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