AUTHOR’S NOTES: Thanks once again to the brilliant Dreamflower, who not only beta-read this story, but also wrote the song in it. Her talents are amazing. My sincerest gratitude also goes to Marigold for her brilliant beta-read as well. The knowledge of all things Middle-earth that these two people have is incredible and I am extremely lucky to have had their help.

In the main flashback, Frodo is age twelve, about eight in Man-years.

DISCLAIMER: The characters all belong to the amazing world of Middle-earth created by the genius of J.R.R. Tolkien. I just borrowed them for a little while.

In the Old Forest

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

‘Oh yes they do!’ said Merry. ‘The Brandybucks go in - occasionally when the fit takes them. We have a private entrance. Frodo went in once, long ago. I have been in several times; usually in daylight, of course, when the trees are sleepy and fairly quiet.’*

Those words kept coming back to Frodo as he tossed and turned in a fitful sleep that night. Merry had been wrong in his answer to Fredegar. Although his younger cousin did not know it, Frodo had actually been in the Old Forest not once, but twice before.

***
When Frodo was still living at Brandy Hall and Merry was a faunt, Frodo often entertained his Merry by telling him stories. Merry would clamber onto his older cousin’s lap in the family’s sitting room and listen with wide, grey eyes.

“More, Fro! More! Want ’nother story!”

Frodo could never deny the little lad anything. “All right, sprout, but this is the last one,” he laughed.

“Tell ’bout Bilbo and your da taking you into the Old Forest.”

Frodo’s eyes had a slightly haunted look about them, but he smiled indulgently and began the story. This particular tale was one of Frodo’s special memories, one that he had only shared with his Merry-lad.

And so Frodo told Merry the story of the first time he had gone into the Old Forest. However, he never told the faunt the story of the second time he went in the sad wood. The truth was, Frodo didn’t remember everything about his second adventure in there. For Frodo had not been awake to recall all of that adventure.

***

Sometimes, bed felt so comfortable in the morning that it was hard for twelve-year-old Frodo to wake up. It was better to keep his eyes closed and continue dreaming either until Mum sang out to him that it was time to wake up or Da entered his bedroom and ruffled his curly brown head. But his parents were late this morning. The warm light of the early sun greeted Frodo as he stretched his arms high over his head and slowly opened his eyes to the new day.

And then he remembered.

He was in Cousin Esmeralda’s and Cousin Saradoc’s apartment and his mother and father were both dead. Today would be their funeral. Numbly, he arose, washed his face at the basin, and got dressed in the clothes that Cousin Esme had laid out for him.

The day proved to be as bright as the morning had promised. Under other circumstances, Frodo would have removed his jacket and run around in the unusually warm spring sunshine in his shirt and breeches with his Brandybuck cousins. But not today.

Most of Frodo’s family had come all the way to Buckland for the double funeral. The few Bagginses left had made the long trip from Hobbiton. Fortunately, the Sackville-Bagginses were absent; no doubt they were glad since it would be one less Baggins in the way of their anticipated inheritance of Bag End after Cousin Bilbo was dead. Some of Frodo’s other relatives were there as well, including representatives of the Took, Bolger, Banks, and Goodbody families. And of course, there were scores of Brandybuck aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Despite the presence of so much of his kin, Frodo felt lost and alone in the Brandybuck graveyard as he stood as still as stone with Cousin Saradoc’s long arm draped about his shoulder. Frodo’s eyes were fixed on the plain heavy oak caskets that contained the bodies of Drogo and Primula Baggins, waiting to be buried. This must be a dream, he thought as the voice of Uncle Rorimac hummed on around him, saying some kind words about Frodo’s parents. They can’t really be dead. Frodo couldn’t help it; he wished fervently with all his might that those caskets would open and somehow Mum and Da would pop out, alive and unharmed. They didn’t really drown, they couldn’t have. They had only been asleep these past few days that seemed like an eternity.

But as Frodo looked down at the ground that would be his parents’ new home, he shivered and felt hollow inside. It was cold down there and he wouldn’t be able to hug his parents to help keep them warm. It was real. His parents really were dead. Saradoc held Frodo tightly, trying to give some measure of comfort, but there was no comfort in a world without his Mum or Da. They may have been a small part of the massive family of Brandybucks at Brandy Hall, but they were his family. They were his Mum and Da, and they were the centres of his life. Mum and Da were what made Frodo feel safe and secure. He belonged to them.

Mum and Da had been snatched away from Frodo by the Brandywine when he still needed them. The river had taken his mother’s sweet smile and gentle laugh away. Frodo would never again hear her singing him to sleep when he was sick. Nor would he ever spend another sunny day on one of the banks fishing with his father. Instead, he would have to watch as other mothers and fathers laughed and sang with his cousins. He was nobody’s special little Frodo anymore.

When Uncle Rorimac finished speaking, it was time for everyone to go back inside Brandy Hall where they would undoubtedly talk some more about how wonderful poor Drogo and dear Primula had been. And stare at Frodo. Saradoc gently guided Frodo into the main sitting room where everyone was gathered and sat him down on a tall-backed chair. Frodo felt everyone’s eyes upon him as one by one, they came over and tried to make him feel better. Frodo answered each one of them in turn with his most polite manners, just as his mother and father had taught him to do. But the kind smiles and hands on his shoulders did not penetrate the lonely emptiness.

“Oh, Frodo, I’m so sorry. Your mother was always so dear to me.”

“Thank you, Aunt Peridot.”

“We’re going to miss them terribly. You may come to visit me at Bag End anytime you want to.”

“Thank you, Uncle Bilbo, I shall. That’s most kind of you.”

“Frodo, my lad, you will always have a place here in Brandy Hall.”

“Thank you, Aunt Menegilda.”

“Have you eaten anything yet, Frodo?”

“No, Cousin Esme. I’m not hungry.”

“You must eat, dearest. Your parents wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

“In a little while. Thank you.”

“Frodo, do you want to go outside and play?”

“Not right now, Porto. You go ahead without me.”

“Porto Baggins, don’t bother your Cousin Frodo right now! Can’t you see how distraught he is?”

“I'm sorry, Frodo. It’s too bad about your parents.”

“I’m sorry about your parents, Frodo, dear. How are you holding up? Can I get you anything, perhaps a nice cup of tea?”

It wasn’t long before Frodo felt smothered. He was tired of all of the aunts, uncles, and cousins asking how he was and treating him like he was about to break. He had to get away from everyone.

“Perhaps you are right, Aunt Dora. If you will excuse me, I think I will go have a lie down.”

“That’s a good idea. You probably haven’t slept well since the accident. You’ll feel better after you’ve had a nice nap.”

Frodo gave her a polite smile and made his retreat back to the room in Esme’s and Saradoc’s apartment where he had been staying since the accident. He tried to rest, but couldn’t. Try as he might, he could just feel everyone in the other rooms talking about his parents and about him. They all felt sorry for him and were bound to be discussing what to do with him now that he was an orphan. He had to get away to someplace where he could be alone and think, someplace outside, perhaps. Somehow, he had to try to make sense out of how his parents could leave him like that.

Brandy Hall was a busy place with lots of hobbits about. Frodo had to choose his path carefully. Although he wanted to go outside, he knew that if he went by one of the usual ways, his well-meaning relatives would be swarming about him before he ever caught sight of a door. Instead, Frodo left his cousins’ apartment and walked toward the older part of the Hall where the mathom rooms were located. There was an old door there that led outside near one of the gardens. If only he could manage to get away without being seen.

It was too late.

He practically bumped right into Cousin Seredic, as he, his intended, Hilda Bracegirdle, and Seredic’s mother, Aunt Iris, entered the hallway from Uncle Saradas’ and Aunt Iris’ apartments.

“Frodo, dear? Are you ill? Why aren’t you downstairs with everyone else?” asked a concerned Aunt Iris.

“Aunt Dora suggested I go have a lie down. I …” Frodo tried to think of what to say. He was nowhere near Saradoc’s and Esme’s apartments anymore.

“The poor lad!” cried Hilda. “He must have headed to Primula and Drogo’s apartment by mistake!”

Frodo lowered his head but said nothing, his heart pounding loudly in his chest as he tried to breathe. He was startled to feel Seredic’s hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

“Oh, my poor dear!” cried Aunt Iris. She had large tears in her eyes, threatening to spill over as she enfolded him into a tight hug that almost smothered him. That was the last thing Frodo needed.

“Thank you, Aunt Iris,” said Frodo, gasping for breath. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to Saradoc’s and Esme’s for that lie down now.”

“Of course, Frodo! We were just headed back to the main sitting room to join everyone else. You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

Frodo forced a thin smile and nodded.

“Rest well and we shall see you later then, Frodo,” said Seredic. “Do take care.”

At last, the three of them walked back toward the main sitting room and left Frodo alone in the hallway. As soon as they were out of sight, he quickly darted to the mathom rooms, closing the heavy door tightly behind him.

One thing a lad quickly learnt from getting into mischief around Brandy Hall was where all of the forgotten entrances were on the sides of the Hall. This particular door led him right where he knew it would, into the nearby medicinal herb garden.

At first, all was quiet as he walked through the garden. After all, this was not a time for picking medicinal herbs. But soon, he heard voices as some of his tweenaged cousins strolled about the Hall’s extensive gardens. He braced himself.

“Hullo, Frodo,” said Daisy. “I’m sorry about your parents. Should you be outside alone right now?”

“I thought some fresh air might do me good,” he replied honestly.

“Oh, do let him be, Daisy Baggins. He’s been through enough these past few days,” another Baggins cousin, Peony, said harshly. “With all those aunts and uncles in there, I’d want to walk about for a while, too!”

“Why, so would I, Peony! But we are older than Frodo; he should be inside so they could look after him!” Daisy exclaimed.

This was no good either. He was suffocating.

“Cousins, if you will excuse me. Perhaps Daisy is right.” Frodo manoeuvred his way passed them toward one of the main walkways that led back to the Hall. Once the two lasses had continued on with their walk in the opposite direction, Frodo raced toward a secluded spot he knew between two of the pony barns beyond the gardens. He had to think.

There were so many relatives at Brandy Hall for the funeral that even the gardens were filled with kinfolk watching his every move. Wasn’t there somewhere he could go for some privacy? At last, his mind lit upon the perfect place. The Old Forest. It would be an excellent place to escape to, and not too difficult to get to from here.

Frodo barely made a sound as he ran swiftly from the pony barns to Buckland Road as quietly as a young hobbit could and down the long lane to The High Hay. Once there, he went through a tunnel that led to the iron gate that guarded the entryway into the forest.

He tried to open it, but it was locked. He shook the gate a few times, but it held fast. In his anxiousness to escape everyone, he forgot that the gate to the Old Forest was always kept locked. Only the Master of Buckland, Uncle Rory, had the key, and he certainly would not permit Frodo the use of it.

He couldn’t fail now and go back to all his kin! By the time he got back, they’d have discovered he had gone missing and would make even more of a fuss about him. They’d try to coddle him worse than before. Frustrated, Frodo kicked some loose rocks, which only served to hurt his toes, and sat down hard on the ground to think.

While he thought, he traced patterns in the dirt with his finger. Da used to do that when he needed to concentrate and work out a problem. As he did so, Frodo followed his finger’s path with his eyes until they came to the hedge. He sat bolt upright. There was a gap at the bottom of the hedge large enough for an animal or a slight lad to slip through into the forest.

In no time at all, Frodo was through.

Finally, he could breathe. There was nobody around. No aunts, no uncles, and no cousins to check on him. Nobody to tell him how sorry they were about his parents. Frodo was glad to be alone in this shaded wood with his thoughts. As he wandered through the forest, the sunlight dappled the forest floor. He wasn’t bothered by all of the legends of how the Old Forest was haunted. He knew better.

After all, his father and Uncle Bilbo had taken Frodo here almost a year ago on a little adventure to celebrate Uncle Bilbo’s and Frodo’s birthday. It had been such a special treat. Mum had packed a hamper full of their favourite foods for second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, and even afternoon tea and then handed the heavy basket to Frodo, laughing at him as he insisted he could carry it. Da and Uncle Bilbo had taught Frodo some new walking songs about how glorious trees were that day and the three of them laughed as they sang at the tops of their voices to the surrounding trees. It had been such a special day.

But now everything had changed.

It just was not fair! Frodo quietly sat down under the shade of an ancient oak tree amongst the poplars and hugged his arms around his knees. Mum and Da knew how to swim. Every Brandybuck knows how and so do most non-Brandybucks who live along the Brandywine. How could they have drowned?

He began to rock back and forth and grit his teeth in anguish as the pain of his parents’ deaths came rushing forward unchecked. Tears were streaming down from his eyes and dripping onto the sleeves of his shirt as he sobbed uncontrollably.

The leaves of the tangled trees rustled this way and that as if they were discussing this stranger, an uncertain wind howling through their branches. The trees didn’t seem to find the young lad a threat. They seemed to sense his sadness and understand.

As the sun began to thin and take on a pink hue, Frodo grew tired from the strain of the past week and all of his tears. His whole body felt so heavy, as if his pain weighted him down and he’d never be able to rise up again. Although Frodo struggled to keep his eyes open, he soon gave up the fight, letting them drift closed as he finally relaxed. In the distance, there was a faint sound of what almost sounded to him like singing, but which must have been nothing more than the wind.

The sunset sky peeking into the woods grew darker as Frodo rested under the bole of the giant oak tree. Finally, he had found a place that understood the sadness and loneliness inside him and didn’t pity him. Soon, the exhausted young hobbit fell asleep amidst the understanding trees.

“Hey Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
Hey dol, merry dol! Ring a dong dillo--”

The singing grew louder as Tom Bombadil approached in his blue hat and large yellow boots. He stopped suddenly.

“Now what’s this that Tom has found, sleeping by the poplars?”

Tom stooped by the tree under which Frodo slept and gazed sadly at the lad. He bent over and laid a finger against the child’s cheek and softly traced the tear-tracks. Gently, Tom lifted Frodo up into his arms and carried him home to his Goldberry as swiftly as the wind, as only he can, never ceasing his song.

“Hey dol, my little lad, darkness comes and sorrow,
Sleep now and slumber well, rest until the morrow.
Down along under hill, amongst the stars and twilight,
There waits Goldberry, standing in the moonlight.
Tom’s going home again, this little waif a-bringing,
Soft in the tiny ear a lullaby he’s singing.
For tonight sweet rest is his, deep in slumber dreaming,
Only of his happiness, and his loved ones’ seeming.
For one night a rest he’ll have from all his weeping--
Then Tom will take him home again, into his family’s keeping”

It was the first time since the accident that Frodo felt comfortable and at peace. Not once the whole night did he awaken inside Tom Bombadil’s house. Instead, he slept through the entire night on a soft pallet under a window high above the forest floor, where the wind blowing through a tangle of trees carried with it strange whispers in a long lost language.

Before the first rays of the new morning, Tom had already left his house carrying Frodo in his arms. The lad was so exhausted that Tom had helped him stay in a deep sleep so he would not wake until he was well rested. In the meantime, Tom intended to search for Farmer Maggot, his wise, trusted hobbit friend. Farmer Maggot would know where this young hobbit belonged and make sure he got back home safely.

Tom used his speed once more to cross the forest quicker than anything save a bird could. The lad’s family was sure to be missing him and undoubtedly would be searching for him. It wasn’t long before Tom came across the same spot where he had found Frodo the day before. He stood still and listened carefully, certain that he had heard Farmer Maggot’s voice calling for someone.

It was him. Tom gently laid the young hobbit down by the bole of the oak tree and went to meet Farmer Maggot. The farmer and his pony were standing only a short way inside the Old Forest.

“Frodo Baggins!” called Farmer Maggot loudly, straining his eyes for a better look.

Tom emerged from the shadows behind some of the dense branches of the many trees. “There’s something that you need to see, Farmer Maggot,” he said. “Come with me.” He was more direct than usual and had none of the characteristic song in his voice.

Farmer Maggot looked up at his visitor and raised an eyebrow, surprised at his usually jovial friend’s voice. “Aye. I’m right behind you. It must be important, judging by the looks of you.”

Tom led the farmer and his pony through the poplars back to the oak tree where he had left Frodo. On the way there, Tom told Farmer Maggot all about the hobbit lad that had wandered into his forest. Once there, Tom brushed back a bough of the tree to reveal the slumbering lad. Farmer Maggot looked down at the young hobbit and sighed with relief.

“It’s as I thought, Tom. It’s young Frodo Baggins, the little lad whose parents just drowned down in the Brandywine River. Such a shame. They were right good folk. So is their son,” Farmer Maggot commented sadly. “The Brandybucks and his other kin have had all of Buckland searching for him on both sides of the river since yesterday. They were afraid the Brandywine might have claimed him, too, just like his parents.”

Farmer Maggot took out a handkerchief and wiped his face with it before continuing. “I decided I’d join the search and check in the Old Forest to see if maybe you might be of some help, and that’s just what I did, only as you found me first.”

He paused and frowned at the orphaned hobbit lad.

“Look at him. Not even old enough to join his Brandybuck cousins in trying to scrump from my farm. I reckon he’ll never do that now. It can change a child; it can, to lose his parents at such a young age. He may never be the same, poor lad.” Farmer Maggot sighed heavily. “Well, I reckon the only thing to do is to take him back to what’s left of his kin.”

Tom nodded in understanding.

Farmer Maggot slung a leg easily over the pony’s back as he mounted him and gathered the reins in his hands.

“The lad will likely stay asleep for some time,” said Tom. He gathered the still sleeping young Frodo into his arms and lifted him up to the farmer.

Farmer Maggot made certain that his arms were securely about the lad before clucking to the pony to walk.

“Thanks, Tom.” Farmer Maggot turned the pony around and he, Frodo, and the pony left Tom Bombadil and the Old Forest behind. They had only gone a couple of miles toward Brandy Hall when Farmer Maggot heard a hobbit calling anxiously.

“Frodo!” A pause. “Frodo! Where are you, my lad?” It was only a few moments before a distressed and puffy eyed Bilbo Baggins came racing up on a pony, shouting to him before he reached him. “Oi! Have you seen my young cousin, Frodo Baggins, anywhere? The lad’s been missing ever since the funeral yesterday and we’ve ...”

Bilbo had finally come close enough to see just who was on the pony.

“Frodo! Thank goodness!” Bilbo leaped down from the pony and grabbed the lad up in his arms in relief. “Maggot, you found him! Thank you! You have no idea how worried we were, I’ll make sure to discuss this with the Master. There should be some reward for...”

“I’ll hear naught of it, Mr. Bilbo,” interrupted Farmer Maggot with a quick wave of his hand. “Please don’t say naught to anyone. Don’t want to ruin my reputation among the young ones, you know. It wouldn’t do any good for ’em to think that Farmer Maggot had gone soft.

Bilbo chuckled a bit in understanding and looked carefully to see that Frodo hadn’t woken up. “I promise. Not a word. And thanks again; Frodo’s a good lad. I’m afraid losing his parents at such an early age ... it’s like someone stole his childhood away from him. So young and already he knows how unfair this world can be.”

Farmer Maggot nodded sadly. “Aye, it’s a right hard lesson to learn at any age. Keep an eye on him, Mr. Bilbo.”

Bilbo and Frodo were almost back to Brandy Hall by the time Frodo finally woke up to find himself sitting in front of Bilbo on a pony.

“Uncle Bilbo?” he said sleepily. “What happened? The last I can remember I was in the Old Forest.”

“I’m afraid you fell asleep on your first adventure all by yourself, my lad,” said Bilbo. “You slept in that forest all night while we were all out looking for you.” Frodo listened intently as Bilbo told him what had happened back at Brandy Hall after he left and how upset everyone was when they found out he was missing.

“I don’t know why they were so upset. It’s not like I’m one of their little lads,” Frodo muttered. “Besides, I was perfectly fine in that forest. We were there last year with Da and it was perfectly safe, remember?”

“I know we were, lad. And I know why you left the Hall. I suppose I’d have left, too, rather than facing all of them,” commented Bilbo. “But you were wrong to leave that way, Frodo. Everyone was very worried. You most certainly are loved, very deeply. You must never run away again, especially to the Old Forest.”

“Uncle Bilbo, that forest was perfectly friendly. It wouldn’t have hurt me,” scoffed Frodo.

“Your father and I knew our way around there, but it’s not always so friendly. It knew you didn’t mean it any harm this time and it could feel your sadness. And even some of the Brandybucks are saying that it’s getting more unfriendly.”

Frodo was surprised as he looked at his older cousin. “I’m sorry, Uncle Bilbo. I had no idea. I didn’t mean to worry everyone so.”

“Frodo, promise me you won’t go in there again, at least not until you’re all grown. Promise me, lad.”

Frodo smiled warmly at his older cousin. “I promise, Uncle. I won’t go into the Old Forest again, at least until I come of age.”

“That’s my lad,” responded Bilbo. He grinned and wrapped an arm tightly about Frodo. Bilbo closed his eyes in gratitude as he thought of how close they had come to losing this young lad. “You’re going to be all right, Frodo. We’re going to make sure of that. Besides, you’re a Baggins! You’re going to be all right.”
***
That had been a long time ago when Uncle Bilbo had found him in the Old Forest, back before these cousins had even been born, thought Frodo. He looked over at Merry and Pippin curled up in sleep next to Sam. In all those years, Frodo had kept his word to Bilbo and never even thought about entering the Old Forest again, much less actually going in there.

Until tonight.

* - Quoted from The Fellowship of the Ring, A Conspiracy Unmasked