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!