This chapter refers to my vignette, “When One Door Closes…”
 
 
 

Chapter 12 – Protection Promised

Meriadoc was sleeping in. The bairn rarely slept past eight in the morning and was usually up by seven at the latest. This morning, however, found him still sound asleep at nine. Even Berilac still slept, next to Merry in the cot. Esme knew the previous night must have exhausted the poor bairns. Emotions had been running high in the Master’s apartment last night and the bairns had been greatly affected by it, crying their confusion and anxiousness long into the early morning.

Menegilda sent for second breakfast, though no one ate much. Esme was feeling sick to her stomach, worrying for both Frodo and her husband, and Asphodel also had two of her fellows to fret about. Amaranth was keeping some semblance of order, despite her own worries for her brothers and nephews, while Berylla sat on the window seat, staring out into the violently bright mid-morning sun and feeling guilty that she knew her husband was safe at the Gate.

Amaranth made tea and bade the matrons to drink. The tea had soothing herbs to help calm the frazzled mothers and wives; she was careful to make enough for later as well. There was no telling what kind of news would be received from the Gate, or when it would arrive, and she felt it was best to be prepared.

Berilac finally woke as second breakfast arrived, causing Merry to stir next to him. Their mothers were at their sides and lifting them up within moments, needing to feed them as much as needing to feel their tiny forms in their arms. No one spoke.

Finally, after second breakfast was poked at but not eaten, Menegilda gathered herself together and stood up. She was, after all, the Mistress of the Hall and she would not let her husband down by sitting around and brooding all day. “Now lasses,” she began, “I know we are all anxious and worried, but sitting here like a bunch of cooped hens will do no one any favors. We won’t be helping our fellows, and Saradas cannot run this Hall on his own. Take the younglings to the nursery for care and we will go out and see what needs doing.”

Gilda’s instructions did just the trick. Once the mistresses left the apartment, they were bombarded on all sides by things that needed doing, and relations and residents that needed help. Esme and Berylla hardly had time to take their sons to their nursery maids before they were pulled outside to speak with a couple of farmers out toward Crickhollow who were having a border dispute, and Gilda, with Del beside her as her right-hand, was required to see to the various aspects of running the Hall that Saradas would not have time to see to. Ami sought out Alamanda, Marmadas’s wife, and once her children were also taken to the nursery, they went about the Hall seeing to the things that Gilda would normally be doing.

In this way, the day passed quickly and the mistresses put their worries and fears aside as they focused on their duties.  

Edon was back at the Hall early that morning, much to his father’s dismay. He could still hear the exasperated tone of his father calling after him that he would not learn wine-making by spending all day with his friends. Edon didn’t have time to explain and left Sed to deal with their father as he may. Sed wasn’t very eager to come to the Hall at any rate and gladly stayed behind to see to business.

The buzzing in the tunnels of the Hall this morning was about news of the search, or the complete lack thereof. Most seemed convinced that the lack of news was a bad sign and they were worried that half the Brandybuck line had gone into the forest to look for Frodo. Already, they were debating who would be the new Master should Rory and the others not return. Some said Saradas, others said Merimac, and yet others said that Menegilda and then Esmeralda would take command until such a time that Meriadoc was old enough to assume his title.

Edon was too shocked at the frank talk to think too much of it, and merely made his way as quickly as he could to his friends’ apartments. He had done a lot of thinking over the night and had decided to take Piper’s advice: he would go to Mistress Menegilda and speak to her of his concerns. If any punishment was to be given to him, he wanted to ensure it would not besmirch his father in any way. But first he wanted to speak with his friends, to find out what would be the best way of going about it.

He was halfway to Morti’s when he heard a pair of voices approaching from the other direction and stopped dead in his tracks. One voice was unmistakably that of Fuchsia Brownlock and the other was a friend of hers, one that took great pleasure in belittling Edon at any chance she could get. Jonquil. The name came to Edon just as the lasses rounded the corner and he wondered what sorts of snide remarks the lass would send his way.

They did not notice him though, wrapped up as they were in their own affairs. He pressed himself up against the wall, intending to let them pass and tried in vain not to listen to what they said, but they were walking slowly and seemed not to care if anyone overheard them.

“He said nothing to you?” Jonquil was saying in disbelief. She had one arm wrapped securely around Fuchsia’s waist, her other hand patting Fuchsia on the shoulder.

“No,” Fuchsia said and there was worry in her voice. Her face was turned down but Edon could see now in the light of the wall sconces that there were dried tears on her cheeks.

“He just left?”

Fuchsia nodded miserably. “Oh, Quil, what if he never comes back? None of them have returned yet. There’s been no word at all.”

Jonquil ran her hand over her friend’s curls, in a repeating brush of comfort and reassurance. “He’ll come back to you, dearest, you’ve no fear of that. He may not know backwards from forwards when he’s near you, but he could find you in the dark without fail if he needed to. Besides, Madagilus Banks is not afraid of the Old Forest. Didn’t you hear of his success at the Gate the other day?”

Fuchsia let out a short breath of disgust, her worry for the moment forgotten. “I told him I didn’t want him going there even then. And now he’s gone and…” Her voice trailed off as fresh tears threatened, but she did not sob.

Jonquil stopped them both and embraced her friend, making shushing noises under her breath as Fuchsia struggled to retain control of herself.

‘Move!’ Edon’s brain screamed. He couldn’t be caught spying on the lasses and once they started walking again, they would undoubtedly see him standing there. Somehow, he managed to pick up his feet and propel himself forward, intending to sneak past the lasses while they were preoccupied. Instead, he found himself slowing as he approached them, until he came to another stop just a few feet away.

“Fuchsia?” he croaked, then cleared his throat. The lasses lifted their heads to look at him, Fuchsia’s face as lovely as ever, despite her recent tears. Even now, knowing what he did of her intentions when she first befriended him, he couldn’t help but notice her loveliness and yet at the same time, that flutter in his chest that beat every time she came near him was now gone. He looked at her, beauty and heaven itself, and felt nothing. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Eldon,” Jonquil stated tersely.

“It’s Edon,” Edon corrected and turned back to Fuchsia. “Do you need anything?”

Fuchsia shook her head. “No thank you, Edon,” she said tersely, and Jonquil steered her friend down the tunnel away from him.

Edon watched them go, a feeling of liberation flowing through him. The spell Fuchsia had so long ago cast upon him was broken. He smiled and sighed with content, then turned about and continued on his way.

As he suspected, his friends were not very supportive of his plan to speak with Menegilda, but in the end he convinced them to help him and they gave him much valuable information. “Course, she might not be very easy to find today,” Morti pointed out. “She’ll be running about seeing to things, what with both Rory and Sara gone.”

“So how do I find her?” Edon asked.

“Leave a request for an appointment,” Fendi advised. “That’d be your best bet.”

“Of course,” Edon said. What if he chickened out in that time? Well, there was nothing for it but to try. “Who do I leave the request with?”

“Just slide it under the door to the Master’s study,” Fendi said. “She’ll get it and she’ll send word to you when you can go see her.”

“Do you have parchment and ink?”

Morti produced the necessary items and they went over several drafts before writing down one that sounded satisfactory.  

Frodo felt horrible. His mouth was dry and his tongue thick, missing the moisture it so desperately needed. His head felt as though it were stuffed with straw, and every bone and muscle in his body protested even the slightest movement. He was hungry and exhausted, and if all the effects of that poisonous fruit had worn off, he could not have known by the way the world tilted and swayed before his eyes.

He knew he needed to get up, knew he should be moving on, but he simply had not the strength. He looked about himself, moving his head and eyes as slowly and minimally as possible. He laid on his back beneath a shrub, which he had crawled under at some point the night before, and all around him, the trees were strangely silent for so late in the night. Or was it day? Frodo could no longer tell the dimness of day from the bleakness of night. It all appeared a blur to him, one moment running into the next in unending torment. He wondered why he simply didn’t go to sleep and remain there for time on end. He certainly felt ready for a good, long rest.

You must remain awake, my child.

“I want to sleep.”

But you mustn’t.  

“Why not?”

Because if you do so now, you truly will not awaken and there will be loved ones left behind who will miss you terribly.

“Like I miss you.”

Yes.

“Why did you leave me? Did I do something wrong? Were you mad with me for not saying goodbye?”

No, my child, we were not mad. We knew you would miss us and that you love us. You could never do anything that would have sent us away.

“So then why did you leave me?”

It had to be so. It was not our wish to go, but it could not be prevented. You will understand in time why.  

“But I can’t do this without you. I’ve tried, and I can’t.”

You think yourself weak, but you are stronger than you can even begin to imagine, and you will do great things. You say you can’t, but you have already and will continue to do so for many years to come. You have a warrior’s soul, if not his nature, and you will strive forward always, to the very end.

“Then will I get to see you again?”

That is not for us to know.  

“You call to me, from the Sea. I hear you in my dreams.”  

We are not in the Sea, Frodo. We call to you from your heart, where you have shut us away. You mustn’t close yourself off from the world or you will not be able to answer the Call when it comes. Open your heart, let us go.  

“But then you won’t be with me at all anymore.”  

We are you and you are us. You are our eyes and heart and strength, and all that we have taught you. We are your memories. We will never truly be gone, so long as you remember us and let those memories be a comfort rather than a burden. Now up you get.  

Frodo sighed shallowly and struggled to prop himself up onto shaking elbows. His head pounded in protest and his vision blurred, his ears buzzing with the sudden pressure of holding himself up. He lay back down, panting and worn.

“You left me all alone.”

No, my lad. There are many who love you, many who care for you. We left you with them until such a time as you can be joined by your protector.  

“My protector?”  

Yes, we made sure of it, before we left. There is one who will protect you always, and he will be with you shortly. In fact, you already have met, though he does not know you and you do not remember him. Have patience. You will find your way to each other, and though you will not know he is the one when first you meet again, you will come to realize it by your journey’s end. Now, get up. It is not so far as you fear.
 
“But how will I know him and how long will it be? I’ll still be in the dark till then. Please don’t leave me in the dark again.”

But my darling Fro, don’t you see? It is only in the heart of darkness that one may find the light, and light is the key to hope. Have you seen the sky at night, have you ever beheld its beauty? I know you have. Do not forget what you have seen and know to be true. Though it may be dark, light is ever present. The dark cannot keep it at bay. Light there has always been, and will always be, and there is light no darkness can touch. There is always light; there is always hope. But if the world were to remain alight at all times, we would forget that and we would lose hope, just as you have. If you are in the dark, it is only to help you to find that hope again. Do not give up. Just remember:

And now the voice began to sing a simple tune, not of its own making but brought forth from another time and place.

Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.*

Then Frodo felt the thin press of lips upon his brow and the brush of whispered fingers pushing his hair back from his face.

Now get up.

Frodo nodded but for many moments it seemed he would not do anything. Then, he gathered another great breath and on the exhale, he lifted himself up once again. He waited until the world settled, then took another deep breath and rolled to his side and finally his stomach. From this position, he could crawl out from under the bush and onto the open forest floor.

He wanted to obey the gentle, prodding voice, he wanted so to do its bidding, but after only a mere foot, his deprived body gave in and he could move no more. He was vaguely aware of his legs still hidden beneath the bush, and the trees swaying languidly above, no longer fearsome or frightening, but gentle and sheltering. Far off, echoing in a distant land of unseen beauty and unknown age, he heard a humming, a buzzing and jolly sound, and the once dreadful realm surrounding him became a tranquil and surreal sanctuary.

His eyes fluttered to a close, too heavy to remain open, and with his last breath of consciousness, he heard a voice at once familiar but strange. “There you are, my little laddie,” it sang, “just where you oughtn’t be.” And when he was lifted from the ground, he thought himself floating upon a cloud or perhaps upon an eagle’s back, far above the earth and with no fear of falling.
 
 
 

To be continued…
 
 

* - from Return of the King, “The Tower of Cirith Ungol”