- ‘And so I have made a decision, Frodo lad. A decision I’m sure you’re going to accept for I have witnessed for myself how unhappy you are there. I have considered it several times but I still think that this plan is the best. I’m asking you to come to Bag End to live here – for good. It won’t be just as a holiday anymore, Frodo, but you will stay here, eat, drink, study, sleep, oh! And I will teach you the Elven language that you’re so fond of. You will have the chance to read any books you want, not just the ones I choose for you. You will have your own bedroom, the one you have always slept in every time you visit me, and you may use the study as well. You will have the kitchen all for yourself whenever you please. You can cook and bake any food you want without having to be bothered by others and to worry they will get the food first. You…’

Frodo’s eyes bulged out at the unbelievable things mentioned as he continued reading Bilbo’s letter. This was real, he tried to convince himself. The letter was truly for him and the ‘you’ Bilbo referred to in it was he, Frodo!

The content of this piece of paper was like a dream come true, and the world suddenly changed. Frodo could not believe that just several minutes ago, before the boy delivering this letter found him in the porch and handed that to him, his life still seemed to be bleak and dark. But now!

There was someone, the only one actually, that Frodo was dying to tell of this great news. Merry! His younger cousin would certainly feel happy, too.

Frodo rose from where he was lying and strode quickly down the steps to the backyard where Merry was often found swinging on one of the strong limbs of a tree. Merry, several years younger than Frodo, was as agile as a monkey, and Frodo loved him so. Merry was in fact the only Brandy Hall inhabitant Frodo could open his heart to.

“Merry!” Frodo chirped cheerfully, standing under the branch. He had been correct that Merry was there, straddling that big branch, legs swinging freely. Merry lay on his stomach, hugging the branch. Resting his right cheek against the bark of the tree, Merry gazed down at Frodo lazily.

“Good news, Frodo?” he asked, and then yelped a little when Frodo pulled at one of his ankles.

“Come on down! I’ll show you something.” Frodo pretended to be about to tug Merry down again. Not wanting to crash onto the ground beneath him, Merry slung both legs to one side and, grumbling impatiently, hopped down.

“It’d better be good or---“

“Aw, come on!” Frodo dragged Merry to sit down on the silky grass and thrust the carelessly folded paper into his cousin’s hand. The younger hobbit was silently wondering what this was all about —this news that could bring stars into Frodo’s beautiful eyes.

“Read it,” Frodo said softly, bracing himself for Merry’s reaction.

The urgency in Frodo’s voice made Merry even more hesitant to comply. Frodo had never looked so bright and happy before during his stay in Brandy Hall. Whatever was in that letter had successfully broken the ice. Somehow Merry could guess what the letter had told Frodo.

Merry opened the letter slowly. The brittle sound of the paper seemed to be the only sound audible in that big field. Frodo was still smiling but no sound escaped his lips.

Merry threw him a brief glance before his eyes finally skimmed down the lines. Once in a while his eyes turned to Frodo, a cousin who almost seemed like a brother to him. Frodo, on the other hand, leant forward, impatient at Merry’s slowness to respond.

“Well? What do you think?”

Frodo still had to wait for a couple of minutes. Merry did take his time. He finally looked up slowly, folding the letter like it was before, but did not give it back to Frodo.

“You are leaving,” Merry pronounced each word slowly and carefully. There was a slight disappointment in his voice.

Frodo frowned. He hoped the grief in Merry’s tone was only his imagination.

“Yes, in two weeks,” replied Frodo. “Merry, aren’t you – happy for me?”

“I believe you are happy,” smiled Merry, struggling to hide his true feelings. Frodo was relieved to see the smile back on his beloved little friend’s lips. He got up and embraced Merry tenderly.

“I was nearly at a loss to describe it, Merry,” Frodo’s voice quivered a little. His eyes turned glassy, although smiles never ceased to adorn his small lips. He reached out at the letter that was still in Merry’s hand. He wondered a little at Merry’s too firm grip on it. Finally he snatched it away and let the strange incident pass.

***

Merry sighed deeply. He could understand that Frodo was overjoyed. Bilbo was Frodo’s closest friend, besides him, of course. Every time the old gentle hobbit paid a visit to Brandy Hall, he always brought a lot of things just for Frodo alone. Books, clothes, food, sweets, and sometimes even strange things he got from his journeys. The rich old bachelor knew Frodo would always welcome the souvenirs brought to him, and above all, Bilbo himself.

Without realizing it, Merry snorted. Always Frodo and not the others. A Baggins for a Baggins. Merry knew now what it was about. When you did not have a blood relation ---

But that was not true either. Frodo had a Brandybuck blood. So why did people seem to always ignore him? Was it because he was here without any parents that should have been there to take care of him? Merry realized Brandy Hall housed many families with their children. With the exception of Frodo, all those families were complete, with father, mother, and children. And that left Frodo alone in the midst of busy parents taking care of their OWN children.

Merry observed Frodo closely, his heart wrenched at seeing how Frodo reread the letter over and over.

“Listen to this, Merry,” Frodo said without lifting his eyes from the paper. “Bilbo said that I will have my own bedroom! Can you imagine that? After sharing one with so many children here---“

Frodo’s voice was fading away as Merry went back to his own reverie. Yes, he thought. That would be quite a change to have your own bedroom. Privacy cost a lot here. Even Merry did not have the privilege to have his own although his father, Saradoc Brandybuck, was the master of the house.

“And I can eat and drink anything I want, and anytime I want! I don’t have to wait for meal times or finish them directly without fearing it will be taken away.”

Merry was snatched back to reality. He glared at Frodo sharply, and spoke a bit more harshly than he’d intended.

“But it is you who never finish your food! Don’t blame my mother if she has to clear away what’s left!”

TBC

Merry was far from himself at the moment, his usual gentleness overwhelmed by a wave of jealousy and a sense of abandonment. He leapt up and stood looming over Frodo’s cross-legged figure. The young hobbit pointed his forefinger and wagged it at Frodo angrily, continuing blurting out his blind defense of his family.

“You’re the one who always comes late to lunch or dinner. You’re too busy taking pity on yourself and hiding in the library! Don’t blame us if you eat so slowly and can’t finish your meal on time.”

Frodo stared at Merry in dismay, gaping at his younger cousin. He fought the sudden tears, which threatened to break forth and forced himself instead to sit motionless on the grass that seemed to crumple beneath his weight. Merry stood before him, looking strong and confident, his face flushed with health and vigor. He was the image of a lad who lacked for nothing – nutrition, education, attention and love – the clear opposite of Frodo, a contrast of a strong and obvious kind.

Actually, the last thing that anyone should worry about regarding the orphaned boy was that he should lack for food. This he had, but Frodo was a perfect example of somebody struggling to grow up by himself otherwise. As a child, he had desperately tried to attach himself to an uncle or aunt, seeking to find a parental figure to fill the void in his life. Yet apart from ensuring that Frodo had his meals, although he was always late for them, those relatives were never by his side during critical times in his young life.

Frodo learned everything by himself, with the aid of the vague memories of those precious moments when his protective father and loving mother were still breathing. From the small things like buttoning his shirt to the more important lessons of knowing wrong from right, Frodo fended for himself. He had even discovered the merits of smoking pipeweed for himself.

Only one other individual seemed to care - Bilbo Baggins, Frodo’s cousin on his father’s side. Oftentimes Frodo would cling wordlessly to Bilbo, and the elderly hobbit would wisely see Frodo’s grief for himself and say, “I know this is really hard for you, lad.” It was that simple. Bilbo never said, “Don’t cry,” or “Everything will be all right.” He knew such advice for the useless thing it was, and he understood that things might slowly get better but would never mend entirely.

Unfortunately the old hobbit did not live nearby, but in Hobbiton. Their meetings were scarce and in the end, Bilbo could only support Frodo by providing things the boy needed.

And there was also Meriadoc Brandybuck, Frodo’s cousin and the son of the Master of Brandy Hall, the very proper dwelling where Frodo resided. Merry was not an arrogant young lad, nor was he a spoiled brat. Moreover, Merry was the only one besides Bilbo who managed to see beyond Frodo’s exterior and into the depths of the lad’s crestfallen heart.

For that very reason, Frodo trusted Merry with all his heart and decided to show him Bilbo’s letter. At first, Frodo had been positive that Merry would understand how happy he was, and that he would be supportive of his expression of his feelings.

Yet Frodo was wrong. He had misjudged the closeness of his relationship with his cousin and the possible reaction Merry’s Brandybuck stubbornness was likely to prompt.

Frodo realized that Merry was not finished with his rant. Clutching Bilbo’s letter so tightly that his knuckles grew white, Frodo could only swallow Merry’s next accusation.

“And what’s wrong with sharing a bedroom? The boys you share with are your own cousins and relatives. I think it’s good to have a shared bedroom for us all. We won’t grow to be individualistic and selfish that way.” Merry’s eyes flickered cynically as he spoke the next harsh sentence.

“How can you be so ungrateful?”

Frodo felt as if he were struck in the heart. NO! He wasn’t ungrateful! He wanted to shout his defense desperately, but no sound emerged from his lips. Instead, he felt his eyes swim with unshed tears. However, he was determined not to cry and he knew one thing for sure. He was NOT ungrateful.

Frodo was still sitting and holding the letter insensibly as Merry suddenly bent over, grasped the page in the center, and tore it from his grasp.

The sound of paper ripping registered in Frodo’s mind and it was too late when he realized what had happened. Bilbo’s letter was little more than shreds of parchment crumpled in his hands, and Merry now held most of it.

“Merry, the letter!” Frodo rose to confront Merry, but his cousin had turned around and fled for home. Frodo was left shaking from the shock of the verbal assault and anguished by the state of the letter, the only thing that had been able to shine light through the clouds over Frodo’s life.

Frodo sank back to the ground with Merry’s words still ringing cruelly in his ears.

Ungrateful. You are so ungrateful.

And what of the words Merry had not spoken aloud?

Orphan. What do you expect? You’re lucky enough to have walls around you and roof above you when you are asleep!

And Frodo rose painfully slowly. No one would ever call him an ungrateful person again. He wasn’t like that. For almost nine years Frodo had stayed – no – the Brandybucks ALLOWED him to stay in their home. During those years he had been fed, clothed, and educated. Although Frodo hardly received any more than that, it occurred to him now that Uncle Saradoc could always decide to just abandon him. They were family, true, but Saradoc was in no way responsible for Frodo’s upbringing.

Staggering, Frodo headed back to the Hall, something inside him hopelessly trying to stitch up the holes and cracks in his heart. No more gloom or sorrow. Frodo would not allow himself to grieve over the bleakness of his life, lest he be considered ungrateful.

TBC

A low screech came from a door being opened and a head with dark-brown curly hair peeped in followed by the rest of its owner. His soundless steps led him down the hall through a cozy living room, a study that was combined with a library packed with dusty, leather-bound books, to a doorless kitchen.

“Frodo?” Another curly-haired head lifted up, revealing a gentle face. “Weren’t you supposed to be out with the other lads on the hills or down the river? Your uncle has been planning the excursion for so long, Frodo. A trip like that could really enrich your knowledge.”

The tween cleared his throat. “Well, aye, Aunt Esme,” he replied softly, though deep inside he felt sure that whatever the hobbits got from the excursion would not exceed the know-how he learned from all the books he had read from the library. “But I unintentionally went past Farmer Maggot’s place and he sent you this.”

Handing out a heavy basket laden with something, Frodo observed his aunt closely with his keen eyes.

“What’s in there?” asked Esmeralda, also with beaming eyes. Curiosity got the better of her and she set aside the lunch she had been busy preparing. Esme took the basket from Frodo and, grinning at its significant weight, she lifted the cloth covering the content of the basket and delightedly cheered, “Oh, raspberries! How beautiful and fresh! But—“

She squinted, her tone changing a bit.

“Did Farmer Maggot himself give them to you? You didn’t –“

Esme left her sentence hanging, knowing that Frodo knew exactly what she meant. Frodo’s face changed drastically from a smile at her aunt’s joy to a blush by her later inquiry. He swayed restlessly at the implied mention of his naughty deed when he was a younger lad. Frodo could not help choking when trying to answer.

“I didn’t, Aunty!” he exclaimed bitterly. His mind involuntarily went back to the picture of himself being chased by the farmer’s mean-looking dogs after he snooped into the field and loaded as many mushrooms as he could into his pockets. Sweaty and breathing raggedly, Frodo had finally escaped by jumping over the wooden fence erected around the field. It was not an easy task, given the height of the fence and the immense amount of energy required of the frightened youngster to climb it.

The experience was not without considerable cost, as Frodo suffered the trauma of it afterward. Never again could he stand still near a dog without breaking into a nervous sweat, and worse yet, there was a time when Frodo felt like vomiting every time he caught sight of mushrooms. It was so bad that Frodo found it completely out of the question that he might repeat the offense. His aunt knew that, so why did she question Frodo?

Bowing his head, Frodo softened his voice a bit when repeating his denial. He had vowed to himself not to do or say anything that would otherwise show his lack of appreciation toward the Brandybuck family.

“I promise you, Aunt Esme, that what I said is true.” His voice trembled in abundant effort to suppress his emotion. “Farmer Maggot did call me to go inside his smial when he saw me passing by. He asked me about the family’s well being and then shoved the basket into my hand. I had tried to refuse it but he was insistent. He---“

Esmeralda raised her hand to stop Frodo’s rambling despite herself.

“Ssh. There, there. It’s all right, Frodo. I trust you.” Did she really? Frodo’s eyes bored into his aunt’s, as he tried desperately to trust her words. It hurt him to think that his words were not worthy of his aunt’s trust.

“Really I do,” assured Esme, realizing what Frodo’s sharp gaze meant. She had come to realize the poor youngster must have thought he was valueless. Actually, Esmeralda never distrusted this orphaned nephew of hers. There was something in Frodo that made her fondness of the lad come easily. Yet Esme could not resist the urge to always question the explanations of young boys Frodo’s age. It was all part of the process of raising and educating youngsters.

She also felt rather uneasy about Frodo’s seemingly changed attitude. Instead of locking himself up in the library as usual, in the last three days, Frodo had become a somewhat more open person. He showed up for meals punctually, helped with the dishes afterward, or helped Saradoc scribble some business letters. Esme could not even begin to guess what might be behind all of this.

Gently, Esme took Frodo by his shoulders.

“I of course thank you for the raspberries, dear. With these we can make a big, delicious pudding for dessert,” smiled Esme. Frodo frowned at her words, but his icy demeanor melted away, and Frodo smiled back to his aunt weakly.

“But now,” Esme pushed Frodo tenderly out of the kitchen. “You really should go back to Saradoc and your cousins. You don’t want to miss the fun, do you Frodo?”

Frodo nodded stiffly. This was hard. He would not mind tending the gardens or doing the laundry – as long as he was allowed to do his tasks alone. Frodo still could not bring himself to get close to the other hobbits, may they be adults or tweens like him. Save perhaps Merry.

Merry.

Frodo sighed heavily, stepping out of the kitchen and tromping along the corridor with eyes downcast. This was already the third day that Frodo had not spoken to him. It was not that he did not want to. Actually, it was Merry who refused to talk to him. That cousin of his even purposely averted his gaze every time they ran into each other.

Frodo sighed again when he came to the library’s closed door. He would rather hide himself again behind the piles of books than face the aggravated eyes of his uncle or the leering faces of his cousins. Frodo felt somewhat tired of facing them all, tired of feeling hated, abandoned, and tired of feeling – alone.

Oh, how happy he would be should Bilbo truly keep the promise he had made in the letter. Judging from their relationship so far, Frodo was certain he would be much happier life at Bag End, even if it came at the great cost of his friendship with Merry. The thought of that happening saddened him, however, and he felt his positive mindset evaporating into thin air.

Frodo reached out to grasp at the doorknob, the chill of its surface piercing him like the coldness in his heart. He turned it to the right and it clicked open. Feeling a little better as he was about to enter a familiar, friendly place where he could read or daydream to his heart’s content, Frodo stepped in, and jumped in surprise as his eyes caught a sudden movement.

It was Merry! Merry was sitting behind the only desk in the library, busily scrawling something on one of the many sheets of paper scattered in front of him on the table. Merry suddenly started and gathered up the papers, crumpling them in his small fists. Frodo could sense a secretive air about his cousin as he stood still, clutching the doorknob.

“Oh, it’s you, Merry,” Frodo drew in his breath both in astonishment and relief. “Why, are you not out with your da?”

Merry flushed, at a loss for words in his amazement at Frodo’s presence. Strange though, Frodo could almost catch a glimpse guilt flashing across his cousin’s face. What had he been doing?

“Hi, Frodo,” Merry offered his brightest smile – a smile that undeniably fortified Frodo’s suspicion. If Merry were still angry with him, why would he smile? “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with those irritating herds, too, are you not?”

That was exactly what Frodo had asked of Merry, without getting an answer. Merry and the library just didn’t seem to add up. Merry was never a lad who was fond of doing anything academic such as reading and writing, not when there were more exciting things to do.

Then, as if realizing his strange behavior, Merry turned cold to Frodo again.

“Can you leave me alone?” Merry asked icily. That was more an order than a request. Frodo stared blankly in bewilderment at this change of behavior. He could only swallow whatever words had meanwhile reached the tip of his tongue.

“Merry, please,” Frodo breathed, bringing himself one step closer to his cousin. He really had not intended to hurt Merry’s feelings. Surely the younger lad had noticed in the last couple of days how Frodo tried to conceal his joy over the news from Bilbo? But instead of giving Frodo a chance to talk about it with him, Merry whipped his head away to gaze out the window. Frodo’s shoulders lifted visibly as the boy took a deep breath in despair. He had lost his only company in this big, soulless house. Frodo almost whished that the letter had never come to him.

***

Merry exhaled loudly when Frodo finally left the room. The hobbit gazed down at the crumpled papers he had been holding and keeping out of Frodo’s sight. Slowly Merry brought them back to the table and smoothed the wrinkles away as best as he could manage. One would never be flattened as the others though, as it had, besides being carelessly creased up, been torn down from the very beginning. Bilbo’s letter.

Merry was staring at it, dazed and stupefied, trying to justify his feeling and action. But finally able to brush aside his remorse, Merry reached for his quill pen. He had practiced this for the last three days and had finally felt satisfied with the result. Creasing his brow, Merry held the pen tightly and started to scribble down on a piece of paper, the very last piece he got that he had stolen from his father’s drawer. Merry was completely oblivious to the shouts and bangs accompanying the return of the young lads and lasses from their excursion.

***

Later on that day, when tea was served, a young hobbit came knocking on the front door of the Brandybuck’s smial. Nobody in the house heard him as the knock was completely overcome by the din of hobbity chats, forks and knives scraping against plates, or cheerful shouts from the youngsters. The hobbit outside knocked again. This time someone detected the faint thump and went to open the curved, wooden door. He took an envelope delivered by the messenger, knitted his brow a bit as he read the name printed on it, and shouted,

“Frodo Baggins! You’ve a message. Here, take it.”

The noise subsided a bit as a screeching sound of chairs being pulled and pushed was heard. A short moment later, a pale face with locks scattered on its forehead appeared from the hall.

“Yes uncle?” replied Frodo timidly. Without saying anything, Saradoc tossed the letter in Frodo’s palm and went back inside after thanking the messenger and shutting the door.

Bedazzled, Frodo stared at the envelope. His name and the house address were written there neatly. It looked like Bilbo’s handwriting. Why did his older cousin write him again, so soon after the previous letter?

Frodo tore open one end of the envelope and pulled out a small piece of paper from it. Small. And after glancing at it briefly, Frodo could see that the letter was short, much shorter than the first one.

Frodo read its content silently but the more his eyes swept through the sentences on that letter, the shorter his breaths became. And when he was through, Frodo was but a boy with his blue eyes unbelievably widening in utter disbelief and devastation. His knees shook hard and gave beneath him and Frodo helplessly slumped forward, falling unconsciously on the welcoming, hard, wooden floor. Silence. Complete silence followed as opposed to the roars still heard down in the dining room.

TBC

“That’s true, Frodo,” Bilbo exclaimed, ruffling the curls of his young cousin who was comfortably seated on a cushion, one of several which were scattered about in front of the fire. They were in Bag End, thought Frodo, without knowing how. But he kept quiet, just letting Bilbo tell him exactly why the elder hobbit decided to deny his own words before. Yet it seemed that he only repeated what he had written in his second letter.

“What else can I say?” Frodo’s cousin added, sighing deeply. “I have another journey to take. An elf that happens to be my best friend is leaving the Middle Earth, ready to sail to Valinor. A best friend, Frodo. Can you imagine?” Bilbo took Frodo’s jaw and tilted the boy’s face upward. Frodo’s gaze was sad as he looked back at Bilbo.

“Then take me with you, uncle. You know how I wish to travel with you. And I – I’d rather be with you than with the Brandybucks.” Frodo could not help sighing, and bowed his head against Bilbo’s gentle grasp at his chin. Bilbo looked down and his heart melted at the sight of the lean, raggedly clothed lad. That was exactly why he wanted to bring Frodo to stay with him at Bag End, so that he could dress him properly and feed him more regularly. Bilbo knew Brandy Hall never lacked food but it lacked people who should pay more attention to children that did not belong to them, children like Frodo. Frodo, like many children could recklessly forget to eat, especially since food occupied his thoughts somewhat less than it did those of other young hobbits.

Unfortunately, it was impossible for Bilbo to bring the boy to Bag End. No, not right now. And Bilbo could not take him on his journey, either. The road would be long and the time was short. Bilbo did not want to have to rush an easily exhausted lad with him. Frodo heaved a disappointed breath when Bilbo pointed out his objections.

“I’m not sure if you want to live with the Sackville-Bagginses here at Bag End, though. They will stay here to take care of the smial during my leave.”

Frodo widened his eyes in disbelief. Live with the Sackville-Bagginses? Live with LOTHO? Was Bilbo jesting? Frodo would rather be chased by dozens of trolls! Lotho was not much older than Frodo but he was larger with a muscular body, an advantage that he gladly used when bullying Frodo. Frodo was well acquainted with that fact, and remembered how painful the blows and kicks Lotho’s powerful limbs delivered could be. Even if the world were at an end and Frodo’s chance to survive was to be under the same roof with that vile boy, Frodo would have preferred to meet his doom instead.

“No, Uncle!” Frodo cried. “I will never voluntarily live with them.” Lotho’s mother, Lobelia, treated Frodo no better than her son did.

“So be it,” said Bilbo grimly. “Then you will have to stay in Brandy Hall longer.” He moved to the fire and poked it to let the embers die down, leaving the young lad staring into the dark and quivering in the chill of the study, desperately wanting to know the meaning of the word ‘longer’.

***

“Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo shrieked and snapped awake. “Oh!” His fingers clamped on his throbbing forehead. Apparently he had hit his head when he had fallen down, seemingly hours ago. Frodo sat up, wincing and blinking. Where was he? Everything was dark and cold, but it certainly was not Bag End, much to Frodo’s confusion and disappointment. He was not in his bedroom either, he realized as he felt the hard floor he was lying on.

Frodo scrambled up to a sitting position, and slowly everything came back to him as he looked down at a crumpled sheet of paper in his fist. This was what his dream was all about. Bilbo’s statement that he had decided to change his plans to take Frodo to Bag End. Bilbo’s denial of the contents of the first letter he had sent to Frodo several days ago. Bilbo’s decision to take a fortnight to be sure of his plans. Bilbo’s reasons for departing on yet another journey, and his heartless offer for Frodo to live with his cousin, Lotho, who had been so ruthless toward Frodo during his short stays at Bag End. Did Bilbo know nothing whatsoever of this matter?

The watery film covering Frodo’s crystal blue eyes swelled and some of it spilled over onto the hobbit’s translucent cheeks. The pulsating pain on his swollen forehead was nothing but numbness compared to the bleeding cuts in his heart right now.

Frodo extended and unclenched his left hand, staring down at the slowly uncrumpled letter. It might contain a number of lines, sentences, or words. But to Frodo, there was only one meaning: rejection. It seemed to him that in the length of two weeks, Bilbo had reconsidered and rethought his decision, and it occurred to the old hobbit that bringing Frodo to Bag End was an unfavorable thing to do.

Frodo brought his right hand to his face and wiped his tears away harshly. He should not act this way. He was not a baby anymore! If Bilbo decided to change his mind, that was completely and definitely his right. Bilbo never promised anything. It might be Frodo’s own fault to let his hope fly high to the star-lit sky, cuddling him in its intoxicating tranquility. When the embrace suddenly vanished, it hurt Frodo so much to slam back down to reality, finding himself alone and forlorn, without anything or anybody to cling to.

Glancing to the door leading to the rest of the big smial, Frodo found himself staring at an unfriendly, if not dejecting, darkness. This place seemed to offer everything. Rooms with their lit fireplaces to keep the inhabitants warm, abundant food at each mealtime to keep the dwellers from starvation. Volumes of books with their amazing tales to make sure the people in this house were well-educated and well-informed. Cheers and laughter both from the adults and children showing how they enjoyed their lives. Adults and children that did not even realize Frodo had not returned to the dining table that night.

But the rooms, the food, and the books were not meant for the poor hobbit. They never had been. Nobody expected him to be here. It was just some cruel trick of fate that made Frodo reside in this place. He was a Baggins, not a Brandybuck. He was not meant to be in Brandy Hall, which, in Frodo’s opinion, was supposed to shelter only the Brandybucks.

Frodo straightened up, staggering a little as his emotions shattered into pieces. It was no use for him to stay at this house any longer. There was nobody to bind him to this place either. Not even Merry. No. That younger cousin of Frodo’s had turned Brandybuck-ish, negligent and insolent toward him.

Frodo rubbed out his wet and slimy nose with the back of his hand, proof that he had been weeping without even realizing it. Yet his heart hardened with a determination. He must get out of this house. If there was someone calling him ‘ungrateful’ now, so be it. He WAS being ungrateful by deciding to step out of the only place that had sheltered him from rain and sun all these years.

Frodo turned the key to the left, unlocking it and opening the door without making any sound. Cool breeze welcomed him, making him unconsciously wrap his arms around his chest to hold at least a little warmth into his body. Frodo did not want to risk waking people who might hinder his escape as he crept into his room to snatch his cloak. (Oh, wake up, Frodo! Do you still expect something like that will happen? His heart mocked.)

For a brief moment, doubts seeped in as if through the pores of Frodo’s skin. Where would he go? He had yet to decide that. What should he do afterwards? Frodo could not tell yet. His days were usually spent in the company of books, and he was unfamiliar with things other tweens might do with their time. Frodo walked further, looking down at the grassy path below his feet, wondering if this would be the last time he’d see it.

***

A deafening crack sounded like the sky ripping in two. Wrapped in his warm blanket, Merry could not help but jump out of his bed, dragging the blanket to Esmeralda’s room.

“Mama!” His small voice pitched in alarm as he burst into his ma’s bedroom and the solace of her soft bed.

“Oh, Little Merry,” whispered Esme lightheartedly. “There, there. It was only thunder, and from so far away. You’re not scared, are you?”

Merry could not help wincing at a flash of lightning, followed by yet another thunderous sound and rain so heavy it might have been poured down from a gigantic bucket.

“Let me sleep here with you, yes, Mama?” Merry’s pleading eyes shone so sadly that Esme hardly had the heart to disapprove. But it was Saradoc who decided everything. The big hobbit hopped out of the bed from the other side and scooped Merry up together with the blanket.

“No, Meriadoc,” said Saradoc sternly, and without even taking an extra breath carried his son’s wrapped form to the door and lowered it down outside the room carefully. “Go back to your own room and sleep tight. You’re a big lad, not a baby.”

Merry flushed and, stomping his foot, darted away quickly to his room, too angry to say anything back to Sara. Whether or not it would be the right thing to do, he cared little. He was so angry that he was not aware of the freezing wooden floor beneath his feet.

Striding hastily in his short steps, Merry stopped dead when reaching the door to Frodo’s room. A wondering thought flashed across his mind. It was unusually quiet inside, yet Merry knew that Frodo was always terrified of thunder as well. Suspicious yet doubtful, Merry rapped softly at the wooden surface.

“Frodo?” called Merry timidly. Gone was all Merry’s displeasure toward the older hobbit that had been haunting him for the last three days.

Merry knocked at the door once more, and decided to open it when there was still no answer.

A cave-like blackness welcomed Merry, forcing him to squint to adjust his vision. With the thick clouds obscuring the moon and the hard rain still gushing down to earth, Merry finally noticed the room’s emptiness with difficulty. He slid forward toward the bed and his hands felt the smooth, silky surface of the mattress sheet, telling Merry wordlessly that Frodo had not been in the bed this whole night.

Merry’s heart sank. “Frodo?” He called again, shakily this time.

Without his knowing it, his feet had brought him to the glass window at the other side of the room. Stunned, Merry fixed his gaze in terror at the layers of water that were still pouring and pouring outside. Could Frodo be outside right now, soaking and shaking in the deadly cold of the rain?

TBC

For Iawen, thanks for your lovely review. And oh, I forgot to mention that this story is betaed by the lovely aelfgifu and MBradford.

“Frodo Baggins! You have a message. Here, take it.”

And Merry observed through the curtain of his lashes. This is it, thought Merry. A small lad he had paid to deliver ‘Bilbo’s letter’ had arrived and was going to hand it in to Frodo, or in this case, through Merry’s father, Saradoc. Then any time soon Frodo would tear up the envelope, unfold the paper, and –

Merry grinned silently, contentedly. The letter would teach Frodo some lessons – to be more subtle next time – as he had been so ‘improperly’ happy about the future arrangement to live with Bilbo, and Frodo had shown how ungrateful he was despite everything he had got during his stay in Brandy Hall. Merry almost choked at his last spoonful of food as he realized how correct his action had been. He silently gathered up the “evidence” in his head. Merry’s parents had sheltered, clothed, and fed the boy. But what did his cousin do in return? Jumped at the first chance to get better things than what he had received here.

Merry lowered his face until it hovered just about half an inch from his plate full of mashed potato, mushroom stew and slices of roast chicken. But Merry’s mind was hardly on the food anymore. His jaw tightened at the thought of Frodo, but his eyes showed a definite pride as he pictured his parents beaming at him with gratitude. It was no longer the potato or mushrooms that Merry saw on his plate but his proud ma and da.

Merry giggled cheerily, but quickly stopped himself before the other hobbits gathering around him on this long table started to give him curious glances. Merry struggled to calm himself but – oh! How he was dying to be with Frodo right now, to see how exactly Frodo reacted when he got to see the letter. His older cousin had always been so expressive and was such an open book. One could easily tell what was inside Frodo’s heart simply by sinking into those blue eyes. And the sight of Frodo’s being heart-broken must prove to be priceless.

But some doubts could not help creep into Merry. Would his older cousin of his buy it? Or would Frodo see how different Merry’s hand-scribing from Bilbo’s was? Of course Merry could not possibly have any idea how deeply his remarks on Frodo’s ungratefulness had punctured the poor hobbit’s heart, left a deep scar upon it, and thus rendered Frodo senseless and beyond rational thought.

But then the clock kept ticking and suddenly Merry found himself alone at the table as all of his relatives either had gone to bed or withdrawn to whatever activities unknown to Merry as the joyous dinner had come to its end. Yet, there was no sign of Frodo at all. The dark, curly hair that framed Frodo’s angular, pale face never re-appeared at the dining hall. Anxiety started to grow in Merry’s heart as his eyes swept over the practically untouched food Frodo had left behind. What had happened? Where did Frodo go and thus decide not to return and finish his dinner?

Merry was about to sneak into the living room when his father suddenly came out at the door and urged Merry to go to bed right away. Not wanting to make his father angry, Merry dashed to his room immediately, and the thoughts about Frodo were set aside completely.

***

Until now.

Or some time before now when the storm and lightning suddenly reminded Merry of Frodo’s fear of them. Many nights had they – Merry and Frodo – spent together, curling up in one bed, trying to comfort each other from the cracking noises of the thunder. And tonight Merry had thought to sleep in Frodo’s room again after having been hushed out of his parents’ room.

But the dark clouds, cascades of water, and the swinging, old ash tree outside had all witnessed the deserted room, devoid of the miserable soul that was usually hugged warmly and lovingly by an aged blanket. A blanket formerly belonged to Frodo’s mother, Primula, that had been passed on to Frodo to preserve the memory of his late parents.

Merry turned his gaze from the empty bed back to the heavy rain outside, his eyes stung with tears clinging and threatening to spill over his cheeks.

A blanket. Right. Frodo had only a blanket to keep him warm since his parents passed away. Nobody. There was truly nobody that had sincerely given him enough attention a child, a young child, normally got. Lucky for Frodo, his young cousin, Merry, soon grew to become his closest and dearest friend. And then Frodo found out that a relative from his father’s side, Bilbo, was fond of him, too.

So it was just normal if Frodo had then been overflowed with sheer happiness when Bilbo asked him to live with the older hobbit. It was not the food or clothes that Frodo was after. It was a little bit of attention. Mere attention. The simplest thing a child could ask. Frodo might be not a child anymore, physically, but deep inside he craved for it, the attention. To make up for what had been missing in his life.

And he, Merry, had been so cruelly ruined the only hope Frodo had. Worse, Merry had also unempathically accused Frodo of being something Merry did not even dare to remember it now. What was he thinking? And not once had Merry told Frodo that he was happy for him. He was too busy perfecting, or rather, imitating his handwriting to be as close as Bilbo’s so that he could then send a letter on behalf of that old gentlehobbit! A letter that contained lies and nothing more. Merry could not believe that had been willing to sacrifice his playing time and bury himself in the library in order to write that wretched letter! He spent his time to practice, practice, and practice. Oh, Merry could see now how some people succeeded in what they wanted to achieve. That is, you had to have a strong will that came from inside. That way ---

Merry’s head snapped up.

Library!

Yes, of course! Why did he not think of that? Frodo had always been fond of the room and often went there whenever he needed a sanctuary. The place meant a lot more than his room to Frodo.

Merry wiped out his tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand, whirled around, and stormed out of Frodo’s room to the library. Merry half ran along the hall but kept his steps light so as not to make any noise. He breathed heavily as he reached the library, and, praying silently, Merry knocked the door in soft raps. Frodo might be asleep in there and he did not want to scare the older lad.

Assured that Frodo was indeed sleeping, as there was no reply, Merry clicked the door open and tried to keep the squeaking sound to its minimum. It was raining and it was impossible for the others that dwelled there to hear him. But Merry did not want to risk it.

“Frodo?” called Merry in a soft whisper. Still no answer.

Merry stepped in. Again, just like what he had done in Frodo’s room, Merry needed to adjust his sight in the dim chamber. Dashing his hope, Merry threw his glance to the desk. But it stood solitary and unoccupied, to his dismay. Merry had expected to find Frodo slumped over it, his head down on his forearms, sound asleep. Disappointment assailed Merry once again. Frodo was not there, and Merry could not imagine that Frodo would be anywhere else in the room.

Merry sighed. Hs hands clutched at the back of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Shudders after shudders swept over his tiny body. Merry almost cried out in despair and misery. It dawned on him then that Frodo had decided to leave Brandy Hall. Merry swallowed hard. Frodo was running away and it was all because of him! In his helplessness, Merry realized there was the least effort he could do to mend the damage he had done. He had to tell his parents.

Shoulders sagging, eyes darting fearfully at the door to his parents’ room that suddenly seemed to grow higher, towering over him, Merry struggled to overcome his fear at what his parents would say to him. His body shook hard. But he had to do this. And he did – he tapped at the wooden panel, softly yet it sounded like the drumming thunder to Merry’s ears.

“Father? Mother?” Merry opened the door slowly, full of doubts. “I have something to tell you.”

***

Frodo never knew weather could be as chilling as this, especially since he was clothed in just a thin shirt and breeches. Frodo breathed deeply and wrapped his arms around his body. He began to question his own actions.

But looking back to direction of Brandy Hall, Frodo knew that he just could not return. There was nothing there for him. His new place might offer him more.

--- what new place? Frodo barely knew where his steps would bring him. Deep inside, though, he hoped that the paths would lead him to Hobbitton. Bag End. Would Bilbo be willing to change his mind after seeing Frodo at the very front of his smial’s door?

Frodo quivered slightly, wrapping his arms around even more tightly. He had never felt this helpless. Yet he could not give up now. It seemed hours that he had walked through the fields and meadows. Frodo did not dare to take the usual roads, afraid that he would come across someone he knew – which seemed to be an impossible thing to happen. It was quite late already and there was nothing around Frodo but darkness.

The small hobbit almost regretted leaving in the night. Should he walk in the light, he would have breathtaking sceneries accompanying him. The greenness of the grass field, the inviting glen, the trail that started on the hilltop and led to the sedge meadow wetlands north of a corn field belonging to – whom? Frodo could not remember.

The images of those beautiful things were at least able to lift Frodo’s spirits somewhat, making his steps quicker and surer. It was too bad there was no moonlight.

Frodo looked up to the sky. No. No moon and no stars at all. Frodo’s throat tightened all of a sudden. There were only thick, dark clouds.

Dread and panic flashed across Frodo’s features, and his brow knotted. What if it rained? Frodo glanced around. Despite the dimmed surrounding, he could still see that there were no trees big enough to shelter him, only shrubs and bushes.

CRACK! BOOM!

Frodo jumped at the first cracking thunder following a flash of lightning. He shook violently and broke into a run. He glimpsed a cluster of shadows a distance away that could be trees, and the rain began to fall.

Lightning struck and thunder roared. Frodo was drowned in terror. He always hated thunder. The rain came down in a torrent.

His face soaked with both rainwater and tears, Frodo dashed toward the shadow, running as fast as he could like crazy.

But suddenly Frodo tripped over something hard, a rock or a heavy piece of wood. He heard something crack and with a loud cry, he tumbled to the ground. His ankle! He had twisted it mercilessly, and he now clutched it with both hands as his tears streamed freely. Elbereth, it hurt!

TBC

AN: Thanks again for the review, Iawen. That means a lot to me!

“Come on down, Frodo! It’s not as cold as you think.” Merry splashed at the water and large sprinkles of it danced through the air to land on Frodo’s unclothed upper body; he still had his breeches on. Frodo grinned widely and crisp chuckles escaped his rosy lips as he warded off the drops by flailing his left arm in front of his face. Frodo’s apparent shudders made it clear to his younger cousin that the opposite from Merry’s previous assurances was true regarding the temperature of the water.

“No, I will not come down!” shouted Frodo from the side of the small pond, sitting with his legs dangling into the water. “My feet tell me just the opposite. The water is freezing.”

“That’s because the other parts of your body are bathing in sunlight. That makes the water even colder.”

Merry swam to the shore with relaxed strokes, but he suddenly jumped out and grabbed Frodo’s narrow shoulders, taking him into the churning water. Frodo hurriedly leapt out to suck in much needed air and glared threateningly at Merry, whose face was almost cracked in two by his wide smirk.

“I’ll get you later, Merry!” snapped Frodo between his labored breaths.

Merry just kept on grinning. Frodo was much older than he was, but his cousin’s thin frame belied his age.

And that was exactly what was in Merry’s mind while his father, Sara, was busy lambasting him for his irresponsible actions. Merry did not really hear what Sara was saying. Instead, his mind went again and again to Frodo’s thinning, fragile form. Merry could not help sobbing a little. Where was Frodo?

“Right!” Sara growled. “Now you can only cry. Serves you right.”

“Sara, please,” Esmeralda, his wife, interrupted. To Merry she said, “You said Bilbo sent Frodo a letter telling him that he wants Frodo to stay with him?”

Merry nodded a little, rubbing at his nose.

“For good?”

“I don’t know, mama,” Merry replied softly,

“Without telling us first?”

Merry leveled his mother’s gaze. “I don’t know about that. Bilbo never told you about this?”

Esmeralda realized she had asked a wrong question. That, was supposed to be the adults’ business. And unbeknownst to her, that revelation made Merry feel something akin to elation.

“So Bilbo is not supposed to do that, is he?” tried Merry, though still softly. “and Frodo is not supposed to leave Brandy Hall at all?”

Esmeralda looked deeply at her son’s grayish green eyes, knowing all too well that Merry’s young age had not allowed the boy to see the world in grey hues. He still perceived it in black and white, either right or wrong, and nothing in between or one overlapping the other.

“And you think that what you did, sending Bilbo’s second letter is a proper thing to do?” Esme asked her son back, challenging the look in the green eyes. “Not at all, Merry! That’s very cruel to let Frodo think that he is an unwanted person.”

Merry returned his mother’s gaze innocently and even touch annoyed. Had he, in his own way, told Frodo that he was more wanted here? He had, right? Although that was not one hundred percent correct since it was only him, Merry, who felt that way. He was still staring at his mother. And which was crueler, to make someone think that nobody wanted him or to truly treat him as if he did not exist, just as what everybody had treated Frodo?

Yet Merry did not have the courage to say this in front of his parents. He could only listen what they had to say.

“So don’t think that you can get away with it, Meriadoc. We have to punish you so you can see what you have done is wrong.”

Merry’s eyes went wide. Now it was wrong, from a certain point of view! But what about seeing it as an effort to keep Frodo with them? But then…

“Get over here, child!”

Instead of approaching, Merry stepped back, shaking. Apprehension was clear in his face. Sara seldom gave him any punishments, but once he did, Merry had not been able to sit for days. And child? That was not a good sign.

Sara slid down from the bed and opened the top of the drawer beside the bed, producing a belt, a thick and wide one. Merry gulped down, his eyes shining more in horror. He retreated further.

“No, no, no, papa.” His mouth started to babble. “I… I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. Please, papa!”

Sara ignored him, reaching out and stilling his grasps at his son’s shoulders, eliciting a distressed cry. Esme stood and reached out.

“Sara! Sara, no! Remember, he’s your own boy!” Esme grabbed her husband’s arm, but Sara swatted his wife away.

“I know he’s my son!” snarled Sara. “That’s why I want him to grow up properly, which he hasn’t at all!”

“But he said he was sorry!” Esme pulled at Sara’s bed robe while Merry stood there trembling uncontrollably at the sight of hi parents’ quarrel and Sara’s threatening, swaying belt.

“He may be sorry but if I don’t teach him some lesson, he won’t be able to tell right from wrong. Merry!”

The poor boy jerked at the bark, his face completely ashen. He could not utter anything anymore as he crept slowly to his father’s direction. The pitiable little hobbit could only comply. And the heavy rain and roaring thunder that were still coming down mercilessly succeeded in subduing Merry’s piteous pleas and sobs as lashes of Sara’s belt struck him again and again and again.

* * *

It was exactly the same hard rain pouring down that had hindered his journey. At first he had determined to keep going when he thought the rain would not have been this awful, but soon had he found out that he could not even see his surroundings clearly because of the thick mists. Yet, as he fastened his cloak around his soaked body, he could make out some sort of a figure who, unlike himself- a bit protected by the dense trees, had to endure the wrath of the rain, thunder and lightning in an open clearing. He squinted, trying hard to have a clearer sight at the form but so far he could only see a curled up frame that was totally engulfed in the rain. It did not move the slightest.

But suddenly, lo! The form stirred and fought to get up. Come on, come on! He encouraged silently. Run and have a shelter! You can get terrible pneumonia from such exposure. The figure got to its hands and knees and started to straighten itself.

He was wondering at the slowness of the creature’s movement. It must have begun to get sick, something that was almost inevitable given this circumstance. Eventually the small frame – he had just realized this – could make it to get on its feet. Yet, all of a sudden, an agonized screech echoed across the clearing, through the thickness of the rain and bunches of leaves, reaching into his ears. He froze, tightening the hood around his head, trying in vain to get rid of the miserable voice still piercing into him. It dawned on him then that the creature had been injured somehow, and he cursed himself for having merely been watching the entire time.

* * *

The searing pain in his ankle was enough to make Frodo oblivious to his environment. He did not even know that a pair of eyes had been observing every single movement he made, up to the time when his legs gave under him. One of them was badly injured, and it would not be able to bear his body weight.

Frodo crumpled helplessly to the water-logged soil, unable to fight the nausea caused by the unbearable ache and retching violently, losing the small amount of nourishment he had taken earlier.

Frodo tossed himself to the side, his energy drained after vomiting and his head now feeling as if it were swirling around. Frodo clenched his eyes dead to stop the world from turning around, but it did not work. That and the slaps of the harsh needles of rainwater made him senseless. Quivering hard from the freezing temperature, Frodo began to lose grip of himself. He did not want to pass out in this kind of situation but he could not stand it anymore. Behind the already closed eyes, the world turned darker and whimpering feebly, Frodo had a feeling as if he were falling down, down into a whirling, bottomless chasm. “Halfling?” A voice full of concern went unheeded.

* * *

The moon was not hiding under the dark clouds here in Hobbiton. Its pale lights shimmered unhindered by the leaves on the trees and the curtains on the smial windows to rest gently on the smooth surfaces of the drawers or tables in them.

Having been busy scribing in his journals, Bilbo ceased at once as the rays of the moon sparkled on the back of his hand, so shy and beautiful as if coming from some unworldly place. Somehow they reminded him of Frodo, the merry glitters of the lights bearing a resemblance to the boy’s flickering eyes that could change amazingly quickly from those of mischief to the ones full of passion or even sorrow. And the paleness of the moon gave the very image of Frodo’s livid, translucent features.

Bilbo heaved audibly. This was all useless. It was clear for him that he could not seem to concentrate anymore. It had been four days since the elderly hobbit sent the letter and he could not think of anything save the day when Frodo finally took his first step to enter Bag End, Bilbo’s lovely hobbit-hole. Bilbo gave a soft chuckle. His first step! As if Frodo had never come to Bag End. No, his heart corrected. His first step to dwell here permanently was more like it.

But why two weeks? It felt like an eternity to wait for that long. But, Bilbo’s heart interrupted again. I need that time. It’s true that I love Frodo dearly, but I cannot deny that there are doubts in my heart. What if this is not a good decision, nor the right thing to do? I do need time. Just in case.

Bilbo threw his quill pen, letting the ink from its feathery end splashing to every direction. Frustration crept into his soul. There was no way he would regret ever inviting Frodo to come to stay at Bag End. This place would be ten times, if not more, better than Brandy Hall. Bilbo could be sure the orphaned lad would be happier as well. And to top all, he cared for Frodo as much as the boy loved him. That would be enough for both of them. Bilbo did not need a day of the two week deadline he had given himself.

The gentlehobbit rose abruptly, knocking over his chair backward in the process. He smoothed his waistcoat, tapping unintentionally at the pockets and feeling a solid, round trinket in one of them. The accidental contact with his most precious possession calmed Bilbo and convinced him more of what to do next.

Yes, Bilbo was faltering no more about the arrangement and there was another thing – he would not wait until ten more days to fetch Frodo from Brandy Hall. He was going now – or rather, the first thing tomorrow morn. Bilbo knew he had not mentioned anything about this to either Saradoc or Esmeralda, but he was certain he could manage to convince them should any problems arise.

TBC

AN: Grey Wonderer, thanks for the time given to review!

~ Along the way to Buckland ~

Bilbo jumped onto Albert’s back, the strong, young pony not even stirring at the added weight. Bilbo took the reins and fixed his settled himself comfortably.

“Well I’m going, Hamfast. Take care of yourself and take care of Bag End!”

“I cert’nly will, Master Baggins! Nuthin’ you should worry ‘bout, sir, except that nephew of yours. You go and pick him up. Bring him back here safely. He’s a fine lad, I reckon, from the sound of things!”

Bilbo could not help smiling. Old Hamfast had heard enough from his chattering mouth about Frodo to grow to love the boy as much as he did.

“I assure you of that, Hamfast,” Bilbo said, thinking of nothing but bringing Frodo to Bag End. “Frodo is such a smart stunning lad.”

Hamfast lifted up his hat a bit in salute and to wish Bilbo well on his journey as the old hobbit lightly tapped Albert’s flank to prod the pony forward.

“Good bye, and so long! Yet I won’t be long, and before you know it…”

Hamfast bowed his head and maintained the pose even after Bilbo disappeared around a bend in the path. The gardener did not completely agree, though, about whether or not Bilbo would be long in returning. He knew how far it was from Hobbiton to Buckland. Even if Albert kept a fast pace, Bilbo would not get to the Brandybucks’ residence in less than a day and a night, and it would take just as long for Bilbo and Frodo to return.

After some time, Bilbo came to a small path next to the East Road. Drawing one long breath, he realized that he always liked to ride along this trail every time he journeyed to the east. The terrain he traveled was not so coarse nor so soft as to trouble the pony. Along the road on both sides, trees were grew densely and their branches interwove so closely with the leaves they formed a gigantic canopy shading any trampers from the scorching heat of the sun.

All of this suddenly sparked a memory long past and a song echoed in Bilbo’s head.

O! What are you doing,

And where are you going?

Your ponies need shoeing!

The river is flowing!

O! tra-la-la-lally

here down the valley!

O! Where are you going

With beards all a-wagging?

No knowing, no knowing What brings Mister Baggins

And Balin and Dwalin

down into the valley

in June

ha! ha!

Bilbo skipped some parts and stopped altogether as he could no longer contain his laughter as he remembered. What a great adventure! Balin and Dwalin. Kili and Fili. Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur! No, the list was not exhausted yet, but Bilbo, in the midst of his mirth born of recollection did not seem to be able to recall more names.

Oh, how the questions in the song inspired him, and Bilbo exulted to know that he had exactly the right answers.

O! What are you doing? And Bilbo gleefully replied, “Riding on my pony in the middle of the woods.” (Though this was hardly a proper wood!)

And where are you going? The answer came swiftly, “To Buckland. To Brandy Hall. To the place where Frodo shall wait.”

A question cried again. What brings Mister Baggins… down into the valley?

Bilbo tightened and loosened Albert’s reins, not that it confused the kind beast in the slightest, just caused it to dance a bit, like Bilbo’s heart at the moment. Bilbo chanted yet another reply.

“To go to Frodo and bring him. Bring him where? To Bag End, for sure!”

Bilbo wandered with such reckless joviality that he did not realize he had come to Bywater Pool near Bywater. Such a fleeting trip!

But as he was nearing Three Farthing Stone, the shady canopy was slowly thinning and Bilbo could see the sky again, which brought him to a new realization. He could not see the sun. He thought at first it was because of the trees, but no. Bilbo looked up, noticing the dark, gathering clouds, and heaved a sigh of dismay, although as far as he could remember, there had been no sign of the sun even before he had left Bag End. Clouds, clouds everywhere, even if they were not thick and heavy like the ones he saw looming ahead. If only Bilbo knew it were not only clouds that came upon Buckland…

***

~ Along the way through the woods ~

Through the wet surroundings, soggy land, leaves with water clinging on their pointy tips, and damp yet refreshing air, the hooded figure was carrying Frodo along through the night. Sometimes cradled in the man’s arms and at other times draped gently against his shoulder, Frodo was warmly wrapped in the human’s spare blanket, leaving only his face unhidden.

The man wandered unceasingly, never thinking of even a moment of rest. Frodo’s faint, almost unnoticeable breaths willed him even more to reach the clearing where his shabby lodge lay. There, he would have a chance to warm Frodo further and to help him recover from what ailed him.

Sighing in deep concern, the man increased the speed of his pace.

***

~ In the ranger’s arms and lodge ~

Frodo moved restlessly in his insensible state and mumbled softly, his eyes still shut as tightly as before. Although blackness still engulfed him, Frodo gradually grew warmer as the soft blanket hugged him so comfortably and the arms around his upper body and legs held him fast and strong. The tightness across Frodo’s brow was slowly fading as his body became more relaxed. Unconsciously his mind began to wonder for the sensation of being safe, secure, and protected. Could this be… Could this be…

“Papa?”

The voice, however small and almost incomprehensible, was not completely unheard. The man stiffened, afraid that Frodo might worsen or get sick again, and he tightened his hold on the halfling.

“Hush, little one,” he persuaded softly. “We’re almost there.” He could not explain even to himself why he bothered to tell that to Frodo. But he spoke anyway, carrying on, “A few more turns, past several oaks and ashes, and we’ll get to my house!” The human smiled faintly. “A house! What a boastful word for a mere log cabin, but a home nevertheless!”

The man moved with faster and more enthusiastic steps, his heart lifted by the encouraging thoughts of near and welcome shelter.

***

Still drowning in the bleakness of insensibility, Frodo wondered at who might have rocked him to a constant slumber. Frodo was certain that it was his father while his conscious mind told him with undeterred determination that his father had long left him. Drowned. Breathless. Deceased.

No, Frodo denied soundlessly. His father had always done exactly the same as this when lulling him to sleep. Frodo would curl himself close and nuzzle his face deep into Drogo’s warm chest. No. No. This sensation had been much too similar. It must be his father! Frodo even began to imagine looking to the left and right, as if to see if Primula happened to be there as well, before he had a feeling that he was being slapped.

“W – what?” Frodo gasped in his sleep-like state. A voice in his head came again.

“Wake up, you fool! Come back to reality. He’s dead! She’s dead! Your parents are dead! Can you not see that?”

Frodo flinched and squirmed uncomfortably.

“Are they?” he hissed.

“Yes!” Screamed the conscious part of him. “If not, why should you stay with the Brandybucks?” In his stillness, Frodo went even stiller. The question cut his heart deeply, reminding him of his pain.

Gone was the brief hope. Now Frodo had to accept once more the inevitable, tormenting fact of… Frodo sobbed hard and even harder still as it dawned on him that the comforting rocking had ceased long since. and the dizziness, nausea, and throbbing pain in his ankle were returning.

Frodo wept still, raising his hand to rub over his eyes, and they flew open. His father was not there, there were no arms cuddling him, no rocking motion. There was simply nobody with him. Frodo blinked away the rest of his tears and daze, and stopped crying altogether.

To his wonder, Frodo found himself lying on a bed thrice as big as his own in Buckland. He was still huddled in a blanket, though, one that was completely unfamiliar to him.

Frodo tried to raise himself using his elbows to support him, but his body fell back to the mattress as a swirling sensation attacked him and bile rose in his throat. Frodo swept his gaze around the room in an attempt to avert his thoughts and to stop him from throwing up. He breathed in deeply in relief as he calmed himself, silently congratulating himself for his success.

Frodo’s eyes were still darting around his surroundings and he could see that this was not only a room. This was a hut, quite big and fully furnished, though Frodo would say that it was not often occupied. The hobbit could see a so-called study, with mixed things on a table, from scrolls to dishes, quills and daggers, from water skin to unlit torch. Panic started to creep into Frodo’s gut. Some of these objects were not so familiar to a hobbit. Besides scrolls and quills, never in his life had Frodo seen such things on his uncle Sara’s table. Frodo tried to rid his mind of awful thoughts and looked to another table in the corner opposite the bed he was in.

This time he spotted a big basin with a towel draped on its side. Empty bottles were lined near it against the wall. The hobbit wondered what was previously inside them. A chair stood beside the table, and what Frodo saw caused his breath to catch in his throat. A huge, no, Frodo repeated silently, a massive cloak was draped carelessly over it.

Panic seized him. This was no hobbithole! This belonged to one of the Big Folk. They had captured him!

Sitting up swiftly despite his lightheadedness, Frodo snapped his head to the direction of the window. It was too small and too high for him to reach. Frodo’s brow knitted in dismay. There was no way he could escape through it. The only way was…

“No, he will be all right. I can manage, thank you.”

Frodo froze as he overheard a voice on the other side of the closed door. Now it was entirely impossible for him to flee, especially through that exit.

Yet, Frodo was also stunned by the manner of the voice. It was not thunderous or alarming, but subdued, gentle, almost kind. It reminded him of his father.

Frodo slid back bonelessly to the bed, eyes closing slowly.

Then there came the sound of the door handle being turned.

TBC

AN: Grey Wonderer, thanks so much for your nice comments! Chapter 8 – Sour and Sweet

Merry seated himself in a far corner of the spacious hall in his house, on the softest couch available. Even then he shifted every now and again. His rear was still sore from his punishment the night before and every single move against the couch was agonizing. Merry brought his hand to brush away tears that kept rolling down his cheeks.

Brandy Hall was extraordinarily busy this morning. It had always been busy with that many inhabitants doing many different kinds of activities, but today was quite the opposite in terms of the type of activity. People seemed to be busy with just one objective, finding Frodo. Merry’s father, Saradoc, had started mobilizing all relatives to search in every direction. Suggestions were coming from everywhere.

“The Old Forest! Oh, it can eat him alive!”

“Try Brandywine River! Can the lad swim?” Nobody seemed to have the answer, since they hadn’t paid enough attention to the boy to know.

Those voices were buzzing in Merry’s ears, sometimes hitting home and forcing the miserable hobbit to remember again what he had done to cause such trouble, but some other times they went unheeded. They pierced his heart deeply, bitterly reminding him of the harsh lesson he had been given, and ruthlessly telling him that what he had done to Frodo concerning Bilbo’s letter wasn’t right.

Bilbo!

Merry’s ears strained all of a sudden to hear a voice standing out among the others, so loud and clear. Sitting up straight in his seat, Merry caught his breath, instantly recognizing it as Frodo’s dearest uncle’s voice. What was Bilbo doing here, now? According to the letter he sent Frodo, he would not be present until two weeks from the time he wrote it. But he was here now! Had he somehow found out that Frodo was gone?

A sharp cry sliced the air. Merry jumped up.

“Missing?! What do you mean, Frodo is missing?”

Merry ran to the window, his trembling hands gripping the frame so tightly the knuckles turned white. He leaned on it for support, his knees growing weak.

From afar Merry could only see how his father reached out and put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. Unlike Bilbo, Saradoc was speaking softly and Merry couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Apparently, whatever comforting words Sara was offering were disregarded by the obviously distraught older hobbit. Bilbo then literally swatted Sara’s hand away from his shoulder and turned around, striding toward Brandy Hall, much to Merry’s dismay.

“I refuse to hear such silly excuses!” Bilbo pronounced his words clearly and even more loudly. “Frodo is under your care as long as he’s here no matter what! Don’t give me ridiculous stories of someone forging my writing only to fool him and make the lad run away. Frodo is not that foolish. And it is your job to make sure something like that does not happen. How can Frodo flee from under your nose without you knowing it!?”

Merry was shaking heavily now. His legs buckled and completely gave under him. So his father had told Bilbo what he’d done! Merry could not imagine what kind of wrath Bilbo would lay upon him.

* * *

Frodo could not help but peep furtively at the figure that was slowly advancing into the room. He opened his eyes just a little at first, then felt shock wash over him as the owner of the voice walked in. Frodo’s wide blue eyes took in the large form of the man and he panicked at the sight of the figure as it neared him.

The hobbit gripped his blanket more tightly and curled up wishing that he could literally disappear beneath it. The lingering sight of the man proved that such an escape was impossible, and Frodo realized that the man was able to see him too. His heart drummed loudly in his chest. The man was enormous, easily thrice Frodo’s size.

The hobbit was still trying to shut his eyes but he found himself unable to. His gaze moved from the man’s determined jaw and the shadows of his dimpled chin to his long, fine nose and seemingly kind blue eyes. His face was rugged and his fair hair was long. The thing that made Frodo hold his breath was the smile on the man’s lips. The man was smiling and his eyes were, too. The man was big and husky but he definitely was not a ruffian.

“You’re awake?” The man queried, his voice as gentle as the one Frodo had heard behind the closed door, almost bringing Frodo to tears. His experience the night before had overwhelmed him to the point that even the lightest touch of tenderness nearly numbed him with sorrow and longing.

But the man was a stranger, Frodo reminded himself sharply. How could Frodo so easily trust him? Bilbo had once told him to beware of such folk and to be on his guard.

“You look much better now with dry clothes than a moment ago, before I changed them,” the ranger said merrily, dragging a chair to the bed, and plopped down, never averting his eyes from the young hobbit.

Frodo, about to sink further into his blanket, froze at once. What? The man had changed his soaking-wet clothes? No wonder he had felt so comfortable, without the trace of a chill as he slept. The tunic the man had provided for Frodo was much too large for him, but functioned as a passable nightshirt. Frodo pushed himself up to sit, still pulling at the blanket.

“C – changed?” He croaked hoarsely, his throat burning. The motion of sitting up made the room seem to whirl around him, and Frodo suddenly leaned over the other side of the bed as the contents of his stomach came up.

Frodo lay there on his belly for a long moment before easing onto his back again, eyes closed, his face deadly pale and sickly. The ranger bent down upon the hobbit, pure anxiety showing in his features.

“Lie still. Don’t move. I’ll get you something to drink.” And he stood up after dabbing at Frodo’s mouth with a piece of cloth he took from the table.

“There.” Frodo still closed his eyes when he felt the rim of a mug on his lips and sipped the warm liquid a bit. He was grateful for the sweet taste and the warm feeling it caused.

“You still want to throw up?” asked the man.

Frodo shook his head weakly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Your floor…”

“Ssh!” the man soothed. “You shouldn’t worry about that. You’re sick. You still are. Sorry if I frightened you. I did frighten you, didn’t I?”

The question failed to draw an answer from the young hobbit. Frodo would not admit that no matter the cost, and it seemed that the man understood.

Taking a worn rag to clean the wooden floor, the man cleared his throat and spoke. “I’m sorry again. I don’t deal much with other people so I don’t seem to be able to communicate well,” he explained, sitting on his chair again. Frodo thought the man well-spoken for someone who claimed an inability to communicate.

Frodo felt warmth seeping through his veins. He took a deep breath and fluttered his eyes open. He felt relieved that his dizziness seemed to have passed. Frodo’s face gradually colored, too. He sought the man’s eyes and tried to smile.

“How can I thank you?” he said in his small voice.

The man took Frodo’s hand, forcing it to release the blanket, and squeezed it gently.

“I found you lying unconscious in the wild in the middle of hard rain. It’s my responsibility as a ranger to give you shelter. But, mmm… What’s your name, little one?”

Frodo hesitated a moment. Was the man trustworthy enough? Frodo decided he must be. Taking him all the way to this cabin and changing his clothes to the dry ones were not things bad people would do.

“Frodo,” the hobbit said softly. “Frodo Baggins at your service, Mister…”

“You can call me Finbar. Fair head. Or simply Finn, fair, as people usually call me, too. I hope I’m worth my name.” Finbar smiled widely. Frodo could see that he must be someone who could easily befriend people with his easy manner and kind heart. But why did he seldom talk to others?

The man seemed to read Frodo’s mind. He laughed a little.

“I don’t blame your people if they’re even a little scared of me. After all, I’m a human and they’re hobbits. Just like you, they don’t easily trust us, which is quite understandable. But I enjoy the task of guarding the Shire. I love the people here and those few hobbits who have become some of my friends.”

Frodo pulled his hand off Finbar’s and bowed a little.

“I give you my deepest gratitude, Finbar. Otherwise… But I don’t want to bother you longer than necessary.”

Finbar cupped Frodo’s chin. Frodo looked at him wide-eyed.

“Never mind, Frodo Baggins. And I don’t mind having you here, either. Yet sooner or later you’ll have to go back to your home, will you not? Where is that, Frodo?”

TBC

AN: Thanks so much for the reviewers. This is especially for you!Chapter 9 – Baffled Minds

“Never mind, Frodo Baggins. And I don’t mind having you here, either. Yet sooner or later you’ll have to go back to your home, will you not? Where is that, Frodo?”

Frodo acted as if he had never heard Finbar’s query. He was drowning in the ranger’s bright blue eyes, drinking in the sight of the yellow waves of Finbar’s golden hair. It looked soft, but Frodo had not found the courage to reach out and touch it yet. Instead, he let the crisp voice of the gentle man soothe him.

Finbar was not exactly like his father, Frodo decided. In fact, they were a world apart – one being a human and the other a hobbit. Yet Frodo could feel there was something similar in both of them. Their gentle and loving care were alike and familiar to Frodo. It was just that while his father’s attention had felt so distant now, Finbar’s was still lingering so close that Frodo could always seem to reach it. Touch it. Take it. And bring it to his embrace, never to let it go.

It was most surprising, though, for Finbar was a total stranger to the hobbit. How could he feel such closeness to this man? Finbar was just…

“Frodo? Do you hear me?”

Frodo tilted his head to the left, eyes wandering dreamily. What? His house? Where was his house? This seemingly simple question sounded strange to Frodo’s ears. What did a house mean anyway?

Frodo’s mind drifted to a modest but cozy hobbithole in Buckland. That was their house, or rather, his parents’ house. Frodo had had his most treasured time there.

But no. That was out of the question. Frodo had long abandoned the house ever since – ever since – Frodo slapped himself inwardly at the rambling thought. He had long abandoned the house. Period.

Frodo could not help gazing at Finbar with deep sorrow clouding his eyes. That was the only place he could ever call his house. His home. And he despised those people, his relatives, who had been so bold as to decide that he, Frodo, should leave the house after his parents’ death. He had at first politely declined the idea, thinking that he could at least get to be with the remainder of his parents’ memories. But all the Brandybucks, the Tooks, and the Bagginses turned down the idea. No one would look after him there.

But little Frodo could not seem to understand – did not want to understand. And so he cried out his refusal to leave, every time more stridently than the last. And when nobody heeded him, Frodo raised his voice even higher until his weeping overtook him completely.

Yet they stuck with the decision that Frodo had to leave, struggling to keep their expressions neutral as they faced the thwarted boy who could only plead and sob now with his remaining energy, asking to stay.

His house. Frodo had not seen his childhood house ever since. His uncle Saradoc brought him to Brandy Hall – a house much bigger and more luxurious than his parents’ smial, yet it could never seem to Frodo to be truly a home. And Sara, without Frodo knowing it, had arranged that the boy would not go out of the house unattended. Sara had made sure that Frodo should not go back to his old house and thus create problems to everyone in Brandy Hall.

And although Merry’s presence had cheered Frodo somewhat, he would never be able to erase the memory of his parents and his own place.

Or… could he call Bag End his house? Bilbo’s stately hobbithole where Frodo would go for holiday. He knew he felt much more at home there than at Brandy Hall. The quiet and safe surroundings of Bag End had proved to be most appealing to Frodo. But to think that he almost lived there for good…

Frodo turned his face away in an attempt to hide the tears that were suddenly threatening to spill over. It hurt so much that he could not even answer the simplest question: Where is your house, Frodo Baggins?

An intense silence followed as Finbar continued to gaze in confusion at Frodo. He did not understand what had been going on in the hobbit’s heart nor did he know why it took Frodo that long to answer such a simple question. This silence was not what he expected.

Then there was a sigh. Frodo turned back to Finbar and finally responded.

“I’m so dizzy. Can I sleep now?”

Though a bit taken aback by the unexpected question, Finbar smiled warmly and bending his body a little, he tucked Frodo gently in his blanket.

“Go ahead, little one. Take a good rest.”

* * *

On the other hand, one lifelong resident of Brandy Hall, Merry, did not feel the slightest comfort in it. Everything was going amiss, thanks to his thoughtless act. And seeing Bilbo striding toward him did not help at all.

Merry struggled to his feet and headed toward the door. Clicking it open, he almost jumped to see Bilbo was already on the threshold. Merry looked up, eyes glistening with tears.

Bilbo seemed surprised to see Merry there but swallowed his question at once as he caught sight of the teary eyes. Frodo was so dear to Merry, too. His being lost must prove a difficult thing for this much younger hobbit to cope with.

Bilbo extended his arms and Merry flew to him.

“Uncle Bilbo!” Merry sobbed violently. “Frodo… I…” The hobbit sank deeply into Bilbo’s embrace, feeling utterly miserable. How was he going to tell him about what he had done?

Kneeling down, Bilbo patted Merry gently on the back.

“We’ll find him, Meriadoc,” he said softly. Gone was all his fury toward Sara. Bilbo scooped Merry up and carried him inside. “You just stay in. Let your father and uncles look for Frodo.”

Bilbo forced a small smile.

“Come to think of it, maybe you can be of help, too. You can be our source of information. You can tell us what places Frodo usually goes. Right, Merry?” Said Bilbo while lowering Merry down to a chair.

The elder hobbit’s words almost choked Merry. He would! He would gladly tell everyone all the things that might help them find his beloved cousin. He did not care anymore if that would result in their success in finding Frodo sooner, thus hastening the moment when he must confess to Frodo what he had done. Frodo would be furious when he found out, but Merry vowed to face his cousin’s wrath.

The problem was, he did not have the smallest clue as to where Frodo could be. It was possible that Frodo had his own hiding places that escaped Merry’s knowledge, but Merry could swear that the places searched out by his uncles were the only places familiar to both Frodo and him. It was true that he knew one more spot where Frodo would love to be, the library.

And Merry sobbed harder behind his hands.

“Uncle, I’m sorry!” his sound was muffled. The library reminded Merry of something, some time when he was busy scribbling the letter – the cursed letter! And Frodo’s confused face when Merry sent him away. The little hobbit remembered Frodo’s discomfort as he was torn between the joy of receiving Bilbo’s letter and Merry’s anger regarding it.

Bilbo gazed down at Merry in puzzlement. Sorry? But why? Yet somehow Bilbo could tell something was indeed wrong.

He sat down beside Merry and motioned to Merry to face him. Merry was still heaving with sobs. He eyed Bilbo warily with his puffy eyes.

“Come now,” prodded Bilbo, his tone gentle but firm. “Why are you sorry? Was it… Did Frodo run away… Oh, Elbereth!” Bilbo jumped up, causing Merry to jerk back, pressing himself to the back of the chair.

Bilbo curled his fists tightly, walking back and forth. His face grew red as he struggled to curb his anger. Merry was just a young lad, he reminded himself. Sometimes the differences between right and wrong and the possible consequences involved escaped children his age. Still, Merry must be reminded of the seriousness of his actions. He stopped pacing and fixed Merry with stern look. “Do you know why he ran away? Was it a fight between you two?!”

Under normal circumstances, Bilbo’s question would sound ridiculous as Frodo was years older than Merry and it would seem strange that he should run away because of his younger cousin. But Bilbo knew how sensitive Frodo was and his being orphaned just made everything worse.

Bilbo stood looking down at Merry, his sharp gaze pinning the young hobbit firmly in place. “What did you say to him, Meriadoc! What did you say that hurt him enough he decided to go away?!”

Merry’s head was bowed and he stared glumly at his feet, but he managed an answer.

“I didn’t!” He protested. “I didn’t say anything to him!”

In a way, Merry was telling the truth. He never said anything to Frodo that might be harmful. He merely wrote it. And Merry shuddered at the thought.

* * *

Frodo was lying down on his side with his back facing Finbar, who was still looking intently at him. Finbar could hear Frodo’s soft, even breathing and thought he must be deep in his slumber. Was he really?

Finbar was no longer smiling. In fact, he had questions starting to buzz in his head. What had really happened to this young hobbit? Why had he become so restless over a simple question?

Suddenly there was a small twitch from Frodo’s shoulder followed by a brief movement from the hobbit’s head. It happened very quickly, but not too quickly for Finbar to notice it. He could also swear that he saw Frodo glance at him briefly. Finbar caught his breath. So the hobbit was pretending to sleep. He was pretending to sleep – to evade Finbar’s next questions.

Finbar got more suspicious. Was Frodo actually not as innocent as he appeared? What had he done? Did he steal something and then run away? There seemed more to this situation than met the eye, and Finbar brooded as he settled himself at the bedside.

TBC Chapter 10 – Winding

Bilbo looked down at the quivering form in front of him. He himself was still shaking with unvented anger. Merry’s voice was still ringing in his ears.

“I didn’t! I didn’t say anything to him!”

And it was just difficult to believe as Bilbo knew Frodo would not simply walk away from Brandy Hall. He knew the child. He knew that Frodo loved living here.

Well, did he?

Did he, Bilbo, really know that?

Then what did all the outrageous joy, demonstrated by the little hobbit every time he paid a visit to Brandy Hall, mean? Why did the big eyes continuously light up when he was here – and only to dim immediately when he realized Bilbo was about to leave? Were those all signs of happiness?

At this point Bilbo suddenly realized that Frodo might not be all that happy to stay here. That Frodo just never told anyone about his true feelings. That he had for a long time been trying to convey that to Bilbo, but the older hobbit just did not seem to realize it. Bilbo puffed loudly, hanging both his arms lifelessly by his sides. How insensitive he had been! While his young cousin might have become sensitive, that the least offensive words or the smallest unfriendly act had been able to render him insensible and cause him to do the most plausible thing a child his age could think of – fly away. Get as far as possible from the one who hurt him.

Even if the one was so much younger than Frodo such as Merry?

Bilbo’s eyes were still set on the hobbit and slowly it dawned on him that it was impossible for Merry to be able to scare Frodo off like that. Something more terrible must have played a role here, and he needed Merry to tell him.

Bilbo willed himself to calm down. It was no use for him to scare Merry, too. He might decide to run away as well! Bilbo smiled bitterly. It was not a joke, and it was not funny. Not funny at all!

He stooped and extended his arms, but Merry was still feeling Bilbo’s anger and scorn, and he backed away.

“No, no, Meriadoc. Come here. I’m not angry with you. Not anymore.” Bilbo tried his most soothing voice. He initially thought he had failed when he saw that Merry did not move, so his heart leapt when Merry finally stirred, slowly approaching him.

“I didn’t say anything to Frodo, Uncle Bilbo,” repeated the poor hobbit. His small voice quaked a little.

“I know, dear, I know,” replied Bilbo, taking Merry to his arms and carrying the hobbit into the house. “But I must know everything that can help us find him.”

Merry’s eyes widened behind the mass of his tangled locks. He stared at Bilbo, whose face was so close to his.

“I… I…”

Here we go, thought Merry. Now he would need all his courage to tell the truth to Uncle Bilbo no matter what should come upon him.

Merry choked in his own sobs as he was trying to pour out his confession. This was so difficult! Merry put his arms around Bilbo’s neck and hugged the older hobbit tightly. Burrowing his head against Bilbo’s shoulder, Merry wept harder. But in between his sobs, he managed to mutter, “I – I am sorry, Uncle Bilbo. I – we’d better go to the library. Come on, Uncle!” He blubbered and cried even louder.

* * *

Bilbo carried Merry in front of his chest and went to the library. He did not know what awaited them there. Should there be any clues concerning Frodo’s whereabouts in the room? All Bilbo knew was that Frodo loved the library. Not only the books in it but the room itself. Frodo said that himself, and now that a serious thing had happened, the fact helped Bilbo see things more clearly and understand his cousin more.

Bilbo huffed out his breath as he lowered Merry down. Merry stood still in front of a table, the very place where he wrote the accursed letter. Yet he only kept staring at Bilbo, eyes reddening, cheeks damp with tears, and lips quivering, trying hard to hold back his weeping. And still he said nothing.

“So?” asked Bilbo, a slight impatience was in his voice. “Why do you bring us here, Merry?”

Merry tried to swallow his tears. The little hobbit then crept toward the back of the table, going to the chair, doubt and fear in his eyes as he gazed upon Bilbo. He only averted his eyes when he opened a drawer and after fumbling through several pieces of paper, Merry pulled out one that looked rumpled and torn. It was torn indeed. In fact, the paper seemed to be only a half of it used to be. Merry took no effort to smooth it. Mutely, he handed out the paper to Bilbo, who, without saying anything, took the paper and studied it while wonder was dancing in his mind. And the crease that had adorned the old hobbit’s brow deepened as he slowly recognized the paper by the words written on it. It was his letter! His own letter sent to Frodo some two weeks ago.

The letter telling that he was going to adopt his beloved young cousin.

The only thing that prevented his coming earlier was that in the letter he had said he would come in two weeks and not before. It was something that he wrote himself, something that – now that he realized it – could be changed. Something that he finally found the courage to do.

But, even then, it had already been too late. Bilbo was too late when he eventually left for Brandy Hall. Frodo was already gone, disappearing to gods knew where.

Bilbo crumpled the useless sheet in his wrinkled hand, as if he wanted it to vanish from his sight, too. It had done nothing but reminded him of his helplessness.

Why? Why, Frodo? Bilbo screamed inside. Is it because I didn’t come soon enough? Was two weeks too long for you to wait?

Bilbo looked at Merry again, gazing as if the person he was facing now was someone of his age, someone who could cleverly read what it was behind his pained look. For some time Bilbo completely forgot that Merry was merely a young lad who was unlikely to ask questions such as ‘Are you all right?’ or “What is troubling your mind?’ or to offer small comforts such as ‘Everything will be fine.’

No, of course not. Meriadoc Brandybuck was still a lad of several summers who even seemed to drown in his own misery right now. And Bilbo in his bafflement was lost in himself. It did not even cross his mind that Merry’s confusion might not only come from seeing Bilbo in such a desolate state. Something else was troubling the boy.

And Bilbo kept looking forlornly, to a vacant space behind Merry now, not paying attention as the young hobbit moved again, taking a more decent sheet of paper and a pencil, and started to scratch something on it.

* * *

Frodo was keenly aware of every movement Finbar made behind his back: dragging the chair closer to the bed and settling himself in it. Frodo did not know though, if the man was sitting straight or crouching in his seat. It did not matter for the hobbit. What really mattered was that Frodo knew Finbar never lifted his eyes off him. He just could feel it.

Breathing heavier every single second, Frodo felt his back and neck getting warmer from the feeling of being scrutinized, feeling his entire body grow more and more tense. Even the bed felt as if it were burning his side.

Amidst the torture he plunged himself into, Frodo suddenly realized that a sleeping person moved sometimes. Exhaling in relief at his own discovery, Frodo stretched a little beneath his blanket and pretended to mumble something in his sleep before he relaxed himself to sleep quietly.

But a string of words ruined his plan.

“What is it?”

It was Finbar, sounding a bit concerned, but in fact shattering the silence between them and Frodo’s hope to keep himself hidden behind his false slumber.

Frodo stiffened – and that was his biggest mistake. Finbar struck him quickly with his next statement, though gently and almost inaudibly.

“I know you’re not sleeping, Frodo,” he whispered almost in Frodo’s ears. “It’s no use trying to deceive me. It won’t work.”

Frodo’s breath hitched and his eyes flew open, staring sharply at the wall across him, unable to say anything, or even to turn around to face the man.

Slowly his face and ears turned red with shame. What if Finbar insisted on questioning him? Then there was the ranger’s voice again.

“There are two reasons why someone runs from his place. Either he is in a grave danger or he is guilty of some kind of a breach.”

Frodo clasped the hem of his blanket so tightly his knuckles turned white. He whimpered softly.

“Those who are in danger normally tell people who help them about what comes upon them,” continued Finbar. “And I’m sure I’m trustworthy enough for that. After all, I’m a ranger. I protect people and their surroundings, and do not seek to harm them.”

The hobbit kept silent although he was definitely listening to the man. And Frodo clenched his eyes shut now, feeling warm tears starting to flow.

Finbar went on.

“I never once heard you ask for help, and you even seem to be reluctant to tell me about your house. Who are you, really, Frodo?”

Frodo fought hard to hold back his sobbing, not wanting to melt over Finbar’s words that would make him reveal everything in the end. He did not want to go back to Brandy Hall. He did not want them to find out that he was alone, unwanted. Frodo was stunned for a moment, trying to remember where he had kept Bilbo’s second letter. He had completely forgotten about it and he knew he had to search for it. The hobbit did not want it to be found by anyone, especially his fellow hobbits who could use it to mock him.

But Finbar was not through with him.

“Your condition was terrible when I found you, Frodo. That’s why I never thought of you as a wicked lad. But you leave me with no choice. Either you speak now, or…”

Frodo turned around abruptly, causing an unpleasant whirling feeling to erupt in his head all of a sudden. Chills ran down his spine.

Or… what? Thought Frodo in dread. Was Finbar now thinking of him as an outlaw? A thief? Would the man finally decide to throw him to jail? Frodo grabbed Finbar’s wrist and clutched it as tightly as his weak hand could manage.

“I…” Frodo croaked. “I – have to pass the water.”

His lips tightened at once and his heart sank as he noticed the frown in Finbar’s eyes, followed by great disappointment. Frodo almost regretted having lied to this gentle ranger. But he could not help it. In the end he could only bow his head deeply.

“I really do,” Frodo murmured.

Finbar seemed like one newly released from a spell, looking slowly into Frodo’s eyes once more and then nodding a little.

“Very well,” he sighed. His plan to get a little information from the hobbit by hinting a threat to him had failed miserably. “Go ahead. It’s outside, on the left.”

Frodo tilted his head, not too vigorously so as to avoid getting dizzy again. He sat up on the bed and slowly lowered his legs over the side. He just realized now how lifeless they had become. He was wondering how many days he had lain dormant in this bed.

“Do you need help?” Asked Finbar. Frodo did not stir from where he sat at the edge of the bed, concentrating on himself, wanting to make sure he was strong enough to walk by without aid.

“No, thank you,” answered Frodo quietly. Oh, this bed is so high!

Frodo clasped the bed sheet with both hands and slid carefully down to place his feet on the floor. The wooden surface felt cold under his hairy feet and Frodo sucked his breath in at the shock of it.

This is not good! Screamed his mind, while his hands again grasped at the bed behind him. He felt his legs shaking harder and his body felt heavy and light at the same time.

It’s just getting worse.

The room was spinning around him now, and when he glanced down at the floor, the dark brown color of it had mysteriously tuned … purple.

“Ma… Da…” whispered Frodo softly. “H-help…” He never knew when his hands started to lose their grip or when his knees gave. Frodo could not tell when he fell unconscious or when Finbar dashed to his direction to catch him before he sank down and landed on the floor with a thud.

“FRODO!” Shouted Finbar.

But he was too late.

TBC Chapter 11 – Home at Last

Frodo jerked awake as something sharp-smelling invaded his nostrils. For a moment he lay there stiffly, gazing blankly at the man inclining toward him with something in his hand. Recognition came slowly to Frodo’s muddled mind.

“Where am I? Who are you?” A tinge of panic laced the hobbit’s voice.

The man straightened up, relieved to see that it did not take long for Frodo to come to. He put the fragrant dried herbs back on the table and replied with a smile,

“You’re still in my house, little Frodo, in Finbar’s house.”

house… little Frodo… Finbar

Frodo squinted as memories slowly drew in.

The purple floor… Finbar’s prying eyes and questions… Finbar’s suspicions…

Frodo shrank back and began to tremble again. He remembered having pretended to want to go to the privy to escape the man but then failed as he was not strong enough to support himself.

“Please sir.” Frodo’s voice quivered. “I’m not a thief. I didn’t do anything… improper.”

Finbar sighed. “Then why did you run from your house?”

Frodo’s blanched face twisted a little as he mouthed, “it wasn’t my house.”

“What?” Unable to catch the quiet words, Finbar shifted closer. He ruffled Frodo’s curls, frowning as he touched the hobbit’s feverish temple. “I never believed you to be guilty of wrongdoing, Frodo. That kind of thought just crossed my mind because I’m used to considering all possibilities. Why don’t you trust me, Frodo?”

Frodo eyed him miserably.

Because he was the first of the big folk Frodo had ever encountered.

Because he was an adult who, in Frodo’s own experiences, liked so much to play with words.

It was very easy for adults to turn from whatever they had said earlier. It was as if they could conveniently change their words without thought or care. Adults never realized how much their words could mean for a lad like Frodo, and how youngsters would hold to such words as the truth. Frodo had believed that he would have eternal happiness with his parents, yet they left him. It took a long time for him to understand that it was not their fault they passed away and he was left behind. When he eventually comprehended the matter and gradually learned to cope on his own, there came sweet words, promises, from someone who happened to be Frodo’s favorite uncle. His hopes had begun to rise again at the thought that there might be someone out there to love him, someone he could depend on. But hadn’t that same person dashed his hopes again less than a week after?

Now how could he ever trust another adult that he hardly knew? Even so, this very person had been providing him food and shelter without being asked.

“Oh, poor child…”

Frodo was started when all of a sudden Finbar gathered him into his long arms, drawing the hobbit close. Frodo also noticed the emotion in the ranger’s voice. What had happened?

“I’ve never imagined a young lad your age has to live such a harsh life,” Finbar managed, his voice trembling as a tear traversed his cheek. He let go of Frodo, who in return touched Finbar’s wet cheek with his small fingers. Frodo then realized that he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

“I’m not that young,” remarked Frodo stiffly. He pulled back his hand and resumed his guarded posture. Now that Finbar knew about him, what would he do to him? Something Frodo was quite sure of was that he didn’t want to go back to Brandy Hall. He could not imagine the shame of being rejected, and he did not want to try Bag End either. Frodo did not want to find out the reason why Bilbo finally withdrew his initial intention to adopt him. That would be the most humiliating thing to ask.

* * *

Merry clawed the smooth white linen of his bed sheet, tugged it in frustration, and sank his face deeper into its folds. He sobbed quietly, quieter now that he had calmed himself down a bit. But when he remembered again what had happened, Merry could not keep the tears from coming.

He still could not erase Bilbo’s face from his mind when he showed him the piece of paper. It was still fresh in his memory how the look on Bilbo’s face changed from one full of bafflement to another filled with rage, from a wrinkled face just awakened from deep musings to the one with anger and disappointment.

Merry still could see how the blankness on the elderly hobbit’s face turned to confusion as he traced one by one the words Merry had rewritten on the paper sheet. They were not as complete as those written on the letter given to Frodo, but the idea was intact. Slowly Bilbo’s jaw slackened as he read.

“I never wrote this,” he spelled out softly. Merry bowed his head deeply.

“You didn’t,” he mumbled.

“But it looks like my hand.”

Silence.

“You wrote it, didn’t you?” Bilbo asked as the truth dawned on him.

The air was still as Bilbo’s sharp mind began to assimilate the facts.

“And you’ve written more besides.” His eyes accused the still form of the youngster sitting behind the desk. “Which you sent to Frodo on my behalf, pretending to be me. You made him to think that it was me who didn’t want him to be at Bag End.”

Merry’s head lowered even more.

“Is this so? Answer me Merry!”

Merry jumped at Bilbo’s raised voice. His face reddened and tears fell down his cheeks. “Yes. YES! I did all that! I am the one to blame. I was wicked and I’m sorry!”

Bilbo froze at the utter confession. He had never thought something like this could happen. Even to his most hated enemies he had never thought of doing something as malicious as forging handwriting – and a signature. Yet a young lad like Merry had done so, not thinking of the consequences.

What had Frodo done to make Merry think such treatment was warranted ? What did Merry have against his cousin?

For the briefest moment, Bilbo felt like striking the not-so-innocent boy in front of him. He wanted to shake him and shout at him, to punish him for what he had done. But wasn’t Merry already punishing himself, he reasoned? He found he couldn’t raise a hand to the lad as angry as he was.

It was Merry then who broke the uncomfortable silence. He ran around the table to Bilbo and clung to him.

“It was all my mistake, Uncle!” Merry cried out, weeping. “I – I never thought that it would lead to this. I never meant all this to happen!”

It is surely not going to end this way, thought Bilbo. We will find Frodo! But – but Merry surely never considered all of this. He’s still too young to know. But why in the first place…

“Uncle Bilbo, please talk to me!” Merry tugged Bilbo’s arm but Bilbo stood stiffly. “I only did it because – because I love Frodo too much! I don’t want him to leave me, not to go to Bag End or any other place. He’s everything to me. A brother, a friend, a teacher…”

… who stumbles upon his own noble deeds, teaching this boy how to read and write, and the value of love.

Merry almost felt relieved as he sensed Bilbo’s arm relax slightly in his grasp, but his relief was short – lived as Bilbo disengaged himself and walked across the room away from him. Suddenly Merry seemed not to be present anymore. Bilbo was too distracted by his own thoughts.

Frodo might have decided to go to Bag End. The ever-inquisitive lad might have wanted to know why it seemed I did not want him anymore. Bilbo felt his heart lighten to think that there was still a chance to find his favorite nephew.

* * *

Two days passed uneventfully and Finbar’s house had never been more peaceful. The ranger understood too well about Frodo’s feelings and thus he never asked where Frodo wanted to go or raised the issue of bringing Frodo either to Bag End or back to Brandy Hall. Frodo had then told Finbar everything that had happened and knowing exactly what the hobbit needed, Finbar made him stay in bed to regain his health, giving him food and drink and medicinal herbs.

Frodo knew, however, that he could not accept such kindness without something being given in return. He was determined to do something to repay Finbar when he fully recovered. But for the time being he let himself delight in Finbar’s full attention toward him. Frodo had never felt so… loved. Finbar was not merely pretending to care about him. The hobbit could feel it from the warm feeling gushing over him from the man’s blue eyes and tender touch.

TBC AN: With cherished thanks for my beta, MBradford.

Chapter 12 – Finbar’s Proposition

“Gandalf! Gandalf!”

The wizard raised one eyebrow and turned his attention from the still waters of the Bywater pond. He had yet to encounter those hobbit children whose merry calls he had heard a moment earlier. Who had the power of the Wise here, he wondered in amusement? The children always seemed to know when Gandalf was about, even before they should be able to see him or his cart.

Gandalf smiled widely as he caught sight of two diminutive hobbit lasses and one small lad. They cheered mirthfully and waved at him with vigor.

“Fireworks, Gandalf!”

Gandalf chuckled. Those high – spirited rascals! They reminded the wizard of another young hobbit, fair and more reserved on most occasions, although not necessarily when he was in Gandalf’s company.

Frodo Baggins, a cousin of his old friend Bilbo Baggins, an adventurous hobbit who had once dared to accept the challenge of a treasure hunt with a group of dwarves. Gandalf could not help wondering if Frodo were much different from Bilbo. The perky youth always listened to every story the wizard or Bilbo related, wide – eyed and wishing to experience it himself.

Gandalf loved Frodo and his heart went out to the hobbit when he learned of his parents’ passing in a terrible accident. Frodo had become more silent ever since but his affection for Gandalf had not lessened.

The sound of hooves on the path brought Gandalf out of his reverie. The wizard’s eyes narrowed as he waited to see whom he might encounter, and he smiled. He recognized the approaching individual from the small size of the cart he drove and the stature of the beast who drew it. It was a pony, not a horse, and the face of the driver was well known to the wizard. Still smiling fondly, Gandalf slowed to greet Bilbo as he passed.

“Good day to you, Bilbo Baggins.”

To Gandalf’s amazement, the hobbit did not stop to greet him in return. Even worse, Bilbo seemed not even to hear him as he called out. The hobbit was looking down at… his own hands, or so it seemed. Perhaps that was why he seemed not to see Gandalf. But the fact that Bilbo did not even seem to hear the greeting told Gandalf one thing – there was something on his mind. Something serious, by the look of things.

Gandalf was stunned as Bilbo passed him, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. His expression changing from annoyance to concern, Gandalf wondered what had happened.

The wizard called out again as Bilbo gave no sign of acknowledging his presence.

“Bilbo!” Gandalf raised his voice. “Since when do you ignore the greeting of an old friend? If people were to see you now, they would think you had just lost a crown and found a shilling.”

“I’ve lost more treasure than I can say,” Bilbo mumbled absently, still looking down and urging the pony onward.

Gandalf could only turn his cart and follow. The faster stride and gait of his horse quickly brought him round in front of the hobbit, blocking his way.

The hobbit looked up with a shocked expression, as though just realizing where he was and that he was not alone.

“Gandalf!”

“It is I, dear friend. And I have been trying to gain your smallest attention for some moments.” Bilbo seemed not to notice the familiar cynical tone to the comments.

“Gandalf!” He cried again, springing from the seat of his cart, and dashed in Gandalf’s direction. The wizard had alit from his cart even before Bilbo reached him, and caught the hobbit in his arms as Bilbo sank himself into the thick folds of Gandalf’s robe.

Gandalf knelt for what seemed like hours, encircling the hobbit in his arms as Bilbo buried his face in his robe and sobbed. The wizard smoothed Bilbo’s curls, hoping to comfort him somehow. Relieved to find someone to confide in, Bilbo let his misery spill forth. Since the moment he had heard about Frodo’s disappearance, Bilbo had been able to do nothing but listen to abhorrent things concerning the matter, and had grown more and more furious as a result. He had been furious indeed!

Still, after spending some time alone on the road, Bilbo realized that it was not really rage that consumed him. Merry had apologized, and had been truly contrite. Bilbo had forgiven him. What else could he do? Bilbo didn’t want to be angry at the young hobbit. There was no more anger left in him now, only an emptiness, longing and despair. They crushed his heart and left it bleeding and sore. He felt as if his chest were truly ready to burst.

Frodo…, Bilbo lamented silently. He felt extremely grateful for the unexpected meeting with Gandalf.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Frodo stood on his tiptoes to reach the bolt on the door. It was so high up, at least it seemed to him. Frodo turned back and glanced gingerly at Finbar, who was fast asleep with his head on the table, cushioned against his folded arms. He was sleeping soundly, Frodo knew, but still he was reluctant to risk the amount of noise he might make should he jump up to try to reach the bolt. His recovering ankle reminded him of its state with a slight twinge.

Frodo resumed his attempt to reach the bolt and open the door while trying to calm his labored breathing. Suddenly there was a loud clack and Frodo’s heart leapt as he glanced hurriedly at Finbar. The young hobbit sighed in relief as the man failed to stir at the sound. Slowly and quietly Frodo opened the door and stepped out.

At first he hardly dared to go farther than the threshold. He looked around nervously, noticing that the area around Finbar’s lodge seemed to be deserted but for refreshing green grass and shadowy trees and a clear stream some steps away. Gradually Frodo’s features began to register a change from uncertainty to awe, and a smile began to spread across his face. He breathed the fresh air deeply and could almost feel the color returning to his cheeks.

It had been days since he had been outside, drawing such scents into his lungs. He had lain unconscious in the house at first, unable to venture out. Frodo scrutinized his surroundings more closely, making certain that no one was about. True, he had spent some time in a man’s house, and the man, Finbar, had proven himself to be quite gentle. Still, Frodo was determined not to take unnecessary risks. Only after assuring himself that the place was silent as a still night did he dare to advance.

Frodo walked a short distance away and seated himself, drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. His mind wandered and his gaze began to drift, unfocused.

Events in his life replayed themselves in his memory, and aside from the time when he still had his parents with him, Frodo found that this moment was the only time when he had felt at peace and felt truly accepted. He would trade it for nothing in his life, only perhaps for life itself.

A soft breeze gently ruffled the curls at Frodo’s brow and seemed to draw the lad into a soothing embrace. Frodo’s chin came to rest on his knees as his lips curved into a tender smile, his eyes still staring off into nothing. Even so, a tear trickled down his cheek.

Frodo wiped it away briskly, feeling annoyed at its presence. This was not a time to cry, he thought, it was a time to feel grateful and happy. It wouldn’t do to weep!

Inside the dwelling, the ranger awakened to no other presence but his own. Frodo’s bed was empty and the door stood open. Near panic seized him as a single thought came to his mind – Frodo had run away!

Ignoring the brief moment of vertigo as he rose abruptly, Finbar dashed to the doorway, gasping in relief as he saw Frodo only a short distance away, sitting quietly on the grass. His relief was short – lived, however, as he saw the hobbit rubbing at his eyes. Was the little one ill again? He strode out to Frodo and in one smooth motion he gathered the hobbit into his arms and lifted him up.

Frodo stiffened in surprise and attempted to wriggle free.

“Finbar, wait!”

The man acted as if he had not even heard Frodo, determinedly taking him back toward the lodge and his bed.

“You’re not yet well,” he protested, huffing as Frodo struggled against his grasp.

“No!” Frodo twisted and Finbar’s grip on him slipped. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and protested, “I’m fine. I’m feeling much better.” Finbar released the hobbit reluctantly and looked down at him, his hands resting on Frodo’s shoulders.

“But I saw you weeping. Are you certain that you fare as well as you say? You’re not dizzy or feverish?”

Frodo shook his head, smiling sheepishly.

“And you’re not planning to flee, are you?” Finbar pressed further. Frodo was taken aback.

“Oh, no, Sir. Never. I like it here. I just wanted some fresh air.”

Frodo looked at Finbar with his deep blue eyes.

“I never want to leave this place. Not anymore. Can I stay here forever, Finbar, please?” Frodo was not ashamed of his plea. He had grown to like the kind man very much and felt safe in his presence. Still, he felt some guilt when he thought of the ranger surrendering the comfort of his bed. It must have been four or five days now that Finbar had slept sitting in the hard wooden chair with his head resting on the table. Frodo wanted to repay such kindness, but he could not think of how.

Finbar led Frodo inside the house and lifted him up to sit on the bed. Sitting down beside him, the ranger cleared his throat uncertainly. He was unsure as to Frodo’s complete recovery but he needed to speak.

“I have no reservations at all about letting you stay here, Frodo, especially knowing what you face in your life. I don’t want you to live in misery. You are much too dear for that. I just want you to be happy.”

Finbar grasped Frodo’s hands and the hobbit looked up hopefully.

“But I cannot let you live by yourself. I want to be ready at hand to safeguard you, but I have much to do otherwise.”

Frodo sniffed a little. Here was yet another bit of trouble he had caused this kind man, keeping him at home for days and away from his tasks elsewhere.

“And one more thing,” Finbar carried on. “No matter how much I would like you to stay here with me, I cannot in good conscience allow it. We are different, you and I. I wonder what others will say should I allow you to stay here.”

Frodo shifted uncomfortably. He could see where this conversation was going. Finbar had good reason for his reluctance. Nothing good could last forever. Frodo knew he would eventually have to leave this place.

Where he would go, Frodo couldn’t fathom. He remembered the reasons he had fled Brandy Hall, and that he had no place to go. Not even now.

Frodo swallowed and bowed his head.

“I have to go, don’t I?” He whispered.

Finbar could see Frodo’s heart breaking before his very eyes, and it troubled him. He wrapped his arms around Frodo’s shoulders, holding him tightly.

“I’m not going to send you away right this moment. We can go together. You can accompany me across the Shire as I go west. This is a peaceful land, for the most part and you should come to no danger. We can go together until you decide where you’re going to stay. You won’t have to walk. We’ll find you a pony.” Finbar combed his blond hair back with his fingers, sighing deeply. “I feel certain there’s someone and someplace out there for you, Frodo.”

Frodo felt tears beginning to dampen his face. What kind of life is this? He thought sadly. Must I be forever pitied but never loved nor wanted? Finbar was incredibly kind, and his care for his charge was genuine. Still, Frodo could not help feeling sorry for himself, and for the another countless time in his life, rejected again.

TBC. Chapter 13 – Encounters

Frodo stood meekly in the doorway, watching Finbar pack some provisions onto a stout pony. He said nothing to the ranger about the journey. Finbar had been extremely kind to Frodo in bringing him in from the rain, treating all of his injuries, giving him food and comfort. Finbar did all those things with nothing but love. Care was obvious in all of his acts and it was care too that made the man expect nothing from Frodo in return. He never allowed Frodo to get out of bed to help him around the house. Not even with the packing. Frodo did not dare to ask more of him.

The hobbit sighed, and was turning his attention back to the man, when sounds of footsteps caught his attention. Frodo turned to see a couple of elderly hobbits walking toward him and Finbar with a bundle of something and a bucket in their hands. Frodo retreated a few steps back to the house. They looked friendly but they were still strangers to him.

“Finn…” said Frodo softly.

Finbar stared at him questioningly and then turned around to find out what had frightened his charge. Unlike Frodo, he welcomed the hobbits warmly.

“Mr. and Mrs. Smallburrow! I thank you for allowing me to burden your pony with so many things!”

Finbar called out to Frodo as the couple took each of Finbar’s hands.

“They are the owners of this beast, Frodo. Such nice people! Come. You should meet them.”

Frodo blushed and approached the three awkwardly. But Finbar put an arm around his shoulders to ease his embarrassment.

“This is Frodo. Frodo Baggins.” Finbar smiled encouragingly to the young hobbit.

“You must be the one brought here by our beloved ranger. You’re feeling better now?” Asked Mr. Smallburrow.

“Y – yes, I am,” Frodo stammered, unaccustomed to being treated kindly by hobbit adults. “I – am better now, thank you.” It also occurred to him that Finbar was truly a man of respect. Everyone seemed to like him. Frodo let Finn’s arm remain about his shoulders.

Mrs. Smallburrow stepped forward and placed the bundle and the basket into Frodo’s hands, and Frodo wondered at the heavy load.

“Some things to keep you from hunger,” said the hobbit tenderly. Finbar eyed the basked with increased curiosity.

“Your home – made bread, Mrs. Smallburrow? I enjoy it very much!”

Finbar patted Frodo’s shoulder as he explained, “They are the ones who taught me anything I wanted to know about hobbits, Frodo. I live among hobbits but I haven’t really cared to know about them until I met you, Frodo.” Finbar gave a small laugh. “But no matter how much I know about you, you never cease to amaze me every day!”

For the second time in a relatively short time, Frodo felt his face and ears warm with embarrassment.

Mrs. Smallburrow laughed to hear Finbar’s words and to see Frodo’s reaction to them.

“Are you sure you want Frodo to leave your place, Finbar? It seems you’ve grown to like him very much.”

“And I like him,” Frodo said softly before he could stop himself. Frodo was startled by his own words, but the next moment he sobered. That was the truth, was it not? It was unnecessary that he be ashamed of it. “Finbar is really kind to me. I… I…”

Frodo suddenly found himself wanting to reach out and find someone reaching back to him. His eyes locked with Finbar’s, but Frodo did not move toward the man. No, he would just burden him further if he asked for anything more. Eventually, after placing the gifts on the ground, Frodo reached for Mrs. Smallburrow, hugged her, and poured all the tears of loneliness and bitterness of his life on the aging hobbit’s shoulder. Her clothes were soaked wet by the time Frodo was through.

With great reluctance Frodo disengaged himself from Mrs. Smallburrow. Rubbing his face, Frodo apologized amid his tears. Mrs. Smallburrow shook her head, wanting to tell Frodo that it was all fine, but she could not. Her throat was tight as she held back her own unshed tears.

Tears welling in his own eyes, Finbar pretended at gruffness. He grabbed Frodo by the waist and lifted him onto the pony’s back. He had spared some place there for Frodo amongst the articles.

“Up you go! We cannot be delayed. Otherwise night will catch us even before we get to the woods.”

Frodo tried to smile but he failed. Instead he wore an expression of longing. He waved his hand listlessly toward the Smallburrows and felt no sense of comfort at all.

* * *

Gandalf tugged at the reins of his horse almost without realizing it. His face crumpled with woe and his temper was roused. This was no small matter. Whatever happened to the peacefulness of the life in the Shire? Had the grudge and envy that the wizard only usually saw in the world of men somehow tainted the land of hobbits? If not, how had one so young as Merry learned to harbor such jealousy and to take such hurtful actions?

Gandalf could see one possible reason why Merry had done such things, and that was well affecting the wizard. Merry must love Frodo very much if he would rather hurt his elder cousin than be separated from him. What the little hobbit had not been aware of was the possibility that something like this would happen. Frodo would leave him, not for the love and care of another, but in profound dejection.

More exasperating still for Gandalf was the sight of a desperate Bilbo sobbing before him. Through his tears, Bilbo had told him everything. As the hobbit looked up at him through dampened lashes, the wizard had made little comment about the tragedy. Not a single promise Gandalf gave that he would be able to find Frodo, all because the wizard simply could not do it. There was no promise he had broken so far and he did not want this to be his first. The Shire might not be such a large place to search, but there were many things that might have happened, especially since Frodo had now been gone for five days.

The Bywater River flowed lazily, reflecting the bright sunlight and the fields were green with shadowy trees and swaying grass. Hobbiton was at peace as it had always been, but Gandalf felt no peace within his heart. The news he had just received made him come to the conclusion that the peacefulness was, at least for the time being, merely at the surface.

Gandalf moved slowly along the road, passing some smials with their round doors and windows, wondering if Frodo was somewhere inside one of them. But the wizard denied his own suspicion. The Shirelings he passed either greeted him politely or ignored him completely. There was no strange gesture or suspicious motions that might indicate any of them knew anything about a missing hobbit lad.

Gandalf continued his journey and again he came to an open, grassy area with a few big trees.

And that was when he suddenly halted, pulling short at the reins, and asking the horse to stop. Gandalf dismounted, keeping the horse at a good distance from the tree and telling it to wait. The horse neighed softly, as if understanding Gandalf’s command, and stood quietly as if knowing he must.

Gandalf moved stealthily forward, careful as not to disturb the two figures resting under the tree. The first one – a man – was slouching with his back against the bark. And the second one was wrapped up in a cloak, curling up on the ground beside the man. Gandalf could not clearly perceive the look of him save for the dark curls shooting out of the cape and the fact that the figure was small enough to be a child… or a hobbit?

The man’s eyes suddenly shot open.

“Stop right there!” He shouted. “Who are you?”

* * *

Merry was awakened by the racket outside his window. Half confused and half hopeful he sprang out of his covers to listen more closely. What happened? Had people found Frodo at last?

Voices of his father, Sara, and the Bucklanders were alternately rising as Merry’s sanguine feelings soared just to gradually diminish as the conversation continued. The hobbit turned his back against the window and he slowly slid down along the wall as desperation took over and sobs engulfed him.

We found a lodge by the forest. It is big and it’s unlikely that a hobbit lives in it.”

“What do you mean? You mean one of the big folk lives in that?”

“We suppose so.”

“And does it have anything to do with Frodo?”

“Ah, that’s the interesting part. We also met a hobbit couple. They said their name was Smallburrow. And they admitted the house belongs to a ranger and several days past he sheltered a wounded, sick hobbit child. They told us the name is Frodo!”

“But they were gone!”

“Yes, unfortunately. They left a day before, in the morn.”

Silence.

“Where did they say the ranger was going?”

“They couldn’t tell. It could be anywhere since the ranger is supposed to patrol the entire Shire.”

TBC Chapter 14 – Across the Land

The small party plodded slowly along the path by the little stream. They could not expect too much with the pony laden with bundles of food, supplies and a young hobbit. Even then, soon they were leaving the river and found themselves among the trees.

Frodo half regretted having left the warmth of the sun behind, though the wood was not dense enough that they could not see anything. There was the greenness of leaves surrounding them and narrow planes of grass here and there.

The hobbit eyed the man walking beside him. Finbar walked a bit faster than the pony so Frodo could only see a part of his face and small strands of blond hair swinging on the side of it. Not the smallest sign of weariness did the man show and his breaths were measured and even. Frodo sighed. He felt oddly stiff after sitting on the back of the pony for a couple of hours. His back ached and a throbbing headache that remained from his sickness started to bother him again. He longed for the softness of Finbar’s bed and pillow. Why couldn’t they return to the ranger’s house? Why couldn’t he?

The thought of home reminded Frodo of Finbar’s suggestion to go with him for a while to see him at work while he decided where to go and stay. Frodo did not have much choice, if any at all. Two parties had shut him out, the Brandybucks and Bilbo. Two places where he actually belonged were closed to him. He was part Brandybuck and part Baggins, was he not? Well, it could be said that it was Frodo that decided to leave the Brandybucks, but he was certain the family had actually felt grateful for his decision. That way they did not have to tell him themselves what they actually had in mind concerning Frodo’s staying with them.

In fact, Frodo still had relatives from his mother’s side who resided in the Great Smials in Tuckborough. Tooks they were, but relatives. But as they had left Frodo with the Brandybucks, Frodo doubted they would accept him now.

Frodo tightened his grasp on the pony’s reins, feeling more desperate as he tried to get hold of whatever strength was left in his heart. He did not cry. He did not think there were still tears in his eyes. This matter was too big for him to decide while he was still a tween. Let fate decide it for him. He could go to Bree if he needed to, having read and heard about the town and finding out it was not a bad place to live. Other hobbits dwelled in Bree, after all. Frodo was not sure what he would do should he go there, but would work it out somehow.

Frodo’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes wandered unseeing to the road ahead that alternately straightened and wound about before him.. Yet, unlike the road and the forest that was still lit by rays of morning sunlight, Frodo could barely see any light to brighten his life. It was dark. Lonely. It was not the first time he thought he would better off had he drowned with his parents.

* * *

“Frodo?” Finbar’s voice was full of concern. He had stopped walking for some time and now was watching how the pony kept wandering without guidance. He had long released his hold on the reins, but the beast’s rider was clearly not gripping them tightly either. Finbar saw Frodo bowing his head, quiet as the night. Not a word had come out of the hobbit’s mouth since they left his cabin, while Finbar had initially thought the young hobbit would be full of questions and remarks on things along their journey.

They had spent quite a while together and since Frodo came to see Finbar as the nicest person he knew, he had begun to show his real self – inquisitive and also willing to tell anything about himself, though he often stumbled with words as he came to the bitter parts of his life.

Talking. That was what Finbar liked Frodo to do. And he had come to love the halfling’s soft, mellifluous voice and his cheerful laughter, both of which seemed denied him now.

The pony was still toiling forward. The poor beast would not stop, of course, unless there was a sign from its rider. Frodo seemed to care little what happened to himself, let alone to a mere pony.

Finbar could see that, too, and finally decided to take action. He strode quickly, grabbing the reins and tapping Frodo lightly on his back.

“Are you well, little one?”

Like someone coming awake from sleep, Frodo turned to Finbar in surprise, lost for words.

“Are you tired? Or hungry?”

Frodo straightened his back. Yes, he was tired. His back felt sore and his rump did, too. He had never sat this long in his life. But hungry? Of course he was hungry. It must have been nearly lunchtime. They had certainly passed the second breakfast and elevenses. But as hungry as he was, Frodo found himself unable to show much interest in food.

The ranger decided he was the one to know best what Frodo needed, seeing how the muteness of his charge lingered. He placed both hands on the halfling’s waist and hoisted him up.

“Come. Let me help you down.” And Frodo simply complied.

* * *

And so they ate.

At first in silence, as each of them devoured the softness of Mrs. Smallburrow’s homemade bread, the thick and rich gravy of the pumpkin stew, and the crunchy almond biscuits Finbar and Frodo agreed wordlessly to save for last. Finbar was glad to see that despite Frodo’s initial reluctance to eat, his appetite had not lessened once he smelt the food.

But shortly after they had begun, Finbar noticed the hobbit’s restiveness. Not once did he glance around. Was Frodo afraid being in the middle of the woods? But he did not seem afraid. In fact, Finbar could see excitement in those clear eyes.

“Something wrong, Frodo?” Asked Finbar quietly, re-wrapping the food that remained. “We shall soon move again, if you’re uneasy here. You will see different things other than the trees. There will be a small spring in which you can freshen yourself. And I promise to stop once we come to a vast green field. We’ll get there soon I hope.”

Frodo had so wanted to show Finbar how he cherished his new experience and it seemed the tasty food they had had helped a lot to lift up his spirit. Frodo stood up and turned his back to Finbar, facing instead the expanse of woven tree limbs and greenness before him.

Turning back to Finbar, Frodo smiled shyly.

“A spring in there?” He whispered. Finbar tried to ignore his slight annoyance at the doubtful tone in Frodo’s voice, and nodded.

“And a field? With a big tree?”

Finbar nodded again, but his eyes flickered a little this time. How did Frodo guess there was a big tree in the field? Should it always be that way?

“Yes, Frodo. But you haven’t answered my questions.”

This time it was Frodo whose eyes gleamed with childlike mischief.

“If you know this place so much, what’s the point of walking it over and over?” He teased.

Finbar could not help chuckle.

“Because that’s what I do, you saucy boy!” He grabbed Frodo and ruffled the hobbit’s dark, wispy curls mercilessly. Frodo chortled in mirth.

“But – why! They’ll stay here always – the trees, the spring, the field. And I’m sure they’d all be quiet and safe until the end of time. Nothing can disturb them.”

Bemused at what Frodo had to say, Finbar smiled, his eyes and lips. The innocence of a young lad! Or might it be because he was one of the Shire folk who absent-mindedly knew nothing of bad deeds in the world, stealing, forging, killing. Perhaps the Shire people did not even see why men like him needed to be there. To make them safe, of course, but from what?

“Really, Finbar,” Frodo broke the ranger’s reverie with his gentle voice. “What do you have to watch for?”

“Why, the bad persons of course. Those thieves and robbers. You might not see them now, Frodo, but they’re here, hiding under the shadows of the trees and bushes.” Finbar thought he needed not scare the little hobbit further by telling him that those people were not necessarily hobbits. Big folks, too. Mainly.

Yet the man should have just pushed his concern away, for Frodo was busy with his own thoughts now, praying that the man would not notice his blushing face. He had stolen once, and the memory of his misdeed remained with him. Now he considered lucky he was only to be caught by the farmer and not by some gruff – looking ranger! Frodo would surely have been more severely punished in that event, he was certain.

Frodo turned abruptly and went to the pony with a bowl of water in his hands, while Finbar went on telling his experiences. He was wondering, though, why Frodo suddenly walked away, seeming to ignore him. Finbar followed the hobbit with his eyes. The man could sense something was bothering Frodo but he decided to let it pass. He was certain the halfling would tell him when he thought fit.

Then clouded expression seemed to lift from Frodo’s face when he turned back to Finbar, making the ranger even more curious at the sudden change. Was Frodo purposely trying to divert Finbar from his tales? But why? Which part of his stories disturbed Frodo?

“Is the spring far from here?” Chirped Frodo. Finbar mused at his suspicion for a while, and finally answered the question, settling himself to play along.

“Not very far. We can get there even before the daylight fades.”

“Then let’s get going so we can reach the field sooner.” Frodo unleashed the pony and tried to mount it, without succeeding. Finbar set aside his doubts regarding Frodo and laughed at the eagerness of the hobbit. Whatever his mind suspected, Finbar believed it was all not true. He saw himself how the young lad suffered in his bed when he was ill and he could not be gentler or more grateful when he was recovered. Finbar had worried for nothing.

With a sigh, the man collected the food, folded the blanket on which they had been sitting, and packed them back on the pony. He turned to Frodo.

“Here let me help you up,” he said and hoisted Frodo on to the beast’s back. “Rest yourself.” Then Finbar snatched the reins. “Lean against the pony’s neck and sleep if you can. I’ll wake you when we get to the spring.”

Frodo glanced sideways down at Finbar and smiled faintly. His lids suddenly felt heavy and he started to lean down. Sleep. His last thought before drifting off was gladness for the simple pleasure of rest.

* * *

The spring was nowhere near where Frodo had imagined it to be. He could not even have found it if not for a coney. Frodo, though stiff after too much sitting, felt fresh thanks to enough sleep and decided to get down off the pony and accompany Finbar as he walked down the path. He looked up, amazed at the man. There was no trace of exhaustion shadowing his steps, and it was already hours after lunch. Finbar smiled down at Frodo and slowed his pace somewhat.

“Do you want a bit of bread?” Inquired the ranger. Frodo considered this for a while, his face flushed a little in response to the exertion of keeping pace with the tall man. He felt rather warm and well exercised, but not hungry.

“A meal doesn’t really appeal to me but a sip of two of fresh water right from its source will be very welcome.” Frodo continued his walk but his playful voice still echoed clearly amongst the trees that were growing more dense, closing in around them. “Are we getting nearer to the spring, Finbar?” Frodo whipped his head around.

“It’s somewhere around here,” Finbar said, stopping and fishing out a bundle of food from a sack on the pony’s back. “But I don’t remember exactly where.”

Frodo was a bit disappointed to hear that and turned back. That was when he saw a running creature scurrying to the direction of a bush.

“A coney!” Frodo said in surprise, and he darted away. Finbar looked after him in dismay. He did not want something bad to come upon Frodo again.

“Frodo, be careful!”

But it was a bit too late now that Frodo had run all the way to the bush, bursting through it, caring not for any thorns or uneven ground beneath it. Finbar could only hear the hobbit’s breath catch and his own with it just before Frodo called for him.

“Finbar, I found it!”

He had indeed done it. Frodo would have even slipped and fallen into it had he not been able to stop running.

He sighed with pleasure as he saw it.

The spring.

It was not large, but the water was the most pristine he had ever seen. The water seemed still like the surface of a mirror. No splashes played in its rim and no rings of water formed in the middle. Frodo held his breath as if fearing to make a sound that would disturb the water. And as he looked up, he saw more of the beauty of the surrounding area. The spring lay there surrounded by the bushes, like a great diamond rimmed by small cuts of emeralds.

There was a rustle behind him and Frodo turned his head to find the ranger emerging from the forest to join him.

“It’s beautiful,” Frodo breathed the words softly, glancing again at the amazing sight. Finbar’s answering smile escaped his notice. He did not even heed the gentle fall of the man’s hand upon his shoulder.

* * *

Frodo insisted he would not drink the water from the spring no matter what Finbar said. He seriously did not want to disturb the peace. He felt he had no right to do so. He would only taint the pureness of it should he take the water. It was enough for him to just drink in the sight of its serenity. Nothing Finbar said could sway him and finally the man accepted it.

“All right then,” sighed the ranger. “Though I thought I heard you say you want a sip of fresh water from it. So, how about a dive in, Frodo?”

Was the ranger jesting? Frodo felt what might have been a twinge of anger. He did not dare to even touch the silent pool before him and now the man suggested he leap into it?

“Finbar!” The hobbit snapped and frowned as he saw mischievous flickers in the blond man’s eyes.

“Well, it’s not like this is a sacred place, is it?” Finbar tried to reason.

Frodo leant back on his elbow, eyes wandering to the food spread about on the blanket before him. Suddenly there was an air of solemnity about him and for the first time Finbar felt differently about Frodo. The hobbit had changed so much from the first time he found him. He had grown more mature in mere days. All the experiences he had must have made him learn and think a lot. Yet somehow Finbar pitied him.

Sorrow seemed to fill Frodo’s glassy blue eyes again. The hobbit spoke ever so softly, almost inaudibly.

“I don’t want to disturb the water. What if it cannot return to how it used to be? I once ‘ve disturbed other things before.”

“What have you disturbed, young Frodo?” Finbar asked softly.

“A family, and though they refuse to admit it, I know they are sorry I’ve been there. I’m not one of them. I have stirred the quiet water. I have made them feel awkward with my presence.” Frodo’s eyes searched Finbar’s. The man looked away, unable to witness the utter grief in them. “I know they love me but I don’t deserve it. I’m glad I decided to go.”

Finbar rose, almost toppling over in his abruptness. He could not stand it anymore. He never knew he would have to face something like this in his life. He wished he could help Frodo but in a way he wished he had never met the young hobbit. The man felt helpless and it galled him as a physical wound.

They continued their walk in silence. Even after they got to the vast green field with the big tree neither of them uttered a word. Frodo was still feeling wretched and he was overcome with weariness. All he wanted was sleep so he did not say anything when the man prepared him a blanket to lie on. He simply huddled over on it and dozed off.

Frodo slept restfully all through the night and still did until the dawn broke in the east, casting warm scarlet streaks of light over the greenness of the field. He was also not aware when a figure came out of the shadows and made its way toward him and Finbar. Frodo slept on even when Finbar straightened up all of sudden and raised his voice.

“Stop right there!” He shouted. “Who are you?”

TBC Chapter 15 – Halting Disclosure

“Merry!”

Vaguely the lad heard his name called. Yet, instead of answering the summons, Merry buried himself deeper beneath thick blankets piled up at the back of a wagon that waited in front of the gate of Brandy Hall.

“Merry! Now where is that naughty child again? He hasn’t finished his breakfast.”

It was Esmeralda, grumbling. Merry could imagine his mother tramping back and forth from the dining room to the living room and back to the dining room again to go check his bedroom. And probably to the library, too. Merry hated the idea of making his mother worry but he did not intend to return inside the house, either. It would cost him greater effort to return to this wagon again afterwards.

Merry had been taking a bite of his first toast for breakfast a couple of moments ago when he heard his father talking to some of their relatives. Apparently those hobbits were leaving shortly to trace where Frodo and the ranger were heading. Merry had frozen and looking down at his plate, he realized he had no time to finish the food on it.

Absently the young hobbit rose from his chair so as not to arouse suspicion from the other hobbits at the dining table, especially from Esmeralda, his mother. Mumbling something that sounded like asking permission to go to the privy, Merry slipped smoothly out of the room.

He met no one on his way out and found a wagon outside the fence. Praying it was the very one his relatives were going to ride on for their journey to search for Frodo, Merry tiptoed to the back of it, flipped up the coverlet and slid in. He was grateful to see some blankets there that would make a great hiding place for him.

Merry heard his mother call him again but even if he wanted to change his mind, it would be too late now. He heard people talking and steps coming to the wagon and a moment later it stirred and jumped forward. Shaking, Merry held the blanket tightly. The young lad could only wish he had not made another mistake and that he would find Frodo this time.

* * *

“Who are you!”

Now Finbar stood erect, his tall figure looming protectively over Frodo behind his back. The hobbit was awakened by his thundering voice and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Frodo for the first time saw Finbar’s long, glimmering, elegantly carved sword, unsheathed and thrust high in the air. Frodo had always regarded the man as trustworthy and reliable but seeing this, a new respect grew in his heart. Frodo had yet to see the intruder, but he was certain the ranger would be able to manage him.

Frodo sat up, still clutching his cover tightly up to his neck and staring at the back of Finbar’s neck and head. The hobbit saw that the man was determined to not simply send the stranger away. He wanted to know his identity and intentions first.

“Very well!” Shouted Finbar. “You can keep your mouth shut but I demand that you come forth. Release all your weapons and raise your hands!”

The sternness in Finbar’s voice made Frodo shiver involuntarily and made him realize that great danger might lurk in the bushes. Frodo rose and slowly crept toward Finbar’s direction to hide behind the man. The hobbit grabbed the back of the ranger’s cloak without realizing it and held on to it tightly.

Soft rustles came from behind the shrubs and Frodo saw a tall figure – easily as tall as Finbar – coming out of the shadow with arms raised high as he was told. Frodo could see his grayish attire and robe in the dim light of the early morning and since their distance was not too great, could almost feel certain who he was squinting at.

“Gandalf?” Frodo whispered in disbelief. He did not dare to dash forward, however, because he was afraid he would startle Finbar. Frodo stayed in his place but he no longer clutched at Finbar’s cape.

Gandalf approached them, cautiously but calmly.

“I mean you no harm,” he said when he was just several feet away. He let his sword hang passively in its scabbard, never intending to take it or use it. Finbar grew calmer watching this and he slowly let his hoisted arm drop. His eyes never wavered a bit, though.

“Then why are you here?” He queried.

Gandalf hesitated. But when he glanced down a bit to the left of Finbar, his eyes flickered with mirth.

“Frodo?” His voice echoed throughout the clearing, relief flooding through him. Frodo was alive and he looked all right! Well, he might be a bit pale but he seemed fine. Bilbo would be very happy to hear about his cousin.

Hearing the mention of Frodo’s name, Finbar set his guard one notch lower. If the stranger knew Frodo, chances were the hobbit was familiar with the old man, too. And had his ears not deceived him when he thought he heard Frodo mutter something – the stranger’s name?

Finbar shoved Frodo back behind him with his left hand. He could not risk it yet. The hobbit was under his keeping and his well being was his responsibility until the ranger made sure everything was safe to let the hobbit go.

Frodo complied but a frown appeared across his brow. The man’s protectiveness over him started to annoy him. Did he not see that Gandalf knew him? Frodo was about to protest and push against the man’s meaty hand that was curled around his cloak-covered frail arm when a small voice screamed in his head.

“Don’t! What are you thinking? Are you going to let the wizard find out about your wretched life and foolish attitude, too?”

That thought struck Frodo numb. Gandalf had known Frodo’s loneliness after the passing of his parents but the wizard had never realized so far the hobbit’s deepest feelings. And Frodo was sure Gandalf had no idea what happened with Frodo in the past few days.

But Frodo never wanted the wizard to find out. No. Not at all.

And that was not the only thing that concerned Frodo. Gandalf needed not know about how he left Brandy Hall without notice. That would be the most embarrassing for the hobbit if he ever found out. For the first time Frodo felt a pang in his heart as he was reminded by his own conscience about how irresponsible he had been. Running away. That seemed so childish, so cowardly, and self-absorbed right now.

Then Frodo noted in dismay that he had been too open to Finbar, that he had told the man almost everything about his life. Not again would he do such things. Not again would he let someone else peep into his heart and capture his weakness. His predicament. His misery. His feelings. Let them be his and his alone.

So Frodo reached out to Finbar and tugged at the man’s long fingers to attract his attention. Finbar turned around, his left eyebrow arching upward.

“Yes, Frodo? Do you know this man?”

The hobbit looked up with a smile on his lips, nodding a little.

“Can I go to him? Please?”

Finbar’s face was clouded by doubt.

“Wait a moment, Frodo. Your knowing him doesn’t mean that he’s…”

“Oh, Finbar. This is Gandalf the Grey Wizard. He has long been a friend of my uncle Bilbo.”

Gandalf the Wiz –

Something came across Finbar’s mind and he suddenly remembered. This must be the one a fellow ranger had been talking about. The Grey Wizard. Mith – mithrandir? Was that how Strider called him? Finbar blushed and putting back his sword into its place, he was stumbling in his effort to apologize.

“I – I am sorry for … I didn’t realize that …” Finbar bowed his head while searching for words in desperation. Frodo ran to Gandalf and circled the stooping wizard with his diminutive arms.

“I’m so glad to see you, Gandalf!”

The wizard failed to recognize Finbar’s gesture now that his attention was completely focused upon Frodo.

“Frodo! How are you feeling, my lad?” He asked warily.

Frodo opened his mouth, ready to pour out everything when he suddenly remembered his promise to himself. He pulled back, stretching his lips instead into a smile and turned around, waving toward Finbar.

“I’m just fine! I was just strolling by myself when I met this – this gentle man. He offered me dinner and since I was so hungry, I accepted his offer with all my heart!”

Gandalf creased his brow and he looked up toward Finbar.

“Strolling? But my dear Frodo, this place is a bit too far from Brandy Hall. What were you doing walking around by yourself so far from your house?”

Frodo bit his lips to stop himself from saying ‘Brandy Hall is not my house’ and said, “I just felt like it.”

Knowing what had really happened, both men stared at Frodo in confusion. Frodo had just lied to them. Why? The hobbit did not know Gandalf had met Bilbo prior to seeing him and had gotten to know the real facts. Therefore Frodo might think it was fine not to tell him the truth. But what about Finbar? Would Frodo think the man could agree with him and even play along?

Frodo stiffened as he felt his back warm with Finbar’s boring gaze upon him. Pressing his lips together, he forced himself not to waver.

Gandalf recognized the sign of stubbornness of a Baggins. He slowly rose and wrapping his arm around Frodo’s shoulders, started toward Finbar. Gandalf lifted his eyebrows in a silent question and after several moments the ranger nodded, answering the in similar fashion. Yes, he did know the real story. And yes, he agreed to play along whatever games Frodo was playing. Pushing the hobbit right now was not going to get him anywhere, and while Gandalf could get the real story from Finbar anyway, the wizard still needed Frodo to tell him himself what had bothered him so.

TBC

From last chapter:

Frodo bit his lips to stop himself from saying ‘Brandy Hall is not my house’ and said, “I just felt like it.”

Knowing what had really happened, both men stared at Frodo in confusion. Frodo had just lied to them. Why? The hobbit did not know Gandalf had met Bilbo prior to seeing him and had gotten to know the real facts. Therefore Frodo might think it was fine not to tell him the truth. But what about Finbar? Would Frodo think the man could agree with him and even play along?

Frodo stiffened as he felt his back warm with Finbar’s boring gaze upon him. Pressing his lips together, he forced himself not to waver.

Gandalf recognized the sign of stubbornness of a Baggins. He slowly rose and wrapping his arm around Frodo’s shoulders, started toward Finbar. Gandalf lifted his eyebrows in a silent question and after several moments the ranger nodded, answering the in similar fashion. Yes, he did know the real story. And yes, he agreed to play along whatever games Frodo was playing. Pushing the hobbit right now was not going to get him anywhere, and while Gandalf could get the real story from Finbar anyway, the wizard still needed Frodo to tell him himself what had bothered him so.

Chapter 16 – Almost There

Puffs of clouds drifted slowly across the sky, adorning it softly and breaking up the uniform expanse of blue. The breeze was more than mild but less than truly strong, lulling the party of travelers into an after – luncheon slumber. Finbar forced himself awake, rising immediately upright. He had much to accomplish yet before the darkness came. The man turned toward the wizard and the hobbit, who were both leaning back against a tree, they eyelids drooping heavily.

“Gandalf? Frodo?” Called Finbar softly. “I must depart now.”

“Oh.” Gandalf was absently patting the ground around him, seeking his staff. He found it still locked in the grip of his other hand, and composed himself as best he could, embarrassed by his somnolence.

“You’re going now?” He echoed Finbar’s words, slightly taken aback by the ranger’s rush. They had discussed this earlier but Finbar did not tell Gandalf when exactly he would leave.

Frodo was more obvious in his response.

The tween hobbit leapt up in shock, looking as if he had just been slapped awake. He did not run to the man or hug him as he had intended to do. He had promised himself that he would keep his feelings to himself and he meant to do so.

In the end Frodo merely stood and stared at Finbar in disbelief. He jammed his hands deep into his pockets to hide the fact that they were suddenly shaking.

“Why must you leave now, Finbar?” His voice now trembled too, betraying his sudden dismay.

For a brief moment the man nearly gave up the notion of leaving as he saw the crushing dejection in Frodo’s eyes and heard the sorrow in his voice. He forced a smile to stave off his uneasiness and to ensure himself that this was the best course of action.

“Frodo.” Finbar saw that Frodo would not approach him so he decided the first move must be his. “You know Gandalf, do you not? And as you said, he is a close friend of your family so I think he’s just the right person to accompany you. You never expected me to be always by your side, did you? After all, I’m only a ranger.”

Frodo bit his lower lip, trying hard not to break down. Finbar had been too dear to him. He was his close friend. Frodo did not even realize that Finbar’s words had revealed too much about the hobbit’s assertion to Gandalf that he had been ‘just strolling by himself.’

“You take care of yourself, little one.” Finbar patted Frodo’s back gently. “You will make it through. I know you’re strong enough to face any obstacle in your path.” Frodo hugged him now, tightly, his sobs muffled against Finbar’s clothes.

“I will miss you, Finbar,” Frodo choked. “Can’t I just go with you?” Frodo had never felt this close to someone since he lost his parents, with the single exception of Bilbo. But why bother now knowing that the older hobbit did not want him?

Finbar found it a bit difficult for him to disentangle himself from Frodo’s grasp. He looked up and wordlessly pleaded for help from Gandalf. The old wizard nodded a little and he went up to Frodo, taking the hobbit gently by the shoulders. Finbar pulled away and looked down to Frodo.

“Frodo, I promise I’ll still be around the Shire. I’m sure our paths will cross someday.” He took in the last sight of Frodo, grabbed his knapsack from the ground, and started to walk in the opposite direction. With his back to Frodo, Finbar was glad he was spared the longing look in the hobbit’s eyes.

Gently, Gandalf coaxed Frodo to face him and studying the face of his young charge carefully, the wizard put forth the question Frodo most dreaded.

“Tell me now, Frodo, why did you feel you had to lie to me?”

* * *

Finbar could sense Frodo’s gaze boring into his back, but he willed himself to continue on his way. He straightened his shoulders and back and lifted up his chin and looked straight ahead. Finbar did not want to look as if he regretted what he had decided to do. Whether he regretted it or not, it was the right thing to do.

Gandalf and he had talked and with that Finbar was assured that Frodo would be just fine, that he would not be abandoned. That he would be loved.

Finbar realized all of these things, and so had understood that the sooner he left Frodo, the better. Frodo would meet his relatives again soon and it would be better if he did not get too attached to a stranger, let alone one of the big folk like him.

And what of Finbar himself? Was he not also in danger of becoming too attached to Frodo?

Finbar strode on, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. He found that he was holding his breath, willing himself not to break his stride and return to the side of his new friend. He continued on his way, and nearly tripped over a smallish rock protruding from the path.

The man staggered but he managed to brace himself, looking down to inspect what had almost caused him to fall. And he cursed silently.

Sheepishly, Finbar turned around and found Gandalf waving to him and Frodo rubbing his tears away, but with a slight smile on his face. Finbar smiled, too, and turned back to continue his journey. But now he felt lighter knowing that Frodo truly would be all right, just as Gandalf had promised.

“His uncle is serious about adopting Frodo. He loves the boy and he has come to the conclusion that that is the least thing he can do for him and in a way, for Frodo’s parents.”

That statement had concluded his conversation with the wizard this morning, one they quietly held out of Frodo’s earshot. One that Finbar had started, for he could no longer contain himself.

He had nudged Gandalf while his eyes were still fixed on Frodo who rode on the pony ahead of them.

“Frodo has lied to you, Mithrandir. He was not strolling when he met me. The truth is, he was not even conscious.”

“I know.” Gandalf’s voice caught then, and he looked sharply at the man. “That is to say, I was aware that he was not telling the truth, but I confess I did not know he was in such a condition.” He was raising his voice before realizing it and lowered it back down. “What happened?”

Instead of answering, Finbar was gaping back at Gandalf. “You knew his tale was false?” He gasped as Gandalf steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, but of course! You are a wizard.” Gandalf smiled slightly. His arching brows wordlessly repeated his previous questions and Finbar was gently reminded.

“Oh, Gandalf. I saw him. I saw Frodo stumbling in the rain. I was almost sure he was crying at that time. That and the rain and the dimming daylight made him unaware of his surroundings. He tripped over a fallen branch or a root of a tree, I suppose, and twisted his ankle. The pain must have been unbearable for him and he lost consciousness.”

Gandalf saw Frodo turn toward them and favor them with a childlike smile. The wizard had mixed feelings toward the hobbit. He had always cared for Frodo yet the lad’s reckless behavior of late was sorely frustrating to him. But now that Gandalf heard Finbar’s story and realized what Frodo had gone through, he felt his heart soften. It would surely break Bilbo’s to hear this.

Gandalf squeezed Finbar’s arm.

“Frodo was fortunate to have met you,” he said gratefully. “He could have experienced worse things, such as meeting others with bad intentions. Or he could have stayed out all night, wet all over. He could have died!”

“Frodo’s condition was truly as you say,” admitted Finbar. “I wonder why I had to wait until he passed out before I decided to take him with me. I – I’m sorry, Gandalf. Frodo was not awake for several days. He had a temperature and his twisted ankle was badly swollen. Then the pitiful creature still had to endure a shock from waking up and seeing it was not a hobbit hole where he lay but a man’s cabin!” Finbar watched Gandalf in despair, as the wizard patted him understandingly on the back.

“Poor Frodo,” nodded Gandalf. “But at least now you know the hobbit is going home at last.”

“Home?” Finbar shrugged. “Frodo has no home. At least, that was what he told me. He’s very confused right now, Gandalf. He has nowhere to go.”

“Well, that’s not true,” Gandalf shook his head calmly. “He can go back to Brandy Hall in Buckland where he’s been staying or he can come with Bilbo Baggins to Bag End in Hobbiton. That uncle of his has decided to adopt him.”

This time it was Finbar’s turn to shake his head, smiling sadly.

“That’s what I’m trying to say, Gandalf. I know all the things you said to me. Frodo himself told me after he could finally overcome his shock and fear toward me. After … he showed me that letter. The letter this Bilbo sent him. The letter telling him that he withdrew his offer to adopt the lad. Can you imagine that? Frodo told me it was the second letter he received from his uncle. The first one was such exhilarating news about his adoption but the second was Bilbo’s denial of that intention. What can be more cruel than that?”

The ranger was expecting Gandalf’s surprised exclamation but what he got was again another smile.

“Gandalf?” Curiosity and annoyance showed in the man’s voice.

“It was a false letter, my friend,” informed the wizard.

False? Finbar’s jaw slacked. All of this – just because of a false letter? Frodo was forced to run away from his house – well, his relatives’ house – for he had despaired and been embarrassed … because someone tricked him? His injuries. His illness. His anguish. Those were all because of this? Now that was cruel.

“Who – who did this to him?” Gasped Finbar. But Gandalf would not tell.

“Forgive me, but I want Frodo to be the first to know. The poor lad has suffered enough already. I just want him to be really prepared when I present this information.”

Finbar sighed dejectedly.

“I believe you’re right, Gandalf. After all, you are a wizard. You must know what’s best for him just like how you know what has really happened.”

Gandalf could not help but chuckle a little.

“Well, I must confess my knowledge of the situation is not due entirely to my being a wizard. I met Bilbo before I found you two and he told me everything. The poor hobbit is quite distraught and desperate to find Frodo. He asked me to help him. I myself was quite relieved to meet the two of you here.”

The conversation ended with Finbar’s deciding to leave Gandalf and Frodo there to see to their own business. Gandalf thought it was a good idea, too. But the fact that Finbar did not say when he would depart surprised the wizard nevertheless.

* * *

Merry got absolutely nowhere.

The little lad with chubby cheeks, dimpled chin and wide green eyes discovered the truth as the wagon halted with a lurch. Heart pounding, he curled himself up tighter beneath the concealing blanket, wondering what had caused the wagon to stop. Suddenly the thick fabric covering the wagon flapped open and a hand reached in to rip the blanket away.

“He’s here!” Shouted the hobbit as he met Merry’s fearful eyes. “Saradoc was wondering about his disappearance and I thought he was here. I was right!” The hobbit was still talking loudly to his friend but his eyes never left Merry. “We’ll return now, lad. This is not something a wee lad like you should be meddling in.” He reached for Merry and picked him up by the waist.

Merry hated very much to be called such things as ‘wee lad’ or ‘baby’. He wanted to scream and beg to be allowed to come along, but he realized that such behavior would only make him seem as immature as his elders evidently believed him to be. He gasped as he was pulled out of the wagon, but no words escaped him. He could only blink back his tears, feeling both hopeless and irritated, as the elder hobbits settled him between them in the seat behind the team of ponies.

TBC

AN: With love for MBradford for always being there to help. From previous chapter

“Well, I must confess my knowledge of the situation is not due entirely to my being a wizard. I met Bilbo before I found you two and he told me everything. The poor hobbit is quite distraught and desperate to find Frodo. He asked me to help him. I myself was quite relieved to meet the two of you here.”

The conversation ended with Finbar’s deciding to leave Gandalf and Frodo there to see to their own business. Gandalf thought it was a good idea, too. But the fact that Finbar did not say when he would depart surprised the wizard nevertheless.

Chapter 17 – Everyone Loves You

Silence followed Finbar’s departure. Awkwardness crept in between Frodo and Gandalf as they stood together. Frodo no longer shed tears but his eyes did not flicker with joy or vigor or life the way they did when Finbar was still with him. Gandalf’s heart skipped a bit when he noticed that for he thought Frodo had once again found spirit in his life, something that had long gone since the lad lost his parents.

But now the spirit had dimmed, was dying, fading as Finbar’s figure faded from sight.

Still, Gandalf did not despair. In fact, in his heart he was singing. He could not help imagining the picture of Frodo standing there, flabbergasted, as Gandalf told the miserable young hobbit everything. The wizard could almost see Frodo stuttering as blissful feelings washed all through him. That would surely be the sweetest moment both for Frodo and Gandalf.

“Where are you going now, Gandalf?” Frodo’s small voice turned Gandalf’s away from his thoughts. “Are you going to Bree?” Asked Frodo again, forcing the wizard to look around to meet his eyes. “Can I come with you? I have nowhere to go.”

Gandalf looked deeply into Frodo’s eyes. He could utterly taste the boy’s loneliness and sorrow. This almost made him pour out everything there and then but he thought better of it. He should not hasten or the hobbit would be too shocked and decide to run away again.

“Finbar promised to take me anywhere I want to go to stay, though I’ve thought of asking him to bring me back to his place. But now that he’s gone, I don’t know what I should do.” Frodo took a deep breath. “I really have nowhere to go, Gandalf. You should know that…” His voice trailed off.

Frodo felt weary and prayed that Gandalf would not corner him about his dishonesty anymore. The hobbit felt sure the big folk – the wizard and Finbar – had spoken and all had been revealed about him. Lightheadedness attacked him and he suddenly felt the urge to sit down. Frodo plopped down on the ground and wrapped his arms around his folded legs, embracing himself. Everything was such a mess. Frodo had known that ever since he stepped out of Brandy Hall. His meeting with Finbar was just a fleeting sweet happiness, never meant to be a long-lived one. Mountains of problems were still standing in his way.

And to think that he was alone in facing all of them…

Frodo ducked his head in between his knees and his voice was muffled when he spoke again. Gandalf was barely able to catch the words.

“I won’t blame you if you don’t want to take me after all my misbehavior. Now that I think further, the best way for me might be any way that will lead me to my parents.”

Gandalf gasped. He wished that he had heard it wrong. But he had not. Frodo went on.

“I know no one will miss me.”

Gandalf reached out and grasped Frodo under the arms, bringing him on his feet. The wizard knelt down to the hobbit’s eye level and Frodo’s face was flushed with the sudden appearance of the wizard’s eyes gazing into his. Frodo gazed back at him with incomprehension.

“Everyone is missing you!” Exclaimed Gandalf. His two hands on Frodo’s shoulders pressed hard and Frodo almost winced. “Don’t you understand? You push everyone away by running away like this. You have no idea how confused they are. They’ve been everywhere out looking for you, knowing nothing of how far from them you are now. Now don’t you ever dare thinking of ending your life and breaking everyone’s heart!”

Tears cascaded down Frodo’s face.

“Who are you talking about?” Gandalf could hear how Frodo struggled to sound strong. “Who is this everyone that is missing me and confused and looking for me? Let me tell you this, Gandalf, no one cared for me even when I was there under their noses. And someone who I thought did care turned his back on me. It hurts to know that, Gandalf, and at the same time it makes me embarrassed. As if – as if I beg them to pity and love me!”

Frodo’s voice broke at his last words. He was sobbing now, yet the stubborn hobbit was still fighting it. He tore his arms away from Gandalf’s grasp and wiped away the tears from his face.

“This is so degrading,” Frodo mumbled then and started to turn away. But Gandalf was faster. His prediction was correct – Frodo would try to escape – and this was even faster than he thought. Gandalf circled his fingers around one of Frodo’s arms.

“I am talking about Bilbo,” he said after succeeding in making Frodo look at him again. “There are many others that I am certain share the same feelings, but what I know for sure is that your uncle Bilbo cares very much for you. He is the one who will be heart broken if you ever do what you intend to do. Even now knowing you have been missing has torn his heart into pieces.”

Bilbo.

Frodo’s lips twisted into a cynical smile. Bilbo was the first person he was avoiding and the one avoiding him. Bilbo was the first person hurting his heart. The others never rejected him directly. Only Bilbo did.

“And I thought wizards never lie,” muttered Frodo. He turned his glance to a different direction. But Gandalf caught his words. He straightened up and thundered.

“No, we never lie, Frodo Baggins! Only mortals do – and I hope none have lied to you.” For a moment Frodo thought Gandalf had grown much taller and bigger and darker. The hobbit could only stand there, mesmerized by the sight and his own fear. His knees suddenly gave beneath him and his arms flailed toward Gandalf as if searching for support. Gandalf grabbed Frodo and took the hobbit into his arms. Frodo trembled there and words of apology streamed out of his mouth.

“Forgive me, Gandalf. Please. I – I just can’t believe it. Bilbo misses me. But why? He told me himself… That’s why I…”

“Ran away?” Prompted Gandalf gently. He felt Frodo tense in his embrace but he did not recoil. Gandalf smoothed a hand over Frodo’s back, and slowly Frodo relaxed. “But, are you sure it was indeed your uncle himself who said that he did not want you to be with him? To stay with him at Bag End? Did he come to you, looking you in the eye and telling you that?”

Frodo pulled away.

“I read his letter…” His voice and gaze wavered. Frodo advanced with caution. “Gandalf, are you telling me what I read from the letter was not true?” A pair of wary, grayish eyes met his slowly brightened ones. “Are you telling me it was not he who sent the second letter? That Uncle Bilbo never rejected me to…”

Gandalf smiled ever so slightly. All of a sudden Frodo felt like screaming and jumping around. His heart was about to burst.

“He never sent me that second letter!”

Gandalf shook his head.

“He still expects me to come to Bag End!”

Gandalf grabbed Frodo’s slim wrists.

“Steady, Frodo.”

Frodo was all bright eyed now, grinning from ear to ear. Though tears still trickling down in tiny drops, happy tears, they were.

“But he isn’t expecting me right now, is he?” Frodo creased his brow, remembering suddenly the time promised to him when Bilbo would come to pick him up. “It will be a week from now, I reckon.”

There were just so many things Gandalf needed to tell the over-excited hobbit but he was just not given the chance. The wizard knew he should prepare Frodo for the surprising part but he could not do anything when the hobbit was in this kind of state.

“But then, if Uncle Bilbo never sent the letter, who did?” Frodo stared blankly at Gandalf before he started searching his pockets. Apparently he could not find the thing he was looking for. “Ah, I must have lost it in Finbar’s lodge,” he mumbled afterwards.

Gandalf ignored Frodo’s last remark. He knew what it was all about. It was not important now, whether or not Frodo found Merry’s letter. As he had many times that day, he gently urged Frodo to sit down. This time he joined Frodo, sitting beside the young hobbit.

“Frodo dear, one thing you need to remember before I tell you this. This all happened because, whether you believed it or not, everyone loves you. Everyone wants to be with you. So you have to remember that you must always be grateful.”

The wizard had sat still with both arms resting on his knees and eyes gazing straight ahead. Not once did he touch Frodo or look upon him. Frodo was still too young. Gandalf could not expect he would act wisely when he learned all about this matter. This realization made the wizard unable to try any contact with Frodo, afraid he would not be able to stand the hurt Frodo might express.

TBC Chapter 18 – Bag End

Gandalf got up with a groan, one hand seeking support from his staff, eventually managing to stand straight. He was busy smoothing his robe and brushing away leaves and small twigs that were stuck in the folds of it. Frodo sat still, waiting, but his eyes shot up at him and fire was kindled in them at once when the wizard waved at him.

“Come, Frodo! We’re heading to Bag End now.”

Frodo broke into a grin. But he was not quick enough to move so Gandalf picked him up, grasping him easily under his arms, and half threw him on to the passenger seat of his cart.

“There, up you go! We shall not delay. We have to bring this good news to Bilbo immediately. He is so worried.”

Frodo shifted to make himself more comfortable as Gandalf clicked his tongue to get his horse to move. It strode forward in a relaxed but steady gait.

Gandalf knew they were actually closer to Buckland than to Hobbiton but he had a hunch that the problem would be more easily solved if Frodo met Bilbo first. He was not sure about this but he prayed.

Few words were exchanged during the journey, with Frodo busy inside his own thoughts, eyes flickering once in a while to every direction. The light was back. And when those eyes strayed to Gandalf and met the wizard’s, they would soften and Frodo would smile shyly and turned to look in another direction. Sometimes soft hums escaped his lips and then it was Gandalf’s turn to smile. The young hobbit was happy, Gandalf could see that. Why wouldn’t he? He had reason to be.

# -- # -- #

The steady rhythm of the cart and the cool touch of the wind lulled Frodo and gradually his eyes felt heavy. The long journey with Finbar and the emotional jitters caused by his conversations with Gandalf exhausted him as well. Without realizing it, Frodo pulled himself closer to Gandalf and leaned against the wizard. Gandalf sighed quietly and let Frodo rest for a while before deciding that it would not be safe for the hobbit dozing that way. He whispered to Frodo, and while the hobbit seemed initially reluctant to obey, he finally moved. Gandalf stopped the cart to give Frodo a chance to get up and jumped to the back of the wagon. When Frodo lay comfortably on top of a rough sheet and quickly fell back into slumber, Gandalf encouraged his horse to resume its steady pace.

Gandalf could almost hear Frodo’s even breaths amidst the horse’s clickety-clacks and he smiled to himself. The sooner they got to Bag End the better, especially in this worsening weather. Gandalf hardly noticed the change at first but the wind blew harder and grew chillier. He tightened his robe to himself and glanced up, noticing the clouds had become thick and dark. No, it couldn’t happen again, he thought. The rain that fell down several days ago had been heavy enough and given him trouble in finding a shelter. However, he had not cared too much at that time. He had not been with a lad who had suffered a great deal.

The grey wizard almost made his horse bolt forward before he remembered Frodo sleeping in the back. He forced himself to calm down and, feeling backwards, he reached for the coarse sheet under Frodo and pulled it up to cover the hobbit. Frodo muttered in his sleep but soon he was jarred awake by the movement.

“Gandalf?”

“Ssh, Frodo, go back to sleep. I’m just…” Gandalf was not allowed to finish his words as thunder cracked loudly, drowning out his voice, and the rain that followed poured down in torrents.

“Frodo!” he was shouting now. “Get under the sheet! Now!” He could not risk glancing backwards as he concentrated on his attempt to run as swiftly as he could to get out of the rain, but the fact that he heard nothing from Frodo could mean that the hobbit had ducked under the cover to protect himself. Gandalf could only pray the fabric was thick enough to keep the hobbit from getting soaked.

# -- # -- #

Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked alternately as Bilbo peeked out of the window. He grimaced and shivered a little as the cold wind seeped into the hobbit hole. Bilbo sent a silent prayer of gratitude that he was tucked safely inside, yet he could not forget that his lost nephew was still out somewhere in the rain. Bilbo ducked and withdrew to his desk though what he wanted to write or read flew away out of his mind. He took out his journal and quill eventually as the need to scribble something to avert his thoughts away from the source of his dismay got the better of him.

The gentle hobbit had managed to recount what had been happening in the past days and what things he had surprisingly learned about Frodo from his other relatives. He let his quill spill its ink freely as events came pouring out one by one, filling up the coarse pages of the book. Then a bang suddenly hammered on the front door, almost making Bilbo jump out of his skin.

“For the Shire’s sake! Who might that be?” He half shouted half muttered to himself and moved back carefully so as not to knock his chair down. Another rap this time softer was heard. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” called Bilbo out, as loudly as he could against the sound of the heavy rain outside. He brought his short legs nimbly to the door, and his mouth dropped open unwittingly as he saw who was behind it: a totally drenched wizard with an unmoving small frame in his hands, shrouded in a ragged and similarly sodden blanket. Bilbo could feel him starting to tremble as the coverlet fell away a little revealing a livid face with eyes tightly shut but lips half parted and as ghastly grey as the rest.

Body thrown forward, Bilbo stammered, “Is he – is he still alive?”

TBC Chapter 19 – I Miss You Dearly

Frodo barely remembered what had happened after he jumped into the back of Gandalf’s cart and fell asleep there. Torrents of rain that came afterwards and Gandalf’s shouts that seemed to be directed to him were lost in a blurry chaos. Still, he suffered the dampness and chills that engulfed him and slowly memories came to him.

Frodo could almost make out the warmth and strength of Finbar’s arms and hands surrounding him, protecting him from the sharp needles of rainwater. He could also sense the jolts as the man jogged along the path in the woods, finally reaching, as fast as he could, the cabin where he lived.

The hobbit could not help but shiver; yet he curled up restfully in his cocoon of the blanket in Finbar’s embrace before he felt himself being laid down in a big cot. Frodo stirred a little but otherwise he was still asleep.

Hands peeled the layers of Frodo’s clothes, leaving him bare for a while before quickly wrapping him in a thick towel, rubbing the rain from his body. Frodo sighed and stretched with his eyes closed, testing if he could move away from the hands and curl back into his foetal position. He heard murmurs but no one and nothing restrained him. Frodo mumbled thankfully and sank back into the abyss of his slumber.

He was left alone for a moment before angry fingers were shaking him awake. His lids felt heavy but he managed to open his eyes. Frodo smiled as he caught sight of the beloved face.

“Papa?”

“How dare you sleep in the middle of my story, Frodo?” Drogo’s voice was a thunder but Frodo knew it was a tease. He yawned widely, teasing back.

“Frodo!” But the tickles at his waist were no longer a mock. They were real – and Frodo cried: laughing, begging for mercy.

“Please, Papa! No – no more dozing of. Promise!” Frodo’s merry laughter echoed through the smial. Frodo heard steps approaching and looked up. It was his mother. “Mama, help!”

Primula landed a wet smooch on Frodo’s brow, smiling and shaking her head. “It’s your own doing, love. You deserve everything you got.”

Frodo groaned and lifted both his arms, slinging them around his father’s neck, kissing his cheek and loving him. Exhausted from laughing, he slowly drifted back into sleep.

In his sleep Frodo dressed himself, putting on, one by one, his white shirt, plain waistcoat, and auburn breeches. Then he was draping himself in a thick sheet. He could not understand what that was for but he did not mind either. Predictably, in a short time he had felt quite hot.

Frodo decided to step out of his house to get more cool air and sat himself on a bench in his – or rather his father’s -- orchard. He glanced around, drinking in the greenness about him but failing to comprehend the sudden tightness in his throat and the grief that suddenly struck him. Frodo pulled the sheet tighter almost unconsciously – oh, it does come in handy – and drew shaky breaths. What had made him feel so miserable? He was sitting there and waiting – was he waiting for someone?

Frodo threw misty gazes to the shrubs along the fence, berry bushes nearby, and some apple trees in a distance. Was he waiting for someone? What did he usually do here?

Then pictures started to take shape. They showed Frodo a spread blanket, an offering of complete and generous food laid there. On two sides of the blanket happy faces beamed: Drogo, Primula, and himself. They were chatting merrily and feeding one another.

Frodo choked. He stood up, staggering back. He should have remembered. How couldn’t he? He had promised himself not to… No. It was more that he was asking himself if he could do things as he had always done – before the passing of his parents. Before this, right after Drogo and Primula’s funeral, he’d wondered if he could ever walk in this garden again, the place where they – he and his parents – used to spend time together. He wondered if he could sit in the soft leather armchair where his father usually sat with him on his lap. Could he do that, with eyes peering into the painted smiles on his father and mother’s pictures hanging above the dresser? Frozen smiles – for their owners would never return to wipe them out or even to change them into wider mirth.

Frodo struggled against his covering sheet but it would not budge. He pulled and pulled, gasping in despair, almost breaking into sobs of frustration. Hands were on him again, trying to keep the fabric in place, restraining him this time. Frodo could not suffer the stifling heat anymore – he had to get out of the blanket!

“Papa, Papa!” He cried out, knowing that he was in the middle of a dream: that his father was reading him a story and that he was falling asleep again. His father might be truly angry this time as he insisted that Frodo be wrapped in a coverlet. He had to wake up and find that it all was a dream – the realization that his parents had passed away. Frodo flailed his hands, reaching for… for…

A wide palm stroked his cheek gently, bringing Frodo to full wakefulness. He gazed up with bleary eyes, realising with great disappointment the face that did not belong to his father.

It took some time for Frodo to fully grasp that the face was that of his Uncle Bilbo. The elderly hobbit watched him, mixed emotions written across his furrowed brow.

“Frodo…” A whisper trembled out from Bilbo’s wrinkled lips. “How are you, my dear?”

TBC

AN: Dedicated to my beloved late father.