Broken Heart

By Elanor Silmariën

Marigold’s Challenge #26

Elements: a locket and a high place like a cliff or precipice.

Idiom:  “I’d give my right hand for” etc.

Author’s note: I am not entirely sure whether I made up the idiom or whether I heard it somewhere and took it out of the very back of my mind. In either case, I liked it, so I used it. 

     “What do you mean?” Frodo felt his body trembling uncontrollably. “They can’t be dead,” he insisted.

     Saradoc Brandybuck shook his head. “There’s nothing more we can do, Frodo,” he said, putting a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “We should leave now.”

     Twelve-year-old Frodo Baggins glanced one last time at the drenched bodies of his parents lying lifeless on the bank of the Brandywine River, then followed his cousin, too numb to be aware of much else but placing one foot in front of the other.

     Tears blurred his vision as he stumbled down the path until he tripped and fell to his knees. He didn’t move for a few moments.

     Saradoc turned back and lifted Frodo into his arms to carry him. Frodo had cried himself to sleep by the time Saradoc walked through the front door of his apartment.

     His wife, Esmeralda, met him in the entryway. She saw in his eyes that there was no hope for Primula and Drogo Baggins.

     Saradoc lay Frodo down in the guest bedroom, silently closed the door, then met his wife in the parlor, pulling her into his arms.

     “What are we to do now?” she asked, wiping a stray tear out of her eyes.

     “We are not going to panic,” Saradoc said. “Frodo can stay here as long as he needs to or wants to.”

     Esmeralda nodded. “How is he?” she questioned.

     Saradoc sighed and glanced up at her. “Considering the circumstances and the trauma of it all, he is doing quite well. For now,” he replied. “We’ll see how it goes from here.”

***

     “I brought you some chicken soup, Frodo. Are you hungry?” Esmeralda asked coming into the guest bedroom the next day at elevenses.

     Frodo glanced at her, then looked down at his hands and shook his head. He hadn’t been hungry at breakfast that morning either, and had stayed in bed all day.

     “You need to eat something, love,” Esme told her cousin. “Bilbo will be worried about you when he gets here this afternoon.”

     “I know,” Frodo replied.

     Esme put the tray down and sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?” she asked him. He looked away, but she directed his eyes to hers. “Tell me, Frodo, please.”

     Frodo’s eyes began to water and Esmeralda knew something was bothering him, beyond just his parent’s sudden, unexpected death in a boating accident.

     “I didn’t get to say goodbye. They left when I was asleep, they just left,” he said, looking down at his hands again.

     Esme watched as a few tears fell on his right hand, and he brushed them away absentmindedly.

     She pulled Frodo into a hug and said, “It’s going to be all right. You’ll see them again someday.”

     “Someday isn’t soon enough,” Frodo replied. “I miss them so much!” Frodo began to cry and buried his head in her shoulder. “They can’t be gone! I need them!”

     “Shh, love,” Esme comforted the little hobbit lad. “Shh. It’s going to be all right.”

     Frodo pushed her away and buried his head in his pillow. “It’s not all right, Aunt Esme, it’s just not!”

     Esme’s heart broke again, hearing the pain in her beloved cousin’s voice. She also missed Primula and Drogo dreadfully and would have given her right hand to have them back again. And she was sure Frodo would too.

     She began to rub Frodo’s back as he sobbed even harder, and knew speaking would do no good. She’d done all she could, now all she would do was love the child.

***

     Later that afternoon, Bilbo knocked on Frodo’s door. When he didn’t hear an answer, he slowly opened the door to find the young hobbit sitting up in bed, his eyes fixed on the wall.

     “Frodo, can I come sit with you, lad?” he inquired.

     Frodo nodded.

     Bilbo sat beside him and wrapped him in his arms. “You’re a special hobbit, Frodo. You know that? Your parents were so proud of you.” He pulled a small gold locket out of his jacket and handed it to Frodo. “Your mum would want you to have this,” he said.

     “Her locket,” Frodo murmured. “The one Da gave her.” His eyes began to fill with tears as he opened it to look at the portraits of his beloved parents. “I wanted to be with them always,” he muttered so low Bilbo almost didn’t hear him.

     He didn’t know what to tell the poor child. “You will be with them again someday,” he said finally, letting the boy rest his head on his shoulder.

     “Someday isn’t soon enough,” Frodo murmured again.

***

     The funeral was a few days later. Frodo attended, sticking to his Uncle Bilbo like glue. He knew his uncle was sensitive to his moods and would know if he wanted to leave. They didn’t have to leave, but Frodo thought of crawling into his bed and crying himself to sleep that night, which is exactly what he did.

     Then for a while everything was hectic, getting the legal affairs of Drogo and Primula in order and moving Frodo into the guest bedroom of Saradoc and Esmeralda’s apartments.

     Then before they knew it, Yule had arrived, and they were on their way to the Took Smials to celebrate Yule with their Took cousins. 

     The party was big and loud, like all hobbit parties, but Frodo didn’t have the heart to enjoy it without his parents there. He slipped outside by himself in the evening when no one noticed. Or so he thought.

     He crept away to a place on the other side of the smial where it sloped out of the ground and formed an almost twenty foot cliff on one side, and sat with his feet dangling off the edge.

     The sky was darkening, and he hoped no one would spot him out there, so he could be alone, but someone had already seen him.

     Bilbo came up behind him. “You’ll freeze to death out here without your coat, Frodo-lad,” he said, sitting beside him and handing him the coat in his hands.

     “I don’t care,” Frodo said.

     Bilbo glanced at Frodo, watching his eyes follow a stray squirrel dash up a tree, stifling the urge to pull him back and prevent him from falling off the cliff. But Frodo didn’t fall. He knew how to balance himself well, and wasn’t afraid of heights. 

     “I know you miss your parents. I do too,” Bilbo said. “I believe the expression, though, is that you’d give your right hand to have them back, not freeze to death. What do you think your mother would say if you showed up with frostbite on your fingers and toes?”

     Frodo smiled at the thought of his mother scolding him for freezing to death. It was the first smile Bilbo had seen from him since the accident. Then he sobered and said, “I can’t stand it, Uncle Bilbo. I want them back, but I know they’re not coming back.”

     Bilbo met Frodo’s glowing eyes, and said, “Do you have many friends in Buckland, Frodo?”

     “Yes, but none of them are really good friends,” he replied, curious as to how this connected to his parents.

     “Well, I tell you what, you live in Buckland for a while longer. I have quite a few affairs of my own to settle, but when I do get them in order, would you like to come live with me in Bag End?” he asked.

     Frodo glanced at his uncle, surprised. “Are you sure?” he replied.

     “Yes, I’m sure. Do you want to or not?”

     Frodo smiled again. “If you teach me elvish, Uncle Bilbo,” he said, “Then I’d love to. I think that’s what my parents would have wanted.”

     “Well, lad, I’m glad you think that, because I know that’s what they would have wanted,” Bilbo exclaimed. “Now, do you think you can come out of the cold and enjoy yourself at this party?”

     Frodo frowned for a moment, then said, “I believe so, Uncle.” He leaned on his uncle and hugged him. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

     Bilbo pushed one of his dark curls into place and said, “You’re quite welcome, lad.”

The End