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.