A/N: This story will have several cameo appearances of OCs from previous stories: Gordibrand Burrows (The Trouble With Love, A Tale That Grew in the Telling), Posy Goold (A Night to Forget), and Fendi, Morti, Piper and Gil (In Darkness Buried Deep).
 
 
 

Frodo is about to turn 20, Bilbo is about to turn 98, and Merry is 6 (about 13, 63, and 4 in Man years)

Halimath 1388 SR

Chapter 1

Menegilda Brandybuck sat in a stately chair of bright chiffon in the first sitting room, enjoying the company of her sisters-in-law, Amaranth and Asphodel. This was a custom of theirs to dress in their best and finest on Highday afternoons and have a formal tea. The ritual allowed them to refocus themselves and leave behind the hectic week, if only for an hour or two.

They had covered all the latest gossip and had just finished their meal with a glass of blackberry wine. Amaranth and Asphodel were standing, preparing to take their leave, when a knock sounded on the door. A moment later, the door opened and a servant entered with a bow. “Your guest has arrived, Mistress,” the servant stated.

The matriarch gave a nod, and the servant opened the door wider to permit the guest to enter.

“My dearest Gilda,” Bilbo greeted, all cheer and smiles. One would never have guessed he had walked all the way from Hobbiton, he seemed so well-rested.

At the sight of her dearly eccentric friend, all formality fell away. Menegilda rose from her seat and embraced Bilbo. “My dear Bilbo,” she greeted back and kissed him upon the cheek. She stepped back and eyed him critically. “Still as young as ever, of all the wonders. Whatever is your secret? All of us should be so lucky to look as good as you do at your age.”

Bilbo laughed easily. “Why Gilda, you’re not a day over thirty-three yourself. Ami and Del, you’re both equally lovely this afternoon.”

Ami and Del embraced Bilbo in turn and greeted him. They were not as close to Bilbo as Gilda was, but they liked him well enough – so long as he didn’t start rambling on about dragons and other such foolishness.

“We are glad you could make it, Bilbo. Frodo has been speaking of nothing else,” Del said of her youngest nephew and one-time ward. “He’s full of plans for your visit. You will be quite exhausted by the time you leave.”

“As I always am,” Bilbo chuckled. “I am just as eager to see him, I assure you. Imagine, he’ll be twenty already. Is he about?”

“He hasn’t pounced on you yet?” Ami asked, somewhat surprised. Always, without fail, Frodo would wait out by the road, all day if necessary, until Bilbo arrived. This was the first time he had ever neglected to do so; the news was alarming indeed.

“He hasn’t,” Bilbo answered, his disappointment showing in his voice. He had been equally surprised by the lack of greeting, and he wondered what could be keeping the lad. He hoped Frodo wasn’t in any kind of trouble, but from Ami’s reaction, and the equally alarmed looks from Gilda and Del, it didn’t appear Frodo was under punishment for anything.

“I’m sure that he is about somewhere,” Del reassured after a moment and took her sister’s hand. “He’ll find you, like as not. If you’ll excuse us, we have matters to attend to.”

“Of course,” Gilda said and saw them out of the room. She turned to the servant then, who had lingered to await orders. “See the room is cleaned, if you please.”

“Yes’m.” The servant bowed and immediately began cleaning up the room.

Menegilda next turned to Bilbo, who offered his arm. She accepted and Bilbo led her to the tunnel. “I trust you’ve eaten,” she stated.

“Rest assured, that was the very first thing I did upon arriving,” Bilbo said. “I am full and satisfied – until dinner, at any rate. Since we don’t know where Frodo is, what do you say to a stroll in the gardens? You can fill me in on everything I need to know.”

“That sounds like a delightful idea,” Gilda agreed.

The air outside was crisp and cool, autumn settling early over Buckland. The harvests had even started already to avoid the damage of nightly frosts, and the late afternoon air was heavy with the smell of cut grain and smoked leaves. Dusk would be upon them soon, but they had enough time for a leisurely stroll. Gilda drew her shawl around her shoulders and over her arms, and Bilbo drew his coat close.

“They were quite disappointed to discover I would not be celebrating my birthday in Hobbiton this year,” Bilbo said of his various neighbors and relations. He could still hear their exclamations of dismay. “They’re quite accustomed to my lavish parties, I’m afraid.”

“Afraid you are not,” Gilda said. “You thrive on the attention and everyone clamoring for their presents.”

Bilbo chuckled, caught and told out. “I’ll make it up to them next year. I simply could not miss Frodo’s birthday this year. To think, he’s a tween at last, and yet it seems like just yesterday he was a little faunt bouncing on my knee.”

“Time has a way of getting away from us,” Gilda agreed. “I remember when he was born. Primula and Drogo were so proud, they could hardly stop beaming at him, and Primula never wanted to put him down. She carried him everywhere, to the point where I thought he would never learn to walk on his own, and now look at him, running about at all hours. How can something so long ago seem so close, when I cannot even remember what I had for first breakfast yesterday morning? The years just zoom right by, and the days never seem to end.”

“Time is a funny thing,” Bilbo confirmed. “And how have the days been treating Frodo lately?”

“You’ll have to ask my son or daughter-in-law to learn the full tale, but from all I’ve heard and seen, he’s entering his tweens much the same as any other lad or lass – confused and uncertain of his place – but he handles it well, better than most, considering.” Gilda patted Bilbo’s arm and smiled fondly at her friend. “At least he is certain of one thing, and that is you. You always bring a smile to his face.”

“And he brings one to mine,” Bilbo returned.

They reached the gardens and entered through the gap in the hedges. The sun was sinking lower to the horizon and the wind came from the south, carrying the rich and thick scent of vineyards plucked bare. The garden flowers bloomed vibrant and fragrant, and the grass was soft beneath their feet. Bilbo soaked it in, delighting in it all.

“I am pleased to hear he is doing better,” Bilbo said now. “I have been so worried since he came to visit this past Spring. You know his letters can be less than informative, and after all that business with Merry, I was worried things would not patch themselves up.”

“He still has his moments,” Gilda said with an odd blend of amusement and disappointment. She loved her young nephew dearly and couldn’t help but laugh at his more harmless pranks, but there was no denying that Frodo had a certain streak for recklessness which sometimes got the better of him. She stopped in front of a trellis of primrose and fingered one of the delicate pink blooms with care.

“There was that incident a couple of months back on Maggot’s fields,” she said now. “Caught red-handed pinching mushrooms again. Maggot had been given leave to deal with Frodo as he saw fit should Frodo ever return to the fields, and he did. He whipped the lad good, then set his dogs on him and they chased him all the way to the Ferry. Frodo was quite unable to sit for a good week or so.”

“He returned to Maggot’s fields? After Merry broke his arm there the last time?” Bilbo asked in absolute disbelief. Frodo had been beyond distraught at the incident from what Bilbo had gathered later, and had sworn never to do anything so foolish again. This news was unsettling, to say the least. “Oh, I knew his letters were much too carefree.”

Menegilda nodded gravely, still at a loss of an explanation over the incident. The news had shocked them all when they received the letter from Maggot, written in haste by the post messenger as Maggot had been too impatient and irate to struggle with writing it himself.

“Return he did. Esme and Sara were quite beside themselves when the post messenger arrived, for naturally Frodo had not spoken a word of it, claiming his injuries were from nothing more than playing too hard with the older lads,” Gilda continued. “They had quite the discussion that night; even my Rory was called into the discussion and he delivered Frodo quite the ultimatum. It caused a rather large riff between Rory and Saradoc, and I think that is what scared Frodo the most. Since then, Frodo seems to have turned over a new leaf and is behaving himself quite well. But we’re worried naturally. Frodo was hard enough to manage as a teen, and now that he’s reached his tweens… Still, my son assures me all is going well now, and that’s something for which we may all be grateful.”

“It most certainly is,” Bilbo said, though he was far from reassured. He would have to speak with Saradoc and Esmeralda himself, and see how Frodo acted around them, before he could accept Gilda’s reassurance. He also wanted to know more about this ultimatum. For that, he would have to speak with Rory, as Gilda would not elaborate further. “Perhaps I could have a word with Frodo while I’m here.”

“If he’ll listen to anyone, it will be you,” Gilda agreed.

They remained for a time in the gardens, strolling about and enjoying the chill autumn day. Bilbo shared the latest news from Hobbiton, including the various antics of the Sackville-Bagginses, and Menegilda shared the various rumors and news of the Hall.  

“This is ridiculous,” complained Ginger, the head cook. She stared at the bare cupboard shelf, where reserved food and special orders were set aside until they were called for. “They’re all gone?”

“Yes’m,” her assistant answered. “The entire batch.”

“And no one knows anything? No one saw anything at all?” Ginger asked.

“No ma’am.”

“Mr. Marmadas will not be pleased. ‘Tis the third time this week,” Ginger said, frustration evident in her voice. “Well, there’s naught for it but to make more and deliver them directly.”

“Yes’m.”

“I’ll seek out the Mistress and let her know what’s about.” Ginger washed her hands and took off her apron, hanging it on the hook next to the door. She marched out of the kitchen, scandalized more than she could say. In all her years of working the kitchens, this has never happened before and she was hoping the Mistress would know what to do about it.

Ginger tracked Menegilda down as soon as she reached the Center Tunnel that led from the West Door to the front of the smials. She curtsied, somewhat shy of the Mistress’s companion, but knew there was nothing for it but to tell her Mistress why she had sought her out.

“What’s the matter, Ginger?” Gilda asked and let go of Bilbo’s arm in case he wished to continue to Saradoc’s apartment without her. Bilbo remained where he was.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mistress, but we’ve a problem in the kitchens,” Ginger began, fingering her skirts nervously. “We made a special batch of biscuits for Mr. Marmadas, mint chocolate to be exact, and now they’ve gone missing.”

“Missing?”

“Yes’m. They’re not on their reserve shelf, ma’am, and no one has taken them to be delivered yet. They’re just gone, and ‘tis the third time this week this has happened, ma’am. On Sterday, a triple-layer white cake went missing, and it was decorated special for Mistress Salvia. Then on Trewsday, a big bowl of tapioca pudding disappeared as Mr. Rufus had requested.”

“None of the servants could have taken them for themselves?” Gilda asked.

“Oh, no, Mistress! Not at all,” Ginger insisted fervently. “I’ve asked them all, and none of them know a thing.”

“Very well. I’ll ask Esmeralda to look into the matter,” Gilda decided. “In the meanwhile, step up the kitchen staff and have them be more mindful. I want someone to remain in the kitchen at all times to keep an eye out.”

“Yes’m. I’ll tell them straight away.” Ginger curtsied and returned to the kitchens.

Bilbo laughed under his breath and shook his head. “Some teen or tween playing pranks, most like,” he said.

“Everyone knows that the food on the reserve shelves is off-limits for plundering,” Gilda said sternly. “Whoever is stealing this food will have to be punished adequately. I cannot have my staff burdened with such pointless endeavourers as guarding food and cooking it twice.”  

Ginger and Gilda were not the only ones to receive news of missing food that day. Saradoc was finishing his weekly accounting when his father came into the library, where Saradoc liked to work. Rorimac’s brow was wrinkled into a deep frown, and his eyes were hard as steel. He approached Saradoc and did not wait for a greeting. “Where is Frodo?” he asked.

Sara looked at his father with alarm, then shrugged. “Hard to say. It’s Highday; he could be anywhere. He said something about taking Merry to the sweet shop in Bucklebury,” he answered.

Rory was not pleased with this answer. “I thought you were keeping closer track of the lad.”

“I was, but it wasn’t working,” Sara stated with restrained calm. “What is this about? Has Frodo done something?”

“He might have,” Rory said and held up a letter. Though the seal was broken, it was far too recognizable. “I received word from Maggot this morning: someone is stealing his mushrooms again.”

“And you think it’s Frodo,” Sara stated. He stood up and closed his ledgers. “Frodo has promised not to return there again.”

“That’s what he promised the last time, as you may recall. The lad isn’t exactly known for keeping his word,” Rory countered.

“Does Maggot have proof to accuse Frodo?” Saradoc asked.

“Other than the missing mushrooms and the fact that only Frodo has been bold enough to plunder his fields of late, no.”

Sara nodded at this. He understood the temptation to point fingers but he would need more than that before he allowed Frodo to be accused. “Frodo has lied in the past, I’ll grant you that, but he’s trying so hard now. I trust him,” Sara said, holding his father’s gaze steadily. “I have to trust him if this is to work. I’m not going to accuse him of misbehavior just because something’s gone missing, not without solid evidence. Frodo wasn’t the first lad to ever plunder Maggot’s fields, and he certainly won’t be the last.”

Rory nodded and his temper deflated. He sighed deeply and managed to look repentant. “You’re right, lad. He has been keeping his toes in line, for the most part. But it may be that he knows something anyway, if it’s one of those rascals he runs about with. Will you at least mention it to him?”

“I’ll mention it in passing at dinner, nothing more,” Sara promised. “Bilbo arrives today, so I doubt Frodo will be paying much attention to anything I have to say.”

“I’ll send word back to Maggot that we know nothing about the matter at this time,” Rory said. He still had his doubts, but he would trust to his son’s judgment on this. “I know it’s taken you and Esme a long time to get to this point with Frodo. I would not want you to risk that trust. It’s still too fragile to withstand such an accusation. If, however, it does turn out to be him, you know the conditions I have set.”

“I know them, and so does Frodo. He will not risk betraying you or us,” Sara answered. He picked up his ledgers and walked with his father out of the library.  

Gil Banks rode up to the stable and shooed away the ostler who dashed out to take the pony. “I’ll see to her,” he said as he dismounted. He walked the mare through the open stable doors and down one of the many rows to her stall. He led the pony in and removed her saddle and harness, as well as the thin blanket that had covered the pony during the long, cold day. He saw to brushing her down and seeing her settled from the ride to Newbury and back.

He was quietly muttering into her ear some soothing praise about her good-tempered nature when he heard the shuffling of feet outside the stall door, and someone urging another to be silent. Curious, he patted the pony’s shoulder in farewell and left the stall, looking up the row as he latched the stall door closed. He smiled at what he saw.

“Merry becoming a bit too much for you Frodo?” he called jokingly, for the lad was desperately trying to keep Merry’s little fingers out of his food satchel.

Frodo’s head shot up at the call and his face flushed momentarily. Then he wrested the satchel away from a disappointed Merry and stood up to face his friend. “Hullo Gil,” he said, not meeting the joke in kind, and instead growing quite serious. “Was your visit to Newbury productive?”

Gil nodded and joined his friend, planning to walk with him back to Brandy Hall. “It was,” he said. “I was able to contract a foreman and his workers to start on building us a home come next year. We’ll be going over the blueprints tomorrow.”

“Fuchsia must be excited,” Frodo said, his voice steady as he and Merry trailed behind Gil out of the stable, Merry still trying to sneak into Frodo’s satchel whenever he thought his cousin wasn’t paying attention.

“She is, surprisingly enough,” Gil replied. “I was worried she wouldn’t consent to moving to Branbourne, but she enjoyed herself when she and Piper went up last month. It helps that she and Piper have become friends. She’ll have companionship soon enough, once Edon and Piper marry,” Gil said, continuing to stroll forward. He smiled down at Frodo, only then noticing that Frodo was no longer at his side. He looked back and found Frodo still at the stable doors, Merry’s hand held tightly in his.

“Frodo, you’re pinching me,” Merry complained.

Frodo didn’t appear to hear. He was looking at Gil with an odd expression that Gil couldn’t quite decipher. “You’re really moving then?” he asked.

Gil nodded and walked back toward his friend. “I am.”

“Good. I’m glad for you. But, um, I need to get Merry home. Excuse us,” Frodo said suddenly, and pulled Merry along with him toward the Hall. He was almost at one of the many back doors when Gil caught up with them.

“Frodo, you do understand that my moving away has–”

“Has nothing to do with me? Of course I do. I’m sure you and Fuchsia will be very happy there. I know you’ve been wanting to go for some time,” Frodo replied, his voice light-hearted enough. He was so intent on Gil that he forgot altogether to pay any attention to Merry.

“Just because someone leaves, doesn’t mean that they’re abandoning those that are left behind,” Gil said. “You do understand that, don’t you?”

“I understand,” Frodo replied, ducking his head as he said it, so that he wasn’t looking Gil in the eyes. “I knew as soon as Edon decided to settle down there, you’d follow eventually. I think it’s wonderful that you’re willing to do that, considering there was a time that the two of you couldn’t even speak to each other without it resulting in insults. You’ve worked hard for this.”

“We have, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to forget those that remain behind. I’ll write to you all the time,” Gil said. “And we’ll all come for Yule, of course.”

Frodo nodded. “I know.”

“I just want to make sure–”

“You don’t owe me anything, Gil,” Frodo cut him off. “If you want to go, you should do so and not worry about me. I don’t mind. Really. Like I said, I’ve been expecting it.”

Whatever Gil would have replied to that was cut off by a high-pitched squeal from Merry as he finally fished out his prize from Frodo’s satchel. He held it up in the candlelight and squealed again. “Candy!”

Frodo whirled around and made a grab for the candy, but Merry was too quick for him. “Mine!” he cried and dashed off down the tunnel at a speed belying the child’s small stature. He was gone in a blink of an eye, but his voice could still be heard. “Mine!”

“Merry!” Frodo cried after him. Without another look back at his friend, he dashed off after his cousin. “I told you, you couldn’t have any more!”

Gil watched them go with a heavy heart. He always knew Frodo would take his leaving sorely and he had tried to ease the lad into the change, but it was of no use. The closer the date of the move grew, the more detached Frodo made himself, as though he believed he could make the change hurt less if he left the relationship first. Gil was at a loss of what to do and all of Piper’s sound advice has gone to nil.  

Saradoc returned to his apartments just after Gilda and Bilbo had settled themselves in the parlor. Gilda was just beginning to tell Esmeralda of the kitchen problem when Saradoc came in, pleasantly surprised at the company.

“Bilbo!” he exclaimed and embraced his cousin, then greeted his mother. He scanned the room quickly. “Where are Frodo and Merry?”

“I don’t know,” Esme answered. “They did not greet Bilbo on the road.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t be concerned, love,” Esme soothed. “You know how lads can get when they’ve had too many sweets. Frodo likely bought the sweet shop out and he and Merry got carried away with their snacking. They just lost track of time. Now that dark is setting outside, they’ll be home soon enough.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Sara said and took his ledgers into the study. He came back a minute later and sat with his family. “How was the journey, Bilbo?”

“Quite marvelous,” Bilbo answered. “There is nothing like open air and quiet fields to soothe the heart, but we’ll speak of that later as I’m sure Frodo will want to hear everything. There is no need for me to repeat myself. Besides, Gilda was telling your Esme of a problem.”

“Yes,” Gilda said and returned to her purpose. She told Esmeralda what Ginger had told her. “I want you to question the teens and tweens and find out what you can. I realize you've not had to deal with a problem of this magnitude before, but I'm confident you can manage it.”

Esme nodded her acceptance of the assignment, missing her husband’s troubled frown, for just then, a clambering sounded outside the door. A moment later, the door burst open and Merry came running in. He jumped onto his father’s lap and started bouncing excitedly. He held up a string with a cluster of sugar crystals hanging at the end of it.

“Look, Daddy! Frodo bought me sugar candy!” Merry exclaimed.

“He did? I never would have guessed,” Sara said, a smile smoothing the concern from his face.

Merry stopped bouncing and quirked his head at his father. He held the rock candy up further. “But this is sugar candy. What’s there to guess?”

The adults laughed, just as a much less-enthused Frodo entered the room and closed the door. “I’m sorry Aunt Esme, I tried my best to tire him out, but then he snuck another string from my bag just as we got here.”

“That’s all right, lad,” Esme assured. “Look who’s arrived.”

Frodo turned his head and he yelped with surprise, his worn expression brightening in an instant. “Bilbo! I thought you were coming tomorrow!” He dashed over to his cousin and hugged him fiercely.

Bilbo hugged Frodo back just as fiercely, then stepped back to kiss him upon the brow. Then he leaned down to pick up Merry, who had jumped off his father’s lap to wrap himself around Bilbo’s legs. “Is it tomorrow already?” he asked.

Bilbo ruffled Merry’s thick tangle of brown curls. “Was it supposed to be tomorrow then?” Bilbo said and shook his head. “I thought I had written in my last letter I’d be here by Highday. I’m getting quite forgetful in my old age, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps it is I that forgot,” Frodo said and then shrugged. “But this is better. You’re a day earlier than I expected. It’s almost like getting an extra day. How was your journey? Did you come by the Woody End or the East Road, or north along the Water? What did you see? Where there elves or dwarves?”

“Elves and dwarves!” Merry echoed and giggled as Bilbo bounced him up and down. “I got sugar candy,” he announced again and held up the candy for Bilbo to see. “Only you can’t have any, because Frodo didn’t get you none.”

“Merry!” Esme scolded as the others laughed.

“I ran out of money,” Frodo explained. “They had free samples of fudge squares, and Merry took more than his share. I owe the shopkeeper two farthings.”

“Remind me in the morning and I’ll see you’re settled,” Saradoc assured. “Come along now everyone. Dinner is about to be served. We’ll go to the dining hall and learn all we need to know of Bilbo’s journey as we eat.”

“And you, Frodo-lad, can tell me what you and Merry have been up to all day, as I can’t believe even the two of you could spend all day in a sweet shop,” Bilbo said.

“Well, no,” Frodo said, a bit reluctant to elaborate at first. Finally, he said, “We went to the pond, and then up to Crafter’s Field, then we came back here for a bit, then to the River, and now we’re back again.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“Only if you tell us of your journey first.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, my lad,” Bilbo said and patted Frodo on the shoulder. He followed the others out of the room, his stomach rumbling for a proper meal.

To be continued…
 
 
 

GF 12/5/05

Chapter 2

The next two days passed in harmonic bliss for Frodo who, along with Merry, tagged after Bilbo and listened eagerly to his many stories. When they weren’t in Bilbo’s company, they hid themselves away where no one could find them, which rose more than a few eyebrows. Frodo could always be counted on to be right by Bilbo’s side from the moment he arrived to the time of his departure. This was the first time anyone could remember when the lad couldn’t constantly be found in Bilbo’s company, and no one was able to figure what it might mean.

Bilbo just shrugged at it all and hid the sadness from his voice when he said, “He’s a tween now and he’s growing up. I can’t expect him to stay the same little lad hanging off the apron strings that he used to be.”

Instead, Bilbo spent his free time speaking with Sara and Esme, and finally Rory. He was pleased to hear firsthand that Frodo has been doing well since his last encounter with Maggot, though he was no more pleased to hear Rory’s ultimatum than Sara and Esme had been.

Rory had told the lad that he must either begin to conduct himself accordingly, or Rory would have no other choice but to remove Frodo from the Hall. Rory was hoping he would not have to make good on his threat, for he loved Frodo dearly and did not wish to put him out, but he had to think of the peace of the Hall first. Frodo’s antics, while they usually did not harm anyone else, still raised a lot of ire and condemnation among the other residents, who have only just forgotten about Merry’s broken arm from the previous year.

“Well, you’re not just sending him off to anyone, I hope,” Bilbo said hotly. “With whom were you planning to place the lad if it came to that?”

Rory shook his head sadly. “I don’t know, Bilbo. Milo would be happy to take him, though I doubt very much Frodo would want to go there; Milo’s living in Prima and Drogo’s old house as you know. Do not worry, Bilbo. Sara assures me all is well, and with hope, it will not come to that.”

Then, the night after Bilbo’s arrival, Frodo was caught sneaking out the apartment door in the middle of the night by a sleepless Saradoc. When asked what he was doing, Frodo claimed to be going to the kitchen for a bit of milk. Sara returned to his bedchamber without any further questions, but he couldn’t help but notice that nearly an hour passed before Frodo returned.

‘He must have been chatting with the kitchen attendant who is on call tonight,’ Sara thought, for despite the staff’s best efforts, food was still going missing.

In the meanwhile, Esme had her hands full with her mother-in-law’s request. She realized right away that she would not only have to question all the tweens and teens in the Hall, but also some of the youngest children who were known for their quick fingers. This left no less than forty-three children to investigate. Most of them looked at her with blank expressions and gave even less informative replies, but a few had very interesting stories to tell her once she got them going.

The first such child was ten-year old Gordibrand Burrows, who had a penchant for sweets, especially biscuits.

“Good morning, Gordi,” Esme said sweetly when she found the child in one of the sitting rooms, playing by himself. She knelt down so she was eye-level with the lad.

“Morning, Aunt Esme,” Gordi said without looking up from his stacking blocks.

“I’m your cousin, dear,” Esme corrected.

“You’re too old to be my cousin,” Gordi said thoughtlessly and didn’t notice Esme’s sour expression.

“Older than you I may be, but I am still your cousin,” she finally said, letting a laugh show in her voice to hide the ire.

Now Gordi looked up at her, his head tilted to one side. He considered her for a moment, then said, “You’re my second cousin, twice removed.”

“Correct,” Esme said. “I was wondering if you could tell me about those mint chocolate biscuits the kitchen staff made a day or two back. I was thinking of asking the staff to make some for me as well. Did you enjoy them?”

“I tried to, but Uncle Marmadas caught me sneaking in his apartment and made me leave,” Gordi said, a sour expression on his face. Then his eyes widened excitedly and he smiled toothily. “I did get a handful of butterscotch drops though. Those were mighty good, but then they started melting all over, and I couldn’t eat them fast enough. I didn’t want them to drip all over the floor, because I know that’s not good, so I got rid of them.”

“Got rid of them?”

Gordi studied her for a moment, then shrugged. Seeing as she was a cousin and not an aunt, he could tell her. He leaned in and whispered loudly, “I tucked them under one of the chair cushions in the East Parlor. But if anyone asks, it wasn’t me, it was my sister.” Gordi finished his admission with a conspiratorial nod of his head.

Esme sighed, and rubbed at the headache starting at her temples. “Of course, Gordi. Go back to your play.”

Esme left the lad to his blocks and sought out a cleaning maid.  

Ginger glared at her assistant, who trembled before her and stifled a yawn.

“What happened?” Ginger exclaimed. “A whole plate of caramel wafers just up and left on their own?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I tried to stay awake, I truly did,” her assistant pleaded. “But I- I fell asleep. When I woke up, they were gone.”

“Anything else missing that I should know about?”

“No ma’am, just a bottle of milk.”

Ginger tapped her foot, fit to be tied for sure. “Go and get some rest, lass. Everyone else, those of you not assigned to first breakfast will be remaking those wafers. Get to it!”

The cooks nodded and got to work, and Ginger left to seek out the Mistress again. This was really getting out of hand.  

Frodo and Merry left Bilbo with a wave and walked away at a leisurely pace. They waited until they were around the corner and out of sight to run. “Come on,” Frodo said, grabbing Merry’s tiny hand and pulling him along, “before he tries to catch up with us!”

Merry pealed with laughter and followed his older cousin at a close step. They ran into the barn and down one of the many rows of stables to the last stall. There were no animals currently being housed there, and the stall was swept clean and empty. They would be undisturbed, so long as they could keep their voices down.

Frodo pulled out their hidden treasure from the shadow of the corner and opened the box. They were running low on supplies, even though Frodo had been careful to retrieve more the previous night. He had risked it after Saradoc caught him sneaking out the door, but thankfully, his guardian had been asleep again by the time he snuck back in.

Merry considered the contents of the box, his tiny mouth pursed in concentration. “I think I’ll take this one. And this one and this one,” he said at last and picked his choices from the box.

“Easy now Merry,” Frodo chided gently.

“Yes, it is very easy,” Merry agreed, missing the reprimand. He lay on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, his feet bent behind him and waving in the air. “Does anyone guess anything?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Frodo said. “They’re all much too busy catching up on all the gossip to pay much mind. We’ll have to be more careful though, especially now that your Mum’s asking questions.”

“I know, but you said it’ll all be done. Look at all we have already,” Merry said with a grin. “This was your best idea yet.”

“So you approve then? That eases my mind. I shall rest easy tonight,” Frodo said, selecting his own choice. He set the box aside and reached into the inner pocket of his waistcoat and placed several of its contents upon the floor. “Here, what shall we do next?”

They put their heads together and snickered over their plans.  

Twenty minutes after fetching a cleaning maid, Esme was back on the case, seeking out children where they were most likely to spend their time on a cold and misty autumn day. She encountered many in the sitting parlors, but she avoided questioning them when they were all together. Instead, she sought out the ones who were by themselves or in pairs. Near teatime, she ran into Fendimbras Goldworthy and Morton Goodbody, twenty-eight years-old the both of them. Ah, now there was a pair of troublemakers if she ever saw one.

She smiled at them slyly and approached them with a knowing air. The best way to deal with these two tweens was to pretend you already knew what they had done. In this case, she did already know what was done, she just needed to get them to admit to doing it. She stopped before them and crossed her arms. “Well?” she said tersely.

“Well what?” Fendi asked, baffled. Morti just cocked an eyebrow.

These two were good, but not good enough. “You know perfectly well, well what. Don’t give me that lip. Now, are you going to explain yourselves, or am I going to have to take this to your parents?”

Fendi and Morti considered each other, a panicked glance passing amongst them. Ah-ha! Esme could almost feel her achievement, but she kept herself from appearing too smug. If they suspected even for a moment that she was bluffing, they would play it to their advantage and she would never get an admission out of them.

“You don’t know anything,” Morti finally said, narrowing his eyes at her, his fatal error for attempting to call her bluff so soon.

Esme gaped at them and shook her head. “It was you!” she exclaimed and shook her finger at them. “Only the guilty ones would say such a thing. I will be speaking to your parents now.” She turned and started walking away, and just as she had hoped, the lads caught up with her, desperation in their faces.

“Please, you don’t understand…”

“It wasn’t like that at all, really…”

“He said he didn’t mind it,” Morti exclaimed now. “I can’t believe he ratted us out,” he hissed to Fendi.

“Did you really expect any less?”

Esme paused, not sure exactly what kind of an admission she had just received from them. Playing along, she said, “I see this is more complicated than he made it seem. Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?”

“Well, Sed Brockhouse was telling us about his collection of salamanders and said that we could take a couple, so long as we were careful with them,” Fendi began.

“And we were,” Morti jumped in. “We took real good care of them.”

“Yes, even he said so.”

“I’m listening,” Esme said when the tweens paused.

“Well, we had them outside on the summit, so as they could get some air. Then Posy came up and started making a nuisance of herself like she always does, so we, um, well, we sort of put them in her hair,” Fendi ended in a mutter.

“She started screaming and carrying on, and we tried to get them out, but then she tripped and they fell out of her hair over the summit down below into one of the gardener’s flower pots and…”

“The gardener said something about salamanders being good for nothing and a nuisance besides, and he killed them.”

“With one fell swoop of his trowel. We felt real bad about it,” Morti continued. “We even buried them under the beech tree where Sed first found them. Sed said it was all right because he has plenty more, but I guess he changed his mind.”

Esmeralda just stared at them, unable to believe her ears. Salamanders? “I suppose this is something that can be dealt with between the three of you,” she finally said, defeated. “If I hear of you sticking any more pests into a lass’s hair again…”

“Oh, of course. We won’t do that ever again,” Fendi promised.

“Absolutely not,” Morti agreed, and somehow they both managed to keep their faces straight and repentant.

Esme turned and walked away, and the friends looked at each other with impish grins. “See?” Fendi whispered once she was gone. “I told you she didn’t know anything.”

“Salamanders!” Morti snorted and tugged on his cousin’s sleeve, pulling him down the tunnel in the opposite direction of Esmeralda, snickering uncontrollably. “Good one! That was pure genius!”

“Yes, but let’s tell Posy in case anyone goes asking her, and we can remind her brother to keep his mouth shut while we’re at it,” Fendi said, and the friends went to seek the siblings out.  

Gilda sat at her vanity, setting her trusses after a long day of supervising duties. She had spent most of the day in the kitchens, seeing to the staff and making suggestions for how to better guard the food without hindering the help more than was necessary. Ginger either approved or disapproved her suggestions, and in the end, all that was decided was that someone else guard the kitchen at nights, someone who could sleep during the day and would therefore not nod off while on duty.

Gilda had gone off in search of just such a worker, finding none. In the end, she had to order one of the cleaning maids to switch positions and shifts for a week or so until her daughter-in-law could get this mystery solved. She had then passed Esme in the tunnels and attempted to ask how the investigation was going. “Salamanders and butterscotch!” was the hasty response she got as Esme brushed past her without slowing. Gilda didn’t want to imagine what that must mean.

“I don’t know, Rory,” she said now, sitting in front of the vanity in her bedchamber. “Maybe it’s the full moon, or the early frost, or both.”

Rory sighed and sat down at the edge of the bed behind her. “Everything’s going missing but at least one mystery has been solved,” Rory stated. “I got another letter from Maggot this morning. He caught the culprit red-handed, some tween from the Marish, and he gave him an even worse thrashing that he did Frodo.”

“You need to apologize to our son,” Gilda said firmly and dabbed perfume on her wrists.

“I know, but he’s off with Bilbo fishing on the river,” Rory said. “No news from Esme?”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Gilda said. “Let’s just throw in the towel and move to Oatbarton. Sara can handle everything, surely.”

Rory laughed and came to stand behind his wife. He placed warm hands lightly onto her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I’d love to run away with you, love, but it doesn’t matter where we go. They will find us.”

Gilda laughed now also, and reached up to pat her husband’s cheek. “There is no escape, then? What a dreadful notion.”

“Escape there may not be, but certainly we don’t have to be showing ourselves anytime soon,” Rory said.

“Certainly not,” Gilda agreed and turned to kiss her husband.  

Bilbo and Saradoc sat in the rowboat, their lines cast into the water, waiting for a catch to take home. They spoke of pleasant things at first, but Bilbo slowly but surely steered the conversation toward Frodo, for more than anything, he wanted to speak about Rory’s ultimatum. Rory must have been hard pressed and desperate to make such a declaration, and Bilbo wanted to know why and how it had come about. Rory had been short on the details of the matter, so Bilbo was hoping that Sara would be more forthcoming. He knew that if he went to Frodo about this, he would get nothing in return but cold silence or, worse, a nonchalant shrug and an empty joke.

“I don’t understand, Saradoc, how you could just let your father deliver Frodo such an ultimatum,” Bilbo said at last. This was a sad conversation to have in such a tranquil place, but this was the only way they could be assured that no one would overhear.

“I didn’t just let him,” Sara replied. He looked up from his line and up over the River, to where Buck Hill lay hidden beyond the trees and the land. There was regret in his voice but his expression was resolved. “I had never defied my father before that night, no matter how much we may have disagreed. I even refused for a week to speak with him. It is still a sore matter between us.”

“And yet,” Bilbo prompted, for he wanted to know everything, no matter how reluctant Sara might be to tell him.

Saradoc looked back to his line and frowned down at the softly rippling water. “It’s working. Frodo is behaving himself again and it’s been peaceful, for the most part. Frodo still disappears too often for comfort, but if we question him at every turn, this won’t work. We have to trust to hope that he’s keeping his nose clean.”

“Trust to hope?” Bilbo said and scoffed at this. “It seems to me you’d do better to place your trust in Frodo.” He sat up straight and looked hard at Sara, trying to understand.

“We’re starting to trust him again.”

Bilbo spluttered at this but could not think of anything to say against it. Finally, he said, “What exactly happened, Sara? I can’t believe that Frodo woke up one morning and decided to go stealing mushrooms.”

Saradoc shook his head, equally as lost for an explanation. The theft had taken them all by surprise, and its continuation after Merry’s close call had left them all speechless. Looking back, they could only grasp at the clues.

“It was little things at first. Frodo started staying out later than normal, sometimes staying out the whole night. He started shirking his duties and his lessons every so often, not enough to cause alarm. We just figured it was careless teen behavior, but it only got worse from there. Our first real warning was when Merry was found outside Milo’s house after he had tried to trail Frodo somewhere and lost him. I can’t believe even now that Frodo didn’t know he was being followed. We realized then that something was wrong, yet every time we tried to talk to him about it, he made it sound as though nothing was the matter. He wouldn’t even speak to Gil, so again we figured it was typical teen jitters.”

“Then Merry followed him again,” Bilbo supplied.

Sara nodded gravely. “Yes, to Maggot’s fields, and broke his arm there trying to follow Frodo down the cliff. Frodo seemed to shape up after that and things were more or less normal through the winter. But as soon as he came back from his spring visit with you, he was right back out at Maggot’s fields, though we didn’t know it. We just knew he was disappearing again. That’s when the fights started. And when Maggot caught him red-handed…” Saradoc was silent for many moments, the weight of the last year and-a-half heavy upon his shoulders. “Father did what he had to do.”

“I still don’t see how it came to this in the first place,” Bilbo insisted. The Frodo that Saradoc was telling him about was so far removed from the one Bilbo knew; how could they be speaking of the same person? “If you had written me when this all started…”

“You weren’t around Bilbo,” Sara said, resignation not anger in his voice. “You were off traipsing about the fields somewhere. Besides, as I said, he wouldn’t even talk to Gil about why he was behaving so, and he tells Gil more than he tells you.”

Bilbo’s line caught then and Bilbo broke eye contact only long enough to secure the line against the side of the boat. Let the fish tire itself out, he thought, and turned back to Sara. Sara seemed lost in his thoughts, but he continued without prompting.

“We feared we were losing him again,” he said. “Those first three years after his parents died were so hard for us all, especially Frodo, yet miraculously we made it through, and while the next four years weren’t exactly perfect I can only describe them as blissful. And now this, starting last summer. We don’t know why.”

“But he is doing better now,” Bilbo stated rather than asked.

Sara gave a small nod and smiled. “Yes he is. Now.”  

The contents of the box were nearly spent again. Frodo frowned down at it, more than a little bemused, and Merry watched him intently so he could shadow his cousin’s expression. He turned to the box and frowned down at it himself, his eyebrows drawn together, forehead creased and lips slightly pinched. He gazed about as Frodo did.

“We’re wasting an awful lot,” Frodo stated as he surveyed their handiwork. He’d had to do a lot of sneaking to get all that they had started with and he had hoped it would last them for the next couple of days. With Esme prowling the tunnels looking for trouble-makers, he didn’t want to risk drawing suspicion to himself. “We need to be more mindful.”

“I know,” Merry said, “but I keep changing my mind which one I want.”

“Then stop doing that,” Frodo said with a smile. He packed everything away and returned the box to the shadows. Then he stood and brushed off his breeches. Beside him, Merry did the same, right down to shaking the fabric of dust. Frodo smirked and couldn’t help playing a bit. He hopped on one foot and shook his breeches again; Merry did the same. Then Frodo hopped on the other foot and repeated the process. When he started hopping backwards in a circle, Merry finally caught on to the game and started laughing with delight.

“Shh!” Frodo warned, bringing the game to a quick stop. “You’ll get us caught again.” Merry tried to sober himself, holding both hands over his mouth to hide his giggles. Frodo laughed himself then and held his hand out for Merry. “Come along, Meadow. It’s nearly supper time and everyone will be waiting for us.”

They slipped out of their stall and strolled down the length of the stable. They passed only one ostler, but the lad only nodded at them without looking up from his shoveling, so there was nothing to worry about in him. They walked out of the stables into the crisp, cool air and were about to enter the West Door when they heard Saradoc and Bilbo behind them on the lane. They paused to wait for the elder hobbits’ arrival.

Their shapes emerged through the thin mist and they were nearly upon the door before they noticed Frodo and Merry waiting for them. “Hullo, my lads!” Bilbo exclaimed and ruffled their hair.

Frodo groaned at being treated so, but Merry laughed and bounced up and down to be held. Sara scooped him up and turned to him and then Frodo. “And what have the two of you been up to all afternoon?” he asked.

“I went looking for you earlier to see if you wanted to come fishing with us,” Bilbo stated. “There were water moccasins, you know. River monsters,” he whispered to Merry. Merry’s eyes widened in amazement. “They come up to the boat and hiss at you, trying to steal your fish, but we wrested them away, didn’t we Sara.”

Sara laughed and held up his line of fresh fish, four in all. “We certainly did. It was a good fight, but we kept our prize.”

“You fought water monsters,” Merry said to his father and stared at him with admiration as they entered the Hall and made their way through the tunnels to the kitchens. There, Sara handed the fish to one of the attendants to do with as she pleased, then they returned to their apartments to wash up for dinner.

“You never answered my question,” Bilbo said once he and Frodo were alone. He eyed his young cousin closely and was pleased to see him relaxed and happy.

“What question?” Frodo asked, a smile on his lips and a secret in his eyes.

“Don’t play games with me, you scamp,” Bilbo chuckled. “I might be old, but I’m no dotard. Where do you two keep wandering off to?”

Frodo only shrugged and hummed blissfully under his breath. Bilbo continued to watch him, until Frodo’s smile widened and he couldn’t contain the laugh anymore. Then he doubled over with mirth and gasped for air. Bilbo could only shake his head at the lad. “You’re certainly becoming a tween, acting so silly as all that,” Bilbo said with fondness.

“I love you too, Bilbo,” Frodo managed to say and pecked the old hobbit on his cheek. Then he stood up and escaped to his room to freshen up before Bilbo could ask him any further questions.

To be continued…

Chapter 3

The next few days were much the same. Gilda kept someone posted in the kitchen at all times, continuing to ensure that the night staff was well rested, and no more reserved food went missing. Esme continued her questioning, but by this point the word of her investigation was getting around and she could hardly get a word out edgewise before the children denied any involvement. At the same time, Frodo and Merry began to spend less time on their own, Merry opting to play with Berilac and some of the other lads his age so that Frodo could spend time alone with Bilbo.

The two Bagginses spent a long day hiking across Crickhollow to Newbury, and further north to the Bridge before returning to the Hall. The next day, they walked again down Crickhollow Lane, but continued past the township and followed the lane almost to its very end. They stopped at the boulder that sat upon the northern edge of Hedge Field, watching the Old Forest over the hedge and enjoying the cool afternoon sun, before heading back. They spent the rest of the day in Bucklebury, going from one shop to the next, Frodo being unusually late on his birthday shopping.

The next day, they went fishing, Bilbo staying true to his earlier promise. They spent the morning in contented silence drifting upon the River, and Frodo at one point even lay down to take a doze while Bilbo watched over both their lines.

Bilbo watched the young tween, amazed that Frodo could find such peace on the water, on this river. It didn’t always used to be that way. There had been a time when Frodo avoided all forms of water and only bathed when he had to. Now, Frodo had to be nearly dragged from the bathtub and he had taught Merry to swim in the River so they could enjoy it together. Bilbo wasn’t sure when the change happened, when Frodo first returned to this place. All he knew was he had come to visit one summer and Frodo had met him on the lane as he always did, though this time he was soaking wet and smiling.

Not that his loss was forgotten. Not that his wounds were healed.

Frodo had told him just the day before, when they had been at Hedge Field, that he still dreamt about the Sea. Before, the dreams had always been the same, always of his parents being pulled under the river’s surface and carried out to Sea, where they called to him endlessly. Those dreams had stopped after a time, but lately he had been dreaming again, and the dreams were changed. The voices he heard now were that of the Sea itself, of water lapping against a boat he could not see, and of waves crashing upon a distant shore he did not know. They were at once soothing and frightening. Frodo wasn’t sure what to make of these dreams and while he spent many nights awake trying to determine what they might mean, they did not keep him away from the River.

Still, there were parts of the River that Frodo did avoid. This information came from Saradoc, who noted that while Frodo went to the River and of course everyone knew of his many exploits to Maggot’s fields, the lad never wandered south of the Ferry on the Eastmarch side. Bilbo understood why without asking: that’s where his parents had been brought ashore.

Bilbo kept this in mind and gently rowed the boat north whenever they drifted too far from the Ferry landing. He was grieved to know that Frodo was still so sorely wounded by his loss and wished there was more he could do for the lad. All he could offer Frodo was a respite, and his young cousin’s visits to Bag End were always looked forward to by them both. They had gradually grown longer with the passing years, so that now Frodo spent nearly the whole of spring in Hobbiton.

Giving what Frodo told him about his dreams and sleepless nights, Bilbo would almost suspect that Frodo only came to Bag End to sleep, for the first week of his visits always found the lad sleeping until nearly noon. Bilbo chuckled to himself as he remembered walking down the tunnel one morning during Frodo’s first visit to find little Sammy perched in front of Frodo’s room, his ear pressed to the closed door.

“And just what might you be doing, my lad?” Bilbo had asked.  

Sam had looked up at him, worry etched into his usually cheerful face. “Gaffy said to make sure he’s breathing, but I ain’t heard naught, Mr. Bilbo,” he had said.  

Bilbo had laughed and opened the door. “You check on him whenever you like, Sam-lad. Goodness knows that lad needs looking after.” And Sam had gone in and satisfied himself that Frodo was indeed still breathing.

Poor Sam had never before known anyone who didn’t wake before the sun, but he was used enough to Frodo’s sleeping patterns now not to blink an eye about it, though he undoubtedly still found it odd that someone would sleep through half their meals.

Bilbo felt just the opposite. He had accepted Frodo’s sleeping late well enough those first few years, but now it concerned him that Frodo was getting so little sleep while he was home. Esme confirmed for him that Frodo didn’t sleep nearly as much as he should and that he woke often in the night, but other than a few stifled yawns at the breakfast table Frodo never seemed to be bothered by the lack of a good night’s rest. Still, no one could deny the fact that Frodo returned from Bag End much more energetic than he had been when he left.

Frodo stirred then and woke up, blinking into the pale morning sun. He covered a yawn with the back of his hand and smiled at Bilbo lazily. “Did I catch anything?” he asked.

“Why, yes, my lad. Four large flies with your wide open mouth,” Bilbo answered.

“Is that all? I didn’t sleep nearly long enough then,” Frodo replied and sat up to take his fishing line back. “The fish aren’t biting.”

“They’re being a bit shy today it seems,” Bilbo confirmed. “Why don’t we go back to the Hall? It’s only another day to our birthday and you haven’t even begun to poke around for your present yet.”

“Or so I would have you think,” Frodo said with a wicked smirk.

“Is that where you and Merry have been sneaking off to then?” Bilbo asked with a laugh.

“No. That’s a surprise,” Frodo answered.

“Is that so? Sounds like I should be the one poking about,” Bilbo said and was answered with a snicker.

They pulled their lines from the water and picked up the oars to row themselves back to the Ferry landing.  

Esme patrolled the tunnels, her options nearly spent. Still, there were a few lads and lasses who seemed to be avoiding her and she was most keen on finding them. First and foremost on her list was Posy Goold, a lively young lass who was perhaps a little too clever for her own good. Esme finally cornered the lass by chance coming around a bend and, to her relief, the lass was alone.

“Hallo, Posy,” Esme said kindly.

The young tween slowed down and smiled. “Esmeralda, how lovely to see you,” she said with a perfectly quaint and polite voice. Too quaint.

“Don’t play games with me, Posy. I’ve a question to ask you,” Esme stated.

“Oh? What might that be?” Posy asked. She looked up at Esme curiously, not seeming a bit put off by the rebuke.

“Have Morti and Fendi ever put earthworms in your hair?” Esme asked, cutting straight to the point and being deliberately deceitful, hoping to catch the lass in a lie. She watched Posy closely.

Posy tilted her head, a look of vague confusion on her lovely face. “Earthworms? No, I don’t believe they were earthworms. They felt fatter and not nearly so slimy. I didn’t get a good look at them.”

“But they did put something in your hair?”

Posy’s face immediately crinkled with disgust. “Oh, yes,” she said, her fingers flying to her hair. “I had to wash it nearly a hundred times before I was satisfied all the filth was gone.”

“You’re not just saying that because they told you to?”

“Like I would ever listen to either of them,” Posy pointed out. “Are we done now?”

“No,” Esme said. She highly suspected that Posy was lying, but she had no proof. Still, she needed to ask. “You haven’t been taking food from the kitchens without leave, have you?”

Now Posy did look insulted and she placed her hands on her hips in a put-off manner. “Now, really Esme, if I wanted food from the kitchens, I would hardly go in there and get it myself. I would just have a servant go in and get it for me.”

With that, Posy flounced away, leaving Esmeralda gaping after her. Still, Esme figured that last part at least was true enough. Posy wasn’t the thief, and if she knew who was, there was no way she would tell.

Esme continued on her way. She would have to get someone else to keep track of Morti and Fendi, someone the children wouldn’t suspect. She discovered her solution when she returned to her apartment. Frodo and Bilbo had just returned from their fishing trip and were preparing to go to the dining hall for luncheon. Esmeralda wasted no time in approaching Frodo.

“Frodo, I hate to ask this of you,” she began and Frodo paused. Bilbo stood back and watched them with a sharp eye.

“Yes, Aunt Esme?” Frodo asked.

“You know about all this food that’s gone missing from the kitchens?” Esme asked. Frodo nodded, his features blank and frozen. “I think Fendi and Morti might be the ones behind it, but they’ve rather outmaneuvered me. I’ll never get a confession out of them. Do you think you could find out if they have anything to do with it?”

Frodo gave a small laugh of relief and nodded. “Of course. I’ll figure something out.”

“Excellent. Now, let’s eat shall we?” Esme said and the three of them left for luncheon.  

After luncheon, Esme continued with her investigation. She had been watching the last few suspects while trying to enjoy her meal and she followed a few of the teens out of the hall. When one lass separated from the group, Esme stepped up her pace and caught up with her before she could enter her apartment.

“Good day, Felicity,” she greeted warmly.

“Oh, hullo Esme,” Felicity greeted back, surprised to see her great-aunt standing behind her in the tunnel.

Felicity Burrows was a sweet lass, who never did anything she wasn’t supposed to do. The same could not be said of her sister, Fiona, another one of the tweens who seemed to be steering clear of Esme. She reasoned that Felicity might know something and it was worth Esme’s while to speak with her.

“I’m sure you know why I’m here,” Esme stated.

Felicity nodded. “The kitchen problem. I don’t know anything.”

“Are you certain?” Esme asked. “You don’t even suspect anyone? I assure you, no one will know that you’ve spoken to me. I’ll keep all my sources dead secret.”

Felicity shook her head. “I really don’t know anything,” she repeated. “Except…”

“Yes?”

Felicity bit her bottom lip and looked up and down the tunnel to ensure they were alone. “Well,” she said, her voice soft, almost inaudible. “I did hear my sister speaking with her lad, Tobias, yesterday about going out to the bell tower with the other tweens.”

“Mm-hmm,” Esme hummed. That was nothing new as tweens often went to the bell tower for any variety of reasons.

“Well, they were going to sneak some liquor from the cellars first,” Felicity said. “And they were going to play a game, something about kissing the bottle. Why would they want to do that?”

“Was that all they were going to play?” Esme asked, her mind racing. “And when exactly were they planning to do this?”

“I’m not sure, but sometime soon. And she also said something about going to the pond and dipping skinny things in it. I didn’t understand that either but Tobias seemed very excited about it.”

Esme’s eyes widened at this but she quickly hid her shock when Felicity began to fidget. “Thank you for telling me this, lass. I’ll not tell anyone I spoke with you, have no fear.”

Felicity nodded and went into her apartment. Esme stood in the tunnel, taking several deep breaths, wondering when exactly tweens started behaving so rashly. She had never done such things when she was a tween. Her brother, on the other hand, now she could tell stories about him. But she hadn’t time to think fondly on her younger days; she had to alert her father-in-law of the cellar raid before she did anything else. She set off through the tunnels to Rory’s study.  

Frodo waited until after Esme left the dining hall and Bilbo and Sara were speaking with Seredic about his upcoming wedding anniversary before he caught Merry’s eye and nodded toward the back door. Merry nodded also and with a discreet look around, they were out of their seats and through the door before anyone could notice. Once they were a safe distance from the hall, Frodo told Merry what Esmeralda had requested of him.

“So, Mum thinks it’s them?” Merry asked as he peered up at Frodo. “What does that mean for us?”

“Nothing much really,” Frodo replied, “except that we may be able to finally finish our project if they’re not watching us as closely as I thought they were.”

Merry grinned. “Good, because I’ve thought of more things we could –”

“Shh,” Frodo cut him off, for coming up behind them were none other than the main suspects. Frodo and Merry slowed down to allow the cousins to catch up with them.

“Hullo Fendi, Morton,” Frodo greeted, pasting a bemused expression on his face.

“Hallo Frodo,” they replied warmly, for they were old acquaintances. They’d had many adventures with Frodo before he denounced mischief, and they rather missed having the Baggins amongst their circle of rascals.

“What’s the matter? You look like you’ve just eaten a sour grape,” Morti observed.

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” Frodo said. “What have you two been doing of late? It’s been so long since I’ve had a word with either of you.”

Fendi grinned. “Oh, just the usual – innocent, harmless fun; you know us.”

Frodo stepped closer then and pushed Merry away. Merry took the hint and walked farther down the tunnel, out of earshot, and leaned against the wall, watching them from afar. He wondered what kind of information Frodo would get from them and what Frodo would say to get it. See, this is what he had to be learning, but Frodo refused to let him in on such things, claiming he was still too young. He sighed and waited.

When Frodo was certain Merry couldn’t hear them, he looked between the cousins. “Quite honestly, all this good behavior is rather getting to me,” Frodo confided. “I itch for a bit of mischief.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Morti said. “What kind of mischief are you looking for?”

“A kitchen raid.”

“A kitchen raid? I’d expect something more creative coming from you,” Fendi said. “You’ve been out of the game for a while now, my friend, and we should break you in slowly, but not that slowly.”

“Besides, the kitchens are impossible to get into anymore,” Morti said. “I’m surprised they haven’t put bounders around all the doors yet.”

“Exactly,” Frodo said. “It’s the perfect time to attempt a raid.”

“What is all this noise about the kitchens anyway?” Morti asked now, genuinely confused. “It’s nothing new, people taking food from there as they wish.”

“You don’t know?” Frodo asked, surprised. “I thought for certain it would have been you?”

“Raiding kitchens? That’s rather below our skills,” Fendi stated.

“No, not just from the kitchens,” Frodo said, then emphasized his next words for extra weight. “From the reserve shelves.”

Morti and Fendi gawked at him, disbelieving what they had heard. “From the reserves?” Morti asked. “Why would anyone do that when they could just raid the rest of the food and not cause a big stir in the process? It’s not you, is it?”

“Maybe it’s a guest,” Fendi suggested before Frodo could answer. “They wouldn’t necessarily know the rules, now would they? And since they’re not ‘children’ they wouldn’t be watched nearly as closely.”

“That’s an excellent point, my friend,” Morti said.

“Thank you, love.”

“You’re quite welcome. I bet no one’s bothered to ask any of the guests anything, have they?” Morti asked.

Frodo shrugged. “Look, I have to get Merry back to the apartment. I’ll catch up with you later?”

“Certainly,” Morti said. “We do have something planned for tonight that you might enjoy. You might even find it, dare I say, educational. You love learning new things.”

“On second thought, you’d better not, Frodo,” Fendi said, serious now. He shook his head at Morton then turned back to Frodo. “You could get into trouble if we’re caught and after that last time, the Master will put you out, nephew or no. If you want, you can come with us tomorrow to the wine-tasting at Mauville. You’re still too young to drink, but we could slip you a sip or two. There’s no harm in that.”

“That’s all right,” Frodo said with another shrug. “You’re right. I should keep my nose clean, for all that it’s a terrible bore.”

“I’m sorry to say you brought that on yourself, lad,” Morti said. “You shouldn’t have gone back to Maggot’s fields. You should have never gone to Maggot’s fields. Anyone with sense knows that.”

“I know.”

“Hang in there, Frodo. You’re doing good,” Fendi said supportively. “Besides, you’ve always got that one to corrupt.”

They looked over at Merry, who stood up off the wall and waited impatiently. Frodo smiled at him fondly. “Yes, I do, and I really should be getting him back now. Good day.”

Frodo left them and rejoined Merry. They waited until they were around the corner and the cousins were long on their way before stopping.

“Well?” asked Merry.

“It’s not them,” Frodo answered. “Let’s not tell your mother right away though. We should get what we need first and then tell her.”

Merry nodded. That was only the sensible thing to do. “We’ll have to wait,” he pointed out. There were far too many relations coming and going in the middle of the day for them to go about unnoticed now.

“I know. I’ll get what we need tonight, and I’ll tell her come morning.”

“Tonight? You said that was too risky anymore.”

“True, I did say that, but Fendi and Morti are planning something tonight, and they aren’t exactly the quiet types. I have a feeling that prying eyes will be elsewhere,” Frodo explained. “You see, Merry, the key to any successful ploy is to know when to take action, and if someone does the favor of creating a diversion for you, well, that’s all the better.”

Merry nodded, though he didn’t quite understand what a ploy or diversion was. Still, Frodo was never wrong about such things, and he stored the knowledge away for later use. Then, grinning conspiratorially at each other, they continued on their way.  

Some hours later, Esme plopped backward onto her bed and for many moments lay staring blankly at the canopy.

“Is something the matter, dearest?” Saradoc asked at length. He turned from the wardrobe, where he was slipping out of his overcoat and waistcoat, to look at his frazzled wife. He hung his garments while she continued to lay there, still and motionless. “Dearest?” he asked again.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. She sat up with a disgruntled huff and all but pouted at her husband. “I try and I try and still I get nowhere! I try to be their friend, and I get butterscotch pasted under seat cushions. I try being sly, and I get fed malarkey about salamanders. I try being direct and get lip from that hussy–”

“Hussy?” Sara interjected, only to be ignored.

Esme stood up and started pacing the room, getting more worked up with each turn. “I try to be comforting, and I get tweens planning on liquor raids and bawdy games. I get stories about goats eating cheese and lasses wearing breeches and kites stuck in trees. Or worse! I get blank stares or retreating backs or clueless shrugs. Why Sara?! Why won’t they just tell me who’s stealing the food!”

She collapsed into her husband’s open arms, her next words partially smothered by the fabric of his shirt.

“How does your mother do it? And make it look so simple? Without being driven mad? They wouldn’t do this to her. … They know, don’t they? They know I don’t know what I’m doing and they’re using it to their advantage and playing games. I’ll never be as good a Mistress as your mum and she’ll never respect me.”

“She respects you,” Sara soothed his wife. He patiently brushed his fingers through her hair and rocked her slightly. “She knows you’re doing your best, and you’re forgetting: she had to raise Merimac and me. She had to learn how to deal with errant children.”

Esme stepped back and glared at Sara. “Yes, I know. I heard all about the goose. This is different!”

Sara blushed. “The goose wasn’t my idea.”

“She’s just feeding me to the wolves is what she’s doing. She probably even already knows who it is and she’s not telling me. It’s a test and I’m failing utterly.”

“It was Mac’s idea. And Marmadas. I really had nothing to do with it.”

“Are you listening to me? Shut up about the blasted goose!”

“You’re the one who brought it up!”

They glared at each other for a space of a moment, then broke into laughter. Esme fell back into Sara’s embrace, this time giving comfort as much as receiving it. “We’re both a bit weary,” she said.

“Yes we are. Let’s not be so hard on ourselves, hm?”

Esme nodded. “Agreed.”

At that moment, they heard the front door open and close, and shortly after, Frodo’s door did the same. “The lads are back,” Sara stated, and glanced at the wall clock. It was quite late for them to be getting in. “Where have they been I wonder?”

Esme shrugged. “I don’t know. Hopefully, finding out what Fendi and Morti are up to.” She stepped back then and pecked her husband on the cheek. “I’ll go tuck them in.”

She kissed Saradoc again then went to check on both of her young charges.  

That night, a group of eight tweens, headed by Fendi and Morti, raided the wine cellar only to come face to face with the Master of the Hall. They were marched to the Master’s study and Merimac and Saradoc went out to fetch their parents.

That night, Frodo slipped out of his room and through the parlor, tiptoeing soundlessly. He slipped into the tunnel and snuck off into the dimly-lit passageways. He did not come across any of his cousins and was able to slip through the tunnels undetected.

That night, the kitchen attendant was distracted from her watch by a noise in the pantries. When she returned from her search, which brought up nothing unusual, she found the top shelf of the reserves bare. She sighed and got to work on another funnel cake.
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 4

At last, the time came that Esmeralda had to admit to failing her assignment. She sought out her mother-in-law on the day prior to Frodo’s birthday and delivered the bad news.

“It must be someone,” Menegilda stated. “You’ve questioned all the children?”

“Yes, Mother Gilda,” Esme answered.

“Including your own?”

Esmeralda looked insulted. “I doubt very much Merry or Frodo have anything to do with this,” she insisted passionately. “Besides, I told you; Frodo helped me.”

“Naturally, if he were attempting to keep suspicion off himself,” Gilda said matter-of-factly. She patted Esme’s hand and clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Food is still disappearing and the only way that would happen is if the culprit felt himself free of suspicion, and Frodo is the only one who hasn’t been questioned.”

Esme refused to entertain the possibility that Frodo had hoodwinked her yet again. “He’s been with Bilbo this whole week,” she stated fiercely, yet even as she said it, she realized that wasn’t true. Both Frodo and Merry have been quite elusive during Bilbo’s visit, which was most odd. Plus, Sara had mentioned Frodo’s late night wanderings, which were nothing new in and of themselves, but they did tend to correspond with the nights that food went missing. They had both overlooked that fact as they waited for someone else to put the blame on. “It can’t be him,” she mumbled, a sinking cold feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.

“No one is blaming him, dear,” Gilda assured, “but all children must be questioned. I can ask him myself, if you prefer.”

Esme smiled kindly but shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. I shall ask him when next I see him.”

Esme left her mother-in-law’s apartment with troubled spirits, still not willing to face what appeared inevitable. She went over the last week and-a-half, since the kitchens were first plundered. She hated to consider it, but Frodo’s many disappearances did rather inconveniently coincide with the incidences of food thievery. Still, that did not prove anything. It could very well turn out to be some other child whom she had already questioned; the guilty party would not necessarily turn themselves in. No child wanted to be punished and so avoided it whenever possible.

And of all the children in the Hall, who had the most experience with stealing food, and the most reason to lie about it?

 ‘No,’ she said to herself. ‘He promised us. He meant it this time.’

She stopped by the kitchens on her way back to her apartment, to check on the current state of affairs. She found things running smoothly, if a bit harried. Ginger informed her that nothing has gone missing since the previous night’s funnel cake. After much deliberation, Ginger made the decision to cease preparing food on the night before it was needed and would instead start her staff cooking two hours earlier in the mornings, so as to ensure all the requested food was still prepared timely.

“That’s a lot of extra work for your staff,” Esme commented.

Ginger shrugged regrettably. “It can’t be helped, Mistress. We can’t keep asking the cleaning lasses to stay up all night.”

When Esme returned to her apartment, she found no one there. Her husband, of course, would be seeing to his duties to his father and so was likely to be found in the library, updating the ledgers. Merry and Frodo would likely be with Bilbo somewhere, or so she hoped. She left then herself, to see to her own duties and visit with her husband and her friends. She was in desperate need of relaxation. She went to the library first, hoping to find her husband tucked away in a corner somewhere.

What she found instead was Saradoc frowning down at bounds of annals, and when he looked up at her approach, his frown only deepened.

“There you are,” he said. “Father’s looking for you. He wants you to meet him in his study.”

“Why? What did I do?” Esme asked, then shook herself for saying such a thing. “I mean, what does he want?”

“He’s decided that you are to give the children their punishments for last night,” Sara answered. “I tried talking him out of it, but he seems to think it would be good for you.”

“Oh indeed,” Esme said curtly, then frowned herself. “So not only am I to fail in front of your mum today, but in front of your da as well.”

“Do you want help?”

Esme shook her head. “No, I’ll think of something. Wish me luck.”

“It’s already done.”

She turned around, her hopes of a quiet morning spent with her husband dashed. Perhaps if things went well with the children, she could still get some time in to speak with her friends Berylla and Alamanda before she had to approach Frodo.

She came to the Master’s study and knocked on the door once, then entered. Rory was sitting at his desk doing paperwork of his own, as the group of miscreants from the night before stood about waiting for their punishments. All eight tweens looked over at her glumly when she entered, then dismissed her to go back to staring at their feet, the walls or each other. Esme took in the culprits, not surprised to see any of them here. They were all known for their mischief-causing abilities. There were Fendi and Morti, Fiona and Tobias, and Tucker, as well as three other lasses known for their boldness, Adele, Iola and Tawny.

“You were looking for me, Father Rory?” Esme said and walked to the Master’s desk.

“Ah, yes, there you are,” Rory said, smiling kindly at her, his eyes sparkling with encouragement. “You are just the one to give these tweens a proper lesson. Their parents have agreed to comply with whatever you decide. Just let me know so that I may tell them what is to be done.” He closed up his books and stood, looking at each tween in turn as he rounded his desk. “You are to listen to Esmeralda and as far as the eight of you are concerned, her word is Law.” He nodded to his daughter-in-law, and with a quick pat of reassurance, he promptly left.

Esme couldn’t help but freeze, so unexpected this was despite her warning. She looked at the tweens, who were quietly waiting for her pronouncement, but her mind went blank. She had seen her mother-in-law in action only a couple of times before, yet she herself had never been put in this position. Menegilda always came up with brilliant and unexpected punishments that never failed to get their message across, and she never received any qualms when she handed down her judgment.

Esme forced herself to take deep breaths and remain calm. She reminded herself that she didn’t have to do things exactly like her mother-in-law. Maybe that’s all Gilda and Rory have been trying to teach her.

One of the tweens cleared his throat. “Are we going to be punished now?” he asked.

Esme looked at him sharply. “Yes, Tobias, you will.” She wrung her hands and started pacing in front of them, her mind racing. “Now, I’m sure you all understand the severity of what you were planning to do. There is a reason we have an age limit that tweens must reach before they’re allowed to drink ale, much less hard liquor.”

“We’ve already been lectured,” Adele interrupted. “Can’t you just tell us what we’re supposed to do?”

Esme bristled at this but held her resolve. She walked right up to the lass and stared her in the eyes with cold regard. “Yes. You are going to be quiet and you are going to sit down, because you are going to get tired from standing while you are listening to all my lecturing. And then, when I’m finished talking, I will tell you what your punishment is, and don’t think that you’ll get off easily because you have me and not the Mistress doling out your dues.”

“Good going, Del,” Tucker said out the corner of his mouth.

Esme turned to him next. “And you, Master Tucker, will receive twice the punishment as the others for daring to speak after I made it very clear that you were not to say a word. Now sit.”

Once she got going, Esme was pleased to discover that her lecturing could be just as long-winded as Rory’s, and that the tweens actually did seem to listen, at least to parts of it. The part about them having a responsibility to their younger siblings really seemed to hit home for a few of them, and the part about trust lost not only between them and their parents but between them and all the elders of the Hall also seemed to get their attention. But the part that got the most groans was her punishment, for while she was lecturing her mind was desperately racing to find an adequate punishment and she finally hit upon one she thought would work.

“You’re going to help the healers with a couple of their patients, residents of Buck Hill who are suffering from consumption.” She held up her hand to silence the groans. “It doesn’t really matter what I say to you, or what anyone else says for that matter. This is something you need to see for yourself. Fun and games are all well and good, but you are old enough now to realize that every action, every decision you make, has a consequence. If you choose to consume liquor unwisely, you can end up like Aster and Nolan, too weak and worn to do anything for themselves, suffering in constant pain, so much that they can’t even leave their home to feel the wind and sun on their face or the grass beneath their feet. Every time they cough they spit up blood and they can’t eat anything.”

“Nothing? Not even pudding?” said Fendi, mortified at the thought of not being able to eat.

“Nothing.”

“How horrible!” Fiona exclaimed, to which everyone agreed.

“I will arrange everything with the healers and they will call you when it is your time to serve. You can go two at a time, and each of you will serve at least one one-hour shift per day, for as long as the healers need you,” Esme said. “Also, if I hear word about any of you planning skinny-dipping again, you will all be branded with tattoos on your bums. You’re excused for now.”

The tweens stood and left, each one lost in thought. Esme watched them go, hardly able to contain her excitement at her first punishment given and received. Overall, it had gone well, though next time she had to give such a lecture, she would jump to the no-eating part first. While she may not have Gilda’s experience, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t learn. She could grow into the role, though it admittedly was not one she looked forward to. Yet, so long as she could keep any children from dressing up a goose in a bride’s first-night undergarments and parading it through the tunnels, she would consider herself one-up on her mother-in-law.

She chuckled to herself and left the study, but she didn’t get far. She heard a couple of the tweens still nearby, talking in hushed tones as they made their way down the tunnel.

“She’s a fine one to talk,” complained Tawny. “Look at her own kids, especially that ward of hers.”

“That’s our friend you’re talking about,” Morti warned. “What has Frodo got to do with this anyway?”

“Oh please, as if you don’t know,” Iola said now. “We all know it’s Frodo taking the food from the kitchens. He’s always in there and sneaking about the tunnels at all hours, him and Merry both. That’s why no one’s said anything to her.”

“Oh, come now!” Morti started, but was cut short.

“He did ask us the other night to join him in a raid, and he did say he’s been restless,” Fendi pointed out. “Maybe it was him.”

“In that case, everyone is to remain silent then,” Morti said. “We don’t want Frodo turned out. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” the others said as they made their way around a corner.

Esme remained in the doorway, unable to move, her elated mood gone cold. No, not Frodo. Not again.

“But of course,” she said under her breath. She had told Frodo to spy on Fendi and Morti for her. That’s why he had tempted them with a kitchen raid. As for him sneaking about, well, certainly that didn’t have anything to do with the raids. Neither she or Saradoc had found any evidence to suggest Frodo was responsible for any of this, though that was only because they were steadfastly not looking for any.

“But no. He promised us,” Esme muttered. He promised.

She left the Master’s study then to search out her ward and her son, not entirely sure if she wanted to find them or not.  

“Well, that’s the last of it,” said Frodo later that day. He closed the now-empty box and helped Merry clean up the mess they had made on the stable floor. Then he sat back on his haunches to admire their work. Beside him, Merry did likewise, in perfect imitation of his cousin, right down to the satisfied head nod.

“I think that’ll do,” Merry said.

“I certainly hope so,” Frodo said. “We’ve rather run out of time, I think. We’re pushing our luck as it is.”

“I say we deserve a treat,” Merry put in.

“You ate all your sweets already, remember,” Frodo reminded. Merry’s candy from the sweet shop had run out the other day and he had been quite disappointed with it all.

“There’s still a couple of those biscuits left,” Merry now put in hopefully.

Frodo raised his eyebrows at him. “The mint chocolate ones?” he asked, trying to remember if there were indeed any left in his linen chest. He could not remember stashing any extras away.

Merry nodded. “There’s two.”

Frodo shrugged. It wouldn’t hurt anything to check. “Very well, but we’ll have to go to the River again and go swimming. A nice long swim will wear you out.”

“But it’s cold!” Merry protested.

“We can’t have you all wound up,” reasoned Frodo. “Your parents will wonder why you’re so hyper and I’ll have to come up with an explanation. It’s easier to explain why you’re worn out from playing than why you’re bouncing off the walls for no reason.”

Merry scrunched up his face at this. He was furiously trying to figure a way out of the River that would still allow him his treats, but he wasn’t having much luck. “Can we bring extra blankets?” he asked at last.

Frodo nodded. “Of course, Merry-mine. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold after all.” He gathered everything together and held his hand out for Merry to take. “Come along, Meadow. With all we’re carrying, we need to get back before anyone else, or we’ll get caught for certain.”

“For certain,” Merry echoed and followed Frodo out of the stables and towards the Hall.

Both lads looked all around the vicinity while they walked, making certain that no one important spotted them. They slipped into the Hall through one of the servants’ doors and snuck down the back passageways to the Center Tunnel. There they snaked their way back to the front of the Hall, keeping their ears tuned and eyes on the look out. They had a close call with Fuchsia but were able to give her the slip without too much trouble, and miraculously, they made it all the way to Frodo’s room without any further incidences. They sighed with relief that they had managed to beat everyone back to the apartment. They were not a moment too soon, for no sooner had Frodo closed his bedroom door behind them than Bilbo and Saradoc returned from their own daily doings.

Frodo placed his bundle under his bed, then opened his linen chest to search the contents inside. He kept his ears on the conversation that was taking place in the parlor and was pleased to hear that Bilbo and Sara were laughing over some anecdote of great humor to them. He and Merry should be safe for a bit.

He reached the bottom of the chest and his hands enclosed the handkerchief that held the biscuits. He brought them out and checked them over. They were a bit dry but still edible enough, so he handed one to Merry and joined his cousin in sitting against the wall to munch happily on the delectable treat.

Merry gobbled his biscuits within moments, but Frodo lingered over his, savoring the taste. He wondered why the kitchen staff didn’t make these more often as they were quite delicious. He was nibbling over the biscuit, pondering the matter rather seriously, with Merry leaning against his side and yawning, when a knock suddenly sounded on the door and it flew open. They jumped at the sudden interruption, then Frodo smiled bemusedly.

“Hullo, Aunt Esme,” he said casually.

“Frodo, there you-” Esme began, then stopped cold. She stared at the biscuit in his hand, a look of fury slowly taking over her features.

“Aunt Esme?” Frodo asked cautiously, standing up. Merry grunted his disapproval at losing his pillow, then stood up as well. “What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?” Esme said, scandalized. “What’s the matter!” She looked as though she did not know how to continue and for several moments, simply stood there staring at him in disbelief. Finally, she got her wits about her. “What do you think? I don’t believe you, Frodo Baggins! After everything’s that happened!”

By this time, Sara and Bilbo were crowded into the doorway behind her, curious and bewildered. “Esme, dearest, what is going on?” Sara asked.

Esme pointed at the still half-eaten biscuit in Frodo’s hand. “All this time,” she said to Frodo. “You knew I was investigating these kitchen thefts, and yet you said nothing. Now you stand here as though nothing’s the matter!”

“I don’t understand,” Frodo started, but Esme cut him off.

“Don’t lie to me anymore, Frodo,” she exclaimed, fury and hurt in her voice. “Always you promise and always you end up lying. You were stealing the food this whole while.”

Now Frodo looked shocked and rather hurt himself. He shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“Then what is that?” Esme asked, still pointing at the biscuit.

Frodo looked down at the forgotten treat in his hand. “I got these from Hilda,” he answered softly. “I didn’t steal anything.”

“Hilda?” Sara asked, joining the conversation. “Seredic’s wife?”

Merry nodded. “She gave them to us. She said there were too many for her and she wanted us to have some because we’re always so nice to her,” he said.

“Now you have him lying and stealing too!” Esme exclaimed. She strode over and pulled Merry away from his cousin. “How could you do this, Frodo? We trusted you. After everything, we trusted you and you throw it back in our faces. I hate to say this, but perhaps it is for the best if you were to go live with someone else. We clearly do not have your respect; we have no hope of teaching you it.”

There was silence for several moments, during which time Merry looked helplessly between his mother and cousin, Esme stood seething, Sara and Bilbo simply tried to make sense of everything, and Frodo stared down at his feet, avoiding all eye contact.

When Frodo finally answered, his voice was strained with unshed tears and sounded hollow and crushed. “Yes, Aunt Esme.”

He let the rest of the biscuit drop to the floor, then pushed his way out of his room and ran through the parlor. A moment later, the apartment door slammed closed behind him.

“No!” Merry finally found his voice. He tugged himself away from his mother and glowered up at her. “We got those from Hilda! She gave them to us, said there were too many for just her.”

“Merry,” Saradoc started. “You don’t have to cover for him, and it’s not your fault if Frodo persuaded you to help.”

“But we didn’t steal anything!” Merry insisted, tears now streaming down his own cheeks. “We’ve been ever so good.”

“Then where have you two been all this time that the food’s gone missing?” Sara asked.

For a second, it seemed Merry would not answer. He glanced up at Bilbo uncertainly, then back to his parents, then back at Bilbo. “He has to leave,” he said, pointing at Bilbo.

“Merry,” Saradoc started, but Bilbo interrupted.

“That’s quite all right,” Bilbo said. “I’ll go fetch Frodo before he can get too far.” He left the room in a hurry, moving faster than he had in years.

When Bilbo was gone, Sara and Esme looked at Merry questioningly. Finally, Merry pulled the box out from under the bed and held it up to his father. “We were working on these. It was supposed to be a surprise. It’s Frodo’s birthday present to Bilbo.”

Saradoc took the box and opened it to reveal its contents. Inside were several handmade bookmarkers, some of them very obviously just made, the paper still wet underneath with glue. Without counting, there appeared to be at least thirty, and all of them were different, some drawn on, others painted, others with patterns or shapes glued onto them with different colored paper or even foodstuffs from the pantries: flour, wheat grain, sugar. They were all inspired by Bilbo’s tales of his journey: there were some of the trolls, others of Elves and Rivendell, many of the Dwarves and the dragon Smaug, and many more.

“See?” said Merry. “That’s what we were doing, but we had to sneak about it, or Bilbo would’ve found out.”

Then Esme wept herself and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Sara, what have I done?”

Quite some time passed before they left Frodo’s room, the box of bookmarkers still in Sara’s hand. Bilbo had not yet returned, and they could only guess that Frodo had been successful in disappearing. Merry glowered unhappily at his mother, who was still crying, and Sara sat her down on the settee and kept his arm firmly about her shoulders.  

“Frodo!” Bilbo called through the tunnels. “Frodo-lad!”

There was no response, as could be expected, and no one he passed had seen Frodo go by. Still, he continued on, checking all the parlors and sitting rooms he passed, calling for Frodo in the hope that the lad might come out of wherever he was hiding. Bilbo even ventured outside, into the cold, crisp autumn air and walked about the premises and the gardens, to no avail. Frodo had disappeared, and Bilbo knew there would be no finding him until he wanted to be found.  

Frodo sat before the little wading pool just north of Bucklebury, his knees drawn up to his chest. His silent tears streamed down his face unheeded as he numbly stared into the unmoving surface of the water. An owl screeched in one of the trees above and a gentle breeze touched his face. He did not notice either.

His heart was breaking, breaking into so many pieces he wondered that he was still able to draw breath at all. He knew this would happen eventually, but he had hoped it wouldn’t. He had hoped his guardians would keep their word and trust him no matter what, but he supposed he simply had not given them enough reason to do so.

This was all his own fault, unequivocally, and he knew it. He should have told Esme and Sara at least of what he was doing. Then this wouldn’t have happened. But he had wanted the present to be a surprise, not only for Bilbo, but for Esme and Sara as well. He wanted to show his guardians that he was capable of more than jests and untruths, that he could be more than a rascal and a shame to the family.

But none of it mattered. They would never trust him, and why should they? Frodo might be innocent this time, but he certainly has got away with far more than either of his guardians could begin to guess. Still, he had been trying so hard and doing so well. Did it all mean nothing then? Were they just sitting back and waiting for him to mess up again so they could be rid of him once and for all? Did they ever even want him at all?

The sorrow enveloped Frodo again, now finally succeeding in squeezing the breath out of his chest. He sobbed uncontrollably, hiccupping with his grief spent, and rocked himself back and forth, wishing for the caring, motherly caress he would never feel again. After all these years, he craved for it still, and the one hobbitess he had come to regard as a surrogate mother would no longer caress him like that either. No, instead, she had yanked Merry away from him, as if he were a deadly plague not worthy of being near the child. Frodo was to be put out, sent to who knows where and he would never have contact with Merry again.

He cried long into the night and was not aware when at last he fell asleep.
 
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 5

Esmeralda sat miserably on the settee, Saradoc’s arm held firmly around her slumped shoulders. Next to his father sat Merry, his little feet swinging agitatedly off the edge of the cushion, his arms crossed. None of them spoke or looked at the other.

Merry was trying very hard not to be angry at his mother but he wasn’t being too successful. He kept thinking of all the hard work he and Frodo had put into Bilbo’s birthday present and how much Frodo had wanted to surprise his beloved older cousin. It was going to be fun to give it to Bilbo, but now it wouldn’t be, and worse yet, Frodo had been hurt. His mother had yelled at Frodo, even though Frodo had been telling the truth this time. Merry kept picturing that wounded expression on Frodo’s face and reflected in his eyes; Frodo had seemed to deflate under the accusations, and then he had run off as he always did.

Saradoc was thinking much the same as his son, though he had noticed a few things Merry had not. The careful balance they had been struggling so hard to keep with Frodo could now never be repaired. Frodo had been more than hurt for being called a liar; he had felt himself depreciated. After trying so hard all these months to regain their trust, he had been forced to face the fact that there remained still in them both a seed of doubt. Even Sara had felt that doubt taking root over the last few days, with Frodo’s late night wanderings and many disappearances.

The result was more devastating than Sara could have anticipated. Frodo’s spirit, always so fragile to begin with, seemed to have been drained from him within the blink of an eye, and just as quickly, it had been replaced by the shell Frodo so often hid himself within. Frodo would never fully emerge from it again, Sara knew that. Frodo’s meager ‘yes Aunt Esme’ had not meant agreement or confession, but that Frodo would no longer fight her because he knew in the end he would stand accused anyway.

Esme had come to the same conclusions as her husband and her heart felt as though it had been squeezed in a vise. She didn’t believe she could ever feel more horrible and guilt-ridden than she did right now, and she knew that nothing she did could take back what she had said. Frodo was lost to them now. This had been their last attempt to forge an open relationship with Frodo, they had known that all along. Esme just never thought she would be the one to ruin it, and therein lay the problem. She had always had her doubts, and now it was Frodo who would never trust her again.

How long they sat there, numb and lost in thought, they could not have guessed, but at last the door opened and Bilbo walked in. He shook his head sadly as they rose to their feet. He had not found Frodo, as they had expected. The lad was simply too good at disappearing.

“I looked everywhere for him that I could think of, without raising too much suspicion. The last thing Frodo needs now is for word of this to get around the Hall,” Bilbo said.

He shook his head again and sat himself upon a chair. He looked at Esme sympathetically. “I would have been here sooner,” he went on, “but I went to visit Seredic and Hilda. Hilda Bracegirdle she was called before she married, and I am much too familiar with her family’s ways. I got her to confess that she was the one taking the food, to satisfy her cravings. She is with child, you see.”

“Oh,” Esme muttered. That was the last thing she had expected to hear.

“And she gave Frodo and Merry the biscuits. Why?” Sara asked.

“Apparently, they nearly caught her in the act,” Bilbo answered. “They came into the kitchen as she was going out. According to her, Frodo gave her a peculiar look, so she gave them some of her hoard to relieve suspicion.” He paused and looked at Esme once more, then asked gently, “Did you never tell Frodo of the type of food that was being taken?”

“No,” Esme answered. She hid her face again. How could she not have told him that? This whole mystery would have been solved much sooner, before it ever came to this. How could she be so thoughtless?

Finally, Sara stirred. He gently pulled Esme’s hands from her face and thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “Come, dearest, we may as well turn in,” he stated. “Frodo will be back for the party tomorrow; he won’t forget his duties as host. We’ll speak with him then and clear this all up.”

Esmeralda nodded gamely and took a deep, steadying breath before reaching down for Merry’s hand and leading him to his room. Merry looked up at her unhappily as she helped him change into his sleeping gown, but before she could tuck him into bed, he reached up and threw his arms around her neck, hugging her fiercely.

“I’m sorry I’m mad at you, Mum,” he said, the first words he had spoken since the scene in Frodo’s room.

“I’m sorry I gave you reason to be,” Esme said and returned the hug, kissing him gratefully on his forehead as she lifted him up and put him in bed. She tucked him in and kissed his brow again. “Don’t stay up waiting on Frodo. He likely won’t be back until morning, and you’ll want to be well rested for his and Bilbo’s birthday.”

Merry nodded. “I’ll try not to,” he promised, but they both knew he would be up all night, listening for the front door to open. He could never sleep when Frodo was missing.

Sara was saying good night to Bilbo when Esme emerged from Merry’s room. Sara closed the door softly and Esme left Merry’s door slightly ajar. Then they met in the center of the parlor and Esme let herself fall into her husband’s waiting embrace. Sara led her now, into their own bedchamber and there they sat up half the night themselves, discussing this latest development.

“What have I done?” she muttered at the start, as they were readying for sleep. “We said we wouldn’t do this. We said we’d give him the benefit of the doubt and what do I do?”

“I would have done the same, given such evidence,” Sara confided. “If anything, at least we know who is behind the missing food. I’ll go to Mother in the morning, and by the time she’s done with Hilda, the poor lass will never set foot in the kitchens again.”

“That doesn’t help us with Frodo.”

“I know, dearest, I just don’t know what to do on that end,” Sara said. They climbed into bed and leaned against the headboard. “We might be able to mend this, though it will take longer than we had originally hoped.”

“And if we can’t?” Esme asked.

“I think it’s time we admit we don’t know how to help Frodo,” Sara said with resignation. “We’re doing him more harm than good. Maybe it would be best if he went to live with someone else.”

“He won’t go to Milo’s,” Esme said, focusing on the particulars rather than the possibility that she might have to let Frodo go.

Sara agreed about Milo, for Milo now lived in the house once owned by Frodo’s parents. The little house held too many memories for him and he refused to go near it. “Perhaps Aunt Ami or Uncle Dino,” Sara mused. Frodo was not too close with Amaranth though he liked her well enough. Dinodas tended to spoil Frodo, and so Frodo naturally turned to him when he wanted something special.

“Perhaps Del will take him in again. It would be best if Frodo could go back with someone he had lived with before,” Esme stated.

“Del’s just getting used to having Milo out of the hole,” Sara said. “Maybe we could send him with Gil?”

“No, absolutely not,” Esme said. “Gil’s newly married, and raising a tween is not something that he and Fuchsia need to be concerning themselves with. More importantly, they’ll be moving to the Northfarthing soon. Frodo has no other family up there and it’s simply too far away from us. I want to keep him close.”

“So then who else is there?”

They continued to go through the family, considering this relation and that one, trying to decide the best thing to do for Frodo’s sake. Eventually, they fell asleep, exhausted and drained, but across the apartment Merry still lay awake, waiting for Frodo to return.  

The sun was not yet fully up when a light knock sounded on the back door of the small, simple cottage. Piper put the tea kettle over the hearth fire and went to answer the call. She was not entirely surprised to discover who the guest was.

“Master Frodo,” she said and stepped aside to let him in. Frodo often came calling when he was having problems with his guardians and he had been a regular visitor the year before. “What’s troublin’ ‘ee, sir?”

Frodo sat at the table, at the seat he usually took at the head of the table near the door. He didn’t say anything but by the puffiness of his eyes, he had clearly not slept well. His clothes were also wrinkled and lightly covered in dirt, and there were leaves and bits of grass in his hair. Piper took this all in without a word and went back to her cooking. When the tea kettle whistled, she fixed Frodo a mug and set it before him, knowing that when he was ready, he would start talking.

He sat sipping his mug as the other members of the family came in and out of the kitchen. They all greeted Frodo kindly and were content to let him be. Mr. Redleaf took the seat next to Frodo without a word about being displaced in his own home.

They all liked Frodo and couldn’t begin to feel any ill-will toward him. If he was here, it was because he had something gnawing at him and needed to let it out. He wouldn’t do that until everyone was out of the house though, so they went about their business, making sure he was fed but not fussing over him unduly. They called farewell to him as they headed out the door, the master and his three strapping lads to their work as fisherhobbits and boat-makers, and the youngest lass going outside with their mother to begin washing the laundry.

An hour after he arrived, he was finally alone with Piper, a new mug of steaming tea in front of him, fixed just as he liked it. Piper sat down to eat herself now, letting the other dishes soak as she rested. She looked up at Frodo questioningly. “So?” she asked.

Frodo tried several times to speak but he could get no further than opening his mouth and grasping at air. On his third attempt he was close to tears. Piper reached out a hand and patted his supportively.

“Was there another fight?” she asked.

Frodo nodded then shook his head. “Not exactly a fight,” he finally managed. “She wants me to leave. She doesn’t trust me with Merry. She doesn’t trust me at all.” Now he did cry, just a single tear watering his eye, and his lip quivered slightly.

Piper was out of her seat and next to his in a second. She rested a hand on his arm and hummed sympathetically. “What makes ‘ee think that?”

Slowly, Frodo got the story out. His initial show of emotion dried up in the telling of it and by the time he was done, his voice was flat and monotone, and he was staring at the wooden table top, not really seeing it as he traced the many scratches carved into its surface over the long, hard years of constant use.

“We all say things when we’re upset, Master Frodo,” Piper reasoned. “Sometimes even things as we don’t really mean. Mayhap that’s why they hurt more’n aught else we can say, because we never wanted to say ‘em and now we can’t take ‘em back.”

Frodo shook his head. “She meant it. At that moment, she meant it. And Uncle Sara just stood there, which means he agrees with her. Neither of them want me anymore. I don’t want to be shuffled about again. I just want a home to call my own.”

Piper’s heart broke for the child, who couldn’t cry anymore for himself. She squeezed his arm and let him be for a moment, then said, “’Ee have a home, Master Frodo. No family’s not without their problems. Why, ‘ee should be here when me dad and brothers go at it! They near bring the roof down with all their shoutin’. Everyone gets upset, but that doesn’t mean they love ‘ee no less than they did afore.” She stood and placed a kiss into Frodo’s curls. “’Ee think about it, and when you’re ready, ‘ee go on home and ‘ee talk to ‘em, for ‘ee can’t be avoiding ‘em forever.” Piper stood and took the now-empty plate from Frodo. “Are ‘ee still hungry?”

“No thank you.”

Frodo swirled the remaining tea in his mug, not really seeing it, so absorbed he was in his thoughts. Home. He’d had a home once, a long time ago, and as much as he had tried, as much as they had all tried, he had always known that Esme and Sara’s home would never truly be his own. He sipped the tea, not tasting it. He knew Piper was right, that he would have to return to the Hall eventually. He may as well get it over and done with.

When Piper turned around from her washing to retrieve Frodo’s mug, she found the lad gone and the house empty.  

Yet Frodo did not return home that morning, nor did he arrive in the afternoon. The time of the party loomed near, and no one in Brandy Hall had seen hide nor hair of him. Esme, Bilbo and Merry were fretting anxiously, while Sara preoccupied himself with seeing to the guests that were already arriving in the Hall’s main sitting parlor. He had not yet decided what he would tell the guests should Frodo fail to turn up; he was hoping that Frodo might arrive at any moment and save him from having to make up excuses.

As it turned out, Frodo did arrive, just a few minutes before the dinner was to start, and he was loaded down with gifts. He grinned sheepishly while his relatives lovingly chuckled. “Always putting off for tomorrow what can be done today,” Dodinas said and ruffled the lad’s hair.

Frodo shrugged as he handed out the presents. “You know me,” he said, a bit too cheerfully. He made a good show of bantering with his guests, though to Sara and Esme’s careful eyes, he was quieter than he would normally be.

Merry ran up to him then and hugged him tight around the legs. Frodo patted the lad’s head and finished unloading the rest of his presents, which Sara was certain were all from the mathom rooms, though the guests didn’t say anything about it. Frodo scooped up Merry then and said a few quiet words into his ear, then carried the child to the stack of real presents that sat in the corner. “Help me carry?” he asked Merry as he set the lad down. Merry nodded and together, they handed out the real presents.

Bilbo’s was amongst the first gifts that Frodo handed out. “Merry helped me. That’s what we were doing,” he said simply.

The box had not been wrapped, as Frodo had not had time to do so, a fact he greatly regretted for the box itself was part of the gift. It was made of cherry wood and stained a vibrant red and was lined with soft cloth. Frodo figured that Bilbo could store his pipe weed in it and keep it in the front parlor, where Bilbo liked most to read.

“What a lovely box,” Bilbo exclaimed in awe. “You made this?”

“No, I bought that. We made what’s inside,” Frodo said.

Bilbo opened the lid and a moment later he was hugging Frodo tightly. “What a wonderful gift! You’ve outdone yourself, my lad. And you too Merry. Very well-thought and well-given.” He stooped down and hugged Merry also. Merry beamed up at him. “This must have taken you some time. No wonder you’ve been so scarce.”

Frodo smiled half-heartedly. Any joy he might have felt in giving the gift was now weighed down by the accusations that surrounded it. Bilbo understood without asking and hugged Frodo again, patting his shoulder fondly.

Many presents followed and many exclamations of equal delight were expressed. Frodo had chosen all his gifts well, using his talent of unobtrusive observation to find out what everyone wanted the most, and then going out to acquire them. Merry’s job was mainly to hand the packages to Frodo so that Frodo would not have to constantly stoop and Merry took great pride in his assignment. Then Merry handed Frodo two small packages. Frodo handed them back.

“These are for your parents,” he said softly. Merry ran them over to where his parents were sitting and Frodo avoided eye contact as they opened them by handing out the last of the presents. Sara’s gift was a pair of gold cufflinks with an imprint of a stag on each one. Sara had been complaining about his plain silver cufflinks at the last formal dinner, and Frodo must have overheard. He had chosen the cufflinks both for Sara’s nickname, Scattergold, and because a stag was part of the Brandybuck family crest.

Esme’s gift was just as carefully chosen. Wrapped inside a scarf of deep orange and brown were a pair of butterfly hair clips and a pair of matching earrings. The butterflies were brown argus, known by the splashes of brilliant orange that dotted its outer wings. The colors were perfectly matched to her hair and eyes.

Somehow, they managed to get through the party. Frodo played the perfect host and if anyone noticed that he was avoiding Esme and Sara, they did not give any indication. Only Gil said anything about it, near the end of the party. He finally got a moment alone with Frodo while they were both retrieving punch.

“Seems a bit tense in here,” Gil said casually.

Frodo only shrugged. “Doesn’t it always,” he said. “I just want to get through the party.”

“And then run away again? This is quite a pattern with you, Frodo,” Gil said, concern deep in his voice and eyes.

“I’m not running. I just need some time.”

Gil nodded his understanding. “If you want to talk…”

“Maybe I’ll come by later, if I can,” Frodo replied. He looked his friend in the eye for the first time. “I’m not mad at you Gil. It’s just… I know people are going to leave me eventually, even you. I just hoped it wouldn’t really happen, that maybe Edon would come back and you wouldn’t have to go, or Fuchsia wouldn't like it there and you would decide to stay. And even if they’re all here now… How can I have so many people around me and feel so alone?”

“Everyone feels that way sometimes,” Gil said, “but what you’re doing isn’t the answer. You think that if you distance yourself now, it’ll hurt less later. What you don’t see, Frodo, is that you’re already hurting and you’re just making it last longer. You don’t have to be alone.”

The rest of the night was a blur of pointless conversations and mirthless jokes. At last, the cake was brought out and eaten, and soon after, the guests started leaving. Bilbo, fearing Frodo might try to give them the slip again, stood with the new tween at the door as he said good-nights and thank-you-for-comings to his guests, but he needn’t worry. Frodo had meant what he said to Gil, and by the end of the party, he felt himself ready to face his guardians, no matter what may come of it.

Finally, everyone was gone. Bilbo closed the door and guided Frodo to sit on the settee, and Sara, Esme and Merry took up seats around him. Frodo sat looking at his hands, neither pulling away from Bilbo’s hold on his arm nor acknowledging that he was even there. Sara and Esme refrained their sighs; they had already known this wasn’t going to be easy.

When a few minutes passed in nothing but silence, Bilbo stood and took Merry’s hand. “Come on, my lad,” he said. “Let’s work off some of that energy you have.” With a nudge and a nod from his parents, and a barely detectable nod from Frodo, Merry followed Bilbo reluctantly.

Once they were out of the room, Sara sat forward in his seat and cleared his throat. “Frodo,” he started. “I- thank you for the gift, lad. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Frodo muttered.

“The clips and earrings are so lovely, Frodo,” Esme ventured next. “They even match the necklace I have.”

Frodo nodded and mumbled, “Aunt Gilda told me the name of the jeweler who made the necklace for you.”

There was another uncomfortable pause, then Esmeralda, clutching her gifts in her hand, said, “Oh, Frodo, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have accused you so. Can you ever forgive me?”

It wasn’t what they had planned to say. In fact, they hadn’t managed to plan anything and had realized they would simply have to feel their way through this conversation. Anything that sounded rehearsed would sound false to the tween at any rate, and they knew it.

“Frodo,” Saradoc began next, “we were mistaken.” He included himself in the blame, for he would have reacted the same way had he been the one to enter the room first and found Frodo eating the very food that had disappeared a week earlier. They had become too accustomed over the years to Frodo being at fault. “There’s nothing we can do about what was said last night other than apologize. Bilbo spoke with Hilda last night, and Mother went to see her this morning. Seems Hilda was taking the food to feed her cravings; she’s with child. Mother insisted that was no excuse and Hilda will be joining the kitchen staff for the next two weeks to make up for what she’s taken.”

Frodo looked up at this, worry etched on his face. “But, she’s pregnant,” he said. “What about the bairn?”

“Working in the kitchens won’t harm her or the bairn,” Sara assured, knowing Frodo’s fears on this issue, for Frodo’s mother had nearly died in miscarriage once. “The healer will see that she gets rest if she needs it.”

“Frodo,” Esme said now, before they could get too distracted, “about last night. We all made promises, and you upheld those promises. We, on the other hand, did not. I feel horrible about how I acted, for accusing you as I did. I should have spoken with Hilda myself first, before anything else happened.”

“It’s all right, Aunt Esme,” Frodo said, looking down again. “I understand. Will you be sending me away now?”

“No, of course not,” Esme exclaimed. “We want you to stay, more than anything, but… we’ll understand if you decide you no longer want to live here.”

Frodo nodded but said nothing. Esme looked helplessly at Sara, who sat forward in his seat. “Frodo, I know what you’re thinking. You have somehow managed to blame yourself for this whole affair, and it is not your fault at all. You did everything we asked of you. We are the ones who failed, not you. We love you, Frodo, and we want so much for this to work.”

“But you don’t trust me, and that is my fault,” Frodo said, nearly a whisper. He sighed heavily. “I’m… I’ve been such a burden to you.”

“No, not at all,” Esme insisted. “Well, maybe a little but… Oh Frodo, you’ve been such a joy to us also. Every family has their problems, and every child acts up from time to time. We are the ones who let that color the way we see you. You’re a sweet child – young lad – and we couldn’t be more proud of you. You’ve been through so much and still you always think of others first. You never hesitate to give help where it’s needed. You’re a wonderful ‘older brother’ to Merry. We need to remember that more. We are the ones who have to work on our behavior.”

“We’ll start over anew,” Saradoc said. “We’ll try this again. You were doing wonderfully, Frodo – are doing wonderfully. It is us who need to work on this relationship now. We still had our doubts; that is our fault alone. But we see now how terribly wrong we were. This can work, I know it can. We just need to work a little harder than we thought we did. Will you give us another chance?”

Still looking down at his lap, Frodo nodded. “We’ll try again,” he said. Then he stood and glanced at them briefly. “I’m tired. I didn’t get much sleep. I would like to turn in now.”

“Of course, Frodo,” Esme said and Frodo slipped past them and out the door of the sitting room. Esme and Sara exchange looks as the door swung closed behind him. “What do we do now?”

“We try again,” Sara answered, though he felt no more optimistic than his wife. Of all the conversations they have had with Frodo over the years, this one was by far the worst. Sara doubted Frodo had even heard half of what they said. “We should make arrangements, just in case.”

Esmeralda nodded and left to fetch the cleaning maids before she could break into tears again.
 
 
 
 

To be continued…

Chapter 6

Arrangements were made, but not of the kind Saradoc and Esmeralda had been expecting.

They returned to their apartment an hour after the party to find the rooms dark and silent. They quickly lit a lamp and went to Frodo’s room. From the doorway, they could see Frodo fast asleep with Merry tucked into his side, the child’s little fingers wrapped tightly around his cousin’s curls. They turned to their own bed then, just as exhausted as their young charges. They would plan nothing further that night, and the days that followed brought them no closer to a conclusion, nor were they able to get anything out of Frodo other than “yes’m” and “no sir”.

Finally, on the morning before Bilbo was to leave, he came calling at his usual time and after first breakfast, he ushered Frodo outside into the crisp autumn air. They bundled themselves up tight in coats and muffs, and walked briskly through the gardens to help themselves keep warm. After a time, Bilbo turned to face Frodo.

“There are a few things I wish to discuss with you, Frodo, before I leave,” Bilbo started.

Frodo nodded. He had been expecting as such. Try as he might to pretend everything was back to normal, Frodo often found himself brooding and every time he glanced into a looking glass, he saw nothing but a forlorn and lost expression staring back at him. He hated himself for being so dour, but he couldn’t help his mood.

Things at home have been more than a little shaky since the birthday party. Esme and Sara were still feeling horrible, which made Frodo feel even worse, which in turn made Esme and Sara worry even more. Poor little Merry was rather stuck in the middle, torn between his loyalty to his parents and to Frodo. Merry had too often been placed in this position, since he first became aware that there was a position to take, and the burden of it was affecting him as well. Frodo did what he could to help ease the child’s mind, but Merry too readily picked up on his mood, and the fact that Frodo was reluctant to play with Merry outside of Esme’s sight didn’t help matters.

Frodo sat on the edge of a nearby bench, but Bilbo shook his head. “Not here. Let’s walk down to the River. This old hobbit needs his exercise.”

Frodo managed a weak smile at that and followed Bilbo out of the gardens. Before long, they were on the lane heading toward the River, with not another soul in sight – or hearing range. There were many flowering bushes and vines along the path, and the trees were an array of dazzling reds, yellows and oranges. They walked in silence for many long minutes, Bilbo taking in the beauty surrounding him while Frodo merely watched the dirt pass beneath his feet.

“It’s plain that you’ve seen better days,” Bilbo went on now, “but that still doesn’t tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. What are you thinking, my lad?”

Frodo shrugged.

“Now, now. None of that. We’ll be keeping no more secrets between us. Out with it.”

Frodo continued to watch the path and at first it didn’t seem he would comply. Bilbo waited patiently though and after a time Frodo let out a frustrated and lonesome sigh. “You want to know what I think? I think I hate it here.”

“Now, Frodo,” Bilbo said, but Frodo cut him off.

“I do,” he insisted. “Everyone’s always whispering and suggesting that I’m going to end in a bad way. Every time there’s a large feast or gathering, there’s always someone who has to go and start the rumors about my parents again, and I finally figured out what ‘more than a half a Brandybuck’ means. They think my dad’s the reason Mama never had more kids and they think the only reason she had me was because it wasn’t with Dad. They think my dad found out and they had a fight about it while they were boating and that’s why they drowned. They think I’m a nuisance to Sara and Esme and that I should be more grateful to them for putting up with me all these years, seeing as they never signed anything legal saying they have to but they do anyway.”

“Who said such things?” Bilbo demanded. He would throttle the culprits for speaking such mean untruths and not feel a bit sorry about it either.

“It doesn’t matter,” Frodo said, “because I asked Esme if it was true, if she and Saradoc never signed anything, and she said it was. I don’t belong to them, not really, and I don’t belong here. They always want me to spend more time with the good children, but the good children are so utterly boring, always playing the same games and going to the same places and having the same dreadful conversations. They never want to do anything I suggest and they always look at me like I’m a raving lunatic for suggesting such things, for thinking that elves are grand and that dragons really used to exist. The only ones who do anything exciting are the so-called rascals and even if they think I’m crazy, they don’t give me any grief about it. They defend me even and none of the other kids give me grief anymore either and that’s because of them. They protect me, and I had forgotten how nice that felt, to be protected. And now I can’t hang about them anymore because Sara and Esme and Rory and Gilda and Del and everyone else with an opinion to say so thinks they’re a bad influence on me.

“I wasn’t lying when I told Fendi and Morti I’ve been restless. I want to be good and do right by everyone, but I can’t stop myself from wanting a bit of excitement. They just don’t understand that and I can’t stand it anymore. They never did trust me and I can’t so much as sneeze without being drilled by every relation in the Hall. I feel like if I don’t get out of here soon, I really will go mad. Spring is too far away.”

“Do you feel better now?” Bilbo asked.

Frodo shook his head. “No.”

Bilbo steered them off the path to cut through the trees. Frodo mindlessly stomped through the leaves, much as a child at play would do but for the frown on his lips and the crease between his eyebrows. He took his frustrations out on the dry and fragile leaves, filling the air with the sound of their crinkling as they were crushed underfoot.

“Don’t bother yourself with trying to please everyone,” Bilbo said now. “You’ll never be able to do so and that will, as you say, drive you mad. The only ones you need worry yourself about are Saradoc and Esmeralda. So long as they’re satisfied, that’s all that matters. Everyone else can bay like wolves at the moon for all you should care. Having been accused of being mad for nearly half my life, I know what I’m talking about. Do you think I care about what anyone thinks or says about what I choose to do, about my wanderings and speaking with elves and going on adventures and staying a bachelor all these years? They’d badger at me until my ears fell off if I let them. Pish posh to them! If any of them ever had an original thought, they’d die from the shock of it. … Ah, there’s the smile I’ve missed these last two days.”

“Bilbo,” Frodo started, smile still in place but waning quickly. At least he was no longer waging war on the leaves. “It’s not the same though.”

“I know it’s not. I can get away from all the gossip and you can’t, but you can still choose not to listen to it. It’s easier said than done, but practice makes perfect as they say. You’ll get better at it the more you try and before you know it, all those witless rumors will be sliding right off your back,” Bilbo said. “As for being restless, perhaps you could persuade those rascals of yours to spend their time in less devious ways; you can be very persuasive when you put your mind to it, Frodo. If not, I find that the younger generations tend to be more open-minded about what games to play and what’s considered a healthy imagination.”

“Like anyone is going to trust me with their children,” Frodo said bitterly. “I don’t even feel comfortable taking Merry out of the apartment anymore.”

“You and your guardians are stuck in a very fine mess, I must admit. All I can say is don’t be too hard on them, Frodo,” Bilbo said. “I know they broke their word, but considering how many times you have done likewise and been forgiven, I would think you would now be able to forgive them in turn.”

Frodo sighed and came to a standstill beneath a copse of birch trees. He sighed deeply, his breath misting the air around him. His cheeks were flushed from the walk and the cold. He toed the leaves at his feet and looked up at the clear, blue sky and the small but bright sun hanging low on the horizon still.

“It’s not that, Bilbo,” he said at last. “I’m not angry at them, just myself. If I hadn’t lied all those times before, if I hadn’t messed up so much, there never would have been any need for them to doubt me. They say it’s not my fault, but it is. Everything that’s happened since last summer is all my fault.”

“You never meant harm when you would go off and act out like you used to,” Bilbo said kindly. “You certainly did not mean for Merry to follow you to Maggot’s fields and your decision to keep him close to you was the best you could make. You may have perhaps thought of a different way of getting down that cliff, but you did tell Merry to be careful of his footing, coaching him all the way. He slipped, he fell.”

“It was an accident, I know that,” Frodo said. “But going back again afterwards was not, and neither were any of the other number of things I’ve done.” Frodo stalled for a moment, uncertain still. Bilbo waited, knowing the tween was trying to organize his thoughts. At last, Frodo said, “Why, Bilbo? Why do I do these things? Why do I make promises and then break them? Why do I do such stupid things when I know it’s wrong? What’s wrong with me?”

“Oh Frodo,” Bilbo exclaimed and hugged Frodo briefly. He stepped back, but kept his hands on Frodo’s shoulders. He looked into the lad’s troubled and self-berating eyes with a fierceness Frodo had never seen before. “There is nothing wrong with you and from what you said earlier, it seems clear that you were simply frustrated and didn’t know a better way of dealing with your problems. You just listen to my advice and see if that doesn’t help.”

Frodo nodded. “I will.”

“Good,” Bilbo said and smiled, and in an instant he was the same cheerful Bilbo he had ever been. He wrapped an arm around Frodo’s shoulders and set them to walking again. “Now, about Sara and Esme. You need to work things out with them, Frodo.”

“I’m trying.”

“Are you? It seems to me that you’re all too scared to even looked at each other, much less talk,” Bilbo said. “That won’t do, my lad.

“They love you Frodo, and only want what’s best for you. Yet they feel that they are the ones who are constantly failing you rather than the other way around, and so comes my last piece of advice. The three of you are going to have to start speaking more plainly with each other, no more of these half-truths, and it’s going to have to start with you. When they upset you, tell them. And when they make you happy, tell them. Tell them when you’re feeling lonely or frustrated, when you’re getting restless and need something to do. You’re never going to have the relationship with them that you want to have if you keep on with the same old tricks.

“And you were being tricky, Frodo. You know you should have told your guardians what you were up to with those bookmarkers, but you didn’t because you were waiting to see if they really meant it about trusting you. That was a dangerous game to play, Frodo-lad, and it’s got you all in a world of hurt. How can they trust you if you don’t tell them anything, if you spend all your time doing who knows what? They gave you every benefit of every doubt that they could, but there comes a time when you just can’t look aside any longer. Even I was beginning to have my doubts.

“So, as I said earlier, no more secrets and no more sneaking about. You will continue to behave exactly as you have been these last several months, only this time, you will tell them where you are going, what you are doing and how you are spending your time. That’s what families do. It’s not monitoring, it’s sharing, and you, Frodo Baggins, need to start sharing more of yourself. Start being more open with them and they will trust you. You’re old enough now to understand that you can’t have it both ways.”

Frodo was silent for several long moments, and did not speak again until they emerged from the trees and stood upon the riverbank. He stared out at the rushing waters. “Share?” he asked at length. “Everything?”

“Everything. No more secrets,” Bilbo said, his voice and expression softer. “I know it can be frightening to let someone in, but it won’t get any easier the longer you wait.”

Finally, Frodo nodded. “I will share,” he said and meant it.

Bilbo sat on the grass and Frodo followed. They sat tailor-style and watched and listened to the river flow past. After a few moments, Bilbo chuckled. “Did I ever tell you about the time I stole my father’s pocket watch?”

“No,” Frodo said, intrigued.

“Oh, it’s true. I was a burglar long before Gandalf whisked me away on that adventure of his,” Bilbo said. “You see, my father’s pocket watch had a compass, as it had once belonged to my mother’s baby brother from when he took off to Sea. It was an amazing watch: you lifted the face off the watch, and beneath it was the compass, as easy as you please, telling you exactly where north was.

“I wasn’t more than your age at the time, and my friends wouldn’t believe me when I told them about it. Well, I wasn’t about to have that, so one day, I snuck into the study and stole the watch from the desk drawer. Well, as can be expected, there was a horrible accident, and the watch was broken. But instead of telling my father what happened, I snuck back into the study and put the watch right back where I found it before he could notice it was missing.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did. He was furious when he found out and that little trick earned me quite a long stay in my room. He had to then go out and buy a new, plainer watch, and to his dying day, he would not let me near the thing. He even went so far as to leave it to my Uncle Bingo.”

“So you’re trying to say that losing their trust isn’t so bad?” Frodo said, a bit bemused at the comparison.

“Oh, I know it isn’t the same thing,” Bilbo went on. “But he didn’t stop loving me, and he did leave me the old Winnyards, didn’t he? All I’m saying is there very well might always be that seed of mistrust with Saradoc and Esmeralda, but that isn’t to say they don’t love you. And love, Frodo, is all you really need.”

“But what’s love without trust?” Frodo asked.

“It’s still love,” Bilbo said. “Plain and simple, elaborate and complex, as all the best things in life are. Love will never lead you astray.”

Frodo considered this in silence. They went back to watching the river. With the trees at their backs blocking the crisp, cold air, they were able to admire the scene as long as they pleased. Frodo passed his hand over the daffodils that lingered still in the ground, not yet frozen from the chill air. When next he looked up at the water, he seemed to look far away.

“I made a boat once, a small one, with Edon’s help,” he said. “I put it in the River and sent it to my parents. That’s why the dreams stopped.”

“There’s more to this tale, I gather,” Bilbo said.

Frodo nodded and slowly, the story about his run into the Old Forest, and everything that became of it, was told. When Frodo finished, he squinted at the River and went on. “When I started dreaming again, I thought maybe it was because the boat had found my parents and was taking them someplace to rest. Then I realized that it was me on the boat and that it wasn’t the same boat that I had made. I could never see the boat, of course, but somehow I knew it wasn’t the same one, just like I knew it wasn’t taking me to my parents. I wish I knew what it meant.”

“Some dreams don’t mean anything,” Bilbo stated.

“This one does.”

Soon after, their stomachs told them it was time to eat. They stood and turned back toward the Hall, and by the time they reached the path again, Frodo’s step was lighter and his shoulders freer.  

After elevenses, Bilbo met with Saradoc and Rorimac in the Master’s study. Rory bypassed the desk in favor of the stuffed chairs at the corner of the room and the three of them sat comfortably around a small tea table. Rory and Sara were curious to know why Bilbo had requested to meet with them, but they exchanged pleasantries first, until Rory could take it no more. He looked between Sara and Bilbo, then turned to Bilbo. “So, what is this about, Bilbo?”

“I want to talk about Frodo,” Bilbo said. “I’m sure you’ve heard at least part of what happened the other night.”

“I have,” Rory said. “Not just part of it, but the whole tale. A terrible misunderstanding and most unfortunately timed.”

“But you have not heard the full tale,” Bilbo said. “Not as I’ve heard it, and seen it, and that, my friend, is what I want to talk about.” So Bilbo, with input from Saradoc when called upon, told the Master what has been happening with Frodo for the last several months, and Sara told his father of his and Esme’s concerns.

“This is really nothing new to me, Bilbo,” Rory said when they finished.

“What I have to say now is,” Bilbo replied. He looked between his friends with firm assertion. “If Sara and Esme can’t make things work, or if Frodo decides he wants to leave, I would like for Frodo to come and live with me at Bag End permanently.”

This gave both Rory and Saradoc pause. They took time to process what Bilbo had said, and finally Saradoc nodded. He couldn’t have dreamt of a better solution. “That would be for the best, I think. He adores you and always enjoys the time he spends there. My only concern is Merry, if Frodo should move so far away.”

“Merry will be more than welcome to visit whenever he pleases, as will you and Esme of course,” Bilbo said. “There’s certainly no reason Frodo could not come back here to visit as well, whenever he wishes.”

“Having the lad visit for the spring and having him live there permanently is quite a difference,” Rory said now. “You will have to take over sole responsibility for him and you won’t be able to wander about the fields as you please. You’ll have to settle yourself down. Are you certain about this, Bilbo? I don’t want to get Frodo’s hopes up, only to have you decide you aren’t able to keep up with the lad.”

“I assure you, I’m more than capable of keeping up with him,” Bilbo said. “I know how wily tweens can be and I’m certain Frodo will be twice as much as the average; I am prepared for that. As for being settled down, I am more than willing to cease my longer journeys, and there is no reason Frodo can’t accompany me on shorter hikes; he does now anyway. I am quite set on this. I was going to bring up the matter anyway before I left; this only makes me more certain of my decision. You see, I don’t want to be Frodo’s guardian at all. I want to adopt him.”

“Adopt him?” Saradoc said, as shocked as his father. They exchanged brief looks.

“Yes, adopt him,” Bilbo repeated. “I’m getting older, though I may not look it. I’m far past the time I can have a family of my own. I always look forward to the lad’s visits and miss him when he’s gone. More than that, I’ve seen the effect that living here has had on Frodo, and while you do the best you can, you simply cannot take away the memories this place holds for him. Everywhere he looks, every place he goes and everything he hears reminds of his losses. He needs a change of scenery and he needs one quick. Also, on the more pragmatic side, I need an heir, and Frodo is the perfect Baggins to succeed me as Master of the Hill.”

“How are you planning to broach this with Frodo?” Rory asked.

“I’m not,” Bilbo said. “Not yet, at any rate. I think it’s best we let Sara and Esme have another go of it. We don’t want Frodo leaving here with bitter feelings towards them. Let’s give it till Yule. I’ll come and visit for the holiday and if things are not patching up, I’ll have Frodo come back to Hobbiton with me then, as an extended visit through to the spring when he would usually come. Then, at the end of that time, when Sara and Esme come to retrieve the lad, we can sit him down and discuss our options. If he’s agreeable to staying with me, he may return here to enjoy one last summer with you and prepare for the move, then I will come again before the autumn season begins and take him home. This will also give me the time I need to prepare for him living with me and arrange the adoption papers, of which I hope the two of you will agree to be witnesses.”

“You certainly have thought this out,” Rory said, impressed with the plan. He turned to Sara. “Son? What do you think?”

“I can’t deny that Frodo does well under your care, Bilbo,” Sara said. “Hobbiton does seem to agree with him. I’ll have to talk it over with Esme first, but we both only want what is best for Frodo. I’m sure she’ll be agreeable to the plan, though it will break both our hearts to see him go. It will be hardest on Merry.”

“We have plenty of time to figure out visiting arrangements,” Bilbo said.

At last, Rory nodded. “Very well. We’ll try it and see what happens. Speak with Esme, and I’ll speak with Gilda. I think it best if knowledge of the plan did not travel any further than that for the time being. The next one to find out about it will be Frodo at the end of next spring.”

Bilbo and Saradoc readily agreed, but Bilbo was not yet satisfied. He gave Rory a cold glare. “Now, about this ultimatum. Saradoc and Esme won’t be able to foster an open relationship with Frodo with such a threat looming over the lad’s head. Not only that, but if the time should come, I don’t want Frodo to feel in any way that my asking him to live with me is because he is no longer welcome here. He may not have said so, but the weight of your rule has burdened him greatly. I want you to lift it. It’s counterproductive and it’s no longer needed at any rate. Frodo is, and always has been, capable of behaving himself without such threats.”

Saradoc couldn’t help but smile at seeing his father scolded. “You know I agree,” he said. “As does Esmeralda. You would never impose such a punishment upon any other child in this Hall. It is unfair to Frodo and only serves to alienate him further.”

Rory set his jaw stubbornly and drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. He seemed ready to protest but when he spoke he said, “Very well, so long as he understands that he will still be punished should he begin to act up again.”

“He won’t act up,” Saradoc said, and they left it at that.

Then they pulled out their pipes and spoke of more mundane things for the rest of the morning.  

“Do you have to go so soon, Bilbo?” Frodo asked the next day as Bilbo stood packing in his guest room. Frodo was lingering in the little room, feigning to help Bilbo pack, folding and refolding the same green shirt.

“I’m afraid I do, Frodo, my lad,” Bilbo said.

“But why tonight?” Frodo asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to wait until morning?”

“Ah, but you see, all the best adventures begin at night,” Bilbo said with a wink and a smile. He gently took the shirt from Frodo and put it in his pack, which he now strapped closed. “Have you spoken to Esme and Sara yet?”

“Not yet. I don’t really know where to start.”

“Wherever you start, start soon,” Bilbo said. “I want to see the three of you happy and smiling again before I leave.”

“I just wish you didn’t have to go so soon,” Frodo said forlornly. “You’ve just arrived.”

“I know, my lad, but I’ve duties to perform at home and I must be on the road before it gets too much colder. I don’t want to be caught in a rainstorm, after all,” Bilbo reasoned. “Tell you what, you can come back to Hobbiton with me after my Yule visit. How’s that?”

“Can’t I go with you now?” Frodo asked hopefully.

Bilbo shook his head firmly. “You need to stay here and work things out with your guardians. You owe them that much. Now get on with you. Find Saradoc and Esme, wherever they might be, and tell them something, anything. Just talk to them, Frodo.”

“But-”

“Go.” Bilbo pointed out the door. Frodo slid off the bed with a pout and left. Bilbo watched him go and sent a plea up to the stars that they might help to light the lad’s path.  

Frodo sought out his guardians as Bilbo had told him to do. He went to the apartment first and there he found them in the study sitting on the settee, speaking in hushed tones and leaning toward each other, their foreheads resting together. Frodo didn’t want to interrupt and was about to leave when Saradoc looked up and beckoned him in. They sat up but their hands remained clasped.

“Do you need something Frodo?” Saradoc asked.

Frodo nodded.

“What do you need, dear?” Esme asked.

Frodo bit his bottom lip uncertainly but with Bilbo’s request still fresh in his mind, he took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I just wanted to say sorry for not telling you about my surprise for Bilbo. I was talking to Bilbo and think he was right: I think I did it to see if you meant it about trusting me, but that wasn’t the way to go about it. And I should have told you about my suspicions about Hilda when she first gave me the biscuits, but there had been nothing said about thievery yet. Besides, she’s been so nice to Merry and me and she’s had to put up with a lot of rumors herself, seeing as she has the misfortune of being a Bracegirdle and Lobelia’s cousin, and no one here really likes Lobelia and they seem to be taking that out on Hilda, which isn’t very fair. But Bilbo also said that families are supposed to share, so I’ll try to tell you more from now on and not be so secretive.”

“That would be wonderful,” Esme said. “I so often wonder what goes on in that head of yours. Whenever you feel like talking about anything, we’re here to listen.”

“Bilbo said I should share everything with you,” Frodo said again. He shuffled his feet and looked between his guardians, who were watching him intently, just as uncertain as he was. He licked his lips and continued. “So I’m going to share. For instance, this afternoon at luncheon, I didn’t eat my collard greens. In fact, I never eat my collard greens. I tuck them in my napkin and take them out to the stables and feed them to the ponies. I talk to the ostlers while I’m there and sometimes they tell interesting jokes and stories about their homelands, and sometimes they’re playing gambling games, which is why I can be so late getting back at times. I’ve grown quite good at cups but I never bet anything; they let me play for free.

“Then, this morning after second breakfast, I thought that a bath would be nice but I’ve been in such a mood lately that I forgot to knock first and walked in on Aunt Alamanda, and now I believe I’m what Fendi would say is ‘scarred for life.’ Last Yule, when Merry told that bawdy joke to Aunt Ami, I was the one who told it to him and told him that it was Ami’s favorite joke.”

“That was you?” Sara asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as Esme laughed at the memory of Ami’s flabbergasted reaction.

Frodo nodded. “It was. I was also the one who told him that streaking through the formal Summer Feast was a tradition that every lad had to do at least once. Then I told him that Berilac set the record for doing it ten times. I didn’t know Merry could be so competitive. Thankfully, he can’t count yet, so when they finally caught him after the fourth time, I was able to tell him that he set the new record.”

“Anything else?” Esme asked, trying with difficulty not to laugh. Saradoc wasn’t being so successful.

Frodo nodded again. “Yes, several things actually, too many to get into right now, but I’ll be telling you everything from here on out. Bilbo said that you can’t build trust when you’re keeping secrets, so I won’t do that anymore.”

“We’re glad to hear it,” Saradoc said when he finally had control of himself again. “That will help us greatly, but you must realize that you will be treated the same as any other child in the Hall and won’t be exempt from suspicion should anything of mischief occur, nor will you be excluded from punishments when they are called for. Understand?”

“Yes, Uncle Sara, but I won’t be doing anything bad anymore. I know what my punishment will be if I do.”

“Actually, your Uncle Rory lifted the ultimatum yesterday,” Esme said.

“He did?” Frodo asked in shock. “Why?”

“It’s not needed anymore,” Esme stated simply.

And for the first time in several days, Frodo smiled with genuine cheer. “Truly?”

Saradoc nodded. “Truly. Esme and I never did agree with it, and we know you’ll behave yourself. But just because you’re being good, don’t think that you’re not allowed to have fun. You just need to learn the difference between fun and mischief. Stealing things is wrong, having Merry pull harmless pranks is fun. See?”

“Saradoc,” Esme scolded softly, elbowing her husband in the ribs. She turned to Frodo with an exasperated shake of her head. “If you’re ever in doubt, just ask one of us, preferably me.”

Frodo nodded. “I was thinking I’d find Merry and take him exploring in the mathom rooms, if I may.”

Esme nodded. “You may, so long as you have him back and washed in time for supper.”

“I will,” Frodo promised and left in a hurry, feeling better than he had in a week.

“Well, what do you make of that?” Esme said when the door had closed behind Frodo.

“That Bilbo should come visit more often,” Saradoc stated.

“I don’t think he’ll be having to visit much longer,” Esme said with a sad sigh, resting her forehead against her husband’s again. “Even if we do patch things up, Bilbo is offering Frodo more than we ever could.”

“At least now we can patch things up, and that’s all that matters,” Saradoc said.

There was still much work to be done and much trust to be rebuilt, but now they could hope that things might be mended after all, especially if Frodo would be leaving after Yule. They did not want Frodo’s last memories of Buckland to be sour, for as much as they might want to wish otherwise, they knew that Frodo would not be coming back to live with them once he left. He would return only to collect his belongings and set things right with Merry, then he’ll be gone for good.  

“Bye, Bilbo!” Merry said. “Be careful! Keep away from the trolls!”

“I give you my word, Meriadoc,” Bilbo said, “that I will stay clear of all dangers.” He winked at the lad and said his good-byes to Saradoc and Esmeralda. Then he hugged Frodo and kissed his brow. “I want to thank you again for my present, Frodo. And you too, Merry. I absolutely adore them and I know already which books I’m going to use those markers in.”

“If anyone is in need of bookmarkers, it’s you, Bilbo,” Frodo teased. “I’ve never seen a body with so many books, and those don’t even count all the ones Hugo keeps borrowing.”

“And not returning,” Bilbo said with a laugh as he shouldered his pack. He gave everyone a final wave good-bye. “I’ll see you at Yule, then.”

“At Yule,” Frodo agreed, already looking forward to it. The promise of spending both winter and spring with his cousin was a glorious one that couldn’t come soon enough.

They saw him off down the road, waving until he was out of sight. Then, together as one, they turned and went back into the Hall.
 
 

The end.
 
 
 
 

GF 12/22/05