacks of food and passed them about. The friends ate standing, nibbling on bread and cheese, apples and pears, strawberries and blueberries. Edon handed out the muffins he had brought, and Morti produced a water skin and passed that around when the food was gone. Fendi tied the empty sacks back onto his belt.

More tweens arrived with every minute, but others began to trickle away as their curiosity was assuaged. At one point, a lad of small stature dashed out toward the Hedge, but changed his mind after going only a few yards. He turned about and ran back to the crowd, but even that small dash was enough to earn him many pats on the back.

“There’s not much action,” Fendi intoned a half-hour later.

“Why don’t you go?” Sed suggested, nudging his shoulder softly.

“My knee’s bothering me,” Fendi said.

“Is it now? It was fine just a minute ago,” Morti said with a grin.

Fendi shrugged. “It comes and goes. You go.”

“I would, but… well, I don’t want to,” Morti said truthfully.

After a time, when nothing further happened, Edon tapped his friends on their shoulders and nodded toward the back of the crowd, of which they were now in the middle. “Come on, we have to get Frodo back to Hedge Field.”

They wormed their way through the crowd and emerged with sighs of relief. They had come and been seen. They would not lose face at Brandy Hall and would be able to walk with their heads high.

As they separated from the crowd, they looked up toward the road and saw Gil and his friends approaching. Edon noticed immediately that Fuchsia was not with them. He could not begin to guess what that meant, but a small flutter of hope stirred in his chest. Maybe if he could just speak to Fuchsia when she was alone…

Frodo tugged on his sleeve then and pointed back toward the crowd. Edon looked at him questioningly, then followed his direction. Standing on the far edge of the crowd, closest to the Hedge, was a small group of young lasses and looking back directly at him was Piper Redleaf. She noticed him looking and hastily turned away, a nervous hand flying up to tidy her hair. Edon continued watching her for a moment, uncertainty flooding through him. Could Frodo have been right? If he had been, what then?

“Eldon,” came Gil’s voice as he and his friends came closer. Edon turned to face him. “What a surprise to see you here. I take it you’ve breeched the Hedge already.”

“No, I did not attempt it,” Edon said. “No one has yet.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I came then, isn’t it?” Gil grinned and looked down, distracted by a sudden movement. He stalled for a moment, surprised to see Frodo there, hiding ever so slightly behind Edon. Gil thought of apologizing then to the lad, but realizing that anything he said would be misconstrued and twisted about with Edon standing right there, he simply shrugged and made his way to the front of the crowd.

The crowd parted to let Gil and his friends pass, and the spectators started buzzing excitedly. Finally, they would get a bit of a show. Gil’s group paused at the front of the crowd, and Gil handed his waistcoat to one of his cronies. Then he proceeded to stretch and roll up his sleeves.

“He’s a ham,” Sed said with disgust.

“He’s stalling,” Edon corrected.

Finally, after a few more minutes of fanfare, Gil took a series of quick, deep breaths, then dashed out toward the Hedge. The crowd grew quiet and waited to see how far he would get. When he was halfway there, he began to slow but continued forward without pause. He was within a hundred yards of the Hedge when a bounder popped his head out of the tunnel and shouted a warning.

Everyone’s eyes were on him, and he knew it. He made a great show of throwing his hands up in dismay at being caught, kicked at the ground in disappointment, then finally backed up when the bounder left the tunnel and approached the lad with a warning shake of his hand. Gil gave in then, and turned back toward the crowd, which erupted into applause and cheer.

“That was fantastic, Gil!” called a young lad.

“He’s the bravest hobbit that ever lived,” a lass near the back of the crowd said with a sigh to her friend.

Gil’s friends had started a chant near the front of the crowd, that was quickly picked up by everyone there. It was painfully familiar, a victory song that once had been sung for Edon. “Gil the Brave will have no Grave for he will never die. He is the best in all the West; how's that for humble pie!"

Edon shook his head at it all and turned back to his friends. “Come on,” he said over the noise of the crowd. “Let’s go. I’ve had enough of this show.”

It was not until they were on the road that Edon noticed Frodo was no longer with them. He stopped in his tracks and turned about full circle, looking for the teen. His friends were also surprised to realize that they were one missing. “Frodo?” Edon called.

Morti, Fendi and Sed looked about now also. “Where could he have gone?” None of them had seen when the lad had slipped off.

Edon motioned for his friends to stay put, then walked back to the field. He looked all around and made his way back through the crowd, calling vainly for Frodo over the cheers. He got no response and saw no sign of the teen. After searching for about five minutes, he gave up and rejoined his friends with a shrug. “Maybe he went on ahead alone,” he suggested.

“He must have,” Morti said. “Let’s go. I don’t want to stand about all afternoon listening about how wonderful Gil is.” For even at that distance, the occasional cheer could still be heard.

The lads left and Edon kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Frodo. They were well down the road before the sounds of the celebration faded behind them, and they were soon approaching the boulder on Hedge Field. They could see Saradoc standing there already, but he was alone and scratching his head. The friends looked amongst themselves, each of them feeling a sense of dread at the sight, but none of them willing to give voice to it. They turned off the road and headed for the boulder.

“Hallo, Cousin Sara,” Morti and Fendi greeted. “Good day, Mr. Saradoc,” Sed and Edon said behind them.

“Hallo, lads,” Saradoc said, a frown on his face. “Have you seen Frodo by any chance? I was supposed to have met him here, but I’m beginning to think he may have changed his mind.”

“We have seen him, sir,” Edon said, fingering his earlobe in nervousness. Sara narrowed his eyes at him and Edon remembered too late the scabs on his knuckles. He yanked his hand back down, out of sight.

“Well, lads, where is he?” Sara asked, looking at each of them sternly.

“He came with us to the Gate Opening, but we got separated,” Morti answered. “We thought he had returned here.”

Sara’s eyes narrowed even further at this news. “He’s a bit young for such games, don’t you think?”

“He wanted to go,” Fendi said.

“Is that so?” Saradoc asked. “And so you just let him?”

The lads nodded and waited for his response. Saradoc sighed. He had to go the Hay Gate anyway. He would find Frodo there if the lad was still about and send him on home. If he wasn’t about, then he had most likely slipped off to return to Brandy Hall alone. Still, if Frodo did come back here… “You’ll stay here, at least an hour. If he comes by, tell him I’ve gone to the Gate and that he’s to return to the Hall.”

“Yes, sir.”

Saradoc walked past them, giving Edon in particular a hard stare. Esme had told him what Gil had said earlier that morning, how he and Edon had put Frodo between them and their argument, and the news did not do much to improve Sara’s opinion of the eldest Brockhouse child. He could see he was going to have to speak with Frodo about his continuing acquaintance with these lads; they were not a good influence for his young, wayward cousin.

He left them to their guard and was soon at the Gate, where the celebrating had died down. He quickly dispersed the crowd, and seeing no sign of Frodo amongst the departing tweens, he could only shake his head in disappointment. His plans of spending the afternoon alone with Frodo were dashed, and there was no telling when the lad would approach him with such an offer again. As soon as Sara returned home, he would suggest coming out again tomorrow, but he knew already from experience that Frodo would deny the offer.

Sara went to the tunnel, feeling silly for having even hoped in the first place.  

“He’s not coming,” Morti said after an hour’s wait. “Can we go now?”

“I suppose,” Edon said and they left the shade of the boulder. Edon looked back to the east, at the Hedge looming in the distance and the merest hint of the treetops of the forest beyond. The sight nagged at him for reasons he could not explain, but he ignored the feeling and followed his friends west, toward Bucklebury and Brandy Hall.  

Gil knocked upon the apartment door, and a moment later Esme once again answered his call. She gave the lad a measured look but was far too distracted with a wailing bairn and her harried nursemaid to pay the tween much mind. “What do you want, lad?” she asked.

“I’m here to speak with Frodo, as you wanted,” Gil reminded her.

Esme crooked her head at him in confusion, then glanced back behind her at the wall clock. The time for afternoon tea had arrived, and Frodo was not yet home. She could only assume that the training was going well and that her husband was keeping the lad longer than he should. She would have to talk to him about that when they returned.

She squinted at Gil, trying to think. At length, she said, “I’ll send him to your apartment when he comes home. I’ve already spoken with your mother, so she’ll know what it’s about.”

“Yes Cousin. Good day to you, Esme.”

“Good day.” Esmeralda turned away and closed the door.

Gil slunk through the tunnels, avoiding Fuchsia’s doorway. He doubted very much she would care about his victory at the Gate. She hadn’t even wanted him to go and considered the tradition to be childish and crass. “An opportunity for lads to pretend at being grown hobbits,” she had said. Gil had just laughed; she never could see the fun in such things.

He dreaded also what his mother was going to say to him when he returned home. If Esme was tired of his constant competition with Edon, he could guess already what his mother would think of the matter. A long-winded lecture was awaiting him, no doubt, one that would likely end with his mother advising him to go to Edon to shake hands and make up.

Bile rose in his throat at the very notion of shaking hands with that traitor, but he swallowed it down and continued forward. With luck, and a little bit of sweet talk, he would only be restricted to his room for a day or two. By then, Fuchsia should have calmed down and all would be well again.  

Sara was joined early in the evening by his brother. Mac had a new crowd of tweens to disperse when he arrived, though not as big as the earlier crowd, for it was getting late now and the children were going home on their own. He waited until they all were gone, then went down the tunnel under the Hedge, emerging on the other side to find his brother standing with one of the bounders, smoking a pipe.

“Long day?” Mac asked with a grin. “Working hard, I see.”

“Quite long,” Sara answered. “Back-breaking work, for the gardeners at any rate.”

Mac looked north up the Hedge. The gardeners were a good distance away already and the Hedge was looking pristine and glorious. “We should bring them in soon.”

“No, we should bring them in now,” Saradoc corrected. “They’ve been bagging the trimmings as they go, but they’ll need help carrying it all through the tunnel. Are the carts here?”

“Not yet.”

“Then let’s get the bags Inside and have them waiting for when they do arrive,” Sara said and nodded to Hob as he stamped out his pipe.

Hob nodded in return and ran off towards the workers. He whistled halfway there, an ear splitting whistle that stopped everyone cold. Soon, the gardeners were climbing down their ladders and opening fresh bags for the new trimmings. Sara and Mac lent their hands carrying the bags through the narrow tunnel and the sun was low in the sky when the carts finally arrived to haul away the day’s cuttings.

The bounders went up and down the line, making sure all was in order and putting out the torches that still stood ablaze. Hob walked the line closest to the forest, pulling the torches from the ground and putting the flames out in the dirt. The line was long, and the last torch stood a good distance from the Gate to the south. He pulled this up and stamped it out, same as the others, averting his eyes from the absolute blackness of the forest as he did so, thus missing the lump of fabric laying upon the ground at the forest’s edge.

He returned to the others, who stood waiting for him, and together, they carried the last of the day’s trimmings through the tunnel. Saradoc was the last one through. He took out his key and locked the gate firmly behind him, rattling the door to ensure it was secure.

The carts now loaded, the gardeners and bounders climbed onto the cart bed and fell back onto their day’s work, exhausted and eagerly looking forward to the supper awaiting them at the Hall. Mac and Sara took their place next to the drivers, and with a click of the tongue and a whish of the reins, the ponies were goaded into movement. The carts lurched forward, and soon the forest was far behind them.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 5 – The Old Forest

Esmeralda was preparing for dinner when Saradoc returned from the Gate. Merry was still in the care of the nursemaid, receiving his own grooming, and Esme was guiltily enjoying her time alone. She so rarely had an opportunity to sit in peace and quiet.

She looked up when her husband entered the bedchamber and smiled at him in the mirror. “Good day, love,” she greeted. “You survived the Gate Opening, I see.”

“Yes, but only just,” Sara replied and stretched out the day’s aggravations. He returned the smile and came up behind her to place a kiss upon her curls. “And good day to you, dearest. I see you are surviving the latest cut tooth of our little bairn.”

“Yes, but only just.”

Sara chuckled. “And where is the little dumpling? At his bath with Scarlet, I take it.”

“Yes, finally,” Esme said, then cringed at having let her own frustration slip. She dabbed new perfume behind her ears and shook her head. “He’s been crying all day with that tooth. The numbing cream the healer gave me only works for so long, and then he’s fussing again.”

“And we’ve only just begun,” Sara said, rubbing her shoulders softly. “I hear that these little problems get much more enjoyable as they grow older.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re not doing a very good job,” Esme replied, smiling despite her words. She picked up her brush to smooth out her curls and looked up at her husband’s reflection. “Is it wrong that I should crave this time alone? Shouldn’t I want to be with my child at all times, rather than eagerly casting him off on the hired-hand?”

“It’s only natural, love. You’re not the only mother to employ help with her children, and why do you think they do so, if not to have some time alone?”

He gave her shoulders a final squeeze, then went to the ewer to wash up. He stripped down to his undershirt before splashing the cool water against his face and neck. He would have preferred a proper bath himself after spending all afternoon in the stifling heat, but there would be time enough for that later. He scrubbed off the majority of the sweat and grime, then toweled himself dry and went through his wardrobe for fresh clothes.

“How has Frodo been?” he asked as he pulled on a new shirt and began buttoning it. “Not too dour, I hope.”

Esme paused in her hair pinning and turned to face her husband directly for the first time. He paused too, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he took in the startled look on his wife’s fair face. “I thought he was with you this whole time. That was the arrangement,” she said in alarm. “Do you not know where he is?”

“We were supposed to meet at Hedge Field, but he never showed up,” Saradoc stated. “I thought he had returned here.”

“You never saw him at all? Sara, he’s been gone since morning!”

“Now, Esme, don’t be too alarmed,” Sara said, quick to reassure. “He was last seen with that group he runs about with, Morti and Fendi and those two friends of theirs. He went with them to the Gate Opening and they were separated. By the time I got there, Frodo was gone.”

“But he hasn’t come back here,” Esme said, refusing to be assured. “I’ve not seen him all day.”

“I did tell those rascals to sit at the boulder and wait for Frodo to return,” Sara said, trying to convince himself as well as his wife that all was well. “He must have come back with them and is still hanging about with them and getting into mischief.” He went back to buttoning his shirt. “I don’t like Frodo spending time with them.”

Esme nodded. “I know, love. I don’t much like it either, but he has so few friends here. I don’t want to discourage him against socializing with the few lads who don’t mind his company.” She went back to fixing her hair, some of the alarm wearing off as they talked about this too-familiar topic.

Though she hated to admit it, this wasn’t the first time they had lost track of Frodo. He always turned up sooner if not later, and he was always back before bedtime. She only hoped he had not managed to hurt himself and that his fear of the Brandywine River would continue to keep him away from that place.

“What about his Bucklebury friends?” Sara asked now, continuing with the practicalities. “Why does he no longer spend time with them?”

“Frodo’s too shy with them anymore. I think the crowd is too large for him,” Esme answered. She finished the final touches and stood to wait for her husband as he buttoned up his waistcoat.

“Then invite a few of them here for a visit,” Sara suggested. He checked himself in the mirror and quickly combed out his curls.

Both now ready, Saradoc opened the door for his wife and they proceeded to the dining hall. “If Frodo spends any more time with those scamps, he’ll end up in more trouble than is good for him,” he said as they entered the hall and looked about. “Do you see him?”

They spotted Scarlet with Merry, feeding him soft foods at the head table, and with them were Menegilda, Rorimac, Merimac, his wife Berylla and their son Berilac. But no Frodo. They scanned the hall and spotted Fendi and Morti sitting and eating innocently with their own families, their friends already gone for home. Saradoc nodded slightly to Esmeralda and then nodded again toward their table. He’ll take care of this, she should see to the bairn.

Esme went to the head table and relieved Scarlet of the bairn. The young lass went to her own table with the other nursemaids and Esme cradled her son in her arms. He was fussing again, though tiredly as a result of the bath. He was finished with the food and was rooting for his mother’s breast. She covered him with a towel and nursed him as a servant made a plate for her.

Within a minute, Saradoc had joined her and she knew just by looking at him that he had not discovered good news. “Well?” she asked anyway, keeping her voice low.

“They haven’t seen him since the Opening,” he said grimly. “He never returned to Hedge Field.”

“Where could he be?” Esme asked. “Why would he go off like this? He’s been doing so well lately.”

“He hasn’t shown any signs of distress lately?”

Esme closed her eyes in dismay, realizing too late her folly. “Last night, when he returned from the races. I should have made him tell me why. It had to have been because of Gil what said to him.”

Sara and Esme looked around the hall again and spotted Gil sitting with his parents and siblings. He was cutting up his youngest sister’s food, while his brothers stole bites of meatloaf from his plate. His elder sisters were talking to him, and he was nodding along distractedly.

Sara shook his head. “First thing’s first. We should wait for Frodo to return and speak to him, if he will tell us anything. Don’t worry, dearest, the night isn’t over yet. He’ll turn up.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Esme asked. It has not happened since they took him in, but Frodo has been known to disappear for days at a time.

Sara nodded. “We’ll alert the guards and get them to the River, just in case. If he’s not back by morning, we’ll look for him. Then we’ll see about questioning Gil and the Brockhouse lad.”  

Gil hadn’t said anything to him this time; he hadn’t needed to. His expression of surprise had said enough. Frodo was a coward and shouldn’t be there.

What made it worse was that Frodo knew it to be true. This entire afternoon had been about him trying to prove himself, and constantly finding ways of avoiding it. True, it had been pure chance that Edon and Sed had been at the boulder when Frodo approached, but Frodo had been grateful for their presence. When he was invited to go to the Gate, he’d had to choose between staying at the field alone, or facing the Gate in the company of his friends. He had chosen the latter, and had clutched to Edon like a child when they arrived there.

Now, they were to be returning to the field, and Saradoc would be there already. Frodo would not have proven anything to himself – or anyone else for that matter – about his courage, but he had undoubtedly confirmed Gil’s assessment that he was a coward. So when Gil arrived and gave him that look of surprise, a white-hot anger had flashed through Frodo. Not at Gil, but at himself.

Frodo was constantly in worry and forever fretting. His mind raced away with the hundreds of horrible possibilities that might come about during any given day. He was always on tiptoes, expecting something to happen to his guardians, or Merry, or all of them. He worried that Sara and Esme would grow tired of him, and send him on to another relative for looking after; that is, after all, how he had come to live with them.

He worried that he would never find a true friend, and that he would always be overlooked in favor of everyone else. He was afraid of the dark, afraid of his dreams. He feared the smallest sound or slightest movement, expecting – knowing – that they would bring about certain doom. It all spelled disaster for him, he who’d had disaster befall on him so unexpectedly.

Yet being on a constant lookout for the unexpected was having its toll on him. He did not sleep as he should and was often tired. He was sick more than was normal, which only permitted him to stay in bed and hide in his books. No matter how much he ate, his body refused to put on weight and the other children often teased him for being so skinny, amongst other things. He didn’t belong there, or anywhere else seemingly.

He was tired of being afraid, tired of being on the look out, tired of hiding from everything and everyone, including himself, tired of being so different from everyone else. The last straw dropped, he was suddenly beyond fear and timidness; he was reckless, pure and complete, desperate to prove to himself that he could be strong. He could take care of himself, and Merry if necessary. He could face his darkest fears and he could survive them.

Pushing all other thought from his mind, acting on instinct alone, he crept around the edge of the crowd and to the wall of the Hedge, taking advantage of the crowd’s diverted attention. Even now, in his heightened determination, he hoped that someone would notice him standing there, point him out, stop him from continuing with this ill-formed plan. But as so often happened, he was completely overlooked, left alone to grab hold of this opportunity in solitude. He did not have to wait long.

Everyone was watching Gil, as the lad prepared for his run on the Gate, and Frodo was able to approach the Hedge and lay down on the grass without being seen. He slowly slinked his way forward, keeping low and hidden. By the time Gil started his run, Frodo was already halfway to the Gate. He crept forward a few more feet, then lay still, waiting for the perfect moment.

Not more than a few seconds passed when the bounder at the gate left his post and dashed toward Gil, and Frodo seized his chance. He jumped up and ran as fast as his legs would carry him and within mere seconds, jumped down into the narrow stone tunnel. He looked up at the Hedge, which seemed to have grown a hundred times fold from this new vantage point below the earth’s crust. The Hedge towered over him, blocking out the sky, and was now nearly as ominous as the forest itself. For a brief moment Frodo considered turning back. Then, recognizing his cowardice, he doubled his resolve and proceeded forward.

The tunnel was dim and cool compared to the stifling heat of the day, the stones cold to the touch. His feet echoed softly off the ground, but the echoes were soon covered by the cheering that erupted behind him. Knowing that the run was over and the bounder would be back soon, Frodo quickly shuffled his way beneath the Hedge. At the midway point, the gate stood propped open for convenience of the workers and Frodo continued forward without hindrance. Before him, the stairs led up out of the ground, to the Outside world, and Frodo slowed down to peek his head out and look about.

He looked back first, and the bounder on guard still had not returned. The crowd was now singing a chant of some sort and the bounder was likely attempting to keep order. The bounder would be back soon though, so if Frodo was going to do this, he would have to be quick about it.

He crept up the steps one by one, until he could see over the ground. The gardeners were quite a distance off already, working and concentrating solely on their job. A few sat resting near where the others worked, and still others were following along and gathering the trimmings into large canvas bags. The bounders were standing near the gardeners, their eyes either on the forest or up at the gardeners as they carried on one conversation or another or helped with the bagging.

Frodo took a deep breath and stepped out of the tunnel. He hid for a moment from view behind one of the bags and from his hiding place, he determined how long it would take him to dash into the forest. The forest’s edge was not too far off, about three hundred yards if that much. He could be under cover within moments, and none of the workers would be any the wiser – if he could time it correctly, that is.

He waited, until he was certain that none of the workers or bounders would look back toward the Gate. After a few minutes passed and no one so much as blinked toward the Gate, Frodo gathered his courage, what little of it there was, and shot out from behind the bag and toward the forest.

No one saw him, as he should have expected, and before he knew it, he was surrounded by trees and shrubs of various sizes and shapes. The air was warm and stuffy under the trees, even so close to the edge, so Frodo removed his waistcoat and hid it beneath a shrub. Then, with one last look back, he turned and walked into the forest.

His heart raced and his palms sweated, and for many frantic moments, he felt as though he would pass out. His head swam and his vision faded, but as he grew accustomed to the dark and the silence, his disorientation subsided. He stepped lightly and silently, trying to be as small and unobtrusive as possible, keeping his steps soft and slow, but always moving forward.

He looked back often, making sure he could still see the edge of the woods and the Hedge beyond it. He did not want to go too far in, after all, and wanted to keep the Hedge in sight. When he had gone as far in as he dared, he found a bare bit of earth and lowered himself to the ground. His heart was pounding still, and his breath was short, but he was beginning to calm somewhat. He scanned the forest and perked his ears, looking and listening for anything untoward. For long minutes, he waited in horrified silence, but when nothing happened he allowed himself to sink onto the ground a bit more and relax his guard.

So, this was the forest of all the rumors and stories, the forest of evil trees and goblins and wolves and other such creatures. Frodo had even imagined there were giant spiders in this forest, as there were in Mirkwood, but as he looked around, he could see nothing more than tangling roots, wild branches, scattered bushes and dry earth littered with leaves and twigs. The only other living creatures here, besides himself, were insects, crawling through the dirt or up boles and bushes. Ants marched up a bush’s leaves and a small, ordinary spider scuttled through the foliage on the ground.

Daylight passed, and Frodo became complacent. There was nothing to fear here, nothing to invade one’s dreams to turn them into nightmares. There was only silence and darkness, and nothing more.

After a time, Frodo stood and brushed off his breeches. He had faced his fear and had won; he was ready to return home now. He turned around and looked up, squinting through the darkness for the Hedge. It was still there, at the very edge of his horizon, barely visible now through the vegetation between them. He walked towards it, humming under his breath as he went.

He picked his way along the path he had walked in on, mindful always of his surroundings. He was halfway to his destination before he realized the path had changed. A tree now stood where before there had been only open space. He paused and stared at the gnarled trunk and low-hanging branches, a frown making its way onto his brow. Behind him, far into the woods, a branch snapped and fell to the earth, and high in the trees an owl hooted low and haunting.

Frodo fought to remain in control of himself, and was quickly losing. He sidestepped the tree and continued on his way, dismissing the occurrence to a lapse in memory. He had simply forgotten the way of the path there, but he soon found it again and he pushed forward as the light outside the forest began to fail.

He forced himself not to run, to stay slow and steady and not show signs of panic. Another branch, this one much closer than before, snapped and fell to the ground with a clunk that echoed through the forest. Another branch reached down and snagged at Frodo’s shirt, tearing it easily. Frodo yanked himself away and kept his eyes forward. He focused on the Hedge, which seemed no closer than it had been when he first started off. Yet that couldn’t be possible, for he was moving forward the whole while. It was simply a trick of the light, he told himself, and he would be at the wood’s edge before he knew it.

He rounded a turn in the path and, as before, a tree blocked his way. Now he was certain that this tree had not been there previously, and he was beginning to believe that the trees could move indeed. He stared up at the tree with a mixture of defiance and fright, rooted to the ground every bit as much as the menacing willow before him.

Frodo closed his eyes and cleared his mind as best he could. He was well practiced in this habit, having practiced it innumerable times over the last three years. He could always keep aside the panic until he was somewhere safe to allow it to overtake him. He would not panic until he was out of the forest and on the road to home. Then he would run and let the tears come, but now, he would pick up his feet and move forward. He nodded to himself, resolved in this plan, and opened his eyes again.

The forest had changed before him. There were more trees now, blocking off the path entirely, and no matter how much Frodo attempted to side step them, they remained in his way, large and formidable. More sounds began to creep up around him, more falling branches, some far away, others close by and near enough to brush past his shoulder on their way to the ground. More branches snagged at him, catching his clothing or tangling in his hair. A low groaning began to rise from the depths of the earth and reverberated up the boles of the trees, to shake their limbs and drop their leaves in a shower of softly fluttered whispers.

Frodo drew in on himself, hugging himself tight, the tears springing to his eyes despite his best efforts. Night was fully upon him and he could no longer see the Hedge, nor determine if he was any longer walking toward it. He doubted that he was, yet his only option was to continue moving or lose himself to despair.

He fumbled along his way, tripping over roots or large, tumbling branches upon the ground. The trees were moaning all around now, and the owls had been joined by many other creatures Frodo cared not to identify. Their primal calls high above in the trees and low in the bushes ranged from the high-pitched song of cicadas to the muffled yipping of wolves. Creatures great and small surrounded him, and Frodo soon had the feeling that he was being followed and looked upon by many eyes. The trees he knew were watching him, keeping him from his destination; he did not like to think what other creatures might be following his movements. Still he pressed forward, too afraid to stop for he knew that once he did, the forest would descend upon him.

Not until he reached a hollow in the woods, a bare and open land where no trees stood and no creatures could hide, did he stop and sit to curl in upon himself. This was not the Bonfire Glade, for that was wider and larger, and one could look up to see the sky and breathe the free air, or so Saradoc had often told him. This clearance was small and barely longer than three hobbits of his height lying down. Still, it afforded Frodo a place to sit and weep, and he did so at length.

He was alone and lost in the Old Forest. He would never find his way out and he knew he would likely die here, as Tim had or, if he did manage to somehow get out, he would die later, as Hildigard had. There was no avoiding it; that was the curse of the Forest, and he had known it when he entered. He wanted to be rid of the forest, but it would likely become his graveyard, and this realization frightened the lad more than anything else.

The trees around his tiny clearing creaked and groaned, and the leaves rustled where there was no wind. A branch cracked and fell to the ground with a loud crash just to his right, and in the distance, the shadows moved in vague and creeping shapes. He closed his eyes tight and hid his face in his knees, wishing he had never come here and knowing he would never leave.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 6 - Rumors

Esmeralda immediately checked Frodo’s room in the morning, hoping the child might have snuck in at some point during the night. She found the bed made and cold, the floor clean and everything in order. Frodo had not returned. She stood motionless in the doorway of his room, trying not to feel too disappointed.

This would be the fourth time Frodo had been gone through the night. The first had been immediately after his parents’ death and the second had been the year following. The third had not been much more than a month after that, when Rufus and Frodo had got into an argument and Frodo had slipped out of the Hall that same night. Rufus was Primula’s brother-in-law, and he and his wife Asphodel were Frodo’s guardians at the time.

That fight had been the final straw for Rufus and Del. Though they loved Frodo dearly, they simply could not handle the lad. Their own son Milo had just come of age and they were not prepared to start the parent role all over again, not with a child so emotionally torn as Frodo was. Rory had agreed that a change might be the best for all involved and Saradoc had agreed to take in the lad. Esme and Sara had been careful not to be hasty with the child since he came into their care, but their patience didn’t seem to be working for them either, as Frodo still slipped off when no one was looking, and sometimes, even when they were.

Typically, Frodo would disappear for a few hours, occasionally all day. He was really no different than any other lad or lass in that respect, except on those occasions, he would fail to tell anyone where he was going or might be found. No matter how closely watched he was, and there were indeed a large number of people whose job it was to keep an eye on him, he always seemed to know when his guards had lapsed in their duty and he would take the split second given him to sneak off. Still, he always came back by supper, and Esme and Sara had decided to overlook these minor incidences, so long as Frodo didn’t run away again as he had with Rufus and Del.

And now he had been missing all night. If his previous disappearances were anything to go by, he would be gone anywhere from three to four days, returning hungry and thirsty at dusk on the last day. Though they would look, no one would be able to find him in the meantime; he was simply too good at disappearing. “One day down,” she muttered but it did not make her feel any better. She was desperately worried for Frodo and only hoped that the guards had been posted along the River in time.

Once Merry was awake, dressed and fed, she would go to the River and get reports from the guards. Merimac had agreed to watch over the Gate in his brother’s stead, so Sara could spend the day with Rufus, Dodi and Dino, going about and discreetly looking for signs of Frodo. So Esme decided she would call on Berylla, and they would take their sons to the River for a picnic. They could all use the fresh air and she would be able to conduct her investigation without drawing up too many eyebrows.  

Not that Esmeralda would be able to keep this a secret. A tale of this magnitude would spread quickly once the right gossipers got wind of it. Indeed, the right gossipers had already been wagging their chins long into the night and early morning hours, so that by the time she had gone to bed last night, all the residents of Brandy Hall and Buck Hill knew what had happened, and by the time she had Merry awake and ready the next morning, nearly every inn and diner in Bucklebury was buzzing with the news. Ropers were telling woodworkers, ostlers were telling tradesmen, and bakers were telling everyone who came in to their bakeries to buy a morning loaf of bread. So it was that the news spread as far as Mauville Ranch not long after the sun was fully risen.

The morning saw the Brockhouse children once again walking the endless rows of grape vines. Their father’s vineyard was not nearly as big as some of the others, but it was a respectable size and hobbits had long come to anticipate his wine as among the best. All the children were to learn the basics of the business, but Edon especially had to learn every aspect of winemaking, as he was to inherit everything when the time came. If all went according to his father’s plans, the vineyard would at that time be twice its current size.

Edon was not as confident about his father’s plans for his future, and he was constantly worried that he would disappoint his father in some way. Indeed, it was his greatest fear, but he kept his concerns to himself and learned all he could. He was getting better. He wasn’t misjudging the seasons quite as much as before and he had spent as many countless hours with the gardeners and farmhands as he could, trying to learn their secrets. For they spent their days with their hands in the earth and were connected to it in a way no one else was.

They were nearing the end of the rows at the edge of the vineyard when one of the gardeners came walking up. He greeted them with a tip of his hat. “Morning, young Masters, little Misses.”

“Morning,” they returned.

“How’s the day been treating you so far, Ash?” Edon asked.

“Very well,” Ash said. “Have ‘ee heard the news from up at Brandy Hall yet?”

“What news?” Edon asked.

“Me cousin’s a servant there and he was called into the dining hall last night after supper,” Ash explained, a sparkle in his eyes. He wasn’t often the first to arrive with new gossip. “The Master’s posting folk ‘long the River to keep watch out. Seems that young Frodo Baggins has disappeared again, and now his cousins are out and about Bucklebury asking word about him, or they will be soon anyhow.”

“What do you mean, disappeared?” Edon asked. “When’d all this happen? We saw him just yesterday.”

“Aye, and that’d be when he disappeared,” Ash said sensibly. “He was last seen at the Gate, several children were there to attest to that.”

“No one’s seen him since then?” Sed asked, barely audible.

Ash shook his head. “Appears that way. He’d been missing near the whole day, long afore anyone took notice to go a looking for him. Could a squirreled hisself away anywhere by now. ‘Ee know as he’s always dashing off and disappearing for days at a time. I’m surprised they took notice so soon. He’s that odd, he is.” With that, Ash continued past them to report to work.

The lasses continued on their way, the news of little concern to them, but Edon and Sed stayed where they were, talking in hushed voices.

“What do you think this means?” Sed asked. “We were the last to see him. We’re the ones that let him slip off. We're the ones that took him there, and Mr. Saradoc wasn't too pleased about that. Do you think there will be trouble for this?”

Edon shrugged. “I don’t know. You heard Ash, Frodo’s gone missing before this; we were here last time even as you may recall. I don’t reckon we’d be blamed for this, not if his own kin can’t even keep track of him none. Ash is right. Frodo’s an odd sort, even by Brandybuck standards.”

Sed didn't look very encouraged by this. “But we're the ones that-”

“Fine,” Edon interjected. “I’ll go up to the Hall after we’re finished with our chores and see what else I can find out.” He pushed his brother back to work and tried not to notice as his hands shook.  

They were arguing again. He could tell, even though they tried to keep their voices low and had gone to the other side of the house.  

He had awoken in the deep of night and simply knew something was wrong. He perked his ears and could hear the muffled sounds of their voices, hasty and sharp. He slipped out of bed and to the door. He cracked the door open and tried to listen.  

His father was speaking now, fast and steady so his mother couldn’t interrupt. Not that it helped; she interrupted anyway and she was livid. 

Frodo snuck down the hall until he could hear them clearly.  

“- in and out of the house all day. I can hardly think, Drogo. How much more of this do I have to take?”  

“You said you wanted this!”  

“After you decided for us both that this was for the best. You never asked me, just went out and arranged everything, and I’m supposed to be happy with it. Well, I’m not! I’m not ready to give up yet.”  

“I’m doing this for all of us, for you. It’s not about giving up, it never was. But we need to face the facts-”  

“Facts! It is just ‘facts’ to you, isn’t it?”  

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”  

“Well, it isn’t just ‘facts’ to me!” Primula exclaimed and there were tears in her voice. “It was a life, and it was in me, a part of me. And it’s gone now, and it hurts so much, it’s like I died too. But you wouldn’t understand that.” Now the tears were replaced with anger again. “You just up and did this thing, never mind how I would take it.”  

“That isn’t how it was,” Drogo returned, desperate to be understood, tears in his own voice, though they were more restrained than his wife’s. “This needs to be done. You don’t see how you are, how it’s affecting Frodo.”  

Frodo gasped at the mention of his name and hid deeper in the shadows. He considered leaving for a moment, but his body held him there.  

“He sees you sitting here every day, not moving, not eating! You refuse to go outside or see your friends, you shun our family. It’s not good for him, or for you.”  

“My father built this house for us,” Primula said, her voice cold, any emotion in it unreadable. “He built it so we could fill it with children.”  

“Well, we aren’t going to do that, are we?” Drogo replied just as coldly, and Frodo winced that he could barely recognize it. “We can’t have any more children. All the healers have said so, and I won’t risk it. I won’t lose you.”  

There was a long pause, and when Primula finally spoke again, her voice was low and tight. “You’re going to lose me anyway. I don’t want this.”  

Another pause. A heartbeat of time that never seemed to end.  

“Fine! Fine!” Drogo finally exclaimed. “Have it your own way, but I’ll be damned if I sit here and be witness to it!”  

“Where are you going?”  

“Never you mind.”  

“It’s freezing outside. Drogo!”  

A door opened. Snow flurries blew fiercely into the house in a blast of freezing wind. The door closed with a bang and there was nothing but silence. Then a moment later, Primula was sobbing.  

Frodo crept down the hall to the parlor and stood in the entryway, watching his mother cry, as she had been doing so often of late. But these tears were not slow or silent, this cry was not passive or submissive as the others have been. The tears that came now were fast and hot, and the sobs shook her body with such force that she could hardly stand. These tears came from a soul not in despair, but in the depths of hopelessness.  

Unable to stand and watch his mother in such pain, Frodo entered the parlor and walked up behind his mother, tugging on her skirts. She turned, startled, and when she saw him standing there, she immediately began to restrain herself, to little avail. The tears would not stop and her grief would not be denied, and in realizing this, she sobbed all the more.  

Frodo didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do, but he found himself opening his arms to her. His mother fell to her knees and was hugging him an instant later, holding him tighter than ever before. She hid her face in his curls and let the tears come.  

“Oh Fro, I’m so lost. I’m so sorry.”  

“Will Papa come back?”  

“I don’t know,” she quavered and sobbed until she fell asleep, right there in the middle of the parlor floor.  

Frodo did not sleep at all that night, and he sat up with his eyes glued to the door, waiting. But his father did not return.  

Frodo woke from his dream, tears streaming down his face from a memory long forgotten. It took him a moment to realize where he was. The trees were looming over him, his tiny glade narrowed slightly, and above in the sky, peeking through the smothering branches, night still reined.

Frodo curled onto his side and sobbed. “Mama,” he pleaded, knowing she would not come.  

Fuchsia found Gil sitting in her family’s parlor when she woke. She quickly ducked back into her room before he could see her and changed out of her nightdress and into a frock. She freshened up at the ewer and ran a brush through her hair a few times, smoothing out the worst of the tangles, then slipped out of her room again. She smiled pleasantly as she came around the settee and sat next to Gil.

“This is a surprise,” she said.

Gil smirked. “I suppose it must be, as was your pillow-hair. Do you always look like that in the morning?” Then he pointed at the mirror on the wall.

Fuchsia smacked him lightly on the arm and laughed. “I do, actually. I look like that well until it’s nearly time for first breakfast. Does that bother you?”

Gil shook his head. “I find it endearing.”

“You would. Why are you here so early?” Fuchsia asked.

Gil looked behind them and tipped his ear to her parents’ bedchamber door. They were awake, he knew that much as the mistress had let him in. It was safe to assume that Fuchsia’s sister was awake in their room as well, if not yet out of bed. Gil lowered his voice but remained at a respectable distance. Fuchsia’s father had an uncanny ability of knowing when Gil was getting too close to his daughter.

“Frodo’s still not back,” he whispered.

“He’s taken off again?” Fuchsia asked in an equally hushed voice. She hummed at this, then knotted her brow. “Did you ever apologize to him?”

Gil shook his head regrettably. “No. I saw him at the Gate, but Edon was there.”

“So?”

“So, you know how Edon can get. I couldn’t apologize with him there. He would only turn it into another competition and would have made Frodo feel worse in the process,” Gil said with a sigh. He sank into the cushions of the settee, looking as deflated as he felt.

“Well, perhaps it was for the best then,” Fuchsia said. “We don’t need you to be sent off to Pincup again, though it seems you’re in a pickle either way. That is, if you’re even the reason Frodo took off.”

“Of course I am,” Gil said, under no delusions that he might be innocent in this. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me. He was afraid of me. I should have pulled him aside, done something.”

Fuchsia dared her father’s vigilance and reached out to comb her fingers through Gil’s hair. “Don’t fret, dear,” she said. “Frodo will be back in a day or two. That’s what he does. You can talk to him then and clear everything up, no harm done.”

“If only Edon hadn’t been there,” Gil mused, but Fuchsia shook her head vigorously at this.

“Don’t. Don’t do that. You did the right thing, waiting for morning, but Frodo was already gone when you arrived,” she pointed out. “That was the only time you would have been able to approach him and you know it. Besides, Frodo wouldn’t have been at the Gate if Edon hadn’t been so kind as to take him,” she ended, sarcasm thick in her voice. She didn’t hold much of an opinion of Edon. None of the tweens did anymore, outside of Fendi and Morti, but those two had always been troublemakers. “Where do you think he’s hiding?”

Gil shrugged. “I don’t know. No one ever does, do they?”  

At the High Hay, the bounders and gardeners reported to duty in the early hours of predawn. The bounders went through the Gate first, to light the torches and ensure the forest was silent and secure. Then they let the gardeners in.

The gardeners would be finishing the northern leg of the Hedge by the end of the day, already being half done at the end of the previous day. As such, they would be loading their trimmings at the Bridge Gate and returning home from there. Still, the Master wanted a bounder to keep the Hay Gate open and guarded, at least until his son arrived to oversee things.

“Hullo Mr. Merimac,” the bounder on duty greeted when the Master’s son finally arrived at ten past eight. He stood and bowed, then closed the Gate behind them, locking it before following the young master to where the others worked a mile up the Hedge.

Mac greeted the workers and received updates on their progress. He was satisfied with the way things were going, though it seemed they would need to employ yet more gardeners if they wanted to complete the southern section by the end of the week. Once the progress reports were given, he sought out Hob.

“Who was guarding the Gate yesterday?” he asked.

“That’d be Flynn here,” Hob answered, pointing his thumb just behind him at a bounder who looked to be about Mac’s own age.

“Flynn, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course, sir. What you be needin’?” Flynn asked.

“Tell me, do you know the names of the children who attempted to breach the Gate yesterday?” Mac asked. It was a customary inquiry, one he’d not had time for the previous night as they had ended their work so late.

The bounder shook his head. “Only one or two really made any attempt,” Flynn stated. “One of them’d be a lass from up Newbury way, Candelaria her friends called her. She got no more’n ten feet from the crowd afore turning back. ‘Nother was that Mr. Madagilus Banks from the Hall. He nearly got to the Gate he did. I had to get out and chase ‘im back to the line, if you can believe that.”

“You left the Gate untended?” Mac asked, more sharply than he meant to and the bounder flinched.

Flynn twisted his hands nervously. “I had to, sir, he was nearly at the Gate. I didn’t leave it but for a minute, if that.”

“When was this? What time?”

Flynn shrugged. “Can’t say for certain. I’d guess the sun’d be ‘round ‘bout noon.”

“No one could have got through while you were seeing to him?” Mac asked.

Flynn shook his head fiercely. “Oh, no sir. There were no other children near ‘nough to do as that. I checked, I did. He was the only one, and he got himself back to the crowd soon as I popped out o’ the tunnel.”

“Thank you, Flynn. You did a fine job,” Merimac said and went to inspect the Hedge and the gardeners’ work.  

“Frodo! Wake up, lad!” Drogo reached out and eagerly shook his son’s shoulder. “Wake up and look what I’m making your mother for my birthday.”  

Frodo only burrowed further into the covers, grumbling in protest.  

Drogo sighed. “You could sleep till the sky fell down.” Another nudge. “Wake up, and look! She’ll love it, won’t she?”

Frodo sighed and opened his eyes, only to be greeted not by his father’s smiling eyes but by the canopy of leaves and branches above. He sat up, unaware that he had fallen asleep again, and looked around, his stomach grumbling as he yawned and stretched.

The forest had brightened to something akin to dusk, though Frodo guessed it must be near mid-morning. All around him, the trees stood silent and still once more. Even so, Frodo couldn’t help but notice that his small glade no longer existed and that his back was pressed up against a gnarled bole. He stood up hastily and stepped away from the moss-covered tree and looked around for any sign of food.

In daylight, his situation did not seem as dire, but he kept his thoughts limited to his search for food. He did not allow his mind to wander and he ignored the panic that lingered at the edge of his thoughts and threatened to overcome him at any moment should he let it.

He walked in short, soundless steps, hoping to pass unnoticed by the trees and the other creatures that must live here. He did not search long before he realized he was going in circles, and when he attempted to go in a different direction, he inevitably wound up exactly where he had been.

Frodo stamped his foot in frustration, tears prickling his eyes. He sat upon the ground and rested his chin in his upturned hands, ignoring his empty stomach and his thirst, and wondered again why he had ever thought this was a good idea.
 
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 7 – Invitations and Cherries

Saradoc, Rufus, Dodi and Dino found nothing in their search of Buck Hill and Bucklebury, as they had suspected. No one had seen Frodo the day before and anyone who did last placed him at the Gate. They were not worried that the lad might have slipped through the Gate; with so many witnesses and bounders on guard, no one could have made it through undetected, not even Frodo with his wily ways.

They ate luncheon in Bucklebury and listened to the gossip, none of which was very exciting or important; those that had been speaking of Frodo quickly changed the topic of their discussions when the Master’s relations entered the inn.

After luncheon, they continued on their way, going as far as Crafter’s Field before turning back, returning by Crickhollow Road so they could detour around to the burial grounds and check there, just in case. They returned to Buck Hill near teatime and entered Brandy Hall preparing to give the bad news to Esme.

Esmeralda took her husband’s news in stride. She was still visiting Berylla when Saradoc returned and they were taking their tea in Berylla’s apartment. Scarlet had directed Saradoc to find his wife there and he told her of what they had found, or had not found as the case may be.

“We knew we wouldn’t find him,” Esme said, trying to sound confident. “He’ll return tomorrow night, or the next.”

Saradoc nodded. “I’m going to the Bridge Gate,” he stated. He would join his brother for the end of the day again and help with the clean up, as Mac had done the day before. “Maybe I’ll look about a bit at the Hay Gate on my way up. It will likely be impossible to pick out Frodo’s tracks from everyone else’s but I may get lucky. At the very least I may discover which way he might have got himself off to.”

Once Sara was gone, Berylla shook her head and clucked her tongue. “That Frodo’s a handful,” she said sympathetically. “Whatever will you do with him?”

Esme shook her head, at a loss. “I don’t know. He’s not done this with us before.”

“Do you think it was prompted by what Gil said to him?” Berylla asked.

“Perhaps, but what could Gil possibly say to Frodo to cause him to go off like this?” Esme asked. “Frodo doesn’t pay a mind to anything Gil says, nor anyone else that takes a mind to taunt him. It has to be more than that.”

“Perhaps Gil made it sound more harmless than it actually was,” Berylla pointed out.

Esme stared into her empty tea cup, tracing its flowery design thoughtfully. “I think I need to speak with Gil again, and perhaps Edon also if he’s about.” She reached over and clasped Berylla’s hand thankfully. “I’ll speak with you later and tell you how it goes.”

“I’ll be here,” Berylla said and saw her friend to the door.  

Edon wasn’t able to get to Brandy Hall until nearly teatime, so busy they were at the vineyard. He navigated his way through the tunnels deep into Brandy Hall on his way to first Fendimbras’s and then Morton’s apartments, catching snatches of conversation on the way.

“…still not back. No good can come of this…”

“…been saying all along that lad has more wiles than are good for him. Maybe now the Master will listen…”

“…always pulling such stunts. It’s a wonder this hasn’t happened sooner.”

“There’s something wrong with that child, I’ve been saying it since they brought him here…”

“…had more sense than this, but you know that Bilbo Baggins is always filling his head with tales of adventure and whatnot…”

“Well, you remember what happened just after his parents drowned, don’t you? If it hadn’t been for Milo…” 

At long last, Edon reached Fendi’s apartment, a mixture of anger, guilt and pity running through him at the things he had overheard. It seemed folk either felt sorry for Frodo or blamed him entirely for his current circumstance. That was hardly fair, yet what could Edon do against it? He couldn’t very well turn around and stand up to these gossipers and he knew it. This was a family matter and he had no say in it. What happened at the Gate however, losing sight of Frodo as he had done, was his doing and he needed to speak to his friends about it as soon as he may. Why hadn’t he watched Frodo more closely?

He knocked upon the door, hoping desperately that his friends would be there so he wouldn’t have to walk past more gossiping hobbits. For a time, no answer came to his call and Edon was about to knock again when the door finally opened. The chambermaid let him in and led him to the parlor.

Mistress Goldworthy smiled warmly at him from her settee. Like many others, she had been slow to warm up to Edon when his family first arrived here from Northfarthing, but as soon as his father’s reputation for quality wine had been firmly established, she had finally accepted Edon as a suitable friend for her son.

“Hallo Edon,” she said. “Fendimbras isn’t here just now. He’s over at Morton’s, I’m sure. Tell me, what do you think of all this noise? I’m sure you’ve heard by now.”

“Ma’am?” Edon asked, though he knew perfectly well what the Mistress was referring to.

“Frodo’s missing. My son tells me the four of you had seen him yesterday, just prior.” Mistress Goldworthy looked at him sternly and with a calculating eye that put Edon on edge. “Funny, that you always seem to just miss the excitement.”

Edon couldn’t respond for several moments. His throat dried in an instant and refused to allow any sound to escape it. Finally, he swallowed deeply and cleared his throat, then said, “I would consider it unfortunate, Mistress, that we hadn’t been able to avoid this.”

Mistress Goldworthy smiled tightly at him. “Avoid?”

“Prevent this.”

“I’m sure you would at that, lad,” she said and her smile turned warm. “Run along now and try not to get my son into too much trouble.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Edon said with a nod, remembering just in time not to bow. The mistress would see such courtesy as a submissive gesture and would only be reminded of his family’s position which, considering the encounter they’d just had, would not help Edon’s position here. He simply wanted to leave as quickly as he could. “Sorry for the interruption. Good day.”

He turned away with a mixture of gratitude and regret. He was glad to be leaving but did not look forward to any further rumors he might hear as he made his way to Morti’s apartment. He let himself out and sought out his friends.

By the time he arrived at Morton’s, he’d had more than his share of run-amok gossipers to last him a good long while and was very much relieved to find both his friends there. They retreated to Morton’s room and the cousins sat upon the bed as Edon sat on the floor, his back against the wall.

“We heard it same as you,” Fendi began after Edon related what he knew, “only Saradoc came to us in the dining hall last night. He asked us if Frodo ever showed up at the boulder and how long we waited.”

“Was he very angry?” Edon asked.

Morton shook his head. “No, just a bit disappointed.

“He doesn’t blame us?” Edon asked.

Morton shrugged. “Probably a little, but there’s not much that can be done about it now. We could have been sitting out there all day and Frodo would never have shown his face. When that lad wants to get gone, he does. He’ll be back in a day or two.”

Edon nodded numbly, wanting to accept this assurance, but the nagging feeling of the day before was back and all he could see were the trees of the Old Forest looming menacingly in the distance. “You don’t think there’s any chance he could have gone into the Forest, do you?”  

Fendi snorted at this. “Impossible. He’s too afraid of his own shadow to go near the trees. Gil wasn’t lying about that.”

“Perhaps,” Edon said, reluctant to admit that Gil could be right about anything. He sat thinking for a moment, trying to sort out his confusing thoughts, when a knock rapped lightly on the door.

“Yes, Mother,” Morti called and his mother opened the door.

She looked down at the lads and crooked a finger to Edon. “Esmeralda wants to see you, lad,” she said and handed him what looked like an invitation. “You’re to be here for first breakfast tomorrow and dine with her in the first main sitting room.”

“Me?” Edon asked, a rush of panic and confusion rippling up his back and making his hairs stand on end. “Why would she want to have first breakfast with me? Or, do you mean my parents?”

“No, I mean you and she didn’t say why,” Mistress Goodbody continued. “She seemed rather put off though. You best show up early if you know what’s good for you.” She left the room then and the three friends looked at each other, dumbfounded.

“What was that about?” Morti asked.

Fendi shrugged. “I don’t know, but we’re off the hook. It must have been something Edon did by himself. Are you causing trouble without us? Now, you know that isn’t allowed.”

Edon looked down at the invitation in his hand, in no mood for jests. There was only one thing this request could be about.  

The sun was nearing its high point before Frodo picked himself up again. His stomach had ceased its grumbling, and instead had shrunken in on itself, making an unhappy knot in the middle of his belly. He was also in need of water, but just as the food appeared nonexistent within the forest, so too did a water source.

The trees had remained quiet and Frodo’s fear had subsided somewhat. He wandered aimlessly, knowing there was little point in attempting to find the border or any food source, moving more for the sake of doing something.

A breeze found its way through the trees to him and soothed his sweat-drenched face. He turned his face up to it and closed his eyes to the wind, still stumbling forward. Branches cracked and snapped under his feet and leaves were scattered in his wake. Nothing sought to block his path and he could only assume this meant he was going in a direction that was pleasing to the watching trees. This should have distressed him, but he found himself unable to care. He was thirsty and exhausted, hungry and worn, and he was beginning to feel as though he had been in this forest his entire life.

He came to a small slope that led down into a somewhat darker part of the woods. Hoping the darkness would mean cooler surroundings and respite from the near intolerable heat, he deftly made his way down the slope, the dirt loose and slippery under his feet, threatening to slip him up. He kept his feet under him and picked his way slowly down the small hill, then looked about him in partial interest.

This part of the forest was much the same as the rest of it, except the trees now seemed to back away and afford him more room to walk and move about, while at the same time providing him with more shade from the unrelenting summer sun. He turned about, the song of birds high above reaching his ears for the first time since entering these woods. He delighted in their lovely song and as he looked for the source of the music, he spotted a tree that stood somewhat away from the others, its branches flooded with sunlight. He studied the tree with interest, wondering vaguely at this vision, and found there to his surprise, far above in its high branches, cherries ripe for the picking.

Without thinking, without so much as pausing to wonder about this miracle, Frodo stumbled forward eagerly until he was standing beneath what he believed to be the fruit-bearing tree. He looked up the bole, straining his neck, and squinted to see into the branches high above. Yes! Yes, there they were, he could see them clearly, bright red and fat with juice. Now, if only he could get up there somehow. There were no branches low enough for him to jump onto and no boulders nearby to use as a stepping stone.

Frodo walked around the bole and found it was not very thick around at all. He could attempt to climb up bare handed. Biting on his lower lip, he measured the distance to the first branch and decided to take the risk. He brushed his hands against his breeches, rubbing off the sweat and dirt, and scraped his feet against the bole to clean them off as well. Then he stepped back several paces and got a running start. He jumped as he neared the tree and grabbed hold of the bole with an iron grip. He looked down; his attempt had not served him very well. He was only a few inches off the ground, but at least he was started.

He placed his feet at either side of the bole and steadied himself before releasing the bole with his hands. He stretched up and wrapped his hands again around the bole, then used both his arms and his feet to propel him upward. Inch by inch, he crawled his way up the tree, his prize coming closer with each attempt. He could almost taste their sweetness already, and the expectation gave him extra motivation to scramble up all the faster.

Before he knew it, he had reached the first branch and he wrapped his arms around the sturdy stem to pull himself up into a sitting position. There he stood up and now his prize was almost within his reach. Just a few more steps up and he would have them. He climbed the branches like a ladder and didn’t stop until he had reached the first of the cherries. He sat down against the bole, panting happily, his tired hands and legs shaking with the exertion, his vision swimming with his exhausted reserves. He sat for many long minutes, until his breathing returned to normal and the ground below ceased to spin, then he moved forward to lie flat upon the branch and reached out to pluck the heavy fruit.

He did not look at it and did not see past its round shape and bright red color. He only mildly noticed its small size before popping it into his mouth and biting down, so eager he was for nourishment. Not ten seconds passed before the bitterness of the fruit assaulted him, causing him to gag and making his eyes water. He spit the fruit out and tried to rid his mouth of its sour taste and acrid smell. Curious, he reached forward and picked another to look at it more closely.

The fruit was large for their sort, but there was no mistaking them now that he looked at them more closely. He had been warned against them numerous times, but he had never seen them grow upon a tree before. Still it must be the same as the other bush-born ones, its taste told him as much, but those berries were much smaller in size than these and their color paler. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered learning that the richer the color, the more potent the poison. Frodo dropped the fruit and spit out as much saliva as he could, trying his best not to swallow any more of the juices than he already had but feeling some of them leak down his throat all the same.

In his panic, Frodo knew only one thing: he had to get down from this tree and quickly. He scrambled back toward the bole, and carefully lowered himself to the branch below. He tried to ignore the shear terror threatening to take hold, tried to ignore as his vision began to swim before him in odd, fragmented colors and quivering, disorienting shapes. He closed his eyes, and felt for the next branch with his feet, keeping close to the bole for support. Down one and then another, until he was certain he was at the last branch.

Daring to peek, he opened his lids only slightly and the ground below him rolled and shook and the leaves littering the ground danced and grew, taking shapes of unnatural sort, while lines of unexplainable origins and colors ran across his vision, disorienting him further. His head swam, and he teetered back, only by instinct reaching out and supporting himself against the bole. He closed his eyes again and tried to stop the spinning in his head. Gradually, the world came back to a resting place, and he felt along the bole for a stronghold. Keeping his eyes clenched shut, he felt his way to standing and wrapped his feet around the bole just below the branch. He made sure his hold was secure and, still feeling with only his hands and feet, he inched slowly down the bole toward the ground.

He had no way of knowing how close he was getting to the ground, or how far up the tree he still was. He dared not look, dared not open his eyes to the world gone mad, and waited only for the feel of dirt and earth beneath his feet. It never came.

He had no sense of time, no more than he did of anything else. Even the tree was beginning to fade from his senses and the spinning came back with full force, turning him upside down though in fact he had not moved at all. Desperate, Frodo reached down with one foot, feeling, stretching, and found nothing but air. Yet he figured he must be at least halfway down, which meant only a couple of feet were between him and the ground. Not wanting to remain on the tree any longer, wanting only to get under a bush and hide from the world and his hallucinations, he did the only sensible thing he could think of: he let go.

He was already unconscious when he hit the ground.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 8 – Grim Discoveries

The next day started much the same as the one before, except that Edon left Mauville an hour before first breakfast, skipping his chores so he could reach Brandy Hall with plenty of time to spare. He thought it best to err on the side of caution and take Mistress Goodbody literally. He didn’t want to keep Mistress Esmeralda waiting any longer than she needed to.

He entered the Hall through the West Door, which put him quite out of his depth. He had never entered through that door before and he found himself more than a bit disoriented. As fortune would have it, Esmeralda had sent a servant to wait for him, and as soon as he entered through the door, the servant beckoned him to follow. They went a short way down the first left-hand tunnel to the sitting room.

The servant allowed Edon to straighten his hair and clothes before knocking and announcing his arrival. At Esmeralda’s call, the servant opened the door and ushered Edon inside before leaving quickly, closing the door again. Edon was left alone, standing just inside the doorway and looking upon a scene that immediately filled him with dread.

Whatever Edon had expected, it had not been to see Gil slumped into a chair and the Mistress sitting across from him, a tray of cut fruit, cheese and bread laid upon the tea table, a pitcher of cold milk dripping condensation onto the wood.

Edon looked between Gil and Esmeralda. “You wanted to see me, Mistress?” he asked uncertainly, fervently hoping she had made a mistake.

Esme nodded. “Yes, sit down, lad,” she said sternly, indicating the chair directly next to Gil’s.

Reluctantly, Edon did as he was bade, avoiding eye contact with Gil, who wasn’t looking at him anyway.

“Have some food if you like,” Esme offered and both lads reached to fill the plates set before them. They were growing lads after all and so were always hungry, and any way they could delay the purpose of this visit was welcome. Unfortunately, they were too hungry and the food was gone before they knew it.

“Now,” Esme said once they were done, “I am sure you are both wondering why I’ve called you here.” They nodded. “The reason is very simple: from what I've been able to gather, you were both present when Frodo disappeared. You both are also the ones responsible for Frodo’s unease the day prior to that. I believe both incidences are connected somehow, and you’re going to tell me how.”

Edon and Gil shot quick and untrusting glances at each other. This was going to be a long morning.

Somehow, they managed to get through the inquisition without too much bickering, mostly because Esmeralda would have nothing to do with it. She made it clear that if either lad did anything to provoke the other, they would both be punished adequately. They kept their toes in line and answered her questions, disagreeing very little, and by the time they were done, Esme was fuming.

“I will repeat myself to you Edon, the same thing I told Gil: either you lads work out whatever it is that has come between you, or you keep away from each other from here on out. If I hear of you putting Frodo between you two again, the Master will have your hides, if there's anything left of them once I'm through, that is,” she said.

Edon nodded mutely. Gil looked down at his hands.

“You are both dismissed now.”

Edon readied to stand, eager to leave the room, but Gil did not budge. He remained where he was and looked at the Mistress with growing alarm and concern, his brow knitted in deep thought. “You don’t think Frodo might gone into the Old Forest, do you?” he asked.

Edon froze where he was, unable to believe his ears. He shot Gil a suspicious look, wondering just how he had come to this conclusion and if Fendi and Morti might have said something to him over the night. Edon ignored the fact, but he knew his friends still spoke with their cousin when he wasn't about.

Mistress Esmeralda was equally as shocked by this notion. “Impossible,” she said. “The bounder would have seen him approaching.”

Gil shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t have. He had left the gate, to keep me from getting any closer. It was around that time when Frodo went missing, or least, that was the last moment Edon can account for his location.”

“You said Frodo was too afraid to enter the forest,” Edon pointed out, silently fuming that Gil had suggested this possibility before he had.

“Exactly, and Frodo’s not one to back down from a challenge,” Gil said, dread in his voice. “It wouldn’t hurt to have the borders of the forest checked for fresh trails. The bounders are there anyhow.”

Esme nodded. “I suppose it wouldn’t,” she said uncertainly, nervously twisting the handkerchief she held in her lap. “If he has done such a foolish thing, then you both are in more trouble than you could possibly imagine.”

Gil nodded while Edon sat numbly in his chair. Edon felt this conversation could not get more fantastical, until Gil spoke again. “It is largely my fault, Cousin. Edon may have taken Frodo to the Gate, but Frodo wouldn’t have entered, if that is indeed what he’s done, if I hadn’t opened my big mouth. Edon’s part in this was circumstantial.”

“That doesn’t make him any less a guilty party,” Esme said. “I will send a Quick Post to my husband, and you both better hope that he finds nothing.” She stood then herself and left in a hurry.

Edon and Gil stood shortly after Esme left, and they too exited the room. Not until they were  out in the tunnel and a good distance from the sitting room did Edon find his voice again. He turned to Gil, more than a little displeased. “Good going, Gil.”

“What do you mean? I thought you’d want to be let off the hook for this,” Gil pointed out.

“That’s not what I meant,” Edon said. “You were supposed to apologize to Frodo, not tell her about what happened.”

“I had to tell her about it. You saw to that.”

“I wouldn’t have told her anything.”

Gil huffed in frustration and breathed deeply. He waited several moments before continuing in a much calmer tone. “She could have found out from someone else. Frodo might have eventually told her. So, yes, I had to tell her. What would it look like if I hadn’t? Like I was keeping something from her, that’s what. I can’t afford for that to happen. Some people still don’t trust me.”

“It’s not my fault if they don’t trust you,” Edon shot back.

“Look, I don’t know how things are run in Branbourne*,” Gil said, his voice still calm if tight, “but your family is enjoying a very comfortable position here in Buckland. You’ll be expected to step up and show yourself to be a leader before long, so you better get into practice. I was out of line for what I said and I am more than willing to pay my dues for it, and you need to do likewise, whether Esme decides to place blame on you for this or not. Either step up to the line or get back to the flats.”

“I would have spoken if you hadn’t beaten me to it,” Edon said. “Did Fendi and Morti tell you about what we spoke of last night?”

“No,” Gil said, confused. “They don’t talk to me, other than to bestow a snide remark or two at me on your behalf. And it looked to me as though you were getting ready to leave before I spoke up, so just when exactly were you planning to take action?”

“I know what you’re doing,” Edon said, not about to back down. “You’re trying to make yourself appear the noble one again. Well, I was the one who took Frodo there and I was the one that lost him. I can admit to that and I have.”

Gil eyed the younger tween for a moment, his eyes squinted in the shadows of the tunnel. Finally, he smirked sadly and said, “You know what I think? I think you actually want this to be your fault. You want the blame for this. Would that help clear your conscience if everyone were to blame you? I’m sorry to say this, my friend, but you don’t get that luxury. I will take the burden for this on my own account, not yours.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means. Or have you forgotten already?”

“You are the one who betrayed me,” Edon said, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. “You know what I think? I think that you think taking the blame for this will repair the damage done by last year’s folly. You think that if you take the blame, others will be less quick to hang you out to dry. Folk still don’t trust you, as you said. Is this your twisted way of regaining their favor?”

Gil shook his head, at a loss of words. Finally, he swallowed thickly and said, “I’m not doing this. I’m not fighting with you over this again. It’s over.” He turned and started to walk away, but Edon was not yet finished.

“If you fell, it was your own doing, but it certainly hasn’t hurt you either way,” Edon said. “Look at you, still the Hall’s Golden Child. You came back from Pincup and everything was just roses and daisies for you, like it always was. You speak of hardship, but what are a few mistrusting townsfolk compared to all of Brandy Hall eating out of your hand? You have everything you ever wanted, even those as don’t belong to you.”

“Are you still talking about Fuchsia?” Gil asked. He looked at Edon with something akin to pity and shook his head. “Don’t you see? You never stood a chance with her, not before and certainly not now. She was kind to you and nothing more because she saw you as charity. Now she can’t even stand to be near you.”

“That’s a lie,” Edon said quietly, a near whisper.

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Edon gave no answer.

“Ask her yourself then if you must,” Gil said, “but she isn’t the issue here and you know it. You continue to overlook your part in this. I held my tongue before, mostly because I had no other choice, but you’re on your own now. Look out for your own back; that is, after all, what you’re best at.”

Edon watched as Gil walked away to the dining hall, then sought out his friends and told them of what had happened with the Mistress and all that Gil had said to him afterward. He especially wanted their opinion on what Gil had said about Fuchsia. Fendi and Morti glanced uncomfortably at each other, discussing with their eyes who would be the one to break the news to him.

Finally, Fendi answered. “It is true, I’m afraid. That’s just how Fuchsia is, always looking after. And she did rather take Gil’s side in all of this, obviously.”

“Just like the rest of our group. There wasn’t even a side to take,” Edon said, his feelings of bitterness and jealousy stronger than they’ve ever been. Fuchsia had never cared for him, he had merely been a project for her. He had never felt so degraded. “I guess she and Gil are perfect for each other after all.”

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Morti said. “Look, let’s get food. Things always look better on a full stomach.”

Edon smiled despite himself. “Very well. Only since you insist.”  

At that precise moment, the bounders opened the Gate and the gardeners waited for the all clear. Saradoc was there with them this time, Mac opting to stay near the River and check on the progress of things there.

When Sara had arrived the previous night, he had scanned the field just before the Gate. As he had suspected, it was impossible to pick out any one single footprint. The place had been trampled over numerous times since Frodo’s disappearance. He had entered through the Gate and had gone about snuffing out the torches as he made his way slowly north to the Bridge Gate. The gardeners had completed their work in good time and had been waiting on the carts for Sara’s approval. He had arrived and given them a nod, and they had all returned to the Hall by the East Road and Bucklebury Lane.

Come morning, they were through the Hay Gate yet again, to begin work on the larger southern portion of the Hedge. Saradas would be recruiting more gardeners to join them at noon on Merimac’s request, but for now, the two dozen gardeners sat sharpening their shears and waiting on the bounders.

Hob and Flynn walked the line closest to the forest, pounding the torches into the ground to cover the area the gardeners would be working today. Several torches were already in place, but many more had to planted and one of the bonfires moved. The remaining bounders and Saradoc took over this task, leaving Hob and Flynn to pound the long wooden sticks into the ground. They went a mile down the line, and on their way back, they fueled the torch rags and lit them.

Most of the work done and the forest standing silent the whole while, a bounder went down the tunnel to let the gardeners in and about their work. Sara and the other bounders were helping the gardeners carry in their tools when Hob lit the final torch, now the first in the line where it had once been the last. He watched the flame take life, then stood back to peer into the darkness of the forest.

He had always regarded the forest with fearful awe, much the same as everyone else, but after two days of standing along its border, he was beginning to think all the rumors about it were false. There was nothing more in there than trees and bushes so far as he could tell. He stepped around the torch and approached the forest to inspect it more closely, still keeping a good distance away, just in case. There was no point in throwing caution to the wind after all.

He gazed up at the silent sentinels, up their gnarled and twisted boles, the bark rough and cracked, peeling off in some places. He looked up at the teardrop leaves and the numerous branches and twigs, the arms and fingers of the trees. He looked down at the roots, thick and weaving in and out of the ground, just as fish will leap out of the River at times. He looked at the bushes, no different than any other he’s ever seen and… What was that?

Hob squinted at an unusual clump beneath one bush, a clump that flickered ominously in the firelight, shadowed as it was by the bush and the forest beyond. He crept forward, until he was mere feet away from the thing and squatted down to inspect it closer. Covered in a thin layer of dirt and many leaves it was, but there was no mistaking it: fabric, rich and fine.

Curious, he dared to cross the remaining distance and reached down and under the shrub. He pulled out the soft, supple material and shook off the grime and leaves. He held it up and spread it out to discover that it was actually a small waistcoat as a young lad would wear, well-made and of good quality. Confused, he scratched his head, wondering how such an item could have made its way here.

“Hob! Get away from there!” Saradoc suddenly called behind him. He had turned from helping the gardeners with their tools to find the bounder standing stooped near the forest’s edge. He walked over to the bounder now. “What has come over you?”

Hob turned around and nodded his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sara, but I found this here and was just puzzling over it is all.”

“Found what?” Sara asked. The bounder walked over to meet him halfway and handed him the waistcoat with shaking hands.

Saradoc looked down at the waistcoat in the flickering torchlight and the bright morning sky, and his blood ran cold. He groaned softly. “Where did you find this?”

“Just there,” Hob said and pointed. “Must have been there a while.”

“Are you certain? It looks fairly clean to me,” Sara said.

“Mr. Sara? Don’t take on so, sir,” Hob said with alarm, noticing the blanched color of the master’s face. “It had to have been there for quite a while now. No other explanation for it, as far as I can see. It was covered up too, it was, by all sorts of debris.”

“But not so much that you didn’t see it,” Sara stated hollowly. He shook his head, staring down at the waistcoat as though it were a phantom. “This is Frodo’s weskit.” Sara inspected the clothe more closely, until he was certain he was correct. “He was wearing this the morning he disappeared. He did get through the Gate.”

“But that’s impossible. I’ve checked with the bounders, sir, and so did Mr. Mac. No one got through the Gate, on my word. Flynn’s the sharpest I got and he was minding it that day, he was,” Hob said.

“And he left it,” Sara said, not with accusation but with dread, clutching the waistcoat to his chest, his heart pattering with fear. “He left it and no one was watching the Gate. Frodo saw his chance and he took it.” He clutched the waistcoat tighter still and brought it to his face, staring hard at the fabric, his expression now grim and tinged with anger. “Damn that lad!”

“Now, Mr. Sara,” Hob continued, trying to talk sense. “That child would have been in and out of that Forest so fast. He’d not have stayed in there this whole time, I reckon.”

“But this is Frodo’s. I would know it anywhere. His mother made this for him special for her last birthday,” Sara stated. “He wouldn’t just cast this aside.”

The master and bounder looked at each other, then beyond the torch line and toward the dark and ominous forest. The sun was beginning to rise over the trees, bathing all but the forest with its soft, bright light. Inside the forest, all was dimmed and shadowed, and further in toward its heart it remained always pitch black.

“Very well,” Sara said, as if he had been discussing something with Hob. He took a deep breath and fought for calm and clarity. “This is what we’ll do. I’ll go back to the Hall and gather some searchers to come back with me and enter the Forest. See if the bounders can find a trail while I am gone, but do not let them go in so far that you cannot see them. Keep the gardeners working, don’t tell them anything and make sure your bounders keep quiet, at least until I return. We don’t need a panic here.”

“Yes, sir, right away, sir,” Hob said, doing nothing but panicking. Order his fellows to enter the Forest? Without causing alarm?

“I’ll be back as soon as may be,” Saradoc promised, then quickly walked through the tunnel and back into Buckland. He unhitched a pony from its cart – the driver was still helping the gardeners – and mounted the beast effortlessly. He nicked and prodded the animal gently and was soon quickly making his way to Crickhollow Road.  

The dining hall was filled with happily eating hobbits, more than usual for second breakfast,  when Saradoc slipped through the doors and made his way to the head table, the post messenger that had been sent out to find him just minutes before now trailing behind him.

Rory was in deep conversation with his brothers, Dodinas and Dinodas, while Gilda coddled a complacent Merry. Esmeralda was watching her mother-in-law from the corner of her eye, ready for any sign that the matriarch might be ready to give her son back, and spent the meanwhile speaking earnestly with Berylla, who had Berilac bouncing on her lap. Merimac was at a nearby table, speaking with Rufus, Asphodel and Amaranth, and Milo was simply eating anything that came in his path while he reread a letter from Peony.

Sara stopped before the table and quickly requested his family’s attention. Esme immediately noticed the waistcoat he held and smiled joyfully. “You found him; he’s back,” she said but her relief was short-lived. Sara was looking at them grimly and his grip on the waistcoat was knuckle-white. "He didn't," she whispered.

Sara nodded. “He did. Hob found this on the border of the Old Forest,” he said. “Frodo must be in there, that’s the only explanation. We need searchers to be sent in.”

“The Old Forest!” the ladies exclaimed, and Berilac yelped as his mother squeezed him hard in her shock.

“Are you certain?” Esme asked, her voice faint.

Sara nodded. “I am.”

“But, that means he’s been in there for nearly three days!” Esme exclaimed.

“So we best get to it,” Rory announced. “There’s no time to lose.” Rorimac stood and clanked his glass with his fork until all eyes and ears were on him. He made short work of the announcement, cutting straight to the point, and requested volunteers to go into the Forest and help with the search.

Finding help was not an easy task. Even with the request coming directly from the Master, no one was eager to volunteer for the job. The Forest was feared by all, even in the morning’s reassuring light. There was much buzzing and discussing, but no one stood to offer their services.

In the end, only a handful of relations offered assistance: Merimac, Dodi and Dino, Marmadas, and Rufus and Milo. Saradas offered to assist but was bid to remain behind to mind the Hall in the Master’s absence; Seredic went in his father’s stead. They left the dining hall immediately to prepare for the trek to the forest and gather what supplies they might need.

“We’ll find him, Esme,” Rory assured and gripped his daughter-in-law’s shoulder firmly, trying to hide his own fears and doubts. “Most likely, he did not go far in and is merely lost, or might even be caught up in a bramble.”

Fendi and Morti had just sat to their food, with Edon between them, when the announcement was made. The friends shot each other panicked glances, but said nothing and tried not to feel guilty, to little avail. Mixed with their guilt was a sense of admiration for the little scamp. That Frodo had not only went into the Forest, but had got in unseen and had remained there this long was something unheard of, yet this too caused concern. There’s only one reason that they could think of for someone not leaving the forest, and it was not a happy thought. Their guilt doubled again and they distracted themselves with pushing the food around their plates, and Edon wondered vaguely how Sed would react to the news once it reached their homestead.

Gil made no outward reaction to the news, but inside he was in turmoil. Those daring blue eyes from the previous day and the cautious ones from the other morning came back to plague him mercilessly. He should have apologized when he had the chance, and all this could have been prevented. Now Frodo was likely trapped in the forest, and he would be lucky to emerge with his life.

Fuchsia frowned down at her plum pudding when Rory made his announcement, then looked over at Gil, who sat stone still, his expression unreadable. She returned to her food, picking at it distractedly, and missed when Gil turned and whispered to his father. She missed the earnest discussion that passed between them and did not see when Gil rose from his seat and swiftly left the hall.
 
 
 

To be continued…
 
 

* - There are many towns and settlements that were not plotted on the Shire map, and the Northfarthing appears especially sparse because of this. Branbourne is of my own invention, and I place it in the Northfarthing, about 20 miles north-northeast of Oatbarton.

Chapter 9 – Preparations

The volunteers stood in the Master’s study, making their plans as the servants dashed about and prepared packs and gear.

Rorimac looked between his two sons, both determined and stubborn in their own right. “One of you will have to remain behind,” he stated. He could not risk both his sons and himself going into the Old Forest and never returning. While any one of their wives were more than capable of leading Buckland with Saradas’s help until Merry came of age, it would be a cruel and grieving task for their wives to lose them all. For even if Brandybucks did venture into the forest from time to time there was always the risk that the forest would awaken and claim the life of whoever entered.

Sara and Mac looked at each other. They spoke only with their eyes and after a time, Mac nodded. “I will stay.”

“Good, you can continue to join the bounders and guard the Gate and send messages back to the Hall. Our wives will be eager to hear word of the search,” Rorimac said.

Sara clapped his brother on the shoulder and hugged him in thanks. He was Frodo’s guardian and it was his responsibility to see to the lad’s safety. He had failed in that task, but he would not fail now. He would not leave the forest until Frodo was found, be he well or be he…

Sara’s thoughts trailed off and Merimac read the distress in his eyes. He hugged his brother back. “Frodo will be fine,” Mac said. “You will find him.”

Sara nodded, doubt creeping through his very being, and waited as his father turned to the other volunteers. Rory looked upon Rufus and Milo next. “One of you will have to stay behind as well.” He raised his hands for silence before the protests could be sounded. “I’m sorry, but if worse comes to worst, I will not have my sister grieving both a husband and a son.” Dodi and Dino nodded their agreement.

“I will come,” Milo said before his father could speak.

“Now, son,” Rufus started, but Milo cut him off.

“Mother needs you,” Milo stated.

Rufus shook his head. “You’re our only child and I’m an old man.”

Milo grinned. “You act like you’re never going to see me again, Father. I’ll not be bested by a bunch of trees.”

“We will both go,” Rufus said calmly, grinning back at his son. He turned to his brothers-in-law. “My Del would expect nothing less of either of us, and she said she’ll make meatloaf tonight if we return in time.”

Rory measured their resolve and nodded his consent. As long as they were willing and his sister understood the risk, he would need all the help he could get. He motioned to his team. “Come along then; Frodo awaits us,” he said, and they followed him out of the study.  

“Excuse me, Master, but I want to come.”

The fellows turned from the pony trap, their packs loaded up and ready to go, and found Gil standing there before them. Rory shook his head at the tween. “Sorry, lad, but this is no job for one so young. Get back into the Hall.”

Gil nodded his understanding but did not move. “I’m not much younger than Milo or Edic,” he pointed out. “Please, sir, I must go. I was the one who told Frodo that he lacked the courage to enter the Old Forest, and the very next day, he did so. It is my fault that he went in, and therefore it is my responsibility to retrieve him.”

The fellows looked at him critically and Rory grunted with disapproval. He looked the tween up and down and stared him hard in the eye. Gil did not back down from the scrutiny and he seemed sincere in his conviction. “Do your parents know?”

“They do. They approve my decision, though they’re not happy with it.”

“Then you shall come, but we will speak about this once we return. You had best hope Frodo does not come to harm from this.” Rory turned to the others. “He will take his share from the provisions we have. We do not have time to wait for him to get his own.”

“I already have my own,” Gil said and held up the pack that had gone previously unnoticed.

“Very well. We ride now.” Rory beckoned everyone into the cart. They quickly found their seats, and Rory took the reins. They rode off swiftly.

By the time the search party departed, the news of Frodo’s latest antics had spread through the entire Hall. Most were worried for the child, who had already been through so much. Some remembered Frodo’s last reckless act and sadly shook their heads at the teen gone wayward. To others, this was nothing more than a teen’s carelessness, and still others held the opinion that Frodo was not in the forest at all and was merely playing them all as fools. A few held the dark opinion that Frodo was attempting to finish what he had started two years earlier, in a place no one would have thought to look for him. “He’ll not be found breathing,” they said dramatically, “and he’ll be laid to rest next to his parents, bless him.”  

Edon and his friends had returned immediately to Morti’s room after leaving the dining hall. The situation had grown much more serious, and whatever guilt they had been feeling before had leapt by bounds after the Master’s announcement. Edon had at first managed to keep his mind off the fact that Frodo had disappeared while under his care, but the guilt had been building steadily as each day passed and now it all but crept around his heart and throat, threatening to clamp down without mercy.

Why hadn’t he watched Frodo more closely? Because he never thought the teen would do something this stupid, that’s why. And why had Frodo done this? He knew that answer well enough, having just spent an hour with Gil telling Esmeralda all that they knew, and while he wanted to allow Gil to take the sole blame, he knew that Frodo would never have had the opportunity to enter the Forest had he not allowed the lad to come with them.

“Maybe I should go too, help with the search,” Edon mused. “After all, none of this would have happened if we hadn’t taken Frodo with us.”

“Go?” Fendi squeaked. “Are you mad? Only Brandybucks go in there.”

“Besides, the searchers have probably already left,” Morti pointed out.

“Yes, but only just. I can catch them up,” Edon said.

“Rory will never allow it,” Fendi said. “You’re not family, you’re too young, and you’d need your parents’ approval besides. By the time you get to Mauville and back, they’d have reached the Forest and already gone through the tunnel. The bounders won’t let you in.”

“If I had permission they would,” Edon said.

“Who’s going to give you permission?” Fendi asked. “Saradas is as strict and stuffy as they come, and Mac won’t be any better when he gets back.”

“I could go to the Mistress,” Edon suggested. But what would he say to her?

Fendi and Morti shook their heads, unable to believe their ears. “Edon, there’s nothing you can do,” Morti said, trying to talk sense into his friend. “If you go now, you’ll risk going in alone, and you’ll get yourself lost next. How is that going to help anyone?”

Edon sighed and banged the back of his head against the wall in frustration. His friends were right and he had missed his chance to help Frodo after they left the Gate without him. “I shouldn’t have let him come. I knew I shouldn’t but I did anyway. This is just as much our doing as it is Gil’s. What if they don’t find him? What will happen to us then?”

Fendi and Morti had no answer and a dread-filled silence fell over the room.  

Frodo woke from dark dreams and stretched groggily. He was still lying where he had fallen and he was sore and bruised where his body had slammed against the hard earth. Snatches of his night terrors, brought on by the hallucinogenic fruit, fled before his eyes: dark, cold tunnels filled with echoing laughter; cold, wet hands reaching out to grab him as he ran by; goblins and wolves attacking at all sides; his parents’ faces frozen in terror under the water, their mouths shaped to form his name.

He shivered at that last image and closed his eyes again, as though he could shut it out by doing so. He had been terrified in his sleep but unable to awaken, and now once woken he wanted to forget his dreams as quickly as he could. He pushed the lingering images from his mind, not wanting to remember more, but the dread that filled him even in waking was difficult to shake. He had been feeling dread already for the past two days; he had not thought he could possibly feel more but he now realized he had been wrong. With effort, he pushed that aside also and opened his eyes again.

Now, he wanted only to get up and leave this place, not caring that it will only take him further into the forest’s black heart. He wanted to get away from this tree with its mocking promise of food, get away from this spot where the sun could not penetrate the thick weave of leaves tangled overhead.

He stood on quivering legs, his stomach a hard, shriveled knot in his belly, no longer grumbling over its lack of food. His throat however was parched and he knew that he would not be able to make much of a sound if he attempted to. There was no reason for him to call out anyway. He knew no one was looking for him and wouldn’t even think to do so until another day or two, if they did at all. They certainly would never think to look for him here. He was alone, as he had always been since his parents left him. How could they leave him? Was it because he hadn’t bothered to say good night to them when they dropped him off at Del’s apartment? Had they been mad at him? Had that somehow caused them to not mind the boat? How could he be so heartless?

‘Stop this!’ He shook the cobwebs from his head, too vigorously for his weakened state. He stumbled over and fell onto the ground with a thump. Berating himself was getting him nowhere, that much he knew from hearing it almost every day since he came to live at Brandy Hall. He couldn’t stand about mulling over events that happened so long ago when there were more pressing matters in the present to contend with. There had to be food somewhere in this forest, there had to be water. He just needed to find it.

Ignoring his pain and dizziness, he stood again and looked around, listening and smelling. There were no sounds of trickling water and in all his time in the forest, he had never seen any creatures inside it, not real ones anyway. Still, there had to be something growing here that he could eat. He had heard owls the previous night, and owls needed to eat, as did their prey. There was edible vegetation in the forest somewhere and Frodo was not yet ready to give up on finding any.

Knowing he would not have the strength to make it back up the slope that he had come down yesterday, Frodo turned and picked the direction that seemed to have the most light. He stumbled along for time unknown, continuously casting his eyes from side to side with slow caution, for his vision still tended to blur around the edges if he moved his head too quickly. He did find a few bushes with berries growing, but as he did not recognize the fruit, he was hesitant to try them and so passed them by.

Finally, he came to a bush that had a fruit he did recognize: raspberries. The bush was nearly pecked bare by the birds that lived within the forest, but Frodo took what he could find. He tasted one cautiously, biting off a small portion of it and holding it on the tip of his tongue. When all he tasted was sweet nectar, he grabbed at more of the berries and ate them hungrily. There were not enough to satisfy his stomach, which began its grumbling again once it was given the food, but it did much to ease his mind. If he had found these, then there must be more.

He continued to stumble forward, staying close to the fruit-bearing bush, figuring that there must be more nearby. He found at least two more such bushes, each of them with a few handfuls of the fruit upon them. Frodo ate them all, satisfying his stomach for the time being as best he could.

Feeling slightly more confident and a bit more clear-headed, Frodo continued on further and deeper into the forest.  

The search party reached the Hay Gate an hour past luncheon, or what would have been luncheon had they been at the Hall. They unloaded the pony trap and tethered the ponies to nearby trees, then descended the stairs to the tunnel. The tunnel was lit by lanterns hanging from hooks hammered into the stone, making the narrow passageway seem even more dismal than it already did. They were required to walk in single file, and they made their way carefully, burdened by their supplies. When they emerged on the other side, they were just in time to see the bounders exit the forest.

“Well?” Sara called and the gardeners looked down from their trimming. Finally, they would be able to find out what was going on.

“We’ve searched just ‘long the border and a mighty bit further in, ‘bout a hundred yards or so,” Hob said. “We found one trail, sir, and it seems fairly fresh.”

The eldest hobbits walked off toward the forest to speak details, leaving the youngest to mind the supplies. Gil watched Milo and Seredic closely in the flickering torchlight. Milo and Edic were seven and six years Gil’s senior respectively, and already of age. Gil studied their faces for signs of the fear that beat within his own breast, but in Milo he found only determination.

“Why did you come?” Gil asked him.

Milo glanced at the tween and measured him critically. “My parents took Frodo in for a while after his parents died. He was like a brother to me for a time.”

“You would do anything for him?”

“Yes, including pounding you into the ground if I thought it would do any good.” With that, Milo went to join his father’s side, leaving Gil with Edic.

The other lad made no show of having heard the exchange and continued with helping the bounders sort the supplies, as the gardeners looked on and tried to make sense of everything.

Gil held back any questions he had for the youngest Brandybuck and went to help with the organizing. Before he did so though, he looked into the forest, blacker than black, and gulped. He did not want to go in there, truth be told, but he would not back down now. He had committed himself to this errand, and he would stick to it no matter how long it took. He set to organizing the supplies until the Master called for him and Seredic to join the others.

“Flynn will take us to the trail they found and we’ll take over from there,” Rory said once all were assembled. “We stay together at all times, unless we must by necessity split up. Be prepared to sleep in the forest tonight if we must. Once we enter the forest, we will not leave it until we find Frodo. If anyone wants to turn back, they can do so now.”

No one moved and after a few minutes, Rory nodded and entered the forest.

Gil was handed an unlit torch and a striker from one of the bounders. He braced his pack more securely on his shoulders and held his torch in his trembling hand, his knuckles white with fear. He hesitated at the very edge of the forest, his feet refusing to carry him further until finally he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped forward. His foot dragged with that first step, feeling leaden and cumbersome, but once he had set foot onto the soil of the woods, his other foot followed more easily.

A hundred yards to find the trail was no great distance, yet it seemed as though a mile had been traveled before Flynn pointed it out to them. Dodi bent over it to inspect it and nodded grimly: those were hobbit tracks, and a young hobbit at that. Flynn left them then, eager to get out of the forest, and the others pushed on, Dodi in the lead so he could follow the trail unhindered.

Gil couldn’t help but feel useless. For all his conviction, he had nothing to contribute to the search. He jumped and turned at every sound, hoping desperately that it was Frodo, drawn by the sounds of their voices, and fearing it would instead be a monstrous wolf or some other creature come to make them its next meal. But it was only ever another searcher, stepping on a branch or stumbling over leaves. The trees themselves were silent and nothing untoward occurred.

After a time, they came to a halt. Dodi was puzzling over the trail, that now seemed to go in many different directions and yet at the same time, remained ever going steadily forward. “It seems he might of tried to return,” he analyzed, “but he wasn’t allowed to leave the forest.”

“We’ll scout ahead,” Marmadas stated, and he, Dodi and Dino rested their packs on the ground and went on while the others sat and took some rest.

The day was hot and the forest was musky and dank, compounding the heat to near unbearable levels. All of them had already discarded their waistcoats and rolled up their shirtsleeves; Milo and Edic had done away with their shirts altogether. They sat and waited in the shade, for the little bit of relief it gave them, but drank only a little of the water, just enough to wet their palates.

After another half-hour, Dodi, Dino and Marmadas came back from scouting ahead. “The tracks get a bit more confused up ahead, but there are two distinct trails heading off in opposite directions,” Marmadas reported. “We could not follow either one of them to their end.”

“We cannot risk the chance of bypassing him,” Saradoc said. “We will have to split up.”

Rory’s brow furrowed. They were few in number already and splitting up into smaller groups was not advisable. Still, his son was right. They could not risk ignoring one path for another.

“Half could go ahead on what appears to be the return path and scout that way,” Dinodas suggested. “The rest of us can wait here for report and guard the second path. That way, if there’s trouble, we shouldn’t be too far off to hear your shouts.”

“For that matter, we may as well all go,” Rufus said, “but that will delay us terribly. I suggest we split up. We can mark the paths as we go so that we can find each other more easily.”

Rory nodded. “We’ll need a tracker on each team then. Dino will go with Milo, Rufus and myself; we will take what appears to be the return trail. Marmadas, you go with Dodi, Gil, Edic and Sara on the other trail. Mark your trails well but do not mark any of the trees. Use only the branches and rocks on the ground to mark your way when necessary. We’ll catch up with you as soon as we are able. However, I do not want us sleeping in separate camps tonight. When the light begins to fail, we will all return to this spot.”

They packed away what little scraps remained of their meal, shouldered their packs and moved on. They were not long on their way before they found where the trail forked. They did not say farewell, but waved each other good luck and separated. Not more than a minute passed before the forest came between them, cutting off all sight and sound of each group as they made their way further into its black heart.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 10 – A Moonlit Stroll

Edon spent most of the day at the Hall, hearing all the latest news and gossip as it rippled through the tunnels. It was not long before everyone discovered that Gil had gone with the searchers, having taken the blame to himself for Frodo’s actions. This ate away at Edon, who now wished he hadn’t listened to his friends and had put in more of an effort to go with the search team. Now it truly was too late and he would have to wait with everyone else for the outcome of the search.

He left Brandy Hall soon after dinner but he did not return home. He had too much on his mind and needed time to sort out his thoughts. He wandered aimlessly at first but eventually wound up in Bucklebury, strolling through the marketplace and the many rows of little shops and its lively inn. Only the inn remained opened at this late hour but there were still some last-minute shoppers straggling out of dimly-lit shops. No one paid him much mind, for which he was grateful; the less distractions he had the better. Yet after circling the marketplace for the eighth time, he was no closer to clearing his mind of its cobwebs.

He came to a small wooden table set out for shoppers to sit and rest, and he sat upon the tabletop, his feet on the seat, and looked out toward the east and the unseen forest that loomed there. He picked up a stray bit of wood block that a craftsman had no doubt forgotten there and he turned it about in his hand, vague images coming to his mind's eye of the many different things the block could be shaped into. But these images always somehow brought him back to the forest, and eventually he looked out toward the east and the unseen forest that loomed there.

Twilight darkened into night and the stars shone brilliantly above in silent, shimmering radiance. A cool breeze swept across his face, a welcome comfort from the balmy night air. Edon looked up at the stars, so bright in the pitch black sky, the wood block forgotten in his hand, and sought an answer for his troubles.

What if Frodo wasn’t found? That was first and foremost in his mind. Gil had accepted the blame as his own, but it would only be a matter of time before himself and Sed, and Fendi and Morti, were blamed for their part in this. Already, Edon could see the looks of disapproval from the Brandybucks and the disappointment and shame from his parents. Fendi and Morti were relatively safe in all this, being part of the family. They would be punished, but not scorned. Edon and Sed however…

Their father had only recently secured his foothold here and it had not been easily won. To start, their father was a Breelander, who had journeyed here one day with only the purpose of trading for pipeweed in the Southfarthing. There he had met a lovely lass, who was herself visiting from the Northfarthing and was staying with some cousins. He had dropped everything to follow her back to Branbourne, and her father had given him a job as a groundskeeper at his vineyard. He learned his job quickly and the old farmer, impressed with his diligence, allowed him to marry his daughter and take her status as his own. When he heard that Old Hopsfroam passed away without a wife or heir, he had placed a bid on the small Buckland vineyard and kept bidding until all the other bidders gave up.

That he’d had enough money to buy the vineyard already established him as a worthy hobbit, but the Bucklanders still hadn’t known what to make of him, what with his Breeland ways and his humble-looking family. Hobbits were more laid back in Branbourne, gentry and common folk dressing alike and speaking as informal as you please, and these traits made it difficult for the Bucklanders to decide where to place them on the status scale.

For their first couple of years here, they had lived in a sort of limbo, being neither common folk nor gentry, and they had suddenly found themselves needing lessons on gentry decorum. Their father at least was of the mind that they belonged in the more affluent circles of society, and once they began to act the part – and after their father’s wine proved to be among the best – the Bucklanders had agreed.

Now, Edon had jeopardized all that his father had worked for. He had taken the Master’s youngest nephew to the Old Forest, and left him there. If Frodo was not found, or was found dead, it would not take long before the hobbits of Brandy Hall turned the blame onto Edon and Sed, and eventually their father, for not raising his children better.

There had to be a way to prevent this from harming his father, but he didn’t know what that might be. He couldn’t begin to guess, still becoming used to the subtleties of gentry politics even after all these years. He needed an objective point of view, from someone whose job it was to make the gentry happy. So he sat and he waited.

He had not intended to sit himself in front of the quilt shop where Piper Redleaf worked, but now that he was there he realized that he had been circling in front of the little shop all evening, more than any of the others.

While Fuchsia had been the first of the gentry to befriend him, Piper had been the first of the working class to approach him after his family’s move here. She had seen his uncertainty and shy eagerness, and had gladly taken him under her wing, teaching him all he needed to know about living in Buckland, more so than anyone else. 

After his family’s rise in status, she had respectfully distanced herself, but she would still stop to speak with him from time to time if they happened to pass each other on the road, and if they both happened to be alone. Edon was not certain if Frodo was correct in his observation about Piper being sweet on him, but one thing was certain: Piper would listen and give him the advice he needed. He just hoped he hadn’t missed her.

He need not have feared. Within a half-hour, a door opened and closed and the sound of keys in a lock jangled into the night. Then soft footsteps approached him. “Edon?” came the high, clear voice. “Did ‘ee get yerself lost, or have ‘ee been dancing ‘bout me shop the last hour a purpose?”

“A little of both actually,” Edon said, turning to face her. “I’m more than a bit lost and I was hoping I could speak with you, if you’re able.” He was careful not to slip into his country brogue with her, which he was always tempted to do when in her presence, but fearing she might take it as an insult he held back.

Piper considered him evenly and wavered for the briefest of moments. Then she nodded curtly and said, “If I’m able, I’ll help ‘ee find yer way. Will ‘ee be needing someone to walk ‘ee home then?” And she smiled teasingly.

Edon laughed. “I wouldn’t say no to the company,” he said and slipped off the table to stand before her, discreetly placing the wood block back where he had found it. “But it would be more proper for me to walk you home. Shall we?” He offered his arm and after a moment’s hesitation, she accepted.

“Only if ‘ee promise to be the perfect gentlehobbit, Master Edon,” she teased.

“I will, so long as you promise not to call me that again,” Edon said, and with that he set them a leisurely pace.

They walked slowly, neither of them in much of a hurry. Piper never seemed to bother with the rush and bustle that so many other hobbits here got swept into, and Edon needed as much time as he could get to sort out how exactly to broach the subject of Frodo’s disappearance. As should have been expected, he needn’t have bothered.

“So, what’ve ‘ee lost, Edon?” Piper asked once they had left the marketplace behind. She looked up at Edon expectantly and waited patiently.

Edon studied her in profile. He felt a bit awkward coming to her after what Frodo had said and he couldn’t help but wonder if the lad might have been right in his assumptions. He found himself paying more attention to Piper’s unspoken language: the way she carried herself, carefree and jovial; the tone of her voice, kind and considerate; the expression in her eyes, caring and attentive. He could determine nothing from her behavior that might suggest a fancy, but he had learned enough by now to know that she could very well be hiding it, for propriety’s sake.

He glanced at her quickly under the moonlight and saw nothing there but friendly regard. He had to admit that she was a pretty lass, though she had none of the classic beauty and grace that Fuchsia Brownlock possessed. Piper was as common as they came, with sweet and comely good-looks, her honey-colored hair the only feature to set her apart from the rest.

“Edon?” she prompted after a time, and Edon shook himself back into the present moment.

“Have you heard about the Master’s nephew?” he asked.

“Oh, isn’t it just awful, in the Old Forest all this time. Word came into town ‘round ‘bout luncheon,” Piper exclaimed sympathetically. “That poor child out there all alone. I do hope they find ‘im.”

Edon nodded. “Aye, tis why I came to speak wit’ you,” he said, allowing a bit of his rough and common accent to slip out anyway, to see how she would react. “I was there with him as you might recall. I took Frodo there, to the Gate Opening.”

“I remember. He’s a mite young to’ve gone, ain’t he?” Piper asked, taking no notice to the change in his intonation.

“Just a teen,” Edon confirmed. “He wanted to go though.”

“Well, ‘tis naught ‘ee could’ve done ‘bout it then,” Piper said reasonably. “If he wanted to go, he’d a gone whether ‘ee be there or no.”

Edon shook his head. “I don’t think so. We met up with him at Hedge Field and he was only going to wait there for his guardian. It wasn’t until after Sed made a joke to him about the Old Forest that he voiced a wish to go there. Even then he seemed nervous about it all. I told him he didn’t have to go, but he insisted so I let him come.”

“As I said, he’d a gone on his own then.”

“But that was only after what Sed said. I’m positive he wouldn’t have gone otherwise,” Edon insisted.

“I thought he’d gone a cause of summat that Mr. Madagilus lad said to ‘im,” Piper stated.

“Gil might think so. He said Frodo was a coward and that he had no friends close enough to go into the Old Forest after.”

“How awful!”

“Yes, but he only said it because I was there.”

Now Piper shook her head but she made no comment. Still, her thoughts couldn’t be plainer. She was as tired of the feud as everyone else was.

“I can’t help but feel responsible,” Edon went on. “Frodo would not have been there to be taunted by Gil and he wouldn’t have been at the Gate Opening if I had not taken him along. Frodo was too young to be at the Gate and I knew it, yet I took him along anyway.”

“Because he wanted to go,” Piper filled in.

“Well, yes, but that isn’t the point. If he’d wanted to climb to the top of the highest tree, should I have taken him there to do so? No, of course not. And I shouldn’t have taken him to the Gate. I should have insisted that he stay away. I should have kept a better eye on him. What chance is there they won’t turn us away for this?”

Piper squeezed his arm supportively then. “‘Tisn’t yer fault, Edon. Master Frodo slipped past everyone’s eye, including all the bounders, both Inside and Outside. We’re all to be faulted in that regard, so far as I’m concerned.”

Edon paused to consider this. He had never thought of that before, that there had been more eyes than just his that should have noticed Frodo’s run on the Gate. Not that it relieved his guilt very much, but it did ease his worry.

“So, if Frodo is not found, you don’t think that will come back on us?” he asked again. He stopped walking so he could give his full attention to the lass’s response. “I’m afraid they’ll turn the blame from Gil to me, and eventually to my father, for not having raised me no better.”

Piper fell into silence and for many moments she kept her thoughts to herself. Finally she shook her head and shrugged. “Tis no accounting for Brandybucks, as they say, but they’re sensible enough. They’ll see the right o’ it. ’Ee took Frodo there, which might not have been wise, but as he wanted to go, ‘ee certainly didn’t force ‘im. And ‘ee most certainly didn’t make ‘im enter the Forest. I don’t even think Mr. Madagilus can be accounted for this too much. But me opinion’s not the one as matters. If you’re really worried about this, why don’t ‘ee go to the Mistress?”

“I already spoke with Mistress Esmeralda this morning, before all this had got out. She was not pleased with me in the slightest.”

“But did she blame ‘ee?” Piper said.

“I’m fairly certain she does. She wanted to hear our side of it, Gil’s and mine. She wanted to know what we had done to upset Frodo so much that he’d take off.”

“Then ‘ee’ll have to talk to her again, the way I see it. Tell her yer afeard of what might come to you and yours. She’ll understand, is my wager, and it’ll be none so bad as you’re a fearing.”

“What are others saying?” Edon asked next. “In town? Have you heard anything?”

Piper laughed. “I hear so much chin-wagging in a day, I’m amazed I don’t go home with me head a spinning. But folk seem to be pretty much agreed on who’s to blame in this, and that’d be young Master Frodo himself. He’s always running off as ‘ee know, disappearing for days at a time, no matter what his guardians attempt to do on the matter.”

Edon shook his head sadly at this. “Doesn’t anyone care that he could very well die?”

“Of course they do!” Piper exclaimed. “‘Tisn’t what they mean, Edon. They only mean that he’s a tragic soul and not much more can be expected for him. It’s sad and dismal, but it’s true enough. He had a tragic start in life, and he’ll have a tragic end. No one likes it, but that’s just how it goes. You’re not to blame for that.”

“I know,” Edon said, remembering everything he had heard over the years of the death of the Master’s youngest sister and her husband. “It just doesn’t seem fair to him. Why should he have to suffer so?”

“Well, he’s not gone yet,” Piper said. “He’ll be found most like, and go on to live a full and happy life and prove everyone wrong, no doubt. Just ‘ee wait and see. He’ll be luckier than us all.”

“Thank ‘ee, Piper,” Edon said. “For everything. You’re truly a good friend.”

“I do what I can,” Piper said and smiled up at him. They continued the rest of the way in silence and at last they came to her home. They stopped at the walk path leading up to her house, where a candle was burning in the windowsill. At the next window over, a curtain fluttered closed. “They’re waiting for me; I’m late.”

“I’ll let you go then. We’ll have to spend more time together. I miss you, Piper,” Edon said.

Piper smiled, sweet but a bit sad. “Oh, ‘ee’ve not missed me none, not wit’ that Miss Brownlock to turn yer head. She’s a proper lass, she is.”

“Well, I’ve never denied my tendency towards foolishness,” Edon said, “and foolish I am, for letting our friendship grow so stale. You’re the most proper lass I know, and you’ve a good lead on any lass from Brandy Hall, if you want my opinion.” 

Piper hummed happily for just a moment then shook her head. “But ‘ee’re an important hobbit now. ‘Ee’ve not the time to be spending on a lass like me.”

“I’ll be the one who decides who I’ll be spending my time with,” Edon said and lifted Piper’s hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “I’ll gladly escort you home anytime you need.” He let go her hand then and watched after her as she made her way up the walk path and to the door.

“I work ev’ry night ‘cept Highday,” she called back. “’Ee know what time to be fetching me, seemingly, but I’ll not expect ‘ee if ‘ee can’t make it.”

“I’ll make it, every night except Highday,” he promised and was rewarded with a shy smile.

“Good night, Edon,” she said. “Or, Master Edon, as I should say.”

“Don’t you dare,” Edon said, a smile now also on his lips. “Tomorrow then.” Then he bowed and turned to continue on his way.  

Frodo had not been able to find any more berries, and the burst of energy he’d had after his small meal quickly wore off. If possible, the day seemed even hotter than previous days. He was becoming dehydrated and had been required to sit and rest at many points during the day to keep from passing out again. He did not want to go back to sleep, dreading the dreams and memories that would come with it. He could feel them there, waiting for him to slip into oblivion to taunt him once more. He tried everything he could to keep himself awake, yet found himself jerking out of a light doze each time he sat down to rest.

Finally, he gave up. He could not fight the sleep any longer. He wasn’t even sure anymore why he bothered. It would be so simple to just lie down and never get up again. Surely, that was what would happen soon enough. The longer he remained out here, the closer he came to his resting place. Maybe then, he could be with his parents again. Maybe then, he could apologize for not having bade them good night and for doing whatever else he had done to make them go away. Maybe then, they would forgive him and they could all be happy and together again. That wouldn’t be so bad. Would it?

He slumped to the ground against a bole, no longer caring that the trees were dangerous. He let his head droop, let his eyelids close, let the world go black. Maybe this time, he would stay asleep and the dreams would not come to plague him and he could finally be at peace. He nodded off to sleep, a lone tear slipping down his cheek.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 11 – Dark Dreams and Dead Ends

“Mama?”  

Frodo crept down the hall to his parents’ room. He wasn’t sure what had awoken him, but he was drawn inexplicably to their room. Soon, he could hear his father running around in a panic and could see the candlelight under the door flickering frantically. Frodo stopped in front of the closed door. He could hear his father speaking but could not understand the words. He could hear his mother not at all; she was absolutely silent and this struck Frodo as odd that only one of his parents was in a fit. He turned the doorknob, pushed the door open. The smell of blood hit him before he saw it. Liquid red stained the sheets and ran onto the floor. The healer – where had she come from? – was struggling to keep his mother from bleeding too much, to stop the hemorrhage before the damage became irreversible. His mother was staring up at the ceiling, her eyes blank and clouded, and her breath was coming shallow and short. No one noticed as he entered the doorway of the room to look upon the scene in confusion and fear. What was happening? His eyes were fixed on his mother, so pale and luminescent, he was drawn to her, unaware now of anything else but his mother’s stone-like features. He took another step forward, felt something sticky and moist under his foot, looked down. Blood everywhere, covering his feet, crawling up his legs to soak his nightgown, blood over the healer’s arms and clothes, over his mother, the sheets, his father, everything red, everywhere he looked flooded with the sticky hot and acrid fluid. His keening alerted them to his presence even before he realized he was making a sound. Drogo ran forward and scooped him up but Primula made no move. “Get him out of here!” the healer called over her shoulder.  

Get him out of here!  

Drogo put Frodo down in the parlor and in the next instant, Frodo was running through the tunnels of Brandy Hall, panic in his throat. He was running down the tunnels and pathways, past servants he couldn’t name and cousins he barely knew and who knows who else. He was running out the door and down the lane, blindly headed for the river, for the boat. He must find the boat, must find his parents. Must make sure they were all right. He reached the river and knew not which way to go, but remembering that his parents would have launched at the Ferry, he turned south and went that way, past the Ferry where no one stood, past the wading pools where no children played, past fisherhobbits who were not fishing. He ran, until he found the boat, rolled onto its side half submerged in the water, its hull filled with the clear liquid, too much water, too much water. His parents were not there, so he continued on, running still though his lungs burned and his legs begged for rest. He ran until he found them, several fellows, some his uncles and older cousins, some he didn’t know, standing around in an uneven circle, shivering and whispering and dripping with water, soaked clear through their clothes to their wrinkled fingers and toes. The sand around them was also drenched in water, the transparent liquid having dripped off the fellows as they stood in silent horror over their discoveries, just recently pulled from the River. Frodo found a break in the circle, and finally he stopped running, stopped breathing, stopped knowing anything but what he saw there on the sandy banks of the Brandywine. Both his parents, dressed in their finest as they had been the previous night, now water logged and blue, glassy eyes looking up into the sky, seeing nothing, their bodies no longer shivering from the cold. No longer doing anything. No! Mama! Papa! Nonononono! Rorimac looked up and saw him there, pushed one of his brothers into action. “Get him out of here!”  

Get him out of here!  

Frodo left on his own, turned around, ran away before restricting hands could bind him.  

Those were not his parents. They couldn’t be. He refused to believe it and ran to their house, searched every room. He ran to their new smial but could not find it, then ran to Crafter’s Field, where his father would work some mornings, and found it empty and abandoned, then up to the hill overlooking the field, where he and his mother always went to be alone, but she was not there either. He sat against a tree, thin trunk and bedraggled branches, hugged his knees to himself, and let the tears roll down his face as he sobbed without end. Hhe refused to leave that place, stayed there, just in case, for three days and three nights, hiding from the searchers who scanned the fields below but did not come up the hill. He hid, waiting for his mother who did not come, waiting for his father who did not appear. Why had he ever left that place? He should have stayed and waited for whatever may have come. Surely, if he had sat still long enough, they would have come look for him, would have found him.  

He should have stayed, then the dreams would not have come to haunt him ceaselessly, the dreams of the River, silent, cold and black, moving and lapping against the boat, moving with some mysterious force that rose up out of the depths to tip the boat and drag his parents under, taking them away from him, dragging them out to Sea. The dreams of the Sea were worse yet. He could hear them there, struggling still for release from their captor, struggling to return to him, asking him to come to them when they could struggle no longer, asking him to help them. He had tried to go once and he had failed; he’d not had the courage to attempt it again. Milo’s arms lifting him out of the tub, panicked and calling for help. “I need to get him out of here!”  

How does one go on, when all they loved and cared for was gone? How does one continue to live in a world gone cold and silvery-black? When everywhere one looked, there was only despair and danger and fear, uncertainty and hopelessness? What’s the point, the purpose? Is there one?  

“That’s what the story’s about, same as all the others,” Drogo explained patiently as he tucked Frodo into bed.  

“I don’t understand,” Frodo said, stifling a yawn.  

“It’s about all those things, uncertainty and danger at every turn, never knowing when you might meet your end, but continuing on anyway.”  

“But why?”  

“Well, because, if you don’t go on, you’ll never know if that next turn was your end, or your beginning, but they’re the same thing really.”  

“How can it be a beginning if it’s an end?”  

“Because the beginning is always the end of something else. That’s just how it works. A new day can’t begin unless the old one ends. The rain can’t begin unless the sunshine ends. You see?”  

“But why do things have to end at all?”  

“Why, don’t you want the sun to shine and the plants to get their watering? Nothing would grow without such things and we’d have nothing.”  

“I do have nothing already.”  

Asphodel’s arms encircling him, she turned to press a kiss into his curls. “There, there. It seems that way now, but it won’t always be so sad.”  

“I should have gone with them.”  

“Don’t say such things!”  

Get him out of here!  

“Frodo! Breathe, lad! FRODO!”  

He picked up the twig and placed it before the spider, tempting it to crawl up the stem. The spider moved aside, walking past, wanting to go on its way. He placed the twig before it again, only to be shunned once more. Over and over again he did this, until the spider was backed into a corner and finally reared up in defense.  

Get him out of here!  

The blood dripped down the sheets, mixing with the water on the sand, the water covered his ears, his eyes, his nose, the pounding on the bathing room door muffled and distant, so distant now, as distant as the dreams when he drinks the healer’s powerful teas, on the other side of existence, where all is numb and cold and nothing matters.  

Get him out of here!  

The spider reared, grew to monstrous size, towered over him, dripping blood and venom and bile. It shrieked with unearthly tones, its cries piercing the blackened sky, deafening him, and he raised his hands to his ears as the beast loomed down and struck, sending a jolt of searing hot venom through him, snapping him like the very twig he had teased it with. He slipped into the water and swallowed. He could not breathe. Milo, pounding on the door. FRODO!

Frodo opened his eyes with a start and sat up, checking himself for blood and bites, finding only his bruised and weary body. He sank back down to the ground in relief and peered up at the blackened sky overhead, his mind blank of any further thought. He sighed and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to come again.  

They had run into each other quite without meaning to.

Both teams had followed their trails as swiftly as they could, Dodi’s having the more difficult time. The trail they were on had split two more times, but they could not risk going through the forest one by one. They decided to follow one trail at a time as far as it would take them, then backtrack to the next. They stood to lose a great deal of time, but they had no other choice.

As it turned out, the trails ran about in circles and each came to the same point, a minute glade that looked to have been recently occupied by someone. Dodi and Rufus scanned the forest floor with sharp eyes.

“It looks like he laid here for a time,” Dodi said, indicating what appeared to be a regular patch of dirt to the others. “This is probably where he slept.”

“Perhaps he is still somewhere close by,” Milo said. “Should we risk calling for him?”

“I don’t see how it would harm anything. The trees already know we’re here. Look for trails as you go,” Rory said.

So they raised their voices and spread out a bit, keeping within eyesight of each other and calling to Frodo. Several minutes passed before they were too far separated from each other and had to return to the glade. Nothing stirred within the forest and they could only assume that Frodo was too far away to hear them.

They rested then, to eat and think of their next step, which was clearly to find the others and rejoin them to make camp. The sun was already sinking below the horizon and they were far past their appointed time of regrouping. No sooner had they seated themselves upon the forest floor than they heard a rustling on the trail behind them. They looked up, hope in their throats, and from the foliage emerged Dino and his team. The two teams blinked at each other.

“What are you doing here?” Rory asked.

“Our trail went cold so we backtracked to yours, only yours split too, so we picked one trail and hoped for the best,” Marmadas said.

“Wouldn’t have mattered much which one you picked,” Rufus put in now. “All the trails lead to here.”

“Why here?” Gil asked, looking around. There was a cold, ruthless feeling about this small glade that he didn’t much care for. “Is there something special about this place?”

“Most likely he just found himself going around in circles as he tried to find a way out of here,” Saradoc assessed, putting down his pack to join the others.

“Did you hear our voices calling for Frodo then?” Rufus asked.

They shook their heads. “We heard no such thing,” Dino said. “The forest must have smothered your calls to prevent them from carrying too far.”

“But why would he be going in circles if he was trying different ways out?” Gil asked, a shiver going through him at the thought of the forest coming alive and smothering them next.

“That’s the nature of the forest,” was all Dino gave for an answer.

“Come on,” Edic said to the younger lad and they both followed Sara to sit with the other searchers. “I suppose we’ll be making camp here tonight.”

“This is just as good a place as any,” Dodi said, looking around. “At least we seem to be going in the right direction, and we can always hope that if Frodo slept here before, he might return tonight.”

Soon, everyone was sitting in a large circle, eating in quiet contemplation of the situation. The sky above was deep purple fading to midnight black and the forest around them was as dark as they have ever seen. They lit no fires and ate the travel cakes that the cooks had quickly made for them. They were fortunate in the warm weather, for they did not have to bother with pitching a tent and other than the light it would give, they did not miss a fire. Yet the heat was a curse for them as well. Each hour in the heat was an hour lost for Frodo, and in the back of their minds, they all knew it.

They spread out their sleeping rolls wherever they could find comfortable ground and lay upon them. Though the camp was full of soft whispers at first, the toil of the day’s search had them all exhausted and soon everyone was drifting off to sleep, some snoring softly, Dodi snoring to bring the forest down.  

Gil woke to the sound of urgent whispers. He opened his eyes enough to see that it was still night and everyone else was still asleep. Everyone, that is, but Saradoc and the Master. Gil closed his eyes again and tried to drift back to oblivion, but in the absolute silence of the Forest, the whispers of the two older hobbits carried like shouts into his ears.

“-running out of time,” Saradoc was saying.

“I know, son,” Rory replied. “We’re going as fast as we can. Hopefully, he’ll stop walking as he becomes more lethargic, and so long as the trail doesn’t divide again, we should have no more delays.”

“And if we still don’t find him in time or the forest decides to become difficult, how am I supposed to go home and tell Esme we’ve lost him?” Sara asked. “It would be like losing one of our own.”

“We’ll find him, Sara,” Rory said, an empty promise and they both knew it.

“This is my fault,” Sara said. “I shouldn’t have let Frodo go to the field by himself. I should have insisted he wait.”

“And those lads shouldn’t have taken him to the Opening and that Gil there should have kept his mouth shut and that bounder should have stayed by the Gate,” Rory said. “And, most importantly, Frodo should have stayed out of here. You could blame everyone in Buckland if you want to, son, that’s not going to get things done.”

“I know.” A resigned sigh. “I’m trying, Father, I am. We both are, Esme and me. We try to understand him, try to remember how much more difficult this is for him than it is for us. We constantly tell him that we’re there to speak with him whenever he wants, and still he shuts himself away from us.” Sara rolled slightly on his side and settled into a more comfortable position. “Is it that he doesn’t believe us? Or he doesn’t trust us? What are we doing wrong?”

“Every child is different,” Rory said. “Look at me and all my brothers and sisters. We were all different and if our parents had tried to raise us all the same, it would have been disastrous. They had to learn each time one of us was born how to raise us; they never did figure it out with Saradas either. Why do you think he’s such a stick in the mud?” Sara laughed faintly. “You just need to learn how to handle Frodo, and you will, but you’re coming into it halfway through and not in the best of circumstances. You just need to give yourself time.”

“Will we even have that time now?” Sara mused. His father gave no answer though it pained him to not be able to reassure his son.

There was a moment’s pause as each hobbit considered the situation, and Gil nearly drifted off. Then Saradoc spoke again, wistful and forlorn. “Have you ever heard Frodo sing to Merry? He’ll bundle Merry up and climb onto the rocking chair, scooting all the way back so he can hold Merry more securely. Then he’ll start humming and eventually sing, one of those lullabies that Prima used to sing to him. He has such a sweet voice, just like his mother, and Merry will stop fussing immediately and simply stare at him until he falls asleep. Then Frodo will just hold him, humming still and smiling with such love, and in those moments he’s just like he was before Primula and Drogo drowned. Frodo may not be our son, but he’s as much a brother to Merry as he can be. If anything were to happen to him, Merry won’t even remember him.”

Rory reached out and clasped his son on the shoulder. “We’ll find him,” he said again. “We’ll leave before first light and we won’t stop until we find him. We have water for him and food, and Dodi saw to bringing any medications we might need. There’s no point lingering on what ifs.”

They grew silent again. How long into the night they sat in worried silence, Gil did not know, for despite the sudden dread grown cold in the pit of his stomach, he drifted off to sleep soon after. When next he woke, it was still dark but several voices surrounded him and someone was shaking his shoulder.

“Time to wake up, Gil,” Milo said. “We’re eating on our feet.”

Milo helped the tween up and back into his pack. Gil swayed slightly under the weight and his tiredness. Milo kept a hold of the lad until Gil was steady and awake enough to manage on his own, then he went to retrieve breakfast.

Soon enough, everyone was awake, yawning and blurry-eyed, but ready to continue the march. They took care of personal business as quickly as they could and rejoined the line. When everyone was accounted for, they pushed off, with Saradoc now at the lead with Dodinas, and Dinodas at the rear with Rorimac.

They marched through the predawn darkness in silence, munching on their travel cakes and taking small sips of water from the skins. The water was already a third gone and Dodi warned them to be more conservative if it were to last them another day or two. Only one skin remained untouched and that was reserved for Frodo.

With their supplies dwindling, the hobbits instinctively began to look for other sources of water, finding none. Now Gil understood Saradoc’s concern. Frodo has been in the forest for three days now, and in stifling heat besides. The lad’s time was running short and he would have no chance of survival if he were not found soon. Unless he had found his way to the Withywindle. The direction of the lad’s tracks did not suggest that however. Frodo was going deeper into the heart of the forest with every step, where not even light could be seen anymore, if Gil could judge from the whispered conversations around him.

They finished nibbling on their cakes at about the same time, and Seredic turned to Gil. “So, why did you come?” he asked.

“Because I feel responsible for what happened,” Gil said.

“Because you taunted him,” Milo stated. He had not warmed up to Gil much over the past day but at least he had stopped scowling at the lad. Now he sighed regrettably. “You’re not the first to tease him though, so why would it prompt him to do something so drastic as this?”

“I was telling a ‘My Friend Tim’ story and he overheard me. I suppose he took me seriously and said I was lying, so I said he would never have the courage to come into the Forest himself. I regretted it immediately, but I failed to apologize.”

“So you’re here to redeem yourself?” Edic asked.

“I’m here to help,” Gil said.

The older lads accepted this and seemed content to leave it at that. They walked for several more moments in silence, keeping their eyes trained on their surroundings for any signs or clues of Frodo’s whereabouts. Then suddenly, in front of them, the line stopped and a commotion could be heard.

“We found him?” Milo said hopefully, but it quickly became apparent that no such wonderful thing had happened. The commotion was not a happy one and soon everyone was gathered tight to discover what the problem was.

Rory made his way to the front of the group to speak with his brother. “What happened? Why have we stopped?”

Dodinas scowled down at the ground and then up at the trees, silent sentinels forming an impenetrable wall before them. “I knew the trees were being far too silent last night, and now we know why: the trail is blocked.”
 
 
 

To be continued…

This chapter refers to my vignette, “When One Door Closes…”
 
 
 

Chapter 12 – Protection Promised

Meriadoc was sleeping in. The bairn rarely slept past eight in the morning and was usually up by seven at the latest. This morning, however, found him still sound asleep at nine. Even Berilac still slept, next to Merry in the cot. Esme knew the previous night must have exhausted the poor bairns. Emotions had been running high in the Master’s apartment last night and the bairns had been greatly affected by it, crying their confusion and anxiousness long into the early morning.

Menegilda sent for second breakfast, though no one ate much. Esme was feeling sick to her stomach, worrying for both Frodo and her husband, and Asphodel also had two of her fellows to fret about. Amaranth was keeping some semblance of order, despite her own worries for her brothers and nephews, while Berylla sat on the window seat, staring out into the violently bright mid-morning sun and feeling guilty that she knew her husband was safe at the Gate.

Amaranth made tea and bade the matrons to drink. The tea had soothing herbs to help calm the frazzled mothers and wives; she was careful to make enough for later as well. There was no telling what kind of news would be received from the Gate, or when it would arrive, and she felt it was best to be prepared.

Berilac finally woke as second breakfast arrived, causing Merry to stir next to him. Their mothers were at their sides and lifting them up within moments, needing to feed them as much as needing to feel their tiny forms in their arms. No one spoke.

Finally, after second breakfast was poked at but not eaten, Menegilda gathered herself together and stood up. She was, after all, the Mistress of the Hall and she would not let her husband down by sitting around and brooding all day. “Now lasses,” she began, “I know we are all anxious and worried, but sitting here like a bunch of cooped hens will do no one any favors. We won’t be helping our fellows, and Saradas cannot run this Hall on his own. Take the younglings to the nursery for care and we will go out and see what needs doing.”

Gilda’s instructions did just the trick. Once the mistresses left the apartment, they were bombarded on all sides by things that needed doing, and relations and residents that needed help. Esme and Berylla hardly had time to take their sons to their nursery maids before they were pulled outside to speak with a couple of farmers out toward Crickhollow who were having a border dispute, and Gilda, with Del beside her as her right-hand, was required to see to the various aspects of running the Hall that Saradas would not have time to see to. Ami sought out Alamanda, Marmadas’s wife, and once her children were also taken to the nursery, they went about the Hall seeing to the things that Gilda would normally be doing.

In this way, the day passed quickly and the mistresses put their worries and fears aside as they focused on their duties.  

Edon was back at the Hall early that morning, much to his father’s dismay. He could still hear the exasperated tone of his father calling after him that he would not learn wine-making by spending all day with his friends. Edon didn’t have time to explain and left Sed to deal with their father as he may. Sed wasn’t very eager to come to the Hall at any rate and gladly stayed behind to see to business.

The buzzing in the tunnels of the Hall this morning was about news of the search, or the complete lack thereof. Most seemed convinced that the lack of news was a bad sign and they were worried that half the Brandybuck line had gone into the forest to look for Frodo. Already, they were debating who would be the new Master should Rory and the others not return. Some said Saradas, others said Merimac, and yet others said that Menegilda and then Esmeralda would take command until such a time that Meriadoc was old enough to assume his title.

Edon was too shocked at the frank talk to think too much of it, and merely made his way as quickly as he could to his friends’ apartments. He had done a lot of thinking over the night and had decided to take Piper’s advice: he would go to Mistress Menegilda and speak to her of his concerns. If any punishment was to be given to him, he wanted to ensure it would not besmirch his father in any way. But first he wanted to speak with his friends, to find out what would be the best way of going about it.

He was halfway to Morti’s when he heard a pair of voices approaching from the other direction and stopped dead in his tracks. One voice was unmistakably that of Fuchsia Brownlock and the other was a friend of hers, one that took great pleasure in belittling Edon at any chance she could get. Jonquil. The name came to Edon just as the lasses rounded the corner and he wondered what sorts of snide remarks the lass would send his way.

They did not notice him though, wrapped up as they were in their own affairs. He pressed himself up against the wall, intending to let them pass and tried in vain not to listen to what they said, but they were walking slowly and seemed not to care if anyone overheard them.

“He said nothing to you?” Jonquil was saying in disbelief. She had one arm wrapped securely around Fuchsia’s waist, her other hand patting Fuchsia on the shoulder.

“No,” Fuchsia said and there was worry in her voice. Her face was turned down but Edon could see now in the light of the wall sconces that there were dried tears on her cheeks.

“He just left?”

Fuchsia nodded miserably. “Oh, Quil, what if he never comes back? None of them have returned yet. There’s been no word at all.”

Jonquil ran her hand over her friend’s curls, in a repeating brush of comfort and reassurance. “He’ll come back to you, dearest, you’ve no fear of that. He may not know backwards from forwards when he’s near you, but he could find you in the dark without fail if he needed to. Besides, Madagilus Banks is not afraid of the Old Forest. Didn’t you hear of his success at the Gate the other day?”

Fuchsia let out a short breath of disgust, her worry for the moment forgotten. “I told him I didn’t want him going there even then. And now he’s gone and…” Her voice trailed off as fresh tears threatened, but she did not sob.

Jonquil stopped them both and embraced her friend, making shushing noises under her breath as Fuchsia struggled to retain control of herself.

‘Move!’ Edon’s brain screamed. He couldn’t be caught spying on the lasses and once they started walking again, they would undoubtedly see him standing there. Somehow, he managed to pick up his feet and propel himself forward, intending to sneak past the lasses while they were preoccupied. Instead, he found himself slowing as he approached them, until he came to another stop just a few feet away.

“Fuchsia?” he croaked, then cleared his throat. The lasses lifted their heads to look at him, Fuchsia’s face as lovely as ever, despite her recent tears. Even now, knowing what he did of her intentions when she first befriended him, he couldn’t help but notice her loveliness and yet at the same time, that flutter in his chest that beat every time she came near him was now gone. He looked at her, beauty and heaven itself, and felt nothing. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Eldon,” Jonquil stated tersely.

“It’s Edon,” Edon corrected and turned back to Fuchsia. “Do you need anything?”

Fuchsia shook her head. “No thank you, Edon,” she said tersely, and Jonquil steered her friend down the tunnel away from him.

Edon watched them go, a feeling of liberation flowing through him. The spell Fuchsia had so long ago cast upon him was broken. He smiled and sighed with content, then turned about and continued on his way.

As he suspected, his friends were not very supportive of his plan to speak with Menegilda, but in the end he convinced them to help him and they gave him much valuable information. “Course, she might not be very easy to find today,” Morti pointed out. “She’ll be running about seeing to things, what with both Rory and Sara gone.”

“So how do I find her?” Edon asked.

“Leave a request for an appointment,” Fendi advised. “That’d be your best bet.”

“Of course,” Edon said. What if he chickened out in that time? Well, there was nothing for it but to try. “Who do I leave the request with?”

“Just slide it under the door to the Master’s study,” Fendi said. “She’ll get it and she’ll send word to you when you can go see her.”

“Do you have parchment and ink?”

Morti produced the necessary items and they went over several drafts before writing down one that sounded satisfactory.  

Frodo felt horrible. His mouth was dry and his tongue thick, missing the moisture it so desperately needed. His head felt as though it were stuffed with straw, and every bone and muscle in his body protested even the slightest movement. He was hungry and exhausted, and if all the effects of that poisonous fruit had worn off, he could not have known by the way the world tilted and swayed before his eyes.

He knew he needed to get up, knew he should be moving on, but he simply had not the strength. He looked about himself, moving his head and eyes as slowly and minimally as possible. He laid on his back beneath a shrub, which he had crawled under at some point the night before, and all around him, the trees were strangely silent for so late in the night. Or was it day? Frodo could no longer tell the dimness of day from the bleakness of night. It all appeared a blur to him, one moment running into the next in unending torment. He wondered why he simply didn’t go to sleep and remain there for time on end. He certainly felt ready for a good, long rest.

You must remain awake, my child.

“I want to sleep.”

But you mustn’t.  

“Why not?”

Because if you do so now, you truly will not awaken and there will be loved ones left behind who will miss you terribly.

“Like I miss you.”

Yes.

“Why did you leave me? Did I do something wrong? Were you mad with me for not saying goodbye?”

No, my child, we were not mad. We knew you would miss us and that you love us. You could never do anything that would have sent us away.

“So then why did you leave me?”

It had to be so. It was not our wish to go, but it could not be prevented. You will understand in time why.  

“But I can’t do this without you. I’ve tried, and I can’t.”

You think yourself weak, but you are stronger than you can even begin to imagine, and you will do great things. You say you can’t, but you have already and will continue to do so for many years to come. You have a warrior’s soul, if not his nature, and you will strive forward always, to the very end.

“Then will I get to see you again?”

That is not for us to know.  

“You call to me, from the Sea. I hear you in my dreams.”  

We are not in the Sea, Frodo. We call to you from your heart, where you have shut us away. You mustn’t close yourself off from the world or you will not be able to answer the Call when it comes. Open your heart, let us go.  

“But then you won’t be with me at all anymore.”  

We are you and you are us. You are our eyes and heart and strength, and all that we have taught you. We are your memories. We will never truly be gone, so long as you remember us and let those memories be a comfort rather than a burden. Now up you get.  

Frodo sighed shallowly and struggled to prop himself up onto shaking elbows. His head pounded in protest and his vision blurred, his ears buzzing with the sudden pressure of holding himself up. He lay back down, panting and worn.

“You left me all alone.”

No, my lad. There are many who love you, many who care for you. We left you with them until such a time as you can be joined by your protector.  

“My protector?”  

Yes, we made sure of it, before we left. There is one who will protect you always, and he will be with you shortly. In fact, you already have met, though he does not know you and you do not remember him. Have patience. You will find your way to each other, and though you will not know he is the one when first you meet again, you will come to realize it by your journey’s end. Now, get up. It is not so far as you fear.
 
“But how will I know him and how long will it be? I’ll still be in the dark till then. Please don’t leave me in the dark again.”

But my darling Fro, don’t you see? It is only in the heart of darkness that one may find the light, and light is the key to hope. Have you seen the sky at night, have you ever beheld its beauty? I know you have. Do not forget what you have seen and know to be true. Though it may be dark, light is ever present. The dark cannot keep it at bay. Light there has always been, and will always be, and there is light no darkness can touch. There is always light; there is always hope. But if the world were to remain alight at all times, we would forget that and we would lose hope, just as you have. If you are in the dark, it is only to help you to find that hope again. Do not give up. Just remember:

And now the voice began to sing a simple tune, not of its own making but brought forth from another time and place.

Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.*

Then Frodo felt the thin press of lips upon his brow and the brush of whispered fingers pushing his hair back from his face.

Now get up.

Frodo nodded but for many moments it seemed he would not do anything. Then, he gathered another great breath and on the exhale, he lifted himself up once again. He waited until the world settled, then took another deep breath and rolled to his side and finally his stomach. From this position, he could crawl out from under the bush and onto the open forest floor.

He wanted to obey the gentle, prodding voice, he wanted so to do its bidding, but after only a mere foot, his deprived body gave in and he could move no more. He was vaguely aware of his legs still hidden beneath the bush, and the trees swaying languidly above, no longer fearsome or frightening, but gentle and sheltering. Far off, echoing in a distant land of unseen beauty and unknown age, he heard a humming, a buzzing and jolly sound, and the once dreadful realm surrounding him became a tranquil and surreal sanctuary.

His eyes fluttered to a close, too heavy to remain open, and with his last breath of consciousness, he heard a voice at once familiar but strange. “There you are, my little laddie,” it sang, “just where you oughtn’t be.” And when he was lifted from the ground, he thought himself floating upon a cloud or perhaps upon an eagle’s back, far above the earth and with no fear of falling.
 
 
 

To be continued…
 
 

* - from Return of the King, “The Tower of Cirith Ungol”

Chapter 13 – Secrets Revealed

Gil watched the others, trying to guess at their thoughts and failing utterly. He did not know about the others, but for him the last two days had done little to ease his fears of the forest. If anything, he was now more afraid of this place than he had been before entering. He had always hoped those stories and songs were nothing more than folklore, with only a pinch of truth to them if any. Now he saw that the tales did not nearly touch upon how formidable the forest was and he was beginning to wonder how anyone could make jokes about this dreadful place.

He thought again of Frodo, never far from his mind, and the guilt stabbed him like a blade. Frodo was in here also, entirely alone. How was the teen holding up? Was he even still alive? Those wide blue eyes continued to haunt him at every turn and with every breath, eyes so full of fear and doubt, placed there by his own careless words. He had hoped that coming to help with the search would alleviate some of that guilt, but with each yard searched, with each mile walked, the guilt dragged upon him more and more, until it was a great weight about his neck, pulling him down. He wondered that he even had the strength to continue walking at all.

Next to him, Milo nudged him and handed him a water skin. “Just one draw each,” he said. Gil took it and wetted his lips before letting the water pass down his throat. He was not particularly thirsty, but he knew better than to pass up water when it was offered. And what of Frodo? Was he thirsty? He must be, not having brought any water in with him.

“This isn’t your fault, lad,” Rufus stated as he took the water skin from Gil, as though he could read the lad’s thoughts. “This isn’t the first time Frodo has done something as reckless as this, as I’m sure you remember.”

Gil nodded numbly. He did remember, though he had not at the time of the taunt. How could he have forgotten something like that?

“After Frodo’s parents died, a part of Frodo died with them, and I sometimes wondered if he wasn’t simply waiting for the rest of him to die also,” Rufus went on quietly as the others grew still and listened. “After the incident in the bath… It got to the point that my Del simply couldn’t bear the heartache anymore and bade Sara and Esme to take him on.

“They’ve done wonders with the lad, and he has got better over the last couple of years, but I think sometimes I still catch a glimpse of that old yearning, if you can call it that. That is why Esmeralda and Saradoc never allow the lad to be alone in the bath for very long and always have someone check on him every couple of minutes, and why he isn’t allowed near the River by himself. They watch him like a hawk, and when they aren’t watching him, the rest of us are. Still, he’s a wily thing, always has been, even before; we have Primula to thank for that. He knows far too well how to slip past everyone’s notice.”

“But I told him…”

“I know what you told him, or the gist of it. Whatever you said, Frodo would not have taken it seriously if he did not already believe it himself. You didn’t put those thoughts there,” Rufus continued. “This would have happened, sooner or later, if not here, then somewhere else.”

They fell into silence again, Gil not feeling any better for the reassurance. He wanted only to see Frodo again, to beg forgiveness and explain to the lad how wrong he had been. The only coward here was himself and Frodo had been stronger than he thought to stand up against someone so much older. Would Gil ever get to tell Frodo that?

After a time, the searchers produced more travel cakes from their packs and sat munching on the grainy food. No one spoke further and Gil noticed the deep frown in Saradoc’s brow. The talk had upset him, had brought up things he would rather remain forgotten. And forgotten they had been, for Gil at any rate. Of course, Frodo couldn’t be allowed near water, and as he was too afraid to go near it, they had all likely thought themselves free of further worry on that account. Until now. Despite Rufus’s reassurance, Gil couldn’t help but feel at blame for all this.

They finished their food and continued to sit. What Rorimac was waiting or hoping for, the others didn’t know, but they were beginning to despair of ever finding Frodo or leaving the forest. Surely, sitting here doing nothing would not accomplish either end, and even if the forest would attempt to prevent them from leaving or going forward, at least they would be moving.

The sun was reaching its zenith and Dodi was getting ready to say something to his brother, when there was suddenly a great sound of earth disturbed and roots torn asunder. A groaning, loud and deafening, could be heard down the wall of trees and the ground reverberated with the power of the trees as they moved. The hobbits jumped to their feet, taken by surprise and unprepared. Instinctively, they reached for their torches and Dino readied the striker.

The ground grumbled and rolled beneath their feet and leaves were scattered in a violent shower all around them. Then just as suddenly as it had started, the trees grew quiet and still, and the forest became deathly silent once more. The hobbits strained their ears and Saradoc and Rorimac separated from the group to inspect the wall and determine what had just happened.

Thirty yards away, they saw that a few of the trees had left the wall and a gap now stood wide open to the dark heart of the forest beyond. More astonishing than that was the sight of a small form, lying on the ground were the trees had once been. It was Frodo.

Saradoc dropped his torch and ran forward, not thinking of anything other than taking that form in his arms and never letting go again. He slid to stop on his knees before Frodo and gently took the lad in his arms and hugged him tight. Frodo made no sign of acknowledgement and his eyes were closed as if in slumber.

“Come Sara,” Rory said urgently. “We must get him back to Dodi and get him seen to. He needs water at least, and the tonics the healers provided will help. Quick.”

Saradoc nodded and stood in haste, being careful not to jostle his bundle too much. He followed his father back to the others, and even though they were shocked to see Frodo, they did not hesitate to act. Dodi reached into his pack and retrieved the healer’s supplies from his pack. Rufus grabbed the water skin and uncapped it. He handed it to Dino, who bent over Frodo as Sara placed him gently on the ground.

The water revived Frodo somewhat. After a few minutes of goading the water down his throat, Frodo at last registered the cool sensation of the wet liquid against his lips. He turned his head to its source and began to drink. Dino was careful not to let him have too much too soon, giving him small sips only, as Dodi went over the healer’s instructions and inspected Frodo.

Despite the obvious need for water and food, Frodo was filthy, covered in dirt and grime. Beneath that, many bruises could be spotted and some gashes could be seen upon his hands and feet. Other than that, the lad appeared whole and sound.

Once Frodo had enough water to keep him for a while, Dino stood back and let Dodi work. He mashed up some of the travel cakes first and fed those to Frodo. As the healer said might happen, Frodo was slow to take the food and even refused it at points. Nearly ten minutes it took for Frodo to consume that first cake, but then the lad began showing even more signs of comprehension and ate more readily, if not as eagerly as they would have hoped.

As with the water, Dodinas gave Frodo only small bites and waited a few moments in between before feeding him another. When the second cake was gone, Dodi took the pouches of prepared tonics and made Frodo drink those next. There were four different tonics. They would not be as effective cold as they would be hot, but they would do their job well enough, it was hoped, to get Frodo back to the Hall. It helped that Frodo was still drowsy enough not to fight the sour taste of the medicaments and he drank them with little trouble.

Once that was done, Saradoc took Frodo in his arms again and stood. He turned to his father, a question on his face. “How did you know?”

Rory shrugged. “These are His woods, not ours. He would know if something were amiss with them and it is said He travels them often in the summer months,” he answered. “It was a hope only, a small hope.”

“Lucky for us, and Frodo, that it was answered,” said Rufus. “I had forgotten all about Tom.”

Then suddenly, comprehension came to them all, and they smiled. Tom Bombadil was a mysterious figure and not to be approached, but he was jovial enough by all accounts except a few. He has been said to have helped lost wanderers before, though the accounts were few and far between and rather vague in detail. Most didn’t believe the stories, but those with the authority to know otherwise never doubted them.

“Come, we must leave here now, while the trees are still under His bidding,” Rory stated and together, they gathered their supplies and turned to the west and home.  

Edon waited until it was nearly teatime before going to the Master’s study to slip his letter under the door. Fendi and Morti had been of considerable help once they realized their friend would not be changing his mind, and they had more or less composed the letter for him. He was quite satisfied with the result.

Dear Mistress Menegilda,  

I write this letter to request your audience on a matter of great concern to me. I understand that you are quite busy with seeing to the affairs of the Hall in your husband’s absence, but as my concern deals directly with the reason for his leaving, I am hoping you will be able to see me as soon as may be. I will be visiting my friends, Fendimbras Goldworthy and Morton Goodbody, and will there await your response. I will make myself available for whichever time you will first be able to see me. I thank you for your time in this matter.  

With regards,
Edonson Brockhouse

Edon walked directly to the Master’s study, trying not to sweat all over the letter in his nervousness. He knew once he delivered the letter, he would not be able to change his mind, so he wanted to get the job done before he could talk himself out of it.

Still, he found himself standing frozen before the Master’s door, staring at the slit between the door and the floor as though it were a monster lying in wait. He took several deep breaths and managed to bend down a couple of times, but the letter refused to leave his hand. Finally, he wiped the perspiration off his brow with his sleeve, took a great huff, and resolved to himself that, this time when he bent over, he would slide the letter under the door.

“If you don’t remove yourself from the doorway, Master Brockhouse, I will never be able to get in to read your letter. That is, should you deliver it,” the Mistress said from behind him, her voice kind but firm.

Edon jumped out of the way, blushing brightly at being caught out; he had not heard her approach, so intent he was upon the door. “I’m sorry, Mistress,” he mumbled as she stepped past him.

Gilda took out a small key and unlocked the door. She paused before passing into the room and held out her hand for the missive. After several moments’ hesitation, Edon handed it over. “Come in, lad,” Gilda said and entered the sunlit room. “Keep me company as I enjoy my tea.”

“I don’t wish to disturb you,” Edon said lamely, realizing that was of course the exact reason he was here.

The Mistress noticed the absurdity of this statement also, for next she said, “Oh? Then what is this? Your mother’s favorite biscuit receipt?” There was a kind smile on her lips, but her eyes were calculating and sharp; she was observing him closely. She indicated the chair next to the tea table. “Sit.”

Edon sat.

He watched as Menegilda bustled about the room, writing things down in ledgers and binders, skimming through the other letters that waited there for her, answered a few of them and looked over her schedule for the next day. She made no comment to him, no further inquiry, and he was not certain if she wanted him to start speaking or not. He remained quiet, trying not to feel too awkward or inconsequential, and waited for her attention, however long it would take.

After a time, an attendant entered with a tray of tea and crumpets with jam. She noticed Edon and quickly left again to retrieve a second setting and a bit more food. Once everything was laid out in proper order, the attendant left, closing the door softly behind her. Menegilda closed her books with a flourish.

Edon sat up and looked alert, his hands clutched together in his lap. Gilda placed her quill in the inkwell and rounded the desk to sit across from him at the tea table. “Go on and eat, lad,” she said and watched him until he filled a plate and began to nibble on a crumpet. Once she was satisfied that her guest wouldn’t unnecessarily starve himself out of nervousness, she opened his missive and read it.

Edon felt his mouth go dry as he watched the Mistress’s eyes travel down the parchment and he drank an entire cup of tea in one gulp to help the crumpet go down. After that, he couldn’t eat anymore and simply waited for the inevitable. Why had he thought this would be a good idea?

When she finished, she folded the missive and placed it upon the table, then filled her own plate and poured herself some tea. She fixed the tea with a scoop of sugar and a bit of honey. “The weather is lovely, isn’t it?”

“Yes’m,” Edon replied out of habit.

The Mistress sipped on her tea and slowly ate a crumpet. Edon could only watch in misery and tried not to fidget too much. He had the distinct feeling that the Mistress was testing him somehow.

Finally, Gilda finished her crumpet and set down her teacup. She sat back in her chair and studied Edon intently for several more minutes, during which time Edon tried to appear innocent and contrite.

“Esmeralda tells me she had the most interesting conversation with you and Madi yesterday – with Gil, that is,” Menegilda stated. “She is of the mind that you and Gil both did Frodo a terrible disservice the other day and I am inclined to agree with her. Do you know of any reason I should not? Something, perhaps, that you forgot to mention?”

Edon paused, taken off guard by the question. He realized immediately the opportunity being handed to him. He could get himself out of this somehow, make himself appear the innocent. Yet it would never work. The Mistress was not a fool and she had already read his letter. Still, could he not even now use that to his advantage? He could say he had been afraid to speak plainly yesterday, with Gil right there, for surely Mistress Esmeralda would believe her own kin before a brewer’s son.

“Well?” Gilda asked. “Have you nothing to add to your testimony from yesterday?”

Edon shook his head. “No ma’am,” he said at last.

“I see. So then what is the purpose of this visit? I assume it has something to do with my nephew.”

“Well, um,” Edon started shakily, then cleared his throat. “I’m worried, ma’am, about how this may effect my family – my behavior, I mean. I’m willing to take responsibility for my part in all this, but I’m afraid that folk might look down upon my parents for raising me wrong, or some other such thing as they do at times.”

The Mistress nodded gravely and picked up her teacup again. She refilled it and fixed her tea as she pondered Edon’s words. She took a long drink before answering. “Your part in this is minimal, Master Brockhouse. You did nothing more than let the lad run about with you. Surely, no one can find fault in that,” she said, contradicting what she had just said a moment earlier.

Edon paused for a moment, thrown by this seeming change, until he realized the Mistress was still testing him. “I didn’t defend him when Gil said those things to him,” he replied.

“Did anyone ask you to?”

“No one should have needed to. Frodo defended me without a thought, I should have done likewise. That’s what friends do.”

“Is Frodo your friend then?” Gilda asked. “I was of the impression that you only tolerated the lad’s presence out of pity.”

“Of course not! I mean, of course he is,” Edon said hotly. “I like Frodo. He’s a fine lad and never has an unkind word. I think it’s horrible that I’ve heard so many rumors about him the last couple of days, and in these very tunnels no less.”

“And did you defend him then?”

“Well, no,” Edon answered, his righteousness instantly deflated. “I didn’t. It’s a family affair.”

“But Frodo is your friend, and friends are supposed to defend each other. Those are your words, Master Brockhouse,” Gilda pointed out. “You do not get to choose the family you are born into, but you do choose your friends, and that can, at times, make friendships more powerful than any other relationship. Not always, as I’m sure you have come to realize, but sometimes. If you nourish them properly.”

“Yes’m.”

“So then Frodo is your friend, and you failed him in this regard. Then it appears you did do him a disservice, not only once but several times.” Gilda placed her teacup back on the table so she could sit back in her chair more comfortably. “Our actions say many things about us, though we do not always understand what those things are, or why we even do the things we do. We cannot take back what is already done, but we can choose what we will do next. What you choose, lad, says quite a lot about you as well.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“So then what are you going to choose in this matter, Master Brockhouse?”

“I wanted to join in the search team,” he started, but stopped for realizing how that sounded.

“And yet you are still here. So you chose to remain silent and you chose to remain behind. That’s two choices,” Gilda said.

“I don’t know what to do,” Edon said at last, feeling horribly wretched. “I don’t know if there is anything I can do.”

The Mistress nodded. “Perhaps not for Frodo there isn’t,” she said, a tinge of pain in her voice. It quickly passed. “You have many relationships and how you treat one of them is ultimately how you treat all others. You did not come to Frodo’s aid when he needed it. This is not the first time such a thing has happened I deem, but you can choose to make it the last.”

Edon mused over this, taking hope in her words. There was still a chance of redemption for him then. “So what will happen to me, Mistress? For what I’ve done?”

“You are punishing yourself enough it seems. You are not to blame for the choices Frodo makes, any more than he is to blame for yours. Frodo is often taken with melancholy, and he must be closely watched at all times. As such, the one I blame for all this is my own darling son. Saradoc should not have allowed Frodo to go off on his own, where there would be no adult supervision. This all could have been avoided or, at the very least, delayed.”

“Thank you Mistress, for your mercy, but I feel that others will not be so forgiving.”

“As I said earlier, your part in this was minimal and most have already forgotten that you were even there. True, you did Frodo a disservice, but no worse than anyone else,” Gilda said. She bade the lad to eat another crumpet and have another cup of tea before continuing.

“Now, about this feud between you and Madi. Rory and I have let it go without comment, hoping the two of you would work it out on your own, but no longer. It is time we get to the bottom of this, and I believe that you will be able to clear up some points that seem a bit hazy. From what I’ve been able to gather, it started because of a lass, Miss Brownlock to be exact. Is that true?”

Edon sat frozen. He had not been expecting this sudden change in inquisition and it took him a while to comprehend what the Mistress had said. If he had felt caught before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Calming his nerves as much as he could, he nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Is it? I thought that Madi did not start courting Miss Brownlock until after the two of you fell out. I am quite certain I have my dates correct on this count,” Menegilda said. “In fact, it wasn’t until after Madi returned from his grandmother’s in Pincup that he approached Miss Brownlock, at which time the two of you were already butting heads. So tell me, lad, what exactly caused such a strong friendship as yours to end? And remember, Master Brockhouse, choose your actions wisely. You can only be seen as you present yourself to be and if you want to appear noble, so too must be your choices.”

Edon started fidgeting again, realizing that he was, indeed, as caught and told out as he could be. He wondered if the Mistress had not planned to call a meeting with him on her own and if he had conveniently produced himself so that she needn’t bother. He held her calculating gaze as long as he could, then looked down at his hands. Before he knew it, he found himself spilling out a secret long held between him and Gil, one he knew would land him in more trouble than he ever feared of being in over Frodo’s disappearance.

“It did start with Fuchsia, in a manner of speaking. I had a fancy for her but I was too afraid to do anything about it. Gil fancied her also, but he didn’t act on it for my sake. Then she approached him at last year’s Spring Festival. I was jealous that she chose him in the end rather than me. In fact, I was jealous of a good many things that Gil had that I did not, and Fuchsia was the final straw. True, Gil turned her away initially, but I was afraid he would eventually change his mind and pursue her, despite his promises to me. I needed to do something to make him appear unworthy of her attentions.”

“So then, instead of approaching her and sweeping her off her feet, what did you choose to do?” Gilda asked as though she already knew the answer.

“I framed him,” Edon mumbled. “I talked him into going farm raiding with me and once we were there, I told him that we would cover more ground if we split up. Then, after he entered the fields, I ran and called out the farmer, telling him I had seen ‘someone’ enter his fields, and then I went to hide behind some trees to watch as the farmer dragged Gil out onto the lane. Gil would have figured I had seen the farmer approaching and got hid, so he didn’t name me out.”

“Even after returning to his room?”

Edon nodded miserably. “Yes’m. I was the one who had planted all those stolen vegetables in his room, when I came to pick him up for the raid and he stepped out to check on his parents and make sure they were sleeping. I had stolen them from the same farmer over the week prior to the raid. By the time Gil figured out what had happened, it was too late for him to say anything. It would only have made him look more guilty for trying to place the blame on someone else.”

The Mistress nodded, her suspicions at last confirmed. “Gil always maintained he was innocent, though he refused to name another culprit. However, the fact still remains that he was in the farmer’s fields with the intention of thieving. He served his punishment and then some. And so too, shall you.”
 
 
 

To be continued…  

Chapter 14 – In Healing Hands

Flynn rode fast ahead of the search party and reached the Hall just before dinner was to be served. He ran into the dining hall, attracting the attention of every servant and the few dozen residents already sitting to table.

“Mistress Esmeralda!” he called, looking around and not finding the matron.

“She hasn’t arrived yet,” Saradas said, standing up from the head table and dashing down to join the bounder. “What has happened?”

“They found him, sir,” Flynn panted. “They are on their way. They need the healer, Mistress Talia. The lad, he is not well.”

“She will be found and she will need to speak with you before the others arrive, to ascertain the lad’s exact condition,” Saradas said. “What of the others? How do they fair?”

Flynn nodded. “They are well and whole, if tired and worried for Master Frodo.” Flynn lowered his voice then so only Saradas could hear, regret in his voice and eyes. “He was not responsive by the time they got him out of the Forest.”

Saradas nodded. He placed a gentle hand on the worn bounder’s shoulder. “Sit. Rest. Get some food. You will be sent for once Mistress Talia is located and ready to speak with you.” Saradas turned and pointed at another hobbit. “Find the healer and her apprentice, wherever they might be. Be quick about it. I will locate everyone else.”

The two hobbits left the hall and split ways in the tunnels, and Flynn sank into a chair as the rest of the hall erupted into excited chatter. Flynn, much to his chagrin, found he had no lack of dining companions.

Saradas quickly found his mother, sisters, Esme and Alamanda. They went outside to await the search party and Saradas continued on to find Berylla and Gil’s parents. By the time the search team arrived a half-hour later, all the Master’s family, as well as Marimas’s and Gil’s, were outside waiting for the carts to pull up. Mistress Talia was also there, as was Fuchsia, who had left the dining hall with Flynn after pleading with her father and finally winning.

Alamanda saw the carts first and everyone stood up taller in vain attempts to see into the traps. They could not see Frodo anywhere, but Esme spotted her husband in the first trap and knew that Frodo was laying in that one.

The carts pulled to a stop and Sara gathered his bundle carefully into his arms as everyone else jumped out and greeted those awaiting them. Del embraced Rufus and Milo, Ami greeted Dodi and Dino with sisterly kisses, Gilda kissed Rory on the cheek and forehead, and Alamanda hugged Marimas tightly, as did Berylla with Mac. Saradas clapped Edic on the back, and Gil’s father did likewise while his mother and Fuchsia both tried to be first to hug him. The bounders tipped their hats to everyone and as soon as Saradoc was off the trap, they left to return to the Bridge Inn, for the Hay Gate had already been closed for the day.

Esme was unaware of the tears flowing down her cheeks as she hugged her husband close and looked down at the dirty, bruised form of her young cousin. Frodo was asleep and limp in Sara’s arms, a dead weight, and Esme was not given much time to look at him. Talia was at their side almost instantly and ordered Saradoc to bring the child to her rooms post haste. Her apprentice Rae was already there, preparing what they would need; there wasn’t a moment to lose.

Sara complied immediately and Esme followed close behind, pausing only to ask Berylla if she would keep Merry for the night. Berylla readily agreed. The others slowly made their way to the dining hall; they would check on Frodo later, when the situation was not so dire. For now, the searchers were tired and hungry, and the residents in the dining hall were eagerly waiting for the Master’s return and news of the search.  

The healers worked long into the night, monitoring Frodo closely. They bathed and cleaned him and put him into fresh clothes, assessing his injuries as they went. Other than a few scratches and a dozen or so bruises, he was unharmed. Dehydration and heat stroke were the main threats, so they kept water close at hand and kept cold compresses on his forehead and under his armpits and the small of his back to help cool him.

Esmeralda and Saradoc sat in the corner of the room, out of the healer’s way, watching and waiting anxiously. Sara told Esme and Talia all that had happened on the search and of Frodo’s condition when he had been found. He told them step by step what Dodi had done to try to revive Frodo, how Frodo had responded at first but then slowly slid back into sleep as they made their way out of the woods.

“We did everything we could to keep him awake, but it was no good,” Sara said, his voice tight with emotion. “He was so still, all the way back here. I thought…” He shook his head and couldn’t finish, tears springing to his eyes but not spilling.

Esmeralda held him tight and rocked him as she would a bairn. “Shush, love. He’s here and he’ll be fine. You found him and he’s safe now.”

The healers worked on, bathing Frodo occasionally to keep him cool and gently goading water and teas down his throat, as he was not taking the drink on his own. They did not get a response from him until nearly midnight, when he woke for the briefest of moments, not even long enough to realize where he was. After that, he slept long and woke at irregular intervals. When he did wake, they fed him and gave him teas and water.

The clock read five in the morning before Talia at last sat back and sighed. “He is breathing normally,” she stated. “His eyes are responsive to candlelight and his heat fever is going down. It should break before the morning is done.”

“He will be all right?” Esme asked.

“Yes, he will be fine, if a bit tired and weak for the next few days. He should not be allowed to get up, except to use the chamber pot, and he will need help for that. He must drink plenty of water and be kept cool. He should eat light foods and bread for today, tomorrow he can eat as normal.”

“Thank you, Talia,” Esme said. She crossed the room and embraced both healers. Saradoc followed to do the same, too tired to voice the gratitude that shone from his eyes.

“Take your rest, Mistress,” Rae said to Talia, though she herself was tired. Her mistress had done most of the work throughout the long night, and so that afforded her the first rest, to Rae’s mind. “I will watch over the lad.”

Talia nodded, too exhausted to argue. “When he awakens, give him more tea and if he feels up to it, find out what happened while he was in the forest. Good night, Rae. Mistress Esmeralda, Master Saradoc, I suggest you both take the extra bed and get some sleep as well.”

Talia went into the adjoining room to take her rest, and Esme and Sara gave in to their exhaustion and lay upon the second bed so they were facing Frodo’s. They closed their eyes and soon drifted off to sleep.  

Frodo woke many hours later while Talia was still resting. Esme and Sara had dozed lightly on and off throughout the morning, waking at the slightest stir from Frodo’s bed. Rae had been dozing also when Frodo woke. He stretched with a whimper, his muscles weak and sore. “Mama?” he muttered.

Rae was on her feet immediately. She poured a fresh cup of medicinal tea and held it to his lips. “Drink up, lad. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Mama?” he asked again before accepting the tea, Rae’s hand soft on the back of his neck to support his head. He was still too groggy to fight the taste, but its bitter sting in the back of his throat did revive him somewhat. He finally opened his eyes and blinked in confusion at the apprentice.

“No, dear, it’s Rae,” she said.

“How is he?” asked Esme. She and Sara were awake now also. They came to Frodo’s other side and Esme took his hand. “Morning, love.”

“Aunt Esme?” Rae gently lowered Frodo’s head back on the pillow and Frodo forced his eyes to remain open. He turned his head to focus on Esmeralda and Saradoc and smiled at them weakly. “I saw you by the river with my parents,” he said, so weakly they had to strain to hear him. “I didn’t know you were older than Uncle Sara, Aunt Esme.”

Sara and Esme blinked, startled at this statement. Rae watched Frodo closely with concern. “You saw us with your parents?” Sara asked. “When was this?”

“Just now or, rather, before… before they… drowned. You were having a picnic, in their favorite spot under the alders, and I was off making sand smials by the riverbank. Papa said you enjoyed a good scandal, Uncle Sara. Is that true?”

Rae reached over and carefully changed the cold compresses. “Fever dream,” she said by way of explanation. “He’s still a bit warm. The fever has not quite broken yet.”

Frodo didn’t appear to hear her. He kept his eyes on his guardians, both of whom were watching him with perplexity. “You looked very pretty in your red dress, Aunt Esme. You should wear red more often.”

That was too much for Esme. She pulled Frodo into a tight embrace, upsetting the compresses, and kissed his curly head, forehead and both cheeks. “Oh Frodo, my sweet lad,” she said tearfully. “Don’t you ever run off and scare us like that again.”

“You were scared?” Frodo asked with a yawn. He closed his eyes and sank into Esme’s embrace with a sigh.

“Of course we were,” Sara put it now. “It was bad enough knowing you were gone. We felt dreadful that we had lost you, but once we learned you were in the Forest, we near got the wind knocked out of us. I don’t think I breathed proper until we went in and found you.”

“You went in?” Frodo asked incredulously. He was trying to make sense of everything through the fog in his mind. He was having difficulty deciding if this was another dream, or if the Forest itself had been a dream. Maybe they both were.

“We went in,” Sara said. “We went in and we weren’t going to leave until we found you, even if that meant we would never leave ourselves.”

“Really?” Frodo asked, his voice so small they could hardly hear him. “I wasn’t in there alone?”

“No, you weren’t. Don’t you know, Frodo, that I would do anything to keep you safe?”

“But,” Frodo stalled. He looked confused. “But, you can’t be my protector. I remember you and you already know me.”

“Excuse me, Master,” Rae interjected. Frodo’s voice was gradually becoming weaker and more worn. “Frodo must be allowed to rest and we still need to find out what happened to him while he was in the Forest. I must insist, Mistress, that you lay him down.”

Esme complied with the apprentice’s wishes, but clasped Frodo’s hand between hers, not willing to let go completely. Sara placed a gentle hand on Frodo’s knee, feeling much the same as his wife.

Rae reapplied the compresses and went about applying more of the bruise cream to Frodo’s injuries. “Now, Master Frodo,” she said as she worked, “what do you remember about the Old Forest? My mistress and I can’t help you if we don’t know what happened to you.”

Frodo yawned widely and shrugged. “Not much really,” he said softly. “I walked a lot. I slept a lot. I had a lot of bad or strange dreams. I ate some bad fruit. It made me dizzy and then my dreams were scary for a while. Then they weren’t.”

“How long ago did you eat this bad fruit?” Rae asked. “What did it look and taste like?”

“Like cherries, but bigger and darker in color, and they were high on a tree. The one I tried was very bitter so I spat it back out,” Frodo answered. “I don’t remember when. All the days are a blur. The scary dreams are gone now though.”

Rae allowed Frodo to sleep then, and went to awaken her mistress and tell her all she had learned.

“Nightshade,” Talia surmised of the poisonous fruit Frodo had eaten. “Toxic, but not deadly, unless taken in large amounts. The effects wear off rather quickly, within a day or two. I would guess that it has been at least this long, since his ‘bad’ dreams have stopped. Still, it would do to keep a closer eye on him for the rest of today.”

Talia relieved Rae of her duty then and urged Esme and Sara to get out of the room for a bit. She ordered some food to be brought in for herself and Rae before ushering Esme and Sara from the room. They looked long upon Frodo’s sleeping form before closing the door behind them. They had been lucky and they knew it. If it hadn’t been for old Bombadil, they likely would never have found Frodo or found him much too late. They were nearly too late as it was. 

Esme and Sara first went to Merimac’s to check on their son. Merry has happily playing with Berilac when they entered the apartment but when he saw his parents, he bounced up and down where he sat and lifted his arms. Sara picked him up and they sat on the settee as Berylla brought them tea. “How is Frodo?”

“Confused and tired, but well,” Esme answered. “The worst of it is over. He’s sleeping again.”

“Why did he go into the Forest?” Mac asked. “Was it really because of what Gil had said to him?”

Sara shook his head, and tried not to get distracted when Merry started playing with the buttons on his waistcoat. “We didn’t have the time to ask. It can wait until he is feeling better. We are going to have to speak long and plain with Frodo. He has to learn that when something is bothering him, he is to come to us. I don’t know why he doesn’t.”

“We’ll watch Merry as long as you need us to,” Berylla offered. “You both need to eat and get some proper rest. Go freshen up, I’ll order food to be brought to your apartment in a few hour’s time.”

“Thank you, Berylla,” Esme said, yawning where she sat. “We’ll come for Merry after we are rested. I’m sure Frodo will want to see him, and I know Merry has missed him.”  

It was not until the next day that Frodo felt well enough to answer Sara and Esme’s questions about his reasoning for entering the Forest. He was reluctant to speak at first, and even after much goading and reassuring, he still held back in answering. It was not until Sara made it plain that they would remain in the room until Frodo answered their questions that Frodo finally spoke.

“I wanted to prove something to myself,” Frodo said timidly, as Esme wiped his brow with a damp cloth. “I’m always scared of things. I’m scared of everything. I wanted everyone to see that I could be brave. That’s why I went in. But I was still scared. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be brave, Frodo,” Esme said. “Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is ask for help when you know you need it, and there is nothing wrong with being afraid of things. Everyone is afraid of something.”

“We were afraid of losing you,” Sara said, taking Frodo’s hand in his. “We were afraid we failed you in some way, that we made you feel you could not confide in us and that’s why you left. We were afraid we’d never see you again and that we had failed your parents by not keeping you safe.”

“Oh,” was Frodo’s response. He had never thought of that before.

“You do know you can tell us anything and come to us with your concerns, don’t you?” Saradoc asked, looking at Frodo intently. “There is nothing you cannot tell us, there is nothing we won’t help you with.”

Frodo looked at them solemnly. “You’ve told me.”

“But you believe it, right?” Esme said, putting down the compress to comb back Frodo’s errant curls with her fingers. “You don’t have to hide things from us, Frodo. You can tell us. That’s why we’re here. To help you and take care of you, to talk about how you’re feeling about things and try to make those things more bearable for you.”

“I know. I just thought I was being such a burden already,” Frodo muttered. “You’re always worrying about me. I thought if I weren’t so afraid, you wouldn’t have to worry all the time.”

“You have never been a burden to us, Frodo,” Sara said. “Never. If we worry about you, it is only because we care so much. You could be the mightiest warrior in all the lands, and we’d still worry about you. We worry just as much about Merry as well. It’s part of being a parent, and while we may not be your parents, you are every bit a joy to us as Merry is. There is nothing you can do to make us not love you.”

“Really?” Frodo asked uncertainly.

“Really,” Esme said. “We want you to come to us with all your worries, no matter how many times they plague you. Sometimes, just telling someone is enough to make the worries go away.”

“But, I worry about everything.”

“Such as?” Sara prompted.

Frodo looked between them both, looked at Merry asleep in his mother’s arms. Before he was aware that he was speaking, he was spilling out all the questions that had ever tormented him. “What if Merry has to grow up without parents? What if something happens to you both? Will Merry and me be separated? What will happen to me? What if you just decide to get rid of me? Where will I go? What if I’m the one that causes all the bad luck?”

Esme and Sara exchanged looks. That was a bit more than they had expected to hear, but they would not fail Frodo now. Sara sat forward and considered the questions gravely before answering. “Well, if something were to happen to Esme and me, you and Merry would go and stay with Mac and Berylla. It’s all arranged in our wills, and Mac and Berylla have agreed to it. You and Merry won’t be separated.”

Frodo absorbed this gradually. He hadn’t thought of the fact that Esme and Saradoc had already taken these things into account. He hadn’t expected them to have requested that, no matter what happens, he and Merry were to remain together. So he wasn’t the only one to worry about such things, and if Esme and Sara were frightened about these things, they were prepared also.

“So, if Merry and I aren’t to be separated, does that mean that you won’t send me away either?”

“Never,” Esme said. She bent down and kissed his forehead before continuing. “And there is no way that you are to blame for what happened to your parents. Sometimes, things happen that our beyond our control, and we don’t know why they happen. You are not bad luck, Frodo. Saradoc and I were never luckier than the day you came to live with us. We had come to think that we would never have a child, and then we had you, and not much longer after that, we had Merry. We’re more blessed now that we could ever have hoped to be, and you’re a big part of that.”

Frodo smiled at her and Sara, a feeling of relief rushing through him, taking away his worries and leaving him blissfully warm. He wasn’t bad luck after all. Frodo slept then, peacefully and with a small smile on his face as he held onto Sara’s hand.

To be continued…

Chapter 15 – Making Amends

“Look who’s here,” Esmeralda called as she entered the near-silent sick room. Frodo looked up from his book, which he was only half-reading while Talia went about making more of her teas. Esmeralda had Merry in her arms, and the little bairn near jumped out of her arms when he saw Frodo.

Frodo grinned. “Hallo Merry-mine,” he said and lifted his arms as Esme settled the bairn onto his lap. Frodo bounced Merry a little and smiled like a fool as Merry reached out with grabbing hands.

“Phhff!” Merry replied. He gurgled happily and reached up to pat Frodo’s face and play with his curls.

“Do you want to hear a story?” Frodo asked, ignoring a rather painful tug at his hair. Merry shrieked his answer, so Frodo went back to his book, starting at the beginning though he knew it made no difference to Merry.

Esme took out the knitting she had brought with her and busied herself as she listened to Frodo read aloud to Merry, a smile on her own lips. This was how things should always be.  

“Your name has been cleared, on more than one count,” Menegilda said to Gil. “Frodo did not name you in his reason for entering the forest. His actions had little, if nothing, to do with your words. Does that comfort you?”

“No,” Gil answered.

They sat in the Mistress’s private sitting room, sipping mulled cider. Three days had passed since the search ended, and Gil had been kept busy recounting his experience in the forest to everyone who asked to hear it, or rather, attempting to avoid anyone who wanted a recount. Unfortunately, it seemed everyone wanted to hear about his adventure in the Old Forest and they were always shocked when Gil told them how frightened he had been. They insisted that Gil was simply being modest and made up their own version of the tale where Gil was the one who found Frodo. Gil was glad to get away from it all and sit in relative quiet with the Mistress, if only for a short time.

“He could have died,” Gil continued.

“But he did not. My son tells me he gets stronger every day. He will be allowed to return to his own room tomorrow,” Gilda said. “Have you spoken with Master Brockhouse since your return?”

Gil quirked his eyebrow at this sudden change of topic, then shook his head. “I have not seen him. Why?”

“Where will you be today?”

“I was planning to visit Frodo,” Gil answered. “I went yesterday but he was asleep. I’m hoping to speak with him.”

Gilda nodded thoughtfully at this. “I will inform Edon when he arrives then that he might find you in the healer’s quarters. It is time for the two of you to speak, but please allow Edon to speak first.”

Gil nodded, not understanding in the slightest but willing do as his Mistress bid. “Yes ma’am.”

“Good. You may go then as you wish, Madi.”

“May I hide here a little longer, Cousin Gilda?” Gil asked, not bothered by the use of his childhood name. There were a few elders who still addressed him in that manner and he secretly liked it.

Menegilda laughed. “Hide as long as you wish. I always enjoy good company.”

Gil left the sitting room an hour later and quickly made his way through the tunnels to the healer’s quarters. When he arrived, he knocked lightly on the door. At the call to enter, he slowly opened the door and peeked inside to find Talia, Esme and Merry keeping Frodo company. Frodo was still reading to Merry, though his voice was tiring and he had to take many sips of water to keep his voice fresh. Frodo looked up and smiled brightly as Gil entered.

“Hullo Gil,” Frodo greeted.

“Hallo, Frodo, Cousin Esme,” he greeted back, trying not to show his nervousness as he stepped just inside the room. “How is the Hero of Brandy Hall feeling this morning?”

Frodo looked at him in confusion. “Hero?”

“Well, yes. You braved the Old Forest by yourself, the first ever to do so,” Gil said. “You must know that all the other lads are thoroughly impressed and more than a bit envious, and a good many of the lasses are preparing to swoon over you as soon as you leave this room.”

“That’s silly,” Frodo said. “All I did was get myself lost in a place everyone else had the sense to stay out of, and then nearly died there. There’s nothing heroic about that.” He tilted his head at Gil, his expression unreadable. “I heard about you though.”

Gil nodded. “I figured as you would. Look, can I speak with you for a moment, alone?” He glanced at the healer and Esme. Talia quickly assessed the situation and nodded, and Esme readily complied.

They stood up and stretched. “It is time for Merry’s feeding anyhow,” Esme said and took the bairn from a reluctant Frodo. She kissed Frodo’s brow. “We’ll be back,” she promised. She paused at Gil’s side and whispered, “I didn’t get to say earlier, but Saradoc and I are proud of you.” Then she left before giving the lad a chance to reply.

The healer finished putting her things away and checking the stores in her medical satchel. “I have some other patients to check up on,” she stated. “I will be back within the hour. Can you stay here until either Rae or I, or the Mistress, return?”

Gil nodded again. “Of course, Mistress Talia. I’ll not leave him alone.”

“He’s to take his tea again in another half hour,” she said. She placed an encouraging hand on Gil’s shoulder and left the room.

Gil lingered by the door, still not certain he was entirely welcome but there was nothing for it now. He had to stay, and stay he wanted. He took the seat next to Frodo’s bed and looked down at the book with interest. “What is it about?” he asked.

“A treasure hunt,” Frodo said. “Well, it’s about a goose hunt, but I’m pretending it’s treasure.”

Gil laughed. “Treasure would be much more interesting,” he stated. “A golden goose, perhaps.”

“Or a goose that lays golden eggs.”

“Now that would be worth a hunt,” Gil agreed. “A common farmer, called to arms to rescue a goose from an evil lord, who keeps it only for the worth of its golden eggs. But he keeps it in the most deplorable conditions, and the farmer is sent to free the poor bird.”

“What happens?” Frodo asked, enthralled, his book forgotten.

Gil laughed. “I don’t know, let me think on it for a while.” He made himself a bit more comfortable and gave Frodo a good once-over. The lad still looked a bit dazed, but one had to look closely to tell. He noticed also that Frodo was sweating slightly and he figured it must be from the excursion of sitting up, even propped against pillows, and holding the book. Gil gently took the book from Frodo’s hand and looked down at the page. “This is very boring.”

“It is,” Frodo said. “I like your story better.”

“Then I’ll continue it, but it won’t be perfect.”

“That’s all right.”

“How are you feeling?” Gil asked, not wanting to forget the purpose of his visit. He marveled that the lad was speaking with him at all and actually seemed to be enjoying his company.

“I’m better, though I still get dizzy and shaky if I stand up too quick or for too long,” Frodo answered. “I’ll be glad when I’m not so tired and weak anymore.”

“It must be frustrating,” Gil intoned. “I remember when I got the flu last year. I was sick for a week, and tired and weak for another two weeks after. It was horrible, having to stop every ten feet to rest and catch my breath. Thankfully, I was at my grandmum’s in Pincup at the time. Her home is much smaller than here, but it still took me a good ten minutes to get from one end to the other.”

Frodo hummed sympathetically. “I was sick like that once. Mama wouldn’t let me leave the house for a month. Now that was boring.”

Gil laughed again. “Yes, I can see how it would be.” There was a momentary pause then, awkward and tense. Frodo watched him closely, his expression unreadable. Gil cleared his throat nervously and shifted in the chair. “This is long overdue. … I need to apologize to you Frodo. I said some terrible things to you the other day that were not true. I thank you for not blaming me in what you did, but we all know you wouldn’t have gone into the Forest if I hadn’t said those things, would you have?”

Frodo scrunched his face at this and thought long about it. Gil waited, allowing the lad as much time as he needed. Finally, Frodo shook his head. “No, I don’t think I would have, but you were right. I am a coward. I went into the Forest to prove that I could be brave, and I failed. I was scared the whole time.”

“But that’s what being brave is, doing something even though you’re afraid, and of course you would be afraid,” Gil said gently. “We were all scared, when we were looking for you, and there were nine of us together. I couldn’t imagine going into the Forest alone. That would take more courage than I have.”

Frodo considered this before replying. “It didn’t feel like courage. I thought I had defeated the forest. I went in, and I was scared, but after a while it wasn’t so scary anymore. Then when I tried to come back out, it caught me good. It wouldn’t let me come out and kept sending me around in circles. I thought I would never get out again. I thought I would die there and…”

“And what?” Gil asked.

“And I didn’t want to.” He looked down, ashamed. He fingered a bare thread of the coverlet, avoiding eye contact.

Gil regarded Frodo closely, confused by this reaction. “Of course you didn’t,” he said. “No one wants to die.”

“I used to,” Frodo said, barely audible. “I used to want to.”

“So you could be with your parents again?” Gil guessed. Frodo nodded. “I remember that,” Gil went on. “I think, if that had happened to me, if I had lost my parents like that, at that age, I would feel the same. I’d have done the same, try to join them.”

Frodo lifted his head in surprise and looked at Gil intently. This was the first time he had ever heard anyone say such a thing to him. Before now, he thought he was the only one who ever thought such things. “Really?”

Gil nodded. “At that age, your parents are all you know, all that you have. To have them ripped away like that, to have your life changed so drastically in so short a time… You’re not a coward, Frodo. You’ve lived through things the rest of us can’t even imagine. You tried to follow your parents… That wasn’t brave, it was desperation; but when you couldn’t follow, you lifted your head high in defiance. Rebelling may not have been the wisest thing to do, but it’s understandable and it was brave of you to continue on after all you’ve seen.”

“But I am a coward,” Frodo insisted, for all that Gil’s words lifted his heart. “I worry about everything. I worry that something will happen to Esme and Sara, or even to Merry. I worry that I’ll never fit in anywhere again. I don’t belong here. I’m lost here.”

“Yet despite all that, you keep moving forward,” Gil said, admiration clear in his eyes. “You might sit and pout and feel sorry for yourself at times, we all do that, but you ultimately stand up and keep going. You don’t let anything keep you down, and that takes strength. You don’t ask for pity and you accept none. You stand up for your friends. You went into the forest that everyone fears, alone. No matter why you did it, you went in and you stayed there; that took courage. It may not have been by your intention, but you stayed there and you survived there. You took care of yourself.”

“Not very well,” Frodo said. “I nearly died. I could have been with them again, but instead I’m glad that I’m not. Does that make me a bad son?” he asked, and tears sprang to his eyes.

Gil sat, surprised at this question and at first, he didn’t know how to respond. He scrambled through his mind for the right words to help Frodo through this moment. “No, you’re not,” he said at last. “You love your parents, they know it, wherever they may be. More over, your parents wouldn’t want you to lose your life so young. Parents want to see their children grown and happy, and with families of their own. Your parents loved you so much, they would want those things for you too. They wouldn’t want you to join them, not yet. I think that would make them terribly sad.”

“I thought I heard them once, while I was in the forest,” Frodo said, blushing slightly as he realized what that must sound like. “They said the same thing, and they said that they chose someone to protect me.”

“Well, there you have it then. You were meant to live,” Gil replied.

“I have these dreams sometimes,” Frodo said, feeling bolder. “I dream that they’re calling to me from the Sea, asking me to help them. They’re caught and they can’t get out. They call to me, over and over. How can I help them?”

Gil consider this for many moments, and then, though he already knew the answer, he asked, “Have you ever been back to the River since they drowned?”

Frodo shook his head. “No, I’ve been too afraid to go.”

“You know the tale of the Fell Winter?” Gil started. Frodo nodded. “Then you know that it was so cold that winter that the Brandywine froze solid. It froze so completely, that it became like a road that only the most cunning would dare travel. It turned out, the most cunning were wolves. Bandobras the Bullroarer called the hobbits to arms, to fight off the wolves and turn them from the land. Hobbits from all over the Shire and Buckland answered the call, including one hobbit who left behind a young wife. He went to fight the wolves and fight them he did. He killed a good number before he himself was bitten, so fatally that he was dead within moments, before anyone even knew what had happened. He was killed by the wolf chief, who leapt upon him and bit him in the throat. He died atop the Brandywine, the very river he had lived next to his entire life.

“The next spring, after the Thaw, his wife, now a widow, went to the River to get water for washing, and as she kneeled down to dip a bucket into the water, she thought she heard her husband’s voice calling to her from beneath the surface of the river. Thinking she must be hearing things, she went back home and didn’t think any further of it. Until it happened again, and again, and again. Finally, she broke down crying and ran away from the River and refused to go near it. Only then she started hearing the voice elsewhere, wherever she went and even when she slept, so that she got no rest and no peace from the voice.

“She sent for the healer and the healer told her the only way to make the voice go away was to go back to the River and to see that there was no one there. The lass did as she was told, so desperate she was to be rid of the haunting voice. She went back to the River and when the voice came to her, she drew all her breath and put her head into the water. She looked all around, and could not see anything. She looked and looked, and still there was no sign of her lost love.

“Then she sat back, and looked at the River, disappointment so deep in her heart she thought she would die right where she sat, and she wept bitter tears. That is when she understood. The voice wasn’t the haunting of her dearly beloved husband, it was her heart not wanting to let go. So, as hard as it was for her to do, she let him go, released his spirit to the realm beyond but never forgetting him or his kindness and she found that by letting go her anguish, she could keep close her memories of him and be glad for them. After that time, she never heard his voice again, except every now and again in her sleep to tell her everything was all right, and she was able to live in peace for the rest of her days.”

Gil looked at Frodo intently now. “Your parents are gone, Frodo,” he said. “Let them go and live your life. It’s what they want. And perhaps if you are able to let them go, like the lass in the story, you might not be so afraid anymore.”

Frodo considered this gravely but said nothing on the matter. For the rest of their time together, they spoke of frivolous things. Gil saw that Frodo drank his tea, and Frodo told Gil some of Bilbo’s best stories. Then Gil started the tale of the Goose of the Golden Eggs and that kept them both busy until Talia returned. With regret, Gil stood and gently patted Frodo on the head. “Think of what I said.”

Frodo nodded. “I will. Thank you, Gil.”

“Thank you, Frodo.”

“For what?”

“You should be angry with me, but you’re not,” Gil said.

Frodo shook his head. “What good is being angry going to do?”

“None,” Gil answered, surprised at the simplicity of the question, and the answer. He felt silly for not realizing it sooner. He tipped his head to Frodo and left.  

Edon was waiting for him when he stepped into the tunnel. He had forgotten that the Mistress was going to send for him and he tensed momentarily. Still, remembering his promise to Menegilda, he measured Edon evenly and waited for him to speak.

“Hullo Gil,” Edon said nervously, standing up from his seat upon the floor. He brushed off his breeches and nodded toward the door. “How is he?”

“He’ll be fine in another week or so,” Gil said, amiably enough. “I heard you wanted to talk to me.”

Edon nodded. “Can we go outside, somewhere private?”

Gil nodded. It seemed he would have no end of private conversations today and he was not particularly looking forward to this one. However, he had promised Gilda, so he motioned down the tunnel and started walking, keeping a good distance between him and Edon. “Best to go outside then,” Gil said, and Edon followed behind in silence.

Gil found the nearest door that led to outside, and he and Edon passed through, breathing sighs of relief once they were out in the open air. Neither lad was eager to begin this conversation. Gil could only guess what Edon wanted to speak about. Considering the last couple of weeks, he guessed it must have something to do with Frodo’s disappearance.

Gil led them to a birch that stood a fair distance from Buck Hill and Brandy Hall, until no one was near to overhear them. They stopped to stand beneath the tree, Gil with his hands tucked into his pockets, his shoulders tense. “Well?” he asked.

Edon straightened his waistcoat and cleared his throat, then fiddled with the buttons of his shirt before forcing his hands to still. “There’s no real way to say this but to say it. I told the Mistress what happened that night at Farmer Gideon’s fields. I admitted to framing you and stealing all that food and putting it in your room.”

“You did?” Gil asked, taken by surprise.

Of all the things he had expected to hear, this was not it. He wasn’t sure what to make of the news, but a sense of tremendous relief rushed through him. True, he had been able to repair much of his reputation after that incident, but he still received dark, mistrusting looks from time to time when in Bucklebury. If Edon were telling the truth, Gil would no longer have to worry about that, and Edon must be telling the truth, for the Mistress herself had told Gil to wait for Edon.

“I owe you an apology,” Edon said. “I owe you more than that, but I don’t know if I can say or do anything to make up what I did to you. I’m sure you know the reason, but Fuchsia was really a small part of it. I was jealous of you, always was, and I was even more jealous when you so quickly won back everyone’s trust after you returned from Pincup. You’re everything I could never be, no matter how hard I tried, and I hated you a little for it. I’m sorry.”

Gil took a few minutes to absorb this, his mind still whirling from this unexpected news. “How many people know the truth?” he asked.

“Everyone, by tomorrow,” Edon answered. “I’m to announce my misdeeds at dinner here tonight, and tomorrow, I’m to announce them at market. I’m also to help serve you and your family for dinner, every night for the rest of the month. It’s part of my punishment. I’m also to work for Farmer Gideon to make up for what I stole. It’s all been arranged already; I’ll start there tomorrow, after I make my announcement, and continue on through the harvest. And then…”

“Yes?”

Edon shrugged. “I don’t know to be honest. I could stay here and live with everyone hating me. It wouldn’t be too different from before actually. But I’ve been thinking of moving back to Branbourne and working for my grandfather. Someone needs to take over the vineyards there. Sed can have Mauville. He’s wanted it from the moment we moved here and he’s much more liked here than I am.”

“Folk like you, Ed,” Gil said. “You just don’t let yourself see it. Do you think Fendi and Morti would have sided with you if they didn’t like you more?”

“I doubt they’ll talk to me after tonight; Sed isn’t,” Edon answered. “I’m the reason they’ve hated you for the last year and a half. I’ve been telling them what a scoundrel you were, how you betrayed me. I’ve been lying to them.”

“You still don’t have to leave,” Gil said. “It’ll wash over. Believe me, I know. And if anyone gives you grief, they’ll have me to deal with.”

Edon smiled with disbelief at this pronouncement, but shook his head. “No, I can’t accept that. You were right, it’s time I stand on my own,” he stated. “Besides, I don’t belong here. I’ve never really fit in here. I’m too rough ‘round the edges for all that I pretend that I’m not, and that’s the main problem. I’ve been pretending for so long I’ve forgotten who I am.”

“I remember when I first met you,” Gil said with a fond smile. “You had holes in your breeches and two buttons missing from your shirt. You didn’t even know what cufflinks were. You talked unlike anyone I had ever met before. I couldn’t believe you were the son of the hobbit who had outbid half of Buckland to acquire Mauville. You didn’t stand by ceremony or propriety, you didn’t even know what it was. You walked right up to Tucker and told him he’d forgotten to button his trousers. I liked you from the start. You have changed though and it’s a shame.”

Edon nodded. “It’s hard to believe I was ever that lad. It’s even harder to believe I’m the lad I am now. I’m just so lost here, adrift like. I need an anchor. I think it would be best if I left, went back home.”

Gil accepted this but on one condition. “Do me a favor?”

“Of course. I owe you that much,” Edon said.

“Write often and come to visit every once in a while.”

Edon again laughed is disbelief. “Why do you want to be my friend again?” he asked. “I thought you’d be glad to see me gone.”

Gil considered this. It was true enough. Two weeks ago, he would have rejoiced seeing Edon depart for the Northfarthing, but a lot had happened since then. “Let’s just say, I don’t want to hear your voice in the River every time I take a swim.”

“What?” Edon asked, not understanding. “Did the Forest effect your mind in some way?”

Now Gil laughed. “It opened my eyes so to speak. You’ll be paying your penance for what you did, and I know you tell the truth when you say you’re sorry. That makes us even. I’m willing to attempt friendship again if you are.”

“I most certainly am,” Edon said, disbelieving his good luck. He had never dreamed for the opportunity to regain Gil’s trust. The task would not be easy and they had a long road ahead of them before they could once again enjoy the friendship they had shared, but they at least were started now. They shook hands on the vow and sat beneath the birch to await dinner time.

“Do you know what you’re going to say?” Gil asked.

Edon nodded. “I have it all written out and I’ve been practicing. It will be hard, but not too terribly hard. It’s Piper – or her dad – that I’m worried about. I don’t reckon he’d be too keen on letting his daughter court an admitted liar and thief.”

“Piper?” Gil asked.

“Piper Redleaf. She works in the quilt shop in Bucklebury.”

“Really? When did this happen?”

“While you were gone,” Edon answered.

“Well, hopefully, her dad’ll be able to see that you’ve changed and are making amends. Don’t expect it to happen all at once though. You’ll have to win him over, much as I did Mr. Brownlock. I can help you if you like, give you advice,” Gil offered.

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

And the two friends talked until the sun faded.

To be continued…

Chapter 16 – Letting Go

Afterlithe was waning when Frodo was at last allowed to leave Brandy Hall again. He had returned to his full strength much sooner than the healer could have hoped for and he was eager to get out and walk around.

The first place he went, with Esmeralda guiding him, was Farmer Gideon’s cabbage fields. The farmer pointed them to the east fields and there they found Edon, working alone in the midmorning sun, checking the leaves on all the cabbage heads and periodically testing the soil. Esmeralda sat herself beneath a tree at the edge of the field, where she could keep her eye on Frodo but allow the lads some privacy to talk. Frodo approached Edon with silent footsteps, so that Edon didn’t notice his presence until he spoke.

“Hullo Edon,” Frodo said.

Edon turned around, surprised to see his visitor. “Hullo Frodo,” he greeted with a pleased smile. “You’re out and about I see. How wonderful. I know you were getting bored with your room.”

Frodo smiled and nodded. “Very. If I never see it again, it’ll be too soon,” he said, then his smile turned to smirk. “Of course, I’ll have to see it tonight, won’t I?”

Edon chuckled. “That you will. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to come and visit more, but I’ve been kept rather busy, what with Master Gideon and my father driving me all day and night.”

“I understand,” Frodo said. He looked around the field, at the long rows of endless vegetables spreading in all directions and not much more of anything else. The sun shone blazingly overhead and the wind from the east smelled of roses and cut grass. “It’s a peaceful place.”

Edon nodded. “It is. Allows one to think, mayhap a bit too much. How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Frodo answered. “How about you?”

Edon shrugged. “Can’t complain.”

“They still talk about you at the Hall,” Frodo said. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. It’s not easy being the topic of such gossip.”

Edon wiped his brow and leaned against his spade. He squinted down at Frodo, curiosity now getting the better of him. Why exactly was Frodo here? But he shrugged again and said, “That’s the way of things, and I deserve it, what’s more. I thought I came from humble beginnings, but all this gossip and harsh regard has been a rather bitter lesson in humility, and I’m grateful for it.”

“You are?”

Edon nodded. “I am. I started to think I was more important than I actually am. I started to believe that I had the right to demand respect and admiration. That’s a dangerous belief to have.”

“Why?” Frodo asked, confused by this statement. Didn’t everyone want respect and admiration?

“It makes you envious and jealous of those that do have those things,” Edon said. “It makes you bitter and angry that you don’t, and you wind up hurting people and blaming them for it. Never be like that, Frodo. Learn to appreciate what you do have and never, never, take your friends for granted.”

Frodo nodded. That made sense enough and he certainly didn’t want to hurt anyone. At least, not more than he already had. He had hurt his guardians when he had dashed off. He didn’t want to do that again if it could be helped. “I won’t,” he said. “If I ever do make a real friend, I won’t take him for granted.”

“What are you talking about?” Edon asked. “You have friends. Milo nearly knocked Gil’s head off for what he said to you, or so Gil tells me. Then there’s Fendi and Morti also. They’ve always liked you.”

“Only because I’m so sneaky,” Frodo said, but he smiled as he said it. “And there’s Merry. I’ll always be his friend. And I’ll be yours.”

Edon smiled sadly at this. Even his own brother wasn’t keen on talking to him these days, and Piper was taking time to think things over. If it weren’t for Gil, he wouldn’t have anyone to talk to. “And I’ll be yours, for what it’s worth,” he said to Frodo now. “If there’s ever anything you need, just let me know.”

“There is one thing I need,” Frodo said now and shifted his feet uncertainly. “Gil told me you’re good with woodworking, or used to be.”

Edon nodded. “It used to be a hobby of mine when I lived in Branbourne,” he confirmed. “I haven’t had much time at it since moving here though. Why?”

Frodo toed the dirt and looked up at Edon uncertainly. “I need to build something. My dad used to be good with wood too, but he only had time to show me a few things before he… well, before he died. I understand if you’re too busy.”

“I’ll find time,” promised Edon. “I’ll work something out. What do you want to build?”  

Edon did work something out. He arranged it with his father and Farmer Gideon to have an hour each afternoon to teach Frodo woodworking and help him with his project. Frodo would come to Gideon’s fields and Edon would conduct the lessons under the oak tree at the edge of the field as Esmeralda and Scarlet watched or spoke amongst themselves, and Merry played with the used sandpaper or the wood blocks that Edon quickly made for him to occupy his attention.

Frodo never said what the project was for, and Edon never asked. He was just pleased to be able to help Frodo and that he could teach the lad something useful in the process. Edon drew the design they would use, keeping in mind that Frodo didn’t want anything too elaborate, just so long as it could do its job. He looked forward to the visits and was always disappointed when the hour passed so quickly.

With so little time to work, he feared they would never finish. Afterlithe came to a fast close, Wedmath came and went, and Halimath was half through before they even knew it. At last, when the harvests were first getting under way, Edon inspected the final product and declared the project a success. Frodo hugged him fiercely, and promised to continue to come visit every afternoon, so long as Esmeralda wasn’t busy with other things. He also invited Edon to his birthday the following week.

Edon hugged Frodo back and gladly accepted the invitation. He was a bit afraid of what others would think of him being there, but he would not disappoint his friend. The townsfolk were starting to forgive Edon for his treachery, seeing as he was such a hard worker and that Mistress Esmeralda always had such good things to say about him. That Gil had forgiven him helped also and, at last, Mr. Redleaf consented to his daughter courting Edon.

Piper came to visit Edon one night soon after the end of Frodo’s project. She held out a cloak of deep green, embroidered with yellow and sky blue. Stenciled in the same colors on the back of the cloak was a magpie. He had to laugh when he saw it. “Cute,” he said, fingering the bird’s outline. “A thief for a thief. Is this your way of saying you forgive me?”

“‘Tis me way of sayin’ to own what ‘ee did,” Piper said. “This way, ‘ee’ll not forget it and it’ll keep ‘ee honest.”

Edon wrapped the cloak about him and tied it loosely at his neck. He offered his arm to her and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it. They walked away from the farm in silence, the twilit sky deep blue and purple above them, the first stars shining brightly and the full moon casting a dim light down upon them.

“I’ll not forget, Piper,” Edon said. “I’ve worked too hard to get where I am now. I feared I’d never walk with you again.”

Piper nodded. “I was afeard ‘ee might find some other lass when ‘ee go back home.”

“There’s no other lass for me than you,” Edon said truthfully. He hadn’t thought about Fuchsia in weeks. “If I have to work every field in Buckland to be worthy of you, I’ll do it.”

“‘Tis me as not’s worthy of ‘ee, Edon,” Piper said. “I’m just a fisherhobbit’s daughter. I’ve no status of me own.”

“I have no status either,” Edon said. “I never have. There is no status in Branbourne, so we’re equal, so far as I’m concerned. When we marry and you come to live with me there, you’ll find yourself far more worthy than I am. Anyone who can make something as fine as this cloak will be much sought after. I can see it now, I’ll be the brewer, you’ll be the seamstress, and we’ll be happy. That is, if you want to move there.”

Piper shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Buckland’s all I know, but Branbourne sounds a lovely place. Mayhap we’ll visit, me dad and me, or even me brothers and me. We’ll visit, and we’ll see. ‘Ee could stay here, ‘ee know.”

“I don’t know if I can. You asked me once what I had lost, and the answer is I lost myself. I don’t belong here, at least, not just now,” Edon said. “If that’s what you want, though, I’ll make do. I’ll go home, find myself again, and then come back to you. Folk are starting to be kind again. I can’t ask or expect for more than that. I’m just worried how it will effect you, being with me, here.”

“I can take care o’ meself,” Piper said. She squeezed Edon’s arm and leaned into him a bit. “And I can take care o’ ‘ee too. Dad’ll take ‘ee in and no one’ll argue wit’ ‘im!”

“Well, we’ll see. You’ll come visit Branbourne, and we’ll see. We’ve a long time to work everything out.” Edon squeezed Piper’s arm in return and drew his cloak about her shoulders to keep out the chill pre-autumn air.  

The morning of Frodo’s birthday dawned and Frodo was awake before the sun. He paced the apartment with nervous energy and continuously fingered the project Edon had helped him with. Esmeralda and Saradoc still did not know exactly what the thing was for or why Frodo had wanted it finished by today. When asked, he would only say it was a present, long overdue.

They packed a picnic breakfast. Esmeralda carried the basket and Frodo carried the blanket, bringing to his mind the many times he had done this with his mother. Only now, Saradoc was with them and he carried Merry in a sling, and Frodo also carried his project.

Esme and Sara followed Frodo outside and to the lane that led away from Brandy Hall, both east and west. Even now, the lad refused to tell them where they were going, though they had a hunch, and when he turned west, they knew without doubt his destination. It wasn’t long before their guess was confirmed; they were walking in the direction of the Brandywine River.

“Frodo,” Esme called to the lad, who was walking just a few feet ahead of them. “Are you certain this is the right way?”

Frodo stopped and turned back to his guardians. He looked at them gravely and with determination, a hint of fear in his eyes. He nodded. “I am. I have to do something and I have to go to the river to do it.”

“What is that, lad?” Sara asked, looking at Frodo with concern. After all, Frodo had been avoiding the river for the last three years, out of fear and memories too painful to sustain. Saradoc couldn’t fathom what could have occurred to change that.

Frodo looked at Sara solemnly and for many long minutes he did not reply. He was considering his words carefully. He knew he would eventually have to tell them and he had prepared for this moment, but the words still failed him at first. He searched his mind trying to recall them. At last he said, “The maiden lost her love and heard him in the river and she had to go there to let him go and continue with her life.” Sara and Esme nodded. They both knew the story well. “I need to do the same, and since you were both with my parents at the River that one day, I thought you’d like to be there now. And, I want you to be there. I can’t do it myself.” With that, Frodo turned and continued on his way.

Esme and Sara shot each other quick glances but decided to let Frodo continue. This was something Frodo obviously needed to do and that he wanted them there meant more to them than they could say. They would also need to be there if, for some reason, Frodo found he could not go through with it. Sara bounced Merry on his hip and they followed Frodo to a clearing about fifty yards from the River.

Frodo stopped there, under the alders and surrounded by bushes of primrose and gladioli. His eyes were glued to the swiftly flowing river, the sound of its rushing waters filling his ears, drowning everything else out of his senses. He seemed frozen where he stood and he took many deep breaths. Esme quickly lay down the picnic basket. She stooped down to drape her arm around Frodo’s shoulders and take the blanket from his arms. “Are you all right, love? We can stay here for a while if you like.”

Frodo nodded mutely and allowed Esme to coax him into sitting. Sara sat at his other side and Merry crawled over to sit in Frodo’s lap. Frodo held Merry close and was unaware of the bairn’s hands playing with his hair and lightly fingering his face. Frodo’s eyes were fixed on the river, which he had not seen since that day he ran from the Hall to find his parents’ cold bodies upon its muddy banks. Tears ran unheeded down his cheeks as those images flooded back to him and took his breath away. The grief was as real as it had been three years ago, and Frodo was suddenly doubting that he could go through with this.

He was aware of Esme and Sara sitting close to him, aware of their concern and support. He could feel Esme’s arm still around him and of the heat of Saradoc’s hand on his shoulder. He was aware of Merry’s confusion at his tears, the bairn’s tiny fingers constantly brushing them away, to little avail. He was aware of the breeze sweeping through the clearing to play in his hair, and of the sweet fragrance of the late summer blossoms. But overpowering all of that was the River, cold and relentless.

He remembered when he and his parents used to come to this very spot, to sit and eat and just be in each other’s company. He remembered his mother taking him to that very bank, where the river came up shallow against the shore, where his mother had first taught him to swim. He remembered standing in that same spot, his father beside him, showing him how to fish, how to bait the hook, cast a line, how to stand still and be patient and wait for the line to catch. He remembered their voices, the way they laughed, how the skin around their eyes would crinkle when they smiled. He remembered his mother’s soft voice in song and his father’s boisterous voice as he told a tale or a joke.

An hour passed, then two. They ate in silence, and Sara and Esme played with Merry and kept their eyes on Frodo. At times, Frodo would appear calm, his eyes dry. At others, he would be silently crying again, and always his eyes were looking far away, at memories long past. They did not push him, did not pry. They merely waited and offered hugs and kisses when they thought they were needed.

Finally, Frodo took a deep breath and nodded. He stood on unsteady legs, his project firmly in hand, and walked to the River. They watched him intently, and Sara stood and followed at a pace, to be nearby in case anything happened.

Frodo trembled as he approached the water, his legs wobbling so bad he thought he would fall. Yet he kept moving forward, as if drawn to the river despite himself, and at last he stood at the very brink of the bank, the water mere inches from his toes. He closed his eyes and waited for their voices. They came within moments, faint and weak next to that of the River’s powerful voice.

He blindly fingered his project, a small boat about the size of a giant pumpkin that Edon had helped him build. He thought belatedly that Edon might have liked to have been here, but he couldn’t have borne asking him to come. Edon would understand that.

Frodo looked down at the boat, a common rowboat that could often be seen on the river, just as the one his father used to own. Frodo had listened to Edon carefully, had followed his every instruction closely, and had made it as well as he could. It was not perfect, but it would serve his purpose well.

With another deep breath, he found the calm section of the river and stepped into it, panicking at the initial feel of the cold water rushing around his legs and of his feet sinking into the sand. He had forgotten that part. He took several breaths to calm himself and listened again for their voices calling to him. When he heard them again, he opened his eyes and held out the boat for them to see.

“You lost your boat,” he said so quietly even he could not hear his voice, but he knew that they could hear it and that the River was listening. “I made you another one.” He stooped down and placed the boat into the water and it floated merrily upon its surface. Then he nudged it toward the current and it was quickly swept away, bobbing on the water, speeding toward the Sea, to his parents.

He stood there long after the boat was out of sight, listening still, but all he could hear now were the sounds of the River, the gurgling and swooshing. He wriggled his toes in the sand and took a small step forward, the water now warm and embracing around his legs, soft and gentle, no longer frightening.

His parents were gone. He had given them the help they needed and they would haunt him no longer. Tears sprang to his eyes again as he mourned for them anew, but when he looked up, he was smiling.

To be concluded…

Epilogue – In Darkness Buried Deep*

14 Rethe, 1419 SR

At last, weary and feeling finally defeated, [Sam] sat on a step below the level of the passage-floor and bowed his head into his hands. It was quiet, horribly quiet. The torch, that was already burning low when he arrived, sputtered and went out; and he felt the darkness cover him like a tide. And then softly, to his own surprise, there at the vain end of his long journey and his grief, moved by what thought in his heart he could not tell, Sam began to sing.

His voice sounded thin and quavering in the cold dark tower: the voice of a forlorn and weary hobbit that no listening orc could possibly mistake for the clear song of an Elven-lord. He murmured old childish tunes out of the Shire, and snatches of Mr. Bilbo’s rhymes that came into his mind like fleeting glimpses of the country of his home. And then suddenly new strength rose in him, and his voice ran out, while words of his own came unbidden to fit the simple tune.

In western lands beneath the Sun
The flowers may rise in Spring,
The trees may bud, the waters run,
The merry finches sing.
Or there maybe ‘tis cloudless night
And swaying beeches bear
The Elven-stars as jewels white
Amid their branching hair.

Though here at journey’s end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.  

Frodo stirred groggily and strained his ears to listen to this dream from long ago. He had nearly forgotten it and now it was here again, to visit him in this horrid land, unless that is, he was quite deceiving himself. But no, there is was again. “Beyond all towers strong and high…” The voice continued and it sounded as though it were just below him where he lay in this filthy tower. Hope flared in his chest and he dared to speak for the first time since waking. He licked his lips and forced his voice past his parched throat.

I will not say the day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.

He waited, but now there was no singing or sound. He sank back to the hard floor and back into despair. So he had been imagining it.

Then suddenly, there was that terrible sound, already long familiar: that creature’s foul voice rising up to irk him. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that maybe his captor might believe him to be asleep. He had no such luck.

“Ho la! You up there, you dunghill rat! Stop your squeaking, or I’ll come and deal with you. D’you hear?”

Frodo’s heart quickened and his breath came shallow, so great was his fear. So he had been heard and he would be punished for daring to make a sound. The creature’s second call confirmed this, though Frodo had made no reply.

“All right,” growled Snaga. “But I’ll come and have a look at you all the same, and see what you’re up to.”

Frodo prepared himself for what he knew to be coming and soon he heard the unmistakable sounds of Snaga’s approach. The trap door swung open and Snaga’s foul stench was added to the stale air of the turret. The orc’s shadow loomed over him, cutting off the dim red light that hung in the rafters above.

“You lie quiet, or you’ll pay for it! You’ve not got long to live in peace, I guess; but if you don’t want the fun to begin right now, keep your trap shut, see? There’s a reminder for you!”

A hard, cruel whip landed across Frodo’s right side, and though he tried his best, he couldn’t help but cry out at the sting of the whip and the following sting of blood rushing to the open wound. He bit his lips against any further outbursts, but the damage was done.

Snaga growled down at him, pleased it seemed that Frodo had made yet another noise. Now he would be able to whip his prisoner until he squeaked no more. Snaga raised his whip arm again, ready to deal a second blow, waiting until his prisoner threw his arms up to shield his eyes in terror, a sign of submission. Then suddenly from behind him, there was a great growl and Snaga turned at the same instant that his hand was hewn from his arm. He yowled in pain and surprise, and sprang at his attacker, but he was caught off his guard and went careening out of the trap door.

Frodo didn’t know what had happened. He was bracing himself for a second strike of the orc’s whip, but instead he heard the most beautiful sound: his Sam. “Frodo! Mr. Frodo, my dear! It’s Sam, I’ve come!” And he was lifted, not harshly by tearing claws, but gently by caring and loving hands, hands that could coax life out of the tiniest of seeds, hands that have cared for him so often over the last several months and years, hands that were the essence of home and safety and friendship. He was lifted up and felt a strong, broad chest beneath his cheek, soft and enveloping, and beneath the dirt and sweat and the stench of black blood, he smelled the Shire and green grass and flowers blooming. He could have wept for the joy he felt if he were not so tired. Was this real?

“Am I still dreaming?” he muttered. “But the other dreams were horrible.”

“You’re not dreaming at all, Master,” said Sam. “It’s real. It’s me. I’ve come.”

“I can hardly believe it,” said Frodo, clutching him. “There was an orc with a whip, and then it turns into Sam!” And remembering again that long ago dream, come upon him like a beacon in the dark heart of the Old Forest, and again here, in the most unlikely of places, he asked, “Then I wasn’t dreaming after all when I heard that singing down below, and I tried to answer? Was it you?”

“It was indeed Mr. Frodo. I’d given up hope, almost. I couldn’t find you.”

“Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam,” said Frodo, and he lay back in Sam’s gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand. He had confirmed at last what he had long suspected to be true: his parents had indeed left him a protector, and that protector was his own Sam. And suddenly, if only for a little while, he did not feel so alone in the world.

The End.
 

GF 11/26/05 
 
  
* - The italicized parts are directly quoted from “The Tower of Cirith Ungol” from The Return of the King.