“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