Author notes:

I know there are many stories about the death of Frodo's parents. I myself have written about it before and a friend of mine is also writing a story with the same topic at the moment. But this story is based (I know it seems very odd and indeed it is) on a dream ... or should I say a nightmare? ... well, you'll see.
I dreamed it four times in the last eight weeks. I knew it would only stop if I write the words down that flow into my mind while sleeping. And because I do not wish to wake up in the morning, being more tired than when I went to bed, I wrote ;)

I wonder what you'll think about it.

Rating: PG-13 ... just to be sure

~~~~~~

A Light from the Shadow shall spring

Prologue

Grey mist covered the meadows. Fog patches crept through the forest altering the trees into some ghost-like figures looming up in the distance. Heavy, dark clouds hung in the sky ominously. It wouldn't be long before they would burst and fill the world with rain.

There were no songs this morning like on other days. Even the birds had stopped their merry twitter. Nothing could be heard except the low sighing of the wind that rustled in the last autumn leaves which were dancing their farewell before finally reaching the ground, where they would lie still and die.

A cracking noise could be heard when many feet were stepping on the grass, still covered with frost. With every crack he winced. It must stop. It had to, or it would destroy him. He didn't want to hear the racking. He didn't want to see the dewdrops that were settling in his and the others' hair, or the haze covering the entire world about him. He didn't want any of it. It was a nightmare and it had to stop. Now!

But it didn't end. Pain never ceased. It endured and in the end it devoured everything. His eyes, fixed on the ground suddenly turned towards the sky. Swarthy, sombre, menacing. A black pool engulfing everything. The trees had already been swallowed, the forest was gone. Even the mist he didn't recognize anymore. There was only blackness.

Dizziness overcame him. He swayed. The undulating black pool moved ever closer, engulfing him. He was drowning, dying! He choked, gasping for breath.
He didn't hear the sighing of the wind anymore, didn't feel its cold fingers stroking his cheek. There was nothing but blackness, devouring, engulfing, drowning. A single raindrop touched his cheek.

"No!" his wailing scream cut through the hazy morning air.

Chapter one: From Light to Shadow

Five days earlier

It was a bright and sunny October day, but already a cool wind was blowing and the Buckland hobbits were wearing some of their warmer clothes. Children were fooling about, some of them running around between the many trees of the forest playing tag. Merry laughter filled the afternoon breeze.

"Frodo, stop teasing Daisy!"

A young lad, who was waving a twig, shouting and running after one of the lasses, stopped abruptly. "I'm not teasing her," he declared. "She is teasing me!" He looked at the girl angrily, then turned to his mother again. "She is a nuisance!"

Daisy Brandybuck, a twelve year old girl of Buckland planted herself before the boy putting her hands to her hips and shouted: "I'm what?!"

Frodo stood on his tiptoes to be face to face with her, waving threateningly with the twig in his hands. "You're a nuisance," he said in a dry tone. "A pest, if that pleases you more."

"I'm no more a pest than you are," she snorted taking the stick from his hands breaking it in two. Frodo ran after her, as she turned and dashed off.

Esmeralda chuckled as she stepped beside Primula. "Your son is such a sweetheart."

Primula rose from the ground she was searching for mushrooms, watching the children and shaking her head. "He is indeed," she said with the hint of a smile on her face. "At least he knows how to deal with 'annoying lasses' as he calls almost every girl who is not yet in her tweens."

They both laughed, turning their attention again to the search of mushrooms.

Primula liked Esmeralda (who was the wife of her nephew Saradoc) a lot. She moved to Buckland three years ago, when the two of them married and Primula had grown attached to her, although she didn't see her very often, for Primula herself lived in the Westfarthing not very far from Hobbiton. But she and her husband Drogo regularly came to Buckland, her home, paying her relatives a visit, and it was not unusual that they stayed for more than four weeks. This time there was no difference. They had spent almost the whole summer in Buckland, but now that the days grew shorter and the weather cooler Drogo urged her to think about returning to Hobbiton again. She knew he was right and, although it grieved her to leave behind her family again, they had decided to depart at the end of the month.
Esmeralda knew about that, as did her brother, the Master of Buckland.

It had only been the evening before when Primula had a long talk with Esmeralda concerning her return to Hobbiton. She also mentioned that it would be good for Frodo to be at home again.

"It's not good for a boy of his age to be away from home too long. He needs to know where he belongs, although it certainly does no harm that he has friends here in Buckland too," she had said.

Esmie had agreed with this, but Primula had also felt that it grieved her. Esmeralda was very fond of children, especially Frodo, but she didn't have any of her own yet. "Don't worry," Primula had said placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "He'll miss you too. And maybe you'll have children of your own when we meet again."

"There will be rain this night."

Primula, who was totally lost in thought, looked up, seeing her husband standing beside her gazing thoughtfully at the sky. Some clouds were passing by, casting shadows on the ground. Also the wind had grown a little stronger. "We'll be going soon," she said and stood up stretching her back.

Drogo called for his son. "You'll help your mother," he told him, as he came running towards him. Frodo groaned but kneeled down obediently to aid his mother in picking mushrooms.

***

It was evening in the Shire. Most of the mushrooms the hobbits had collected in the afternoon had already been eaten up. The Brandybucks and their guests sat by the fireside talking merrily to each other, smoking their pipes and some of them were telling stories to the children, while red flames danced in the hearth.

Frodo, who had listened to a story Old Rory was telling, stood up and came to where his parents were sitting, nestling in between them.

"Don't you like Rory's story?" Drogo asked, amazed that his son had come to sit with them while somebody was telling a story. That was rather uncommon.

"It's not bad," Frodo explained, "but it's nothing to the stories Bilbo tells. There are no dragons, trolls or elves in this story."

"Bilbo certainly puts too many ideas into your head," Primula said, ruffling her son's dark curls.

"These are not just ideas," Frodo told her determinedly, his eyes shining. "This is an adventure. Bilbo's adventure. He has seen all these things. The dragon, the trolls and… and the Elves."

Primula chuckled and shook her head at the dreamy look in her son's eyes.

"You should listen to his tale more closely to understand its meaning!" Frodo said.

"I see. And you, of course, understand everything Bilbo tells you," she said and looked at her son sceptically.

"'Course I do," he told her proudly. "I'm a Baggins!"

"A Baggins indeed!" Drogo laughed putting an arm about his son and ruffling his hair. Frodo giggled.

Drogo lit his pipe again. Blowing small smoke-rings he watched the fire crackling in the hearth.

"What about boating?" he heard his son's voice.

"Boating?" he asked furrowing his brow.

Frodo nodded. "I like being on the river and we could go boating tomorrow or the day after, couldn't we?"

"I don't think that will be possible. It's already quite cold for being on the river and it doesn't seem to be the weather for boating either," Primula explained, but seeing the sad expression on her son's face she added, "But maybe we can decide that tomorrow."

Frodo smiled broadly. "So you mean we can go boating again?"

Primula eyed him suspiciously. "Since when were you so fond of boating?"

"I'm not that fond, but you are. I know you are. And since this will be the last month in Buckland for a very long time, which means none of us can go boating, it is clear that we have to go now, if we wish to. And I, for my part do wish to go boating once again," Frodo declared matter-of-factly.

"You're cunning, Frodo Baggins. That's very dangerous," Primula told him. Frodo grinned innocently. She pondered for a moment. Frodo watched her excitedly, curious for her answer. "I think we could go boating one last time tomorrow if the weather is well and your father agrees," she said finally.

Frodo instantly turned towards his father looking at him pleadingly. Drogo shrugged but smiled at the two of them, for Primula was eyeing him with the same pleading look as Frodo did. "It can't be that bad to be on the river once again." Frodo cheered and hugged his father tightly.

"You want to go boating again?" Rory stepped towards them, his pipe in his hands. "It can be very dangerous in this season."

Primula nodded. "I know. But I can handle a boat very well and Drogo also has some skill in boating, since I taught him last summer." She looked fondly at her husband smiling a little as she did so.

"That I know very well," Rory laughed taking a seat beside her. "You've always been better than me in fact and you were so fond of boats. But still I advise you not to go too far down. There are some dangerous currents down by the hills."

"I'll watch out," she said. "We won't go that far."

Rory was satisfied and they soon changed the topic.

***

All the next day Frodo was on tenterhooks. On the first light of morning he had run into the garden observing the sky. To his relief the weather had been fine. It had been partly cloudy and he had felt a light but fresh autumn-breeze swirling his hair.

Now it was early afternoon and the weather still hadn't changed. A delighted Frodo hopped beside his parents as they went down to the riverbank of the Brandywine. He jumped into one of the boats while Drogo and Primula were pushing it into the water. The two of them were paddling to the middle of the stream before finally letting the boat drift southwards.

The river sparkled in the light of the sun. It was a beautiful day for a boating tour. They could hear the wind rustling in the leaves of the riverbank. The constant gurgling of the stream was somehow comforting. Drogo watched his son with a content smile on his face and put an arm around Primula. They exchanged loving looks. Meanwhile Frodo was grinning broadly as he looked into the water observing the fishes. He put forth his hand and touched the water leaning out dangerously far.

"Careful, Frodo," Drogo exhorted. "We don't want you to topple into the river."

"I won't," Frodo reassured him, but sat back into the boat again.

Time passed. Primula who was leaning against her husband's shoulder had closed her eyes for a moment. She was pleased. It had been a wonderful idea to spend the afternoon on the river. Frodo had been right. She was fond of boating and had always been fond of it. She liked to listen to the sound of the water, to feel the wind blowing into her face playing with her hair. Sighing contently, she half opened her eyes to see Frodo, who was kneeling at the front of the boat looking curiously into the water. She smiled.

"What's that?" Frodo suddenly asked pointing towards something in the distance.

Autor notes:
The following chapters will describe the same event from different points of view. It will begin with Drogo's POV.

~~~~~~

Chapter 2: Drogo

I sigh as Primula stands up and goes to Frodo, who is looking questioningly at her. Kneeling down she looks intensely to where Frodo is pointing. I close my eyes again and listen to some birds that twitter merrily. I hadn't liked boating very much until the last summer, when Primula showed me how to handle a boat. Ever since I have shared her fondness of the river although I never will be able to measure up to her love for it. I relish the constant rocking of the boat. Dimly I'm aware that the rocking has gotten a little stronger since we started our journey, but I do not care much.

Suddenly I find myself thinking over what Frodo may has seen for I have not yet heard Primula answering. I open my eyes to find my wife turning around with a frightened expression on her face. She is pale and a fear is in her eyes that I do not dare to think of. Something must be terribly wrong.

"The current!" she shouts. "We've come too far south! Paddle or we shall be driven to the rocks!"

I do not hesitate and grab a paddle quickly to drive it into the water. I hear Primula instructing Frodo to sit down and grab hold of something. She has already gripped the second paddle and we are soon paddling in unison with all the strength we have.

I remember Rory warning us of the current.

"We won't go that far."

Primula's words still ring in my head. Have we really gone that far already? I now realise that we are drifting very fast towards the current we didn't even intend to reach, although we have not lessened our paddling. From the corner of my eye I can see white foam lashing against sharp rocks. The gurgling of the water, which was so comforting some time before, now seems ominous.

"Mama, why aren't we moving?"

Frodo's voice is full of fear.

"Paddle," I tell myself, "for his sake!"

For one short moment my eyes meet hers. I see panic in them but she doesn't show her fear. Instead she is soothing Frodo with her words, although it doesn't seem to help much, for he is looking around frantically, always glancing at the rocks that are moving ever closer.

Paddle!

Her appalled face is in my mind as I dive the paddle into the rushing river once again.

"Papa?" he looks at me, his eyes wide with fear.

Paddle!

But my strength lessens. The current is too strong. Yet I go on, ignoring the burning pain in my upper arm. Distraught, I recognize that we are still not moving forward but backwards. The boat is turning, no matter what we do.

"Go on!" I shout. But Primula has no strength left in her arm and neither have I. I grab her paddle anyhow and begin paddling all on my own, clenching my teeth as I do so. The ever-rushing water rings in my ears.

"The rocks are moving closer." Frodo's voice trembles.

I almost beg for a miracle to come, as I plunge the paddle down one last time. My strength has forsaken me. One of the paddles slips out of my grip. "No!" I try to catch it, but fail.

Turning around I look at my wife and my son sitting side by side, holding each other tightly. Their faces are full of fear and desperation. It grieves me to see them like this knowing I can't do anything to help them.

The water rushes. The boat is driven swiftly towards the rocks.

"I'm afraid," Frodo murmurs, tears streaming down his cheeks as he squinted towards the sharp rocks which were moving closer.

"Me too," I whisper, wrapping my arms protectively around the two of them.

Rubbing his back I try to calm him as he begins to sob. I know he must feel how scared I am though I try not to show him. Primula squeezes my trembling hand. Unshed tears glitter in her eyes. I admire her strength. She has always been so very strong. Never did she show any of her fears in front of Frodo, even when he has been very ill. But now her eyes speak volumes. We have been too careless all afternoon and she knows about that as well as I do. Slowly I lean in to kiss her brow. She closes her eyes and so do I.

I can hear nothing but the rushing water and the quiet sobs of my son. The merry hours in the afternoon are almost forgotten. Within seconds everything has changed. We are no longer content; our faces are now marked by fear. A fear that is almost unbearable. I find myself thinking about the current again. It will be difficult to get out of it, if we ever get out. I abandon this thought instantly. No, we will make it, all three of us.

Squeezing Primula's hand and pulling her and Frodo closer, I open my eyes again. White foam lashes against the boat and the rocks. The water rushes. I feel the boat grating stone. The wood bursts with a cracking noise.

I sway, stumble and fall, Frodo still in my arms. He is screaming in desperation and I can also hear my wife's distraught cry. Cool water is touching my toes and legs. A cliff suddenly emerges in front of my eyes.

"Frodo!" I cry and in order to protect my son I turn around so that my back instead of Frodo's head would hit the sharp rock. I hear him call for his father, as I release my grip of his shoulders and push him away. Something cold hits my temple. The water rushes and darkness falls upon me.

***

It is terribly cold. I still hear the ever-gurgling water, rushing all around me. I'm freezing and all my body is wet.

"Drogo, please…"

I would not be able to open my eyes if not for her soft voice, choked with tears.

"Primula…" I whisper, unable to say any more, for I do not have the strength to even speak. My lids are too heavy. I can't keep my eyes open, but I can imagine that she is smiling.

"I'm… here," she whispers through trembling lips.

I feel water splashing on my face. It is cold and the river rushes. But I'm content, for she is with me. Suddenly another thought hits my blearing mind. "Frodo?"

"He is safe," she assures me.

I would have smiled, if I had the strength to do so. But I don't have it. My eyes flutter open. I see her face, wet with water and tears, but still beautiful. I do not know that it is the last time I will ever see her or anything else.I feel tired and weak. My head swims.

The water rushes and darkness claims me once again.

Chapter three: Frodo

Smiling delightedly to myself I sit at the front of the boat, gazing into the distance. It's amazing how often the riverbank changes as we drift further south. On our right we have already passed the meadows and fields of The Marish. I've seen some farmers far away tilling the ground or picking up the windfall. But it is some time since I saw the last hobbit. The western bank is now more or less empty except for some animals.

On our left there was a meadow at the beginning of our journey but then it changed and there was a forest. The leaves were rustling in the fresh autumn-breeze and I have heard many a bird. But now we have even passed the forest and some great hills are looming up on the eastern shore. I look at them in awe before turning my attention to the river again. My eyes suddenly fix themselves on some strange black spots jutting from the water. I try to figure out what they could be, but fail.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing towards the spots and looking at my parents questioningly.

My mother kneels down beside me gazing into the distance intently. Full of expectation, I'm watching her but she does not answer.

"Can you see it?" I ask for I'm not sure if she does.

She nods but still says nothing. I frown as I see her face which suddenly seems to be veiled by shadows. She looks to the eastern shore, gazing pensively at the hills, then to the things I have pointed at and finally her eyes come to rest upon the water.

"Mama?"

I'm scared because she still hasn't said anything. She has knitted her brow and there is something in her expression that makes me even more afraid.
Suddenly she turns towards my father.

"The current!" she shouts. "We've come too far south! Paddle or we shall be driven to the rocks!"

Before I even realise what has happened she grips me by the shoulder and tells me to sit down and grab hold of something. My fear grows even worse as I do as she wishes. My father has already started paddling and so has my mother. Frightened, I look from one to the other. What has happened? Suddenly I hear the water rushing. I have heard that sound all afternoon but now it is louder and more fierce. My eyes turn towards the distance and now I see myself what has scared my mother so much. There are rocks, many sharp stones jutting from the water.

Eyes wide with fear I look at my parents. I can see deep anguish in their faces as they paddle with all the strength they have. But nothing happens. The boat is still drifting towards the rocks.

"Mama, why aren't we moving?" The sound of my own voice makes me tremble. It sounds shrill and reflects the anxiety I see in the eyes of my parents.

"Hush, dear," I hear my mother's soft but trembling voice. "Everything will be alright."

Somehow I'm not sure if I can trust her words. Looking around frantically I suddenly find the answer to my question myself. There is a current pulling the small boat along right towards the rocks. For one short instant I think about uncle Rory and wonder if this is the same current of which he warned us the evening before.

I look at my father. "Papa?"

His face is grim. I can see that he has no more strength left but he is paddling on, although we still do not move. "Go on!" I hear him shout, but my mother is breathing heavily. She is at the end of her tether. My eyes are full of pity, as I see her pale and distraught face. Never have I seen her like this before. That is another reason why my fear grows worse still and almost chokes me. At this moment my father suddenly grips my mother's paddle and begins to paddle all on his own. I look at him in awe. He does not give up hope, although he is at the end of his strength too.

The river rushes and I feel fear choking me again. Sinking into my mother's arms I squint towards the stones again. "The rocks are moving closer." My voice is trembling and I realise my vision is blurred with tears. She holds me tightly, rocking back and forth to soothe me. I do not hear my father's desperate cry, as he loses hold of one paddle. All I hear is the rushing water and the constant murmur of my mother's soft voice.

"I'm afraid," I mumble as my father comes to us.

He wraps his arms around me. "Me too," he answers, his voice barely audible.

He rubs my back as I begin to sob. He is as much afraid as I am. He does not show his fear, but I can feel his arm trembling as I desperately clutch it.

The water rushes. Have I not listened with great pleasure to that noise? Now I detest it.

Everything will be alright.

I hear my mother's voice in my head. Suddenly I find myself hoping for these words to be true. My mother has never lied to me, why should she do so now? But still there is doubt. "Everything will be alright," I assure myself nonetheless, trying to control my sobs.

Suddenly there is a cracking. I look up startled. I feel my father turning me around. Cool water touches my feet. I hear him cry my name. His voice scares me and so does my mother's desperate scream.

"Papa!" I shriek, as he pushes me.

The water rushes and then there is silence.

It is cold, very cold. My arm hits one of the rocks. The wound burns but the rest of my body is freezing. I struggle to the surface. I can see the light; still I'm not able to reach it. The current is pulling me down. Struggling, my foot hits yet another rock. Desperately I feel that I can't hold my breath any longer. I swallow water, when suddenly I feel someone grasping the collar of my neck and pulling me to the surface. Spluttering and bubbling I gasp for breath. A wave of white foam hits me and I go under again, swallowing even more water. Once more I'm pulled to the surface.

"Swim!" my mother's choked voice orders.

I cough, struggling fiercely not to go under again. It's difficult to breathe; ever and anon water is splashing into my face.

"Swim!" she orders once more and pushes me ahead.

I try my best to do so but the current is still pulling me down. It's too strong for me. "I can't!" I tell her and again a wave of foam hits me and forces me to swallow liquid. Coughing fiercely I try my best to struggle on.

"Of course you can! Just go on!"

I have not yet seen my mother, for she is ever behind me, pushing me ahead and keeping me on the surface whenever a new wave of water splashes into my face and forces me to sink. The wind is hissing angrily and still the river rushes. I'm shivering with cold as I feel tiredness creeping into my limbs. I'm sinking only to be pulled back to the surface again. Gasping for breath I try to struggle on, but I'm too weak now. My arms and legs won't obey me.

"Swim!" my mother calls again and her voice sounds as if she is crying.

The current has grown less strong now and so I make a last effort to reach the shore. One last time a wave of foam splashes into my face and drowns me, but now my strength has left me. I can't struggle any longer.

It is so very cold and dark. Black spots are dancing before my eyes; I can't hold my breath any longer. The cold arm of fear clutches me and makes me feel sick. I'm drowning. I know there are tears burning in me eyes but I do not feel them due to the water all around me. Dimly I'm aware that her hand is grabbing me again. Coughing and spluttering I grasp her arm.

The river rushes and the biting cold wind makes me shiver as she is using all her strength to finally carry me to the shore. With a last effort I climb up the riverbank, still coughing fiercely. I shiver violently when I turn around at last and look into my mother's eyes. Small breath-mists are dancing before my face when I finally get my breath back.

"Are you alright?" she whispers, her voice choked with tears.

Have I ever seen her crying before? I do not remember but it grieves me to see her like this with so much fear and desperation in her eyes.

I nod and realise that I'm crying as well. Jumping forward I fling my arms around her neck weeping bitterly. She hugs me tightly and I notice that her whole body is trembling.

"Hush," she soothes but her tears betray her.

Only now I become aware that my father is not with us. "Where's dad?" I whisper looking around frantically, trying to find him.

The sadness in her eyes almost breaks my heart. "I will go back and find him."

My jaw just drops at her words. I'm sure she is seeing the fear in my eyes for she is hugging me tightly again. New tears are welling up inside me as I look at her with a pleading expression. "Promise me that you will come back. Promise me that everything will be all right."

Her eyes are full of pity, fear and sadness. I have never seen her like this and the tears I have tried to choke back now fall freely down my cheeks. She hugs me anew, rubbing my back in a calming manner. She has always done so when I was scared.

"Promise me!" I beg again.

But she does not answer. She looks at me again her hands still resting on my shoulder. "You go back to Brandy Hall and get your uncle Rory. Tell him we had an accident and are down by the hills. He'll know what to do."

"You can't send me away!" I plead in desperation.

But her eyes are stern. "Go Frodo, please!"

I nod slowly, unwilling to leave her and hug her one last time.

"Go now!" she urges. "Hurry!"

"I will come back!" I assure her and then gathering all my strength I dash off.

I'm still shivering violently with the cool wind blowing into my face as I climb up the hill. I suddenly become aware that the weather has changed. Now dark clouds are hanging in the sky like a portent. But I do not heed them and only try to run faster.

When I finally reach the top of the hill I stop, gazing down to the river. Up here the wind is blowing even stronger and I feel icy cold as I search the water for my parents. I do not find them but then I see one small figure swimming back to the current and… going under!

"Mama!" I cry out desperately, but she doesn't hear me.

For one moment I'm tempted to run back when suddenly she reaches the surface again. A sigh of relief escapes my lips. I see a piece of wood that got stuck between two of the cliffs. Something is moving there. Is that my father? I'm not quite sure, so I'm turning my attention back to my mother but now I can't find her anymore. Eyes wide with fear I'm searching the water, when finally I see her clutching the piece of wood and pulling herself to the figure I have seen there before. Now I am sure that that must be my father.

"Run!" I urge myself.

Relieved to know that they both are alright I start running again. Down the hill and up the other I run, always stumbling forward. My lungs are burning as I finally reach the forest and have to slow down a little for there are big roots sticking out from the ground. I'm freezing with cold, yet I'm sweating from racing. After all, the wind is less fierce in the forest. It is just then that I feel a single raindrop caressing my cheek.

While going on I find myself thinking about my mother. I can't forget her eyes. I have never seen her like that. Feeling my former fear return I also realise that my hands are trembling. She also shivered when I hugged her, but if with cold or with fear I do not know. Tears are burning in my eyes as yet another thought hits me. She did not promise. I begged her to promise me that everything will be alright, but she did not. Stopping short I turn around. Did she know anything I am not able to recognize? Why was my father not with us?

A sudden dread falls on me and I start running again, running towards Brandy Hall. Uncle Rory will know what to do. I do not heed the roots anymore or the bushes blocking my way. As I stumble along the weariness I had felt in the water returns. I try to ignore it. Every breath hurts, for my lungs are still burning. It has been too much, but I do not give up, not yet.

"She did not promise!" I remind myself and trudge on.

I do not notice the hidden root and trip over it, falling flat on my face. The wind is hissing and I still can hear the water rushing. The rain gets heavier as I struggle to my feet again. I feel my body tremble and my legs turn to jelly but I go on.

The wind is howling and rain is coming down in buckets as I finally see the lights of Brandy Hall.

Go now! Hurry!

My mother's words ring in my ears. The last light of day is fading. Hoping I've not been too slow I make a last effort stumbling towards Brandy Hall. I see uncle Rory sitting on the bench and call for him. He is running towards me, followed by Esmeralda.

"Frodo, dear! What happened? Where is Primula? Where are your parents?" He looks at me distraught, as he kneels down, holding my shoulder.

Gazing at him bleary eyed, shivering all over, I feel tears welling up inside me. "An accident…" I whisper. "… the water… so cold… down by the hills."

Weakness and tiredness finally conquer, as I collapse into his arms.

Chapter four: Primula

Kneeling down beside him I glance to where he is pointing at. I'm not yet sure what it could be, so I wait until we are a little closer. I don't know why but suddenly I remember my brother's warning. Could it really be?

"Can you see it?"

I feel my body tense. I'm not able to answer him, so I just nod and turn my eyes towards the eastern shore.

"I advise you not to go too far down. There are some dangerous currents down by the hills."

The hills. We have already reached them. Is it really possible that we have come that far? Again my eyes wander to the spot pointed out by Frodo.

"I'll watch out. We won't go that far."

I have not been very cautious all afternoon for I did not think we would move that fast. Rory said there is a current. I observe the river.

"Mama?"

I do not hear him. My eyes are fixed on the water. We are drifting fast, too fast. How could I not have realised? The water is rushing more fiercely now. Have I been so lost in thought that I haven't even recognized this?

"There are some dangerous currents down by the hills."

We must get away from here. Quick! Turning around I shout: "The current! We've come too far south! Paddle or we shall be driven to the rocks!"

Drogo reacts swiftly, gripping a paddle he starts to drive it into the water. Meanwhile I grasp Frodo and, telling him to sit down and grab hold of something, I myself start to paddle with all my strength. Frodo is looking around in desperation. The fear in his eyes reminds me of my own anguish. I want to calm him, but find that I am not able to speak. We have been too careless all afternoon and have realised too late what danger is upon us. Now we have to use all our strength to escape.

"Mama, why aren't we moving?" His voice grieves my heart. It is long since I last heard so much fear in it.

But he is right. We are not making any progress. For a short instant my eyes meet Drogo's. In his eyes I can see that he must have realised it too. I try to paddle harder. The frightened look of Frodo follows my every movement.

"Steady yourself," I hear my own voice in my head. "No matter how great our peril may be, he needs you more." I take a deep breath and try to calm him. "Hush, dear. Everything will be all right." My trembling voice is not only betraying me but him as well, for he is still looking around frantically.

The river is rushing, the rocks are moving closer and my strength lessens. A burning pain in my upper arm increases with every movement. I begin to pant, as I drive the paddle into the water yet another time. The current is pulling the boat along, straight to the cliffs.

"Go on!" I hear Drogo shout, but I can't continue.

Frodo's eyes are full of pity and fear as he watches me let my paddle sink. I wish I could do more, but there is no strength left in my arms. Suddenly Drogo grips my paddle. Looking at him in wonder and with eyes full of love I think I could even manage a smile. But I do not smile, for Frodo is sinking into my arms, his face wet with tears.

"The rocks are moving closer," he whispers. I feel a stinging pain in my heart. How could we have been so careless and expose our son to a danger like this? I swallow my tears as I close my arms about him and hug him tightly. Trying to distract him from the rushing water I begin to murmur nonsense.

Drogo is crying out. I lift my head to see what happened and notice that he has lost one paddle. He looks at us repentantly, but there is no need to feel sorry. He has tried his best.

"I'm afraid," Frodo sobs. Swallowing hard I pull him closer.

Drogo wraps his arms around us. "Me too," he answers, his voice barely audible.

Fumbling for my husband's hand, I squeeze it. He looks into my eyes and there is a silent understanding. We have not been as wary as we should have been and know that we have to face the consequences. I admire him. He has tried his best to get the boat out of the current again, but it has been too strong for him. If the boat capsizes it will be difficult to get out of the current again but I know whatever happens he will do everything to save our son, and so will I. I close my eyes, as I feel his soft lips touching my brow.

The water rushes. Drogo holds me more closely. My son is still sobbing.

A cracking noise, then the wood bursts. Drogo releases me. I hear him crying out Frodo's name. Frodo answers in a desperate choked scream. Somewhere in the distance I hear my own voice crying but it does not seem real to me.

The voices fade and finally die.

I can feel the suction of the current, almost as soon as my body hits the water. It is cold and I need all my strength to struggle to the surface. It is difficult and just as I think I can't fight upwards any longer I feel the cool wind on my face again. Gasping for breath I look around frantically, as a wave of white foam hits me. I'm still struggling hard to avoid going under again. Despairingly, I cry out for I can see neither my husband nor my son. The current forces me to sink again but I can manage to take a deep breath before the river-water engulfs me once more.

All I can think about is Frodo and Drogo, the two most dear to me. I cannot lose them. I must not! Fighting desperately against the current, I suddenly see my son. He is struggling hard, but unable to reach the surface. Still holding my breath I swim towards him. I grab for his arm but miss it. Frantically I realise that he is not moving anymore when finally I catch hold of his collar. I'm running out of breath as I struggle to the surface.

Frodo coughs and splutters, lashing about in despair. Water is splashing into our faces. He is going under again. Pulling him up once more I order him to swim. He must swim on his own, for I can't both fight against the current and carry him, no matter how much I want to help him. Another wave hits me and water is engulfing me once more. I succeed in reaching the surface. Frodo is still coughing and struggling.

"Swim!" I command him once more, my voice choked with tears and water.

He is pulled down by the current. I reach out for him again but this time he is reaching the surface on his own. "I can't!" he chokes between gasping breaths and coughs.

Tears are streaming down my face as yet another wave of white foam hits me.

Please, Frodo, swim! You must swim or we'll never reach the shore! my mind is crying but I mustn't show him my despair.

"Of course you can! Just go on!" I assure him and push him ahead.

I feel my own strength lessen, as I fight against the current and the waves that are splashing into my face force me to swallow water. Still I'm pushing my son ahead, pulling him up whenever he is sinking.

I wonder about Drogo and hope he is all right but I do not have the time to worry about him, for Frodo is sinking yet again and once more I'm pulling him up. My arms hurt and still I'm crying. "Swim!" I beg once more.

Swim, child! You must swim, please. Fight! For I do not have the strength to fight for both of us. At least you should reach the shore safely but I can't bring you there without your help.

Foam is hitting me. I do not have the strength to fight it and the river swiftly closes about my head. My eyes close.

"Frodo!" The thought hit me like a slap in the face. Once more I struggle to the surface, only to find my son is not there. Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I look around frantically, always bubbling and spluttering as I swallow water. I call his name, but he does not answer. Taking a deep breath I dive down again. There I see him and instantly I reach out for him.

He coughs and gasps for breath as we reach the surfaces again. Desperately he clutches my arm. He has no strength left. The river is too strong for him. I need to carry him or none of us will ever reach the riverbank. The wind is howling angrily and the ominous rushing of the river urges me to lose all hope. My arm feels weak, but still I'm holding my gasping child tightly. We have to reach the shore.

I'm clutching the riverbank as Frodo is struggling out of the water. Black spots are dancing before my vision but I try to ignore them. Frodo is coughing and trembling violently. The world seems dark, but I hardly notice it. I have only eyes for my son and his well-being.

"Are you all right?" I ask, fighting back my tears.

He looks at me, eyes filled with tears of fear and still gasping for breath. Slowly he nods and then he flings his arms around my neck. My arms are trembling with weakness but I hug him tightly. My heart is beating fast. Tears now stream freely down my cheeks.

He is all right and safe at last. Nothing will happen to him. The river did not conquer, not yet. I feel his hot tears against my cold skin and try to soothe him, but my own tears betray me.

As I close my arms around my son my mind drifts back to Drogo. I still can hear his desperate cry in my ears. "Where's dad?" Frodo whispers, as if he has read my mind.

My eyes are filled with tears, for I will have to leave him again. I need to find Drogo. "I will go back and find him," I answer.

And when I've found him, I will come back and never leave you again.

I can see he is in deep agony.

I'm sorry, dear, but I can't leave him out there. I can't risk staying here with you and leave him alone while he is probably waiting for me to help him.

I pull him close again and feel he's choking with tears. Seconds pass in which we just savour in being close to each other. Then he looks at me again, eyes full of fear and silent imploring.

"Promise me that you will come back. Promise me that everything will be all right."

His plea stings my heart and I feel like crying once again. If only I could promise him this. If only I knew that everything will be all right. But I do not know.

He is fighting back his tears but they overwhelm him. I hug him tightly, rubbing his back to calm him.

You must understand. I can't promise you something I do not know. It would grieve you even more, if I can't keep my promise.

"Promise me!" he begs again.

Do not tempt me to lie to you. I have never done so and I never will.

I must send him away now, for time is precious. The longer I wait, the lower are my chances of finding Drogo. But I do not wish to leave him. All I want is to hold him and never let go of him again. But that is not granted to me. Placing my hands on his shoulders I look into his sad eyes. "You go back to Brandy Hall and get your uncle Rory. Tell him we had an accident and are down by the hills. He'll know what to do."

"You can't send me away!"

I bite my lip.

Do not make it harder, than it already is.

"Go Frodo, please!"

Time passes and finally he nods and hugs me again. All I want is to hold him and never let go of him again. But haste is needed.

"Go now! Hurry!"

"I will come back!" he whispers and then he runs off.

As soon as I'm sure he won't hear me I break down crying. I'm shivering with fear, cold and weakness. The ominous rushing of the river returns to my ears and so is the hissing of the wind. The world is spinning. I shake my head to think clearly again. I must find Drogo. There is still a chance that he is alive. I gather my last bit of strength and dive into the water again. It's much easier to get towards the current than to swim away from it. Still I have problems with staying above water. Ever and anon the river closes about me and I swallow liquid.

Desperately I look for my husband, but I do not find him. My legs hit some of the sharp rocks and I feel the scratches burning like fire. There is also a burning pain in my arms, which feel so weak now I'm barely able to use them.

After what seems like hours to me I finally stop crying my husband's name.

The current pulls me down one last time. My body is freezing. I give up struggling, for there is only weakness left in me. My mind wanders to Drogo whom I was not able to find again; then I can see Frodo running towards Brandy Hall.

I'm sorry my dear child. But I see now that I did right in not promising you that everything will be all right. For it seems the world is going on only for one of us. I wish I could hold you in my arms once again and kiss you good night and tell you that you need not to worry.

I'm closing my eyes and in this very instant my hand catches hold of something. With a last effort I'm pulling myself up. Gasping for breath I reach the surface and find myself clinging to a piece of wood. It may be a piece of our boat that got stuck between the cliffs. As I come to my breath again I notice that it has begun to rain though that does not matter to me.

My head is dropping on the wood and new hope is growing inside me when suddenly my eyes get caught on someone in the water. "Drogo," I whisper and struggle towards his lifeless form. A sudden fear befalls me. He must not be dead. He has to live. What shall I do without him? What shall Frodo do without him? "Drogo, please you must wake up," I beg, tears streaming down my cheeks, as I shake his lifeless body. "You can not leave me! Drogo, please…"

The chillness of my body seems to grow even worse as I desperately clutch his hand with trembling fingers.

"Primula…"

I look up. He's alive. The hint of a smile appears on my face, as I bring his hand to my lips and kiss it. "I'm… here," I whisper through trembling lips.

Only now I notice the bleeding wound on his temple. He is in badly need of a doctor. I hope Frodo has reached Brandy Hall in time and Rory is already on the way to us.

"Frodo?" His voice is low. I can scarcely hear him.

"He is safe," I assure him while desperately trying not to cry.

His eyes have opened for a single moment. Now they have closed again but his face is content. "Drogo?" I whisper once again, but he does not answer.

I am trembling with cold as the cool wind touches my wet face. Squeezing his hand I am suddenly aware that he has drifted back to unconsciousness. Tears are burning in my eyes as I kiss his hand once more, hoping I could reach the shore with him in my arms. But I know I'm not able to do so, not anymore. My strength is spent. All I can do now is to cling to this piece of wood and hope that Rory will come soon.

Time passes. Still the river is rushing and wind blowing. My head rests on his breast, eyes closed. My body is shivering violently, when suddenly there is a cracking. Before I realise what happens, the wood is breaking and is drifting along the river again. I have lost my grip of it and instead I'm holding Drogo now, whose face has gone desperately pale.

Fear grabs me like a claw. With the last bit of strength I can summon I cry out, although I know that nobody can hear me. I am weeping again, as the current pulls me down. His arm slips from my fingers, as I try to struggle to the surface again. Without taking a deep breath I dive down, but I can't reach him. I do not want to leave him, but I'm in desperate need of air. I look at his face, pale now but still beautiful, the face of the man whom I love so dearly.

"Frodo," my mind yells.

And, sending my last farewell to my husband, I struggle back to the surface. But being so long in the water finally takes its toll. No matter how hard I try, my tired limbs won't obey me. I can see the pale light of the evening, but I can not reach it. My head is swimming as I reach out my hand, as if that would help me to get some air. A shadow falls before my eyes and I close them.

I do not know that in less than an hour my brother will be standing at the riverbank, looking for me and my husband. I do not know that a sudden dread is befalling my son at this very moment. With a last effort I try to reach the surface, but no strength is left in me. I take a deep breath but instead of air, water is filling my lungs. Slowly all spirit leaves my bones. He will never know that my last thought is with him… Frodo.

Chapter five: Fading Hopes

Rorimac Brandybuck stood at the window of his study. Thoughtfully he observed the sky. In the late afternoon the first clouds had appeared and ever since he had waited for the return of his sister and her family, but they did not come.

He sighed watching the brewing grey outside with concern.

"You should not worry about them," he told himself. "Primula knows how to deal with boats and she also knows that it's no good, being on the river in the rain."
He sat down and, filling his pipe, he found himself again glancing to the window. The light of day was fading; they should be here by now.

Dropping his pipe on the table, he stood up and went outside. He would not settle down anyway, not before they had returned. Seating himself on the bench in front of Brandy Hall he gazed south. The first raindrops were falling down.

"They should be here by now," one part of his mind called, but the other part assured him that there was no need to worry, not yet.

Soon the rain got heavier, but still Rorimac sat on the bench and looked south, his face showing no sign of his inner tautness. The wind was blowing fiercely and somewhere in the distance he could hear the soft rushing of the river, but still there was one part of his mind that told him not to trouble himself, although this voice grew more and more silent.

"Father?"

He looked up startled to find Esmeralda standing beside him. "Will you not come in?" she asked. "You will catch a cold if you stay here."

He smiled at her. "Let me stay here only a little longer."

She nodded and was just about to return into the house, when she heard a desperate, choked cry.

"Frodo," she heard Rory gasping.

A sudden fear grew in her mind, as she turned around and followed her father-in-law who was running towards the distraught child.

"Frodo, dear! What happened? Where is Primula? Where are your parents?"

Rory kneeled down before the frightened boy. A horrified apprehension had filled his mind as soon as he had heard Frodo shouting his name. Something terrible must have happened.

The lad was shivering all over. He was pale, soaked through and his lips had turned bluish. Panting heavily he looked at his uncle with glassy eyes. "An accident…" he whispered through trembling lips, trying to fight back his tears, "… the water… so cold… down by the hills."

Rory looked at him wide-eyed, as the lad suddenly collapsed into his arms. Esmeralda stared at them in shock, but Rory did not lose a second.
Lifting up Frodo's trembling form, he slipped him into her arms.

"Go and get my sons!" he told her. "And look that Frodo gets warm again." With that they both dashed off, Esmeralda towards Brandy Hall and Rory to the stables.

Quickly he saddled three of the ponies. He was just about to bridle the last of the beasts when his sons Merimac and Saradoc came running into the stable. "What happened?" Saradoc asked concerned.

"I don't know exactly," Rory answered, handing him the reins. "But I am ill at ease. I fear something terrible has happened to Primula and Drogo. They would never let Frodo go all on his own. He looked frightened to death and all I could find out was that the three of them had been down by the hills and that there has been an accident."

"Down by the hills?" Merimac exclaimed.

Rory nodded, his face pale with sorrow.

As they galloped along the meadow, the rain whipping their faces and the wind blowing icy cold, Rorimac's concern grew even worse. He had warned them about the current, had he not? So why were they there anyhow? Or maybe Frodo was mistaken? But if so, why was he all alone and frightened as if dark nightmares were hunting him?

The current. What if the current had…? No, he must not think of this.

They reached the forest. Rory urged them to haste but they had to lead the ponies and so their journey was much slower than he wished it to be. He felt that he should have reached the hills much earlier and a sickening feeling overcame him as well as the sensation of urgency.

The wind whistled in their ears when finally the three hobbits left the forest and mounted their steeds again. Saradoc and Merimac exchanged worried glances as their father hurried forward once again. They too felt some kind of urgency although they did not understand why.

Rory caught sight of the river. His pony's pace slackened as he reached the hills. He could hear the loud rushing of the water, which seemed even angrier now that it was mingled with the sound of rain and of fiercely blowing wind. He could see nothing. No boat and no trace of Primula or Drogo. His steed climbed down the hill again and up the next one. Saradoc and Merimac were by his side, also searching the river anxiously.

The Master of Buckland could feel his fear growing. He was trembling slightly as his thoughts wandered back to the dangerous currents. They would not have fallen victim to one of these currents, although that seemed the only thing that could explain Frodo's distress. He shuddered. Just the thought of it made him feel ill.

Rain was dripping from the hood of his cloak, as suddenly an odd feeling overcame him and he halted his pony. Gazing to the river his eyes met one of the currents. The wind screamed in his ears. The water was as black as the stormy night about him. But his eyes were keen and so he dismounted and, walking towards the riverbank, he stared at the rushing water, hoping to find a sign of life: a sign of his sister and her husband.

***

Esmeralda dashed into the living room. All eyes suddenly turned to her.

"Saradoc, Merimac, get to your father, he's in the stables," she panted with eyes wide open. "And you, Menegilda, help me! Put on some tea, quick!"

"What…?" Menegilda began, but then she saw whom Esmeralda was carrying and hurried out of the room.

Esmeralda ran to the small room Primula shared with Drogo and Frodo during her stay in Buckland. She quickly took out a blanket of the cupboard and, undressing the shivering boy she wrapped the blanket about him. As she did so, she recognized many small scratches on his arms and legs and also a deeper one at his upper arm. Tears were welling up inside her, as she grabbed one of Frodo's freezing hands and gently started to rub it in order to get it warm again.

"What happened to you, little one?" she asked frowning as she held him tightly, stroking his wet curls.

Menegilda entered the room, carrying a tray with a cup and a steaming pot of tea on it. She placed it on the nightstand and glanced nervously at the child.

"What happened?" she asked taking Frodo's other hand, shocked by its coolness, and rubbed it. "Where are Primula and Drogo? Why is he all alone?"

Esmeralda shrugged. She felt hot tears stinging in her eyes. "I don't know. He said something about the hills and an accident." She looked at her mother-in-law intensely. "Could it be that their boat has sunk?"

Menegilda stared at her wide-eyed, swallowing hard. A heavy silence, full of foreboding, filled the room.

Frodo moaned in his sleep and shifted uneasily. The women watched him with concern.

"No," he whispered in a hoarse voice. "…promise…"

Esmeralda gently stroked his cheek which was still quite cold. Rocking back and forth she waited until he calmed down again. Worriedly she looked at Menegilda, asking a silent question about what the meaning of these words could be. But Menegilda just shrugged, watching her nephew with eyes full of pity and concern.

~~~

Frodo lay captured in some dark dreams. He was running, running over root and stone. Cold raindrops were whipping his face and an icy wind was blowing. But he neither heard the sound of the wind, nor the noise his feet should make as he stepped on the leaf covered ground. All he could hear was the constant, angry rushing of the river. He feared that noise, although he did not know why.

Somewhere in the distance he saw his mother. She was waving at him, as if to say goodbye.

"No!" he cried, suddenly sensing an unbearable anxiety growing within him. "You have to promise!"

He did not know what or even why she should promise, he just wished her to.

Suddenly the world changed. He was alone, standing in utter darkness. Fear was in his every limb; an anxiety as cold as ice, choking him. Desperately he gasped for breath.

~~~

"Frodo! Frodo, wake up!" Esmeralda shook him gently but firmly.

He opened his eyes and started up with a cry. He grabbed her arm in panic, his eyes wide with fear. His hands were trembling and he felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

Esmeralda looked at him nervously. She had got quite scared when Frodo suddenly gasped for air as if he was about to drown. "It was a dream," she told him. "Everything's all right."

Frodo looked at her bleary-eyed, swaying slightly as black spots danced before his eyes. He sighed and finally closed his eyes in relief. Relaxing again he sank back into the pillows. His heart was pounding wildly and he felt afraid. He knew he had been dreaming, but what his dream was about he had already forgotten. Wiping away his tears he looked at the ceiling, thinking for a moment.

"Here, drink this," Esmeralda said handing him a cup of steaming tea.

He accepted it gratefully for he found that he was quite cold although he was wrapped in a blanket. His head was swimming and he felt dizzy, as he looked around and tried to remember how he got into his bed. "What happened?" he asked taking a careful sip of his tea.

Frodo bit his lips and closed his eyes in pain. He found that his throat hurt terribly, especially when he was swallowing, and there was some sort of burning pain in his lungs, which he could not explain. Esmeralda eyed him closely and tucked the blanket about him. He shivered and handed back the cup, unwilling to drink more while his throat was hurting.

She looked into his eyes, hoping he would not see her worry, and stroked a strand of hair from his forehead.

"I hoped you could tell me that. But don't you worry. Everything will be all right. You just need some rest now and maybe another blanket?"

Frodo nodded, shivering slightly. He felt terribly tired as he nestled into his pillows.

Esmeralda got up to get a second coverlet.

"Where are my parents?" he wanted to know but she did not answer.

Swallowing hard she turned to him again and wrapped the blanket about him, kissing his brow. "Sleep now."

"Good night, Auntie Esmeralda," he whispered, too tired to insist on an answer to his question, his eyes already closing.

She took a seat by his side again and watched him for a moment in silence. Whatever had happened, it must have been a shock for the child or he would remember something.

Outside the entrance-door clicked shut. The Master of Buckland had returned.

Chapter six: Desperate Hours

"Rory?" Menegilda asked, scuffling out of the kitchen where she had been drinking a cup of tea. She and Esmeralda were the only one who were still awake. It was now far past midnight and she looked quite overtired in her green bathrobe, her face only lit by the light of a candle in her hand.

Rorimac stood at the entrance door, clutching the knob with both his trembling hands. He had his back towards her, but the sight of him sent shivers down her spine.
She wanted to know what had happened, but her mouth was dry, besides she didn't dare to ask, for she feared the answer. She watched him anxiously as she moved towards him placing a loving hand on her husband's shoulder. He trembled under her touch.

"Have you found them?" her question was a mere whisper.

Taking a deep breath he slowly turned around to face her. Menegilda felt her anxiety grow, as she saw his eyes glistening with tears. He took her hand into his own and squeezed it gently. "They are dead," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

She felt her knees give way as tears were welling up inside her. "Dead? But… why? How?"

He held her gently, shook his head and, trying to hold back his tears, headed for the kitchen. "Where's Frodo? I need to talk to him."

"He's in his room," she answered, still unable to believe what she had just heard.

She sat down on the kitchen table again, clutching her cup with both her hands, staring into emptiness.

"Saradoc and Merimac will take care of their bodies. They will be laid out in one of the free rooms," Rorimac said, his voice sounding as if he himself did not know what he was saying. He turned around and left the room.

"Where are you going?" she asked with a desperate look in her eyes.

"I have to talk to Frodo."

"You can do that tomorrow," said Esmeralda, who was just entering the kitchen. "He is very confused and needs some rest."

She frowned and, looking from one to the other, she asked in a fearful voice: "You did not find them?"

He bowed his head, swallowing hard. Esmeralda turned towards Menegilda, who still clutched her cup. Her mother-in-law was quavering, her eyes glistened in the flickering light of the candle.

Esmeralda shook her head. "No," she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.

Rory said nothing and Menegilda too was silent.

***

The first thing Frodo recognized the next morning was his hurting throat. He moaned and closed his eyes again. It was only October, so why did he have to get a cold before winter even began? He did not remember anything that had happened the last night. In fact, he remembered nothing from the moment he started the boating tour with his parents.

He opened his eyes again and, turning around, he found Esmeralda sitting on a chair beside his bed, her head resting on the coverlet. He frowned, wondering what she was doing in the room he shared with his parents. His eyes wandered to the other bed. It was empty, so his parents were not there.

"Auntie Esmeralda?" he whispered, unsure if he should risk waking her.

She lifted her head blinking drowsily.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "What are you doing here? Has anything happened? Where…" He fell silent as he noticed her eyes. They were blood-shot, red from crying. His brow knitted even more, as he watched her with concern. "Are you all right?" he asked again.

She looked at him as if he had told her to eat asparagus, a food he absolutely disliked and he knew she did so too. Tears were filling her eyes. A sudden fear grew inside him. Why was she so distraught?

The door opened and Rory entered the room, followed by Menegilda. Frodo lifted his head. The two of them looked no better than Esmeralda did. He shrank back and pulled his blanket closer. Had he done some mischief, so terrible that it made everybody cry, and did not remember it?

Rory told Esmeralda to sit on the bed while he himself took a seat on the chair. "Frodo, I have to talk with you," Rory began in a serious tone.

"I've done nothing," said Frodo quickly and then, shrinking back again, he added: "Have I?"

His uncle shook his head. Maybe he would have laughed at the boy's quick excuse if the matter of their talk had not been so serious.

Frodo did not seem very relieved for his uncle's mood had not changed.

"There are some things I want to discuss with you," Rory continued.

Frodo nodded, quite afraid of the tone in his uncle's voice. There was a long silence in which the room seemed to vibrate with suspense. Rory seemed to have some difficulties in finding the right words. Ever and anon he looked at his wife as if she knew better how to begin. She knew it not. Sitting on the bed beside Esmeralda with her head bowed, she already began to ask herself why she came here.

Frodo felt shivers running down his back.

Rory was the first to break the silence. He did not waste any time with needless questions but came straight to the point. "What happened yesterday afternoon?"

The boy looked at him stunned. Why did he wish to know something like that? He was there two evenings ago, when they planned their little adventure, was he not? Anyway, he would answer. "We were on the river. It was beautiful. The rustling leaves, the rushing water, the…" He shuddered and fell silent, looking at the gathering in his room with a troubled frown. Although he could not explain it to himself, the thought of the rushing water increased the fear that he had felt before.

"What happened then?" Rorimac probed.

Frodo's brow creased in bewilderment. "I don't know," he said in a low tone, while he felt his inner fear mingling with another one. It was as if a cold arm was grasping for him.

"You don't know? What does that mean?" Rory wanted to know.

The boy shrugged, wearing a confused expression.

Rorimac looked at his wife and his daughter-in-law (who were both close to tears) as if he was asking them for help. Frodo watched them in silence, feeling fear creeping closer. It had reached him already; the cord that would strangle him was laid out, but he did not realise it yet.

Rory's gaze was stern, though his eyes glistened with tears."They are dead, Frodo."

Esmeralda swallowed. How could he tell him that just like this? Rory always came straight out with things, but this time he should have made an exception. He could not shock the child like this. Anyway, she did not accuse him, for she knew how hard it must be for him.

Menegilda tried to stifle a sob, but failed.

Frodo stared at his uncle wide-eyed, the creeping fingers of fear finally engulfing him wholly. "That's not true!" he cried in a shrill tone.

Rory swallowed. He pitied the lad and now that he saw his anguished expression he regretted his straightness. But he himself was captured by despair and was unable to think clearly. "I'm sorry, my lad, but…" he said sadly, but was interrupted by an abrasive "No!" from Frodo.

The boy was clinging to the blanket, his hands quivering, his knuckles white. His eyes dashed from one to the other wildly. His breath was flat.

"Frodo…" Rory began, but was interrupted again by the lad.

"How can you say something like this? They are my parents, they don't die!"

Esmeralda laid a trembling hand on Frodo's shoulder and found that his whole body was tense.

Rory looked at him grief-stricken. "When I saw you yesterday evening I immediately went seeking them. My sons and I rode down to the hills. We were there far into the night and almost gave up looking for them, when finally I discovered something floating in the river, close to the eastern bank. I waded into the water and there I saw…"

"You lie!" Frodo screamed, tears now streaming down his cheeks.

"No, Frodo, I…" Rory placed his hands on his nephew's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Frodo pushed him away. "You're a liar! They can't be dead!" He panted, his eyes flashing with a measure of rage and despair. The noose of fear around his neck tightened ever so slowly.

"Don't you dare call me a liar! Not in a matter as serious as this one." Rory felt fury welling up inside him. How could he dare to accuse him of lying, especially combined with the death of his most beloved sister? Did he think he would be joking? His sister was dead and all he wanted to know was how it happened.

Frodo looked at him as if he was a younger cousin of his who had contradicted him, but he said nothing although Rory could see he was bursting to insult him further.

"Where are your parents then? Can you tell me that?" he asked sternly.

"They are … they are…" Frodo stammered, searching feverishly for an answer, but, finding none, he just repeated that Rory was a liar.

Rory exploded. "They are dead! Don't you see that? They are not here with you, because they died yesterday and I want to know how it came to it. You're the only one who survived your boating tour yesterday! Your parents are dead!"

"Rory!" Menegilda tried to stop his outburst. The Master of Buckland panted and sank back into his chair again, from which he had lifted before.

Frodo's whole body was trembling. He had shrunk back in his cushions frightened when his uncle shouted at him. His sight was blurred with a veil of tears. He tasted the salty liquid as he bit his lips. "No," he whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

Rory closed his eyes, a single tear dropping down his cheek.

"That's not true!" Frodo sobbed over and over again, shaking his head frantically. Esmeralda, unable to control her own grief any longer wrapped her arm about the trembling child. Leaning into her embrace Frodo wept bitterly.

"Can you tell me what had happened?" Rory asked after a long silence.

Frodo did not answer but clung to his aunt more tightly. Rory waited a while before repeating his question. The lad shook his head, sobbing miserably.
It was long until Frodo finally lifted his head again. "Please, tell me that it's not true," he pleaded, his bright blue eyes now filled with tears and a sadness that almost broke the hearts of his relatives.

"I wish I could," Rory said sadly, blinking away the tears in his eyes.

Frodo gasped for breath trying to stifle his sobs. Esmeralda placed a hand on the little one's cheek and pulled him closer. Burying his face in her pinafore, he felt hot tears stinging in his eyes. It could not be, it must not. How could they have died after they had spent such a beautiful afternoon together?

"Can't you remember anything?" Rory asked.

"No," Frodo snivelled, his voice muffled. "They can't be dead!"

"But, Frodo, they are! Don't you understand? I need to know how it happened!"

The boy sneaked an angry glance at his uncle. "Why ask me? I don't know anything! Leave me alone!"

Rory sighed. "Don't be stupid! You must remember something."

Rory did not see his distress. Frodo was torn between the question of why he could not just answer his uncle to make him leave again, and the sneaking feeling that he knew all too well what had happened. But he feared this feeling and the memories it might involve. He could almost feel the noose of angst tightening, but not yet… not yet.

"No, I can't remember!" he cried again, his words nearly swallowed by new tears. "Don't ask me!"

"Frodo…"

"No!" he interrupted the Master of Buckland again. "Don't ask me! I can't remember! No!"

The boy got away from Esmeralda and, grabbing for his blanket, he holed up under it. There was a long silence.

"The current…" Rory began in a last attempt, but Frodo stopped listening. His head was spinning.

"The current!" she shouted "We've come too far south! Paddle or we shall be driven to the rocks!"
"Frodo!"
His father pushed him away as he cried out for him in despair. He felt the water closing about him.

"No!" he screamed, his voice full of pain and anguish. Covering his ears with his hands, he coiled up under his blanked, his body clenching.

"Stop it, Rory!" Esmeralda shouted, wrapping her hands about the blanketed child. "Don't you see this is agony for him?!"

Rory looked at her stunned. "He is the only one who was with her. I want to know what happened. She was my sister!"

"And his mother!" she told him angrily, surprised by her own courage.

Rory fell silent finally seeing that she was right.

"Don't make me remember it!" Frodo wailed.

But it was already too late. A wave of memories was striking his mind, making him feel dizzy. The noose was finally closing. His eyes wide with fear and despair he gasped for breath. He was right, his uncle was right.

Frodo clutched the blanket with both his hands, digging his nails into it. "The current… the rocks…" he panted. "… the boat burst… she helped me to swim to the shore … 'Go now! Hurry!' … she did not promise…" His face turned ashen and his eyes glassy, while he still was desperately gasping for breath.

Esmeralda, Rory and Menegilda exchanged worried glances.

"Hush, dear, calm down," Esmeralda said in a soothing manner, while Rory was rubbing his back. "That's it. Just take a deep breath."

Slowly he relaxed again and, releasing his grip on the blanket, his eyes closed and he sank into Esmeralda's waiting arms, weeping bitter tears.

"Hush now, little one," she whispered into his ear, rocking back and forth, finally giving up the fight against her own tears. Seeing the son of her best friend like this broke her heart.

"She did not promise," Frodo whispered in a hoarse and almost inaudible voice.

Menegilda and Rorimac watched him with eyes full of pity and sadness.

"I think it is best if only one of us stays with him," Rory said.

Esmeralda nodded to show that she would not leave the child.

Menegilda wiped away her tears. "I will put on some tea with honey for his throat. At least that can be cured."

***

In the late afternoon Frodo was lying in his bed, staring out the window listlessly, his fingers playing with the fringes of a thick woollen scarf Menegilda had given him for his hurting throat. Small raindrops were dripping from the window frame. The world outside was a dark grey, shrouded in a veil of rain. He sighed, regretting it in the same instant as he did so. In the course of the day the pain in his throat had got worse and now it was almost impossible for him to speak. The long hours of crying had robbed his voice.

He turned around to see Esmeralda still sitting on the chair beside his bed. She had not left that place all day and he was grateful for that. Her head had dropped sideways and she seemed to be fast asleep. Frodo watched her thoughtfully. Her hair was tousled, her dress crumpled. Dark rings were under her eyes. It seemed as if she had not slept for days. He reached out to touch her hand, but then he withdrew, fearing to wake her.

Feeling that he could not let the day pass without leaving his room at least for a while, he got to his feet. His head was swimming, but that soon passed. He felt a little wobbly as he stumbled out of the room and he was sure that was from lying in his bed all day.

As he headed for the kitchen, he noticed somebody going into a room that was uninhabited, but he didn't pay much heed to that.

In the kitchen there was many other folk, too busy with gossiping to recognize him.

"Who do we have here?" Daisy asked teasingly, as she saw him from behind, pottering about with the biscuit box. "Isn't that Master Pest himself?"

Turning around, Frodo shot her a glance.

Seeing him, she instantly fell silent. He was pale, his eyes swollen from crying. "You look terrible," she said and there was something like concern in her voice.

Frodo did not answer, but took a seat on one of the tables, nibbling his biscuit. She sat beside him, watching him expectantly. Not heeding her, Frodo turned his attention to the conversations of the adults. Had he heard his father's name?

"No, Primula was a good swimmer. Drogo must have pulled her under water and…"

Frodo got up jerkily, his chair tipping over. All eyes turned to face him. He wanted to cry out, to tell them how wrong and stupid they were, but all he could manage was a low caw. Hot tears were burning in his eyes, as he turned abruptly and dashed out of the kitchen. Daisy followed him.

He stopped and leant against the wall, breathing heavily and fighting back his tears. How could they say something like that? Why did they do this? Could they not stop gossiping?

Startled he turned around, as he felt someone's hand on his shoulder. Daisy looked at him with sad eyes. "I know what happened," she said. "Don't fret. I know that they're wrong. Don't listen to their talk."

It surprised him to hear something like that from Daisy. Maybe she was not that much of a pest after all. He managed a smile to show her how glad he was that not everybody listened to the wagging tongues of most of the Brandybuck-folk.

"Daisy!" young Marmeric called, waving at the two of them.

"I'm coming!" she answered and, looking at Frodo, she asked: "Will you join us?"

He shook his head, feeling too weak to play with the other children. He would better go into his bed again.

As Frodo headed back for his room, he saw Saradoc going into one of the chambers, which he thought were empty or only for guests, who were visiting. Were they expecting guests? He was tired, but he also felt very curious. Believing that a quick glance to see what was going on wouldn't do any harm, Frodo tiptoed towards the slightly open door.

He heard Saradoc pacing. His elder cousin sighed and placed something on a table or maybe the nightstand. Frodo wondered what he might be doing and, making one more step, he peeked through the small door-crack.

What he saw took his breath away. There were his parents, lying in the bed side by side. Their faces were white as a sheet, their eyes hollow and their lips were of a bluish colour. His father had a big blood-crusted wound on his temple. His mother's hair was sticky and hung in strands into her face. Even in the flickering light of the candles Saradoc was kindling, their faces didn't regain their colour and the dark hollows of their eyes remained closed, never to open again.

Frodo's eyes flew open wide. He backed away in terror. His mouth opened to cry out but all he could manage was a soft whining. He felt his stomach turning and clenched his scarf tightly as if that could lessen the feeling of sickness.

Saradoc, who had heard someone whimper, looked up to see nobody behind him. He shrugged slightly puzzled and turned his attention to the candles again. But as he heard the moan again he stepped towards the door and opened it.

His eyes fell on the young boy, who was pressing himself against the wall, breathing heavily. He was deathly pale and his eyes were fixed on the deathbed of Primula and Drogo.

Frodo wanted desperately to close his eyes, but he could not turn his gaze off them. The image of his dead parents would burn itself into his mind, never to be forgotten anymore.

Saradoc immediately closed the door and kneeled down beside him, whispering a breathless "No!"

Frodo's eyes rolled back as he sank onto his knees. "… sick…" he whispered voicelessly, but it was already too late. Before Saradoc could do anything, Frodo vomited on the floor.

Seeing that he could do nothing to stop it, Saradoc tried to support him and rubbed his back soothingly, while the boy cramped and retched helplessly.

Finally Frodo went limp and sank into his cousin's arms, bitter tears streaming down his face. They were tears of mourning, desperation and regret. He regretted everything he had done the last two days. He bemoaned going on that boat tour with his parents, bewailed leaving his mother alone without her promising him that everything would be all right and he regretted being too curious not to just go into his room instead of coming here. Never would he forget what he just saw. This had been the very moment in which it became fully clear to him that they would not return. Never would he go fishing with his father again, never be kissed good night by his mother. He would find no more comfort in their gentle arms, no more happiness in their joyful laughter, no more love in their eyes and every fibre of their beings. Never would their light shine for him again.

Death, sudden darkness. Blackness.

"Why did you come here?" Saradoc's voice was full of pity, but Frodo did not hear it.

His ears were deaf, his eyes unseeing. He was swallowed by grief.

Gently Saradoc lifted the weeping child up and carried him into his room, where Esmeralda took care of him once more.

Author notes:
We're finally back at the funeral. This chapter takes places shortly after the prologue.

~~~~~~

Chapter seven: The Light in your Eyes

It was a sombre and chilly morning. The weather had changed rapidly. Where a week ago summer had put forth its fingers, now winter's forceful hands were sailing in.

Slowly the mist cleared as the sky opened and poured down all its content. But the darkness lingered; there was no light this morning. The only sounds that could be heard were the quiet sobbing of mourning hobbits and the sad sighing of the wind. Rain was dripping from the last leaves, like silent tears. The world itself seemed to mourn their loss.

Bilbo gently rubbed one of Frodo's cold hands. If the boy was aware of him, he did not show it, but stared blankly into the distance. He was shivering all over and Bilbo feared that not only the lad's hands were cold. It must be terrible for him to bury his parents.

Frodo's face was wet, but if from tears or from the rain no one could tell. He had calmed down again. The feeling of drowning had passed, although the dismal darkness was engulfing him still. But that he was accustomed to. Ever since he had seen his dead parents lying on the bed in Brandy Hall, he was devoured by shadow and not a single beam of light got through to him. His life was a constant alternation of sadness and fear, especially the fear of water. Even Esmeralda had not succeeded in bathing him. He would scream and lash about in desperation, weeping bitter tears of anxiety. All she could do was wash him with a wet towel and a bit of soap.

Bilbo sighed when suddenly he felt Frodo squeezing his hand. He looked down at the child who was watching him with sad eyes. He remembered Frodo's eyes: blue as the sea, sparkling as the sun, filled with a happiness that would have made the saddest person smile.

Now they had changed. They were still blue, but no longer filled with light and happiness. The colour had darkened and the light twinkles of joy and cheerfulness had turned into dark pools of grief, pain and an unbearable sadness.

Bilbo's heart bled when he thought about the carefree lad, running around in Bag End, asking one question after the other.

***

Frodo drew back his hand jerkily, looking sulkily at his uncle, who had slapped his fingers.

"Wait until they've cooled. You'll only burn yourself if you eat them now," Bilbo told him, as he pushed the griddle with the fresh-baked biscuits further back.

Frodo got himself a chair, placed it in front of the cooker and leaned over the cookies breathing in their tasty smell. "Just a small one," he begged, looking pleadingly at the old hobbit.

Bilbo chuckled. "Well, a small one won't do any harm. But you've got to be careful. They're still very hot."

Frodo grinned, his eyes sparkling and, taking away the biggest cookie, he jumped from the chair. Bilbo shook his head and smiled.

He followed Frodo into the garden, took a seat on the bench and filled his pipe. Thoughtfully he observed Frodo, who was sitting on top of a sand hill, digging his fingers into the mud, forming strange figures and humming delightedly to himself as he did so.

The sun was setting, plunging the sky into a bright red. Frodo's dark form emerged from the evening light. Bilbo called for him, telling the lad to get cleaned and then come into the kitchen to have some supper. Frodo immediately did as he was bidden, while Bilbo headed for the kitchen to get dinner ready.

Their meal was soon finished and Frodo helped his uncle with the dishes. Afterwards the two of them sat in the living room. It was not long ere Frodo asked for a story. To fulfil this desire was a pleasure for Bilbo.

He lit his pipe and leaned back in his seat. Frodo, sitting on the floor beside the fireside, watched him expectantly. "It was one morning long ago," he began. "I sat beside the door of Bag End, smoking a pipe, when Gandalf came by. Although I didn't know him at first, I greeted him."

"Was he very angry, when you didn't recognize him?" Frodo wanted to know.

Bilbo chuckled. "I don't think so. And if he was, he didn't show it. Anyway, when I finally found out who he was (and after he had said much about me, the grandson of the Old Took, not knowing him from the beginning) he had already come up with the idea of an adventure."

Bilbo underlined the last word as if it was the most unbelievable thing that could happen. Frodo grinned, knowing all too well of his uncle's liking for adventures. "You need to know, my lad that I wasn't so fond of adventures back then. You know, we Bagginses were considered respectable. We never had any adventures or did anything unexpected."

"But now they do!" Frodo laughed. "Or at least you did so, when Gandalf came back the next day."

"Indeed!" Bilbo smiled. "And that was very unlike me. All these dwarves had made me quite confused. Thirteen of them were just enough for one poor hobbit like me."

"Thirteen?" Frodo's eyes grew wide. "Did you have enough chairs for all of them? There's no room in Bag End for thirteen dwarves, is there?"

Bilbo chuckled, tousling the boy's hair. "There was room for all of them and for Gandalf, who came with the last troop."

Frodo's eyes grew even wider, sparkling with wonder. "Did Gandalf show any magic tricks? I'm sure he must've bewitched Bag End, otherwise the dwarves would never have had enough room."

Bilbo laughed out loud. "My dear boy, you're underrating the spaciousness of Bag End. There is enough room for thirteen dwarves and I think there would be even enough for twenty or more dwarves."

Frodo looked around as if he wanted to satisfy himself that Bilbo was right. Finally convinced he turned his attention back to the old hobbit. "But what about Gandalf? Did he show any magic tricks?"

"Nothing very magical except blowing smoke rings and…"

"Smoke rings?" Frodo interrupted.

"Yes," Bilbo laughed, puffing his pipe and creating a smoke ring of his own. "Smoke rings."

Frodo watched the smoke ring with delight, as it rose above his head and faded before it could touch anything in the chamber. His eyes reflected the dazzling flames of the crackling fire. "Will you show me how to blow smoke rings when I'm older?" the child wanted to know.

"Of course," Bilbo assured him, ruffling the dark curls of his nephew.

Grinning broadly Frodo looked at him with shining eyes. "Do you think I'll see Gandalf one day?"

Bilbo thought for a moment, before answering. "You're very fond of Gandalf, aren't you?"

Frodo nodded. "Of Gandalf, and of Elves and Dwarves and…" he made a gesture as if he wanted to show his uncle the whole world "… and of adventures."
He sighed, his eyes shimmering dreamily.

"Adventures, eh?" Bilbo said, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know what we'll do about that but, as for Gandalf, I think you'll see him sooner or later."

The two of them kept talking late into the night. The fire cast long dancing shadows on the wall. The eyes of the child glistened with curiosity, as he kept interrupting Bilbo, who didn't get very far with his story. As someone knocked at the front door, Frodo ran to open it. His parents greeted him delightedly and he jumped into their arms bursting into a bubble of words. "He baked biscuits and told me a story and… oh, Mama, it was wonderful!"

Frodo's eyes sparkled, as if they wished to outdo all the stars in the night sky. He smiled contently, as he leaned his head against his mother's shoulder.

***

The image disappeared. The shimmering eyes faded. There he sat, his eyes still veiled by a shadow of agony. Frodo, who once had been as happy a child as one could wish. Bilbo felt tears stinging in his eyes and, blinking them away he laid an arm about the little one and pulled him closely. A soft whimper escaped the boy's lips.

Bilbo closed his eyes. It should not be that a child so joyous as he had been should suffer so much. He would do everything to see those sea-blue eyes sparkle with happiness again.

Frodo buried his face in the old hobbit's cloak to avoid seeing the Master of Buckland throwing a shovel of soil into a hole in the ground where his parents now lay. He swallowed the tears that were welling up inside him. Instead he concentrated on the chilliness of his body. He was soaked through and terribly cold and he felt very tired.

Bilbo seemed to recognize this, for suddenly he said: "Come, my lad, let's get back home and warm ourselves up. You should not become ill again."

He nodded weakly and got to his feet. Rory patted him on the back as he passed them by and Frodo could hear him telling Bilbo that they would meet afterwards. He had no idea for what reason and looked questioningly at Bilbo, but he would say nothing.

Taking Frodo's hand, Bilbo watched the boy sadly. It would be a terrible loss for the world if those eyes would not regain their cheerfulness. He desperately wanted Frodo to smile again and he would try everything to give him back his carefreeness as soon as he had talked with Rory.

Chapter eight: A Great Deal of Discussion

A fire was crackling in the hearth of Rorimac's study. The flames glimmered uneasily. A heavy silence filled the room oppressing the hearts of the attendant hobbits. Rain pattered against the window, which shut out the freezing cold of the dreary lands outside.

Rory sighed and stood up from his seat, looking at each of the members of the Baggins and the Brandybuck families which were gathered in his study.

"I thank you all that you have come," he said, his voice again the respectful voice of the head of the Brandybuck family. Still there were dark rings under his eyes, revealing that he hadn't had much sleep the last three days. "I wish we could have met under different circumstances. The loss of Drogo and Primula is hard to bear for all of us, but the hardest lot has fallen to Frodo. He is the reason why I called you to this meeting. What is to become of him now that he is orphaned? Where shall he live from now on? Who will look after him?"

There was a short pause. Various hobbits exchanged quick glances, but no one spoke. Rory continued: "As he is my youngest nephew and the only child of my sister I thought he could stay here in Buckland. He has friends here and many children who may distract him from his grief. Still this is not only my decision. He has friends and relatives in the Westfarthing too. Dora, you were Drogo's sister, may I ask you what you think about it?"

Dora Baggins, an old and frail-looking hobbit woman got to her feet. She nodded at Rorimac, who sat down again. Her eyes wandered from one to the other. Dudo and Bilbo Baggins who were sitting on the chairs beside her, Rorimac and Menegilda with their sons Merimac and Saradoc, who was holding his wife's hand tightly. All of Primula's brothers and sisters were also present, together with some other Brandybuck folk.

"I may look older than I am," she finally began, "but in fact I am old. I love the boy and I would gladly adopt him, but he is a very bright child. Too bright for an old woman like me, I daresay. I for my part would leave him in Buckland as well. In Brandy Hall are many women who may keep a tight reign on a boy his age."

Dora sat down again, waiting for someone other to speak.

The fire crackled, as Saradas Brandybuck stood up. "Rory and Dora are right," he declared. "There are many people to care for the boy, young and old ones. Furthermore in Brandy Hall he finds the best conditions to learn whatever he wants to learn. We have books of all kinds and all of us are skilled in reading and writing and he will not be the only child who has to practice this."

Sitting down again, Saradas earned many approval nods.

Bilbo Baggins shook his head. "I don't agree." Being the oldest hobbit in the room, he had the privilege of staying in a sitting position. All eyes turned to him.

"What do you mean?" Rory asked.

"I mean," Bilbo began in a calm tone, "that Frodo really can find everything in Brandy Hall he may look for, concerning books, friends and things like this. But what he really needs, especially now, are parents, or people who try to be like parents to him."

Rory raised an eyebrow. "And you don't think we could be this for him?"

"I haven't said that," Bilbo said. "I know you all love the boy and I have no doubt you all will care for him."

"Where is the problem then?" Saradas asked slightly angrily.

"The problem is that you will care for him now that your wounds are fresh too. But those wounds will heal, yours and his as well, though his probably will take longer. But what then? Will you forget about the son of your sister, seeing in him only a child like every other child in Brandy Hall? Or will you go on caring for him, like every parent would do?"

Several Brandybucks looked at Bilbo furiously. Hushed murmurs filled the room. Dora looked at him in astonishment. Also Esmeralda's angry eyes rested on Bilbo, observing every movement of his. But Bilbo did not move. He sat calmly, waiting for an answer.

"Do you want to say that you wish to adopt the child?" Dora asked, looking at him, as if she was rebuking a young hobbit-lad.

Bilbo shook his head and wanted to answer back, but she continued talking. "You're crazy if you wish to do so. You're twelve years older than I am and though you seem to have perpetual youth even you will die one day. And what's even more, you're a bachelor! You don't know anything about raising children. Do you think Frodo will find things any easier living in Bag End?"

Bilbo said nothing. Dora's words had shut him up. She was right and he knew that all too well. What would he do with a twelve-year-old child running about in Bag End? Having Frodo for a day or two to stay with him was no problem. But adopting him would mean having him around all day. That would be the end of his travels around the Shire and of the peaceful quietness at home. And what if the boy fell ill? He knew barely anything about how he could help him. Dora was right. Just the thought of adopting Frodo was foolish.

"Dora's right, Bilbo," Rory said, getting up from his chair once more. "What would you do with the lad in Bag End? But concerning your question, at least I would not abandon Frodo."

"You're as foolish as Bilbo," Dora told him, finally lifting from her chair. She shook her head. If those Brandybucks and Bagginses didn't come to their senses on their own, she had to bring them there.

Rory looked at her stunned. "Don't look at me like this," she said. "Don't you see it yourself? You can't truly act as a parent for him. You're as old as I am and you don't have the time for a child as young as he is. You're the Master of Buckland. You've other responsibilities, many responsibilities I daresay - too many to accept an obligation towards Frodo."

Rory looked at her disbelievingly. "I may have many responsibilities, but there is also Menegilda who will support me with the lad. And there are others…"

"And that's exactly the problem!" Bilbo interrupted. "Frodo doesn't need others! Of course it's good that there are others he may turn to, but what he needs is one or maybe two parental figures."

A sudden, discomforting silence filled the room. The fire crackled uneasily. The very air seemed to vibrate with suspense. Meaningful and astonished glances were exchanged, but no one said anything. Rory and Bilbo stared at each other, their eyes full of stubbornness. None of them would back down.

Esmeralda, who had listened to the discussion intently, sat quietly, fumbling with her fingers uneasily, staring blankly into the dancing flames. All of them were right. Brandy Hall was the best place for Frodo to stay, but Rory had too many other responsibilities to adopt him. Still Frodo needed one particular person to care for him and not many. So why should not she…?

Saradoc stared at her in amazement, as she suddenly got to her feet. "Bilbo is right. He needs one person to look after him, one family. Why not Saradoc and I? He would stay in Brandy Hall. And…" she turned towards Dora "I'm young enough for a boy of his age."

Dora nodded, a smile playing in the corner of her lips. Satisfied she sat down again. Rory and Bilbo (and many other Brandybucks) stared at her, their mouths open.

Saradoc sat there utterly amazed. He was not quite sure if he had understood everything that was just said. He stood up and looked into his wife's eyes. "Esmie, do you know what you're saying?" he asked.

Esmeralda nodded. "Yes, darling. I wish Frodo to be our foster son."

"But… but, do you know what this means?" he stammered, still unable to believe his ears.

She nodded again. Her eyes were sad and pleading at the same time. "You know I love him. I have spent so many sleepless hours the last few days, just to be with him, to make sure he is all right. He needs someone like us. And we, we want to have children, so why not him? He could be our son, he just would be a little bit older."

Saradoc swallowed, pondering her words for a moment. The fire cast shadows on his face. Esmeralda watched him intently. She thought she would burst, if he didn't answer soon. But finally he nodded. "You're probably right. He needs someone, someone like you. Maybe we should be his foster parents and he shall be like our own son to us."

She smiled, tears of joy glistening in her eyes as she kissed him.

Rorimac smiled too. He turned his gaze towards Bilbo expectantly. The old hobbit sat quietly for a moment, his face showing nothing of what he might be thinking. Suddenly he spoke again. "I think the two of them will look after him well enough. But if you don't, you'll have to fear the wrath of Bilbo Baggins."

Esmeralda laughed. "I hope it will never come to that."

A smile crept over Bilbo's face, as he looked at Rory. The Master of Buckland nodded, knowing what he wanted to say. "It may be our decision that Frodo should stay with my son and Esmeralda, but still we should not ignore the boy's opinion."

The crowd nodded in approval.

"May someone go and get Frodo?" Rormiac asked.

***

After they had returned to Brandy Hall Bilbo had led Frodo into his room, where he had changed his clothes. Afterwards the two of them went into the living room, where they sat by the tiled stove, talking to each other. That meant Bilbo did most of the talking, Frodo just sat and listened.

It was not long until Rorimac came towards them and told Bilbo that it was time to join the others. "We will meet in my study," Rory had said.

Frodo looked at Bilbo curiously, after Rory had gone again. "What will you talk about?"

Bilbo smiled, happy that the lad showed some sign of interest again. "You'll hear that soon enough," he said, tousling the boy's curls.

Be that as it may, soon enough was too long a time to wait for Frodo. Curious as he was, he followed Bilbo. Many of his aunts and uncles were going into Rory's study too. As he peeked around the corner, he wondered what could be so important that all of them met in the Master's study.

"What are you up to?"

Startled Frodo turned around to see Marmeric standing behind him, eating some bread with honey and grinning broadly.

"Don't scare me like this!" Frodo told him, taking a deep breath and sighing in relief.

Marmeric smiled innocently.

"They are discussing something," he explained, "but Bilbo won't tell me what about, so I'll go and find out myself."

"Great, I'll join you!" Marmeric exclaimed delightedly.

"Hush," whispered Frodo, putting a finger to his lip. Marmeric winced, nodding his head and eating the last bit of his bread.

Together the two of them tiptoed towards the study. Leaning his head at the door, Frodo listened intently. "I wish we could have met under different circumstances. The loss of Drogo and Primula is hard to bear for all of us, but the hardest lot has fallen to Frodo," he heard Rory saying.

Frodo bit his lip.

"They are talking about you!" Marmeric exclaimed. "Have you done some mischief?

Putting his finger to his lip, Frodo shook his head. Marmeric fell silent again.

"But why should they talk about you then?" the boy suddenly asked.

Frodo shrugged and was just about to tell him again that they need to be quiet, when Daisy called for them. Frodo rolled his eyes back. If she joined them, they would soon be caught.

"What are you boys doing here?" she asked.

"Nothing," Frodo whispered angrily.

"We are eavesdropping on a conversation between Rorimac and some other hobbits. They're talking about Frodo," Marmeric explained helpfully.

"How boring!" she proclaimed. "I'm sure you'll get into some trouble as soon as they're finished. If you have not done some mischief before they will punish you for eavesdropping on their conversation."

Frodo shot her a glance, sighing dramatically.

"They wouldn't catch me if you could afford being quiet for a little while," he whispered.

"I'm sorry Mr. if-they-catch-me-it's-your-fault," she snorted and turned around. "Come, Marmeric, I'm sure Master Pest will do better if we leave him alone."

Marmeric got to his feet and followed her. Frodo groaned in frustration. For a moment he was tempted to follow them, but then he heard Bilbo saying his name and something about Brandy Hall, so he stayed and listened, hoping that no one would catch him there.

Frodo listened to every word of the conversation in Rorimac's study, sometimes biting his lip, sometimes swallowing hard. They seemed to be discussing his future and not just discussing it, but quarrelling about it. He didn't want them to quarrel because of him.

His future. They talked about it, because he did not belong anywhere. Without his parents he was orphaned. He did not exactly know what this word meant, but he had heard other hobbits use it when they talked about him. Orphaned. The word had a bitter taste for him. It made him feel lost - more lost than he already felt. Why could not his parents help him?

'Because they're dead,' one part of his mind called.

Death, sudden darkness. Blackness.

Frodo could almost feel the black pool of darkness moving towards him again. Tears stung in his eyes and he tried to blink them away.

Then he heard Esmeralda talking. "I wish Frodo to be our foster son."

He, foster son of Saradoc and Esmeralda? Could that really be possible? What was it like to be a foster child? Was it different from being a 'normal' child? Could foster parents be the same as real parents? More tears burned in his eyes as his thought returned to his parents.

Their faces were pale, their eyes hollow and their lips were of a bluish colour.

He shook his head violently in order to banish the horrible image.

"It may be our decision that Frodo should stay with my son and Esmeralda, but still we should not ignore the boy's opinion. May someone go and get Frodo?" Frodo's eyes grew wide. With a dart he jumped away form the door and dashed along the corridor towards the living room, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. They mustn't find him eavesdropping.

***

When Saradas, who was in charge of finding Frodo, returned into the study the young lad followed him. He was staring on the ground, but ever and anon his eyes peered at the present hobbits nervously.

"Come, Frodo, take a seat beside me," Rorimac offered with a smile, pointing at a chair by his side.

The young hobbit did as he was asked, looking shyly at his uncle, fumbling with his fingers awkwardly.

"Don't be afraid," Rory said.

"I'm not afraid," Frodo told him, looking at all the faces around him apprehensively. It was true, he was not scared, but he felt small, so terribly small with all those eyes observing him.

Rory took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "We just talked about you, Frodo," he stammered, trying feverishly to find the right words.

Frodo looked at him with a puzzled expression, as if he hadn't known that already.

"In fact we were talking about where you should live from now on. We've pondered a long while and finally we agreed that it is probably best if you stay in Brandy Hall, with Esmeralda and Saradoc as your foster parents. Still we wish to know if that is all right for you or if you're not pleased with our decision."

Frodo frowned, looking first at Rorimac, then at Esmeralda and finally his gaze wandered through the crowd of hobbits. He swallowed. They were all waiting for him to make a decision?

The boy seemed to shrink in his chair. Why did they want him to decide? How should he know what would be I, as Rory called it? They wished to know if it was all right for him to stay in Brandy Hall with Esmie and Sara as his foster parents? It was not! He didn't want to have foster parents. He wanted his parents. If only they could be with him now and help him.

He shifted uncomfortably. Why did he have to decide something as serious as this?

'Mama, Papa, help me!' his mind cried desperately.

But there was no answer. No one was there to help him. He was alone. His body tensed. He felt his fingers trembling. "You can't ask for something like this," he whispered hesitantly, his face a mask of desperation, fear and angriness.

"What do you mean, my lad?" Rory asked placing a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder.

Frodo glared at him and pushed his arm away. "I don't want to decide this! I don't want foster parents, but my parents! And I don't want to be here with people like you, deciding things I don't even know what they bring about."

He looked at each of them, his eyes resting a little longer on Esmeralda than on the others. She looked as if he had just beaten her. Her eyes, full of pity and sadness, were wide open.

Frodo jumped from his chair and tramped out of the room.

"Frodo!" Rory called and was about to follow the boy, but Menegilda stopped him.

"Leave him. Give him some time. He will soon understand."

Esmeralda looked at her mother-in-law sadly, hot tears stinging in her eyes, her lower lip trembling slightly. Saradoc laid his arms about her. "Give him some time," he said repeating his mother's words, "just a little time."

Chapter nine: Hope

Frodo sat on his bed, not knowing if he should be angry or sad. He had pulled his legs close and wrapped his arms about them. His head rested on his knees, as he looked out of the window. The rain had stopped for the time being. Some lonely raindrops were dripping from the window frame.

Frodo sighed. He felt like one of those raindrops. Being among so many other hobbits and still feeling lonely. Falling, like the raindrop from the window frame, not knowing when and where he would reach the ground.

'Everything will be all right' she had said in what now seemed like long ages ago.

Nothing was all right. Nothing. He had been looking forward to returning to Hobbiton again. Back to his friends he hadn't seen for so long, back to his own cosy little room where he had spent many a night imagining going on an adventure like Bilbo did. But his relatives had decided different. He should spend the rest of his life in Buckland, being the foster son of Saradoc and Esmeralda. He shuddered. Foster son, foster parents, foster family, all these words tasted as bitter as orphaned did.

Frodo suddenly felt cold and grabbed for the blanket, wrapping it about his body. If only he could turn back time. Back to the evening after they had picked mushrooms, the evening when the world still was all right. Only this time he would not propose to go boating, but to go home, leaving Buckland as quick as they could. They would leave behind everything: the river, the pain, the fear, the sorrow and words like orphaned and foster parents. He would be happy, holding his parents tightly and never letting go of them again.

But he could not do this. He suspected that even a great wizard like Gandalf could not turn back time. Why did she not promise? Maybe everything would have turned out different if his mother had promised him to come back.Wrapping his blanket closer, Frodo snivelled.

Someone knocked at the door. "Frodo, may I come in?" it was Bilbo's voice.

"No", the boy answered being not in the mood for talking.

The door opened anyhow and Bilbo's curly head appeared. He smiled. Frodo eyed him suspiciously.
"I don't want to decide anything," he said, "So you need not talk to me about it."

"That's all right, for I don't want to talk," Bilbo answered.

The lad frowned, watching the old hobbit as he came closer.

"I just thought I may sit with you for a while."

Frodo's brow knitted even more. "Just sit?" he asked hesitantly.

Bilbo nodded. Frodo sat quiet for a moment, but finally he moved over a bit. He didn't look at Bilbo as the old hobbit sat down beside him, but ever and anon he sneaked a glance at him curiously. The room was silent expect for Frodo's sniffs every once a while. Bilbo handed him a handkerchief (which the boy gladly accepted) to wipe his nose.

Frodo tugged at the waistband of his shirt nervously. "You do wish to speak, am I right?" he suddenly said.

Bilbo shrugged. "Maybe. Do you?"

Frodo stared out of the window, pretending not to be interested. There was a long pause. "I don't know," he said, shifting uncomfortably, peering at Bilbo, but averting his eyes after recognizing that the old hobbit was observing him closely.

Bilbo bit his lip, to keep himself from talking. He knew Frodo would talk sooner or later, he just had to wait. For if he began to speak, everything would be in vain, he wouldn't get a word out of Frodo. So he waited, calmly, observing the lad with a keen eye.

Frodo suddenly seemed very busy with his blanket. He kept unwrapping it, only to snuggle himself in again. Also his room had become very interesting, for he was looking into every corner, always casting a quick sideway glance at Bilbo, who pretended not to notice it.

The boy was nervous. Bilbo could feel it clearly. Frodo wished to speak, only he was not sure if he should dare it. Was he afraid or didn't he want to discuss matters like this with him or anybody else? He decided to wait a little longer.

Silence, except for the rustling of the coverlet with which Frodo still fumbled restlessly and the hushed murmurs of some hobbits who were passing the room. Finally Bilbo couldn't wait any longer. He drew a deep breath and then, to his surprise, Frodo was speaking.

"I can't go back to Hobbiton, can I?" he looked at him for a moment, then lowered his eyes again. "I mean, back home. I can't go there all alone."

Bilbo felt a sting in his heart, as he heard Frodo's voice. This was not the sullen, stubborn tone the lad had used before. Now his voice was incredibly sad with a touch of fear in it. He reached out his hand, to lay an arm about the little one's shoulder, but he drew away.

Withdrawing his hand, Bilbo sighed. It made no sense to lie to the boy. "I fear not, my lad."

Frodo nodded, fighting back his tears bravely. "I knew that," he said, swallowing hard "I mean without my parents I can't go anywhere. I don't have any choice but to stay in Brandy Hall." Frodo looked out of the window again, clutching his blanket tightly. A shiver ran through the small body.

Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment. If only he could wrap his arms about the child and tell him that everything would be all right. But he knew that nothing would be all right, at least not for Frodo.

As he opened his eyes again, Frodo was looking at him questioningly. "Brandy Hall is not that bad a place to stay. You have many opportunities here that you wouldn't have if you stayed in Hobbiton with Dora or me."

"What kind of opportunities do you mean? Other children? There are plenty of them all around Hobbiton and I know almost everyone there. Books? You have many books at Bag End so why… why can't I stay in Hobbiton? With you, maybe, if it's not possible to go to my own home."

The big blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, as he looked at the old hobbit pleadingly. Bilbo, again, reached out his hand, but remembered that Frodo didn't whish to be hugged. "I can't" he whispered sadly.

A single sob escaped Frodo's throat and the boy immediately bit his lip to keep from crying.

Bilbo looked at him, his eyes almost as sad as Frodo's were. "You see, my lad, you're still so very young. You don't need some…" he managed a small smile "…old bachelor like me. You need someone like Esmie and Saradoc to care for you…"

Frodo glared at him angrily. "How do you know what I need? You don't know! No one does!" There was a short pause. "Not anymore."

The last words he whispered so quietly that Bilbo barely heard them. "Frodo…"

"You should go now," the boy said sulkily, fighting back his tears so hard that his body trembled.

"I won't," Bilbo said determinedly. "Give me just a few more minutes to speak and if you then still wish me to leave, I'll go."

Frodo looked at him with a stunned expression, but said nothing. He stared out of the window, where the rain had started again.

"You may be right that I don't know what you need," he began, "In fact, I'm sure you're right. I don't know much about raising children and that became clear to me when we talked before in Rory's study. That is also the reason why I think it's better for you to stay in Brandy Hall. They know how to care for you, whatever happens. And folk here love you, Frodo. Especially Esmeralda. You haven't seen her, when she spoke before, you haven't even heard what she said."

"I did," Frodo said, forgetting that he had been there in secret.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, but didn't show any more interest in it and kept talking. "She loves you dearly, Frodo. I think she would do anything to see you laugh again." He waited a moment before adding: "And so would I."

Frodo's face wore a surprised expression. Bilbo could see that the boy was tempted to look at him again, but he didn't take his eyes away from the falling rain outside.

"I know, foster parents will never take the place of real parents, but I think Esmie and Sara would try their best to come as close to a parent as possible."

Frodo shuddered. There it was again. Foster parents. He wouldn't come round to having foster parents. Another sob escaped his lips and finally he couldn't hold back his tears any longer. "I don't want to forget them," he whispered, clutching his blanket so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Bilbo looked at him with a mixture of pity and surprise. "Forget? Who?"

"My parents!" Frodo cried out and stared at him with a despairing glimmer in his eyes.

Bilbo took a deep breath in reached out his hands once more. This time Frodo sank gladly into his warm embrace. "Why do you think something like this?" Bilbo whispered, unable to believe what he had just heard.

Frodo gasped for breath. "I will get foster parents" he sobbed "Saradoc and Esmeralda will … will …" he gasped again "… they will become my parents and I… I" sobbing, he buried his face in Bilbo's shirt "I will forget about who my real parents are… I … I will forget Mama and Papa!"

Bilbo closed his eyes, swallowing his own tears. "No, Frodo. You mustn't think that. You will not forget your parents. Esmie and Sara will never take your parents' place, they just want to care for you like parents would."

"But…" Frodo gasped "… but my parents are gone. I… I've lost them." He lifted his head to look into Bilbo's dark eyes. "They will never return to me."

"My dear boy" Bilbo whispered close to tears, stroking the child's dark curls. "They may've died, but they're still with you."

"With me?" Frodo sobbed, swallowing hard, looking at the old hobbit questioningly. "Where?"

He looked about, as if expecting to see his parents standing by his side.

Bilbo took one of the child's small hands in his own and placed it on Frodo's chest, right where his heart lay. "They are right here, here in your heart. And there they will always be. Never will anyone take their place. You will not forget them."

Frodo swallowed, looking at his hand, then at Bilbo and finally at his hand again. "I will not?" he asked hesitantly.

Bilbo shook his head and tried to smile a little, while he stroked Frodo's wet cheek with the back of his other hand.

"No, I'll not" Frodo reassured himself, snivelling as a last tear dripped down his cheek.

***

Time passed, while Frodo took comfort in Bilbo's arms. They had spoken about coming to Hobbiton again, but didn't talk very much now. Frodo had closed his eyes and would have seemed to be asleep if not for his hand. From time to time it wandered to his heart to ensure himself that he would never forget those who were dearest to him.

As Bilbo stroked the lad's dark curls he remembered what Menegilda had told him about the boy's aversion to bathing. Maybe he should try to show the lad that there wasn't any peril in taking a bath, for now that he looked more closely, he could see that the little one's hair looked as if it badly needed to be washed.

"What do you think of a good, hot bath now?" he asked cheerfully.

"A bath?" Frodo looked up frowning. A shiver ran through his body and he shook his head determinedly. "I don't think I need one."

"But you do, my dear lad. I think it won't do any harm." Bilbo winked.

Frodo eyed him suspiciously, not sure what he should think of all this.

"Come" Bilbo suddenly said, standing up and taking him by the hand "We'll see what we can find."

Frodo followed him hesitantly into the bathroom, where Bilbo immediately put on some water. Meanwhile the old hobbit prepared a basin and filled it with a little bit of the cold water. He splashed his hand into it and chuckled. "A bit cold, maybe, but that will change soon."

Frodo stood in the corner of the room and watched him suspiciously. When the hot water was finished Bilbo poured it into the basin and tested the temperature with his hand again. "Wonderful" he sighed, as he put some soap in it and then, looking at Frodo, he asked: "Won't you try it?"

Frodo shook his head. "If it's so wonderful you should bathe yourself."

Bilbo chuckled. "That I could do, but I want you to bathe."

Frodo paced back towards the door, preparing to leave the room. Bilbo was by his side with a swiftness Frodo didn't believe him to be capable of. Frodo backed away. "Don't make me go into the water!"

Bilbo sighed. "I don't want to make you go into it, but I want you to step into the water out of your own will."

"I won't!" the boy exclaimed, a touch of fear in his voice.

"Why not?" Bilbo wanted to know.

Frodo said nothing, but lowered his eyes. For a moment Bilbo feared the boy would stop speaking to him, but then Frodo looked at him again, if only for an instant. "I will drown" he whispered.

It is so very cold and dark. Black spots are dancing before his eyes as he can't hold his breath any longer. The cold arm of fear clutches him and makes him feel sick. He is drowning. He knows there are tears burning in his eyes but he doesn't feel them due to the water all around him.

A shiver ran through the boy's body and he gasped for breath.

"Frodo, no!" Bilbo cried, as he kneeled down and grasped the boy's shoulder.

Frodo's eyes opened wide and he jumped back. He shuddered and looked at Bilbo, his eyes wet with tears.

"You won't drown" Bilbo assured him. "I'll stay by your side and, if anything happens, you can come out immediately."

Frodo shook his head.

"I give you my word" Bilbo said.

The boy didn't answer, but looked at Bilbo thoughtfully. His gaze wandered to the basin and then back to Bilbo. "I … I might try…" he stammered after a long while.

Bilbo smiled and led him to the basin, when Frodo suddenly stopped. "But you, you have to stay with me."

"I will" Bilbo promised.

Carefully Frodo tested the water with his fingers and after a while he dived his whole arm into the basin. Still it took some time until he finally decided to take off his shirt and bid Bilbo to turn around so he could also undress his breeches. Warily he stepped into the water and sat down, clutching the basin with both his hands.

Bilbo sat by his side, a sponge in his hands which he used to drip some water over the boy's shoulder to show him that there was nothing to be afraid of. Frodo was very tense all the time, but the memory of the joy of bathing soon returned to him. Still he didn't want to plunge his head under water, but even that he managed after some time of waiting and fighting fears and memories of the past days.

***

It was evening, when Frodo and Bilbo stepped out of the bathroom together. Esmeralda was crossing their way, as they headed for the kitchen. She stared at them in amazement.

"Have you two been bathing?" she asked, smelling the fresh odour of mint.

"He has been," Bilbo said, pointing at Frodo.

Frodo grinned and ran into the kitchen. Esmeralda still could do nothing but stare. "How have you done this?" she asked utterly surprised.

Bilbo just shrugged and followed Frodo.

"Will you tell me a story?" Frodo asked Bilbo, after they had eaten their dinner.

Bilbo chuckled. "Of course, my boy!"

Frodo smiled happily, a light twinkle in his eyes. "One with Elves and Dwarves? And… and Gandalf?"

"Everything you wish" Bilbo laughed, glad to see those eyes shine again after so long a time. He hoped their light would never fade again

Esmie and Saradoc looked at him, bidding him good night. Frodo looked at Bilbo for a moment, then turned to face the two of them. "Good night, Auntie Esmie. Good night, Uncle Saradoc."

Frodo lowered his eyes, thoughtfully placing his hand upon his heart. Then, taking a deep breath, he suddenly hugged Esmeralda, kissed her cheek and whispered: "Thank you." With that he turned and dashed away, shouting for Bilbo to follow him.

Esmeralda looked at Bilbo, stunned. "What have you done with him?" she asked, her voice full of wonder and joy.

Bilbo shrugged. "He is marvel."

"He is indeed" Saradoc said, completely surprised himself.

Bilbo chuckled and turned to follow Frodo. "Well, there's a story to be told!"

Epilogue

Raindrops were falling on his head, wet and cold. The wind was singing, swirling the leaves about him. A shiver ran through his soaked body.

The trees of the nearby forest loomed up ominously. An eerie whisper went through their boughs, as the wind whipped their branches, making the last leaves that were still clinging to life swirl to the ground.

Falling, dying like a leaf in autumn. Hauled off life by wind and rain and darkness. It lingered still, the darkness, and so did his pain, devouring, engulfing, drowning. A black pool that swallowed everything. He had been swallowed and now he was falling, falling like a raindrop, not knowing when and where he would reach the ground.

Darkness. Blackness was before his eyes and everywhere else. Nothing. And there was no one to keep him from falling.

He sank to his knees. The autumn-aster in his hands fell silently on the ground. Hot tears were burning in his eyes. His hand reached out to touch the cold stone. Cold and dead.
The hood of his cloak hung into his face, concealing his tears, as his fingers stroke over their engraved names. His quiet sobs mingled with the silent sighing of the wind and the soft sound of dripping water. It was the sad melody of grief, the feeling of darkness.

He winced, as someone grabbed his shoulder. His vision was bleared, as he turned around, blinking, for he was dazzled by a light, which seemed too bright for the darkness of the night.

"You should not be out here in the pouring rain" a loving voice said "Come, let's go back home."

A hand reached out for him. He looked at it thoughtfully, while the wind was hissing in his ears. Lifting his head, he grabbed the hand. Its touch felt warm to his cold fingers. The figure in the light smiled at him warmly. As he struggled to his feet, he perceived Esmeralda, who held a lantern in one of her hands. Blinking away his tears, he smiled at her.

One last time he turned around placing his hand upon his heart and closing his eyes for a moment in silent remembrance of those who were dearest to him.
He didn't realise that the autumn-aster was blown away as he slowly walked back towards Brandy Hall, his new home.

There was darkness, but there was also light. He would cling to that light and defeat the shadows, no matter how long it would take.

~THE END~