Author's note: When I first wrote this, I had Saradoc as the Master of Brandy Hall. It was kindly brought to my attention that Rorimac, in fact, was still Master when Primula and Drogo died. So I have changed a few things in the story to make the facts right. Thanks for your patience! 

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“Mister Saradoc!”

Saradoc turned from the group of hobbits he had been comfortably conversing with to see one of his young workers running towards him, face flushed and a wild look in his eyes.

“What is it, lad?” asked Saradoc, alarmed.

“The Master,” the lad paused to take in a choked breath, “he sent me – some hobbits were found on the bank of the river--“ a deep breath, “drowned.”

~*~

 When Saradoc finally made it to the place where a large group of hobbits were gathered by the river bank, he found his father, his wife, and his brother standing beside two blanket covered forms.

Saradoc felt the knot in his chest tighten. "Are they gone, then?"

Esmeralda looked up at him, and Merimac’s arm slid off her shoulder as she turned toward him. Her eyes were red, and there were tear tracks down her cheeks. She nodded slightly.

Saradoc frowned, and then heaved a great sigh. “Who was it?”

Pain flashed through Esmeralda’s jade eyes. “Primula and Drogo,” she said in a choked voice, as a tear made its way to her chin.

~*~

“Da?” asked a sleepy voice, as the owner of said voice was lifted into strong arms.

Saradoc looked down at the small, pale hobbit in his arms. He had slept through the whole incident on the back of one of the wagons, which was filled with sweet hay.

“Just you go back to sleep, Frodo-lad,” Saradoc quietly ordered, “you need to get your sleep so you’ll be able o eat a big, grown-up breakfast in the morning.”

Drowsy blue eyes opened briefly to take him in. “Uncle Sara…” A slight frown curved his brow; but despite his confusion, Frodo snuggled into the warmth of Saradoc and closed his eyes again, trusting.

Saradoc felt his eyes begin to fill, but he fought the tears. He was the Heir of Brandy Hall, and his father would need him to be strong.

Walking into the Hall, Saradoc felt the weight of the many gazes that fell on him. He felt strangely protective of his burden, not wanting him to feel the weight, too.

He carried Frodo up a set of stairs, then into a room three doors down the hall on the left. It was the a beautiful, homey suite, where Saradoc and Esmeralda slept. They had a large adjoining room, meant to be a nursery, where they hoped to keep their own bairns, when they came. Saradoc laid Frodo in a small bed there, covering him with a warm green and blue patched quilt. Frodo gave a small sigh, and then was as still as any small child in sleep.

Saradoc gazed down at him for several moments, then turned and left, having many more things to attend to.

~*~

Frodo was caught up in the most gorgeous dream. Bright purple flowers tickled his ankles as he stood at the riverbank, his eyes on a particularly fat, warty toad. He reached, achingly slow, for his prize; he was within inches, his fingertips tingling…

Suddenly, light filled his eyelids and he reached up to rub them irritably. The light wouldn’t go away, and when he opened them again, the fat toad was replaced by a blurry face leaning over him. The light had come from a small round window behind the figure.

“Frodo?”

Frodo blinked, opening his eyes wide. “Aunt Esme?” Why was she in his room? Mama hadn’t said she’d be visiting. Where was Mama?

“Ah, there you are,” Aunt Esme smiled down at him, but somehow, it wasn’t happy. “Wake-up, dear; your Uncle Sara and I have to talk to you.”

Frodo noted the unusual look in Esmeralda’s eyes and found that it frightened him. “Where’s Mama?”