Frodo stood meekly in the doorway, watching Finbar pack some provisions onto a stout pony. He said nothing to the ranger about the journey. Finbar had been extremely kind to Frodo in bringing him in from the rain, treating all of his injuries, giving him food and comfort. Finbar did all those things with nothing but love. Care was obvious in all of his acts and it was care too that made the man expect nothing from Frodo in return. He never allowed Frodo to get out of bed to help him around the house. Not even with the packing. Frodo did not dare to ask more of him.

The hobbit sighed, and was turning his attention back to the man, when sounds of footsteps caught his attention. Frodo turned to see a couple of elderly hobbits walking toward him and Finbar with a bundle of something and a bucket in their hands. Frodo retreated a few steps back to the house. They looked friendly but they were still strangers to him.

“Finn…” said Frodo softly.

Finbar stared at him questioningly and then turned around to find out what had frightened his charge. Unlike Frodo, he welcomed the hobbits warmly.

“Mr. and Mrs. Smallburrow! I thank you for allowing me to burden your pony with so many things!”

Finbar called out to Frodo as the couple took each of Finbar’s hands.

“They are the owners of this beast, Frodo. Such nice people! Come. You should meet them.”

Frodo blushed and approached the three awkwardly. But Finbar put an arm around his shoulders to ease his embarrassment.

“This is Frodo. Frodo Baggins.” Finbar smiled encouragingly to the young hobbit.

“You must be the one brought here by our beloved ranger. You’re feeling better now?” Asked Mr. Smallburrow.

“Y – yes, I am,” Frodo stammered, unaccustomed to being treated kindly by hobbit adults. “I – am better now, thank you.” It also occurred to him that Finbar was truly a man of respect. Everyone seemed to like him. Frodo let Finn’s arm remain about his shoulders.

Mrs. Smallburrow stepped forward and placed the bundle and the basket into Frodo’s hands, and Frodo wondered at the heavy load.

“Some things to keep you from hunger,” said the hobbit tenderly. Finbar eyed the basked with increased curiosity.

“Your home – made bread, Mrs. Smallburrow? I enjoy it very much!”

Finbar patted Frodo’s shoulder as he explained, “They are the ones who taught me anything I wanted to know about hobbits, Frodo. I live among hobbits but I haven’t really cared to know about them until I met you, Frodo.” Finbar gave a small laugh. “But no matter how much I know about you, you never cease to amaze me every day!”

For the second time in a relatively short time, Frodo felt his face and ears warm with embarrassment.

Mrs. Smallburrow laughed to hear Finbar’s words and to see Frodo’s reaction to them.

“Are you sure you want Frodo to leave your place, Finbar? It seems you’ve grown to like him very much.”

“And I like him,” Frodo said softly before he could stop himself. Frodo was startled by his own words, but the next moment he sobered. That was the truth, was it not? It was unnecessary that he be ashamed of it. “Finbar is really kind to me. I… I…”

Frodo suddenly found himself wanting to reach out and find someone reaching back to him. His eyes locked with Finbar’s, but Frodo did not move toward the man. No, he would just burden him further if he asked for anything more. Eventually, after placing the gifts on the ground, Frodo reached for Mrs. Smallburrow, hugged her, and poured all the tears of loneliness and bitterness of his life on the aging hobbit’s shoulder. Her clothes were soaked wet by the time Frodo was through.

With great reluctance Frodo disengaged himself from Mrs. Smallburrow. Rubbing his face, Frodo apologized amid his tears. Mrs. Smallburrow shook her head, wanting to tell Frodo that it was all fine, but she could not. Her throat was tight as she held back her own unshed tears.

Tears welling in his own eyes, Finbar pretended at gruffness. He grabbed Frodo by the waist and lifted him onto the pony’s back. He had spared some place there for Frodo amongst the articles.

“Up you go! We cannot be delayed. Otherwise night will catch us even before we get to the woods.”

Frodo tried to smile but he failed. Instead he wore an expression of longing. He waved his hand listlessly toward the Smallburrows and felt no sense of comfort at all.

* * *

Gandalf tugged at the reins of his horse almost without realizing it. His face crumpled with woe and his temper was roused. This was no small matter. Whatever happened to the peacefulness of the life in the Shire? Had the grudge and envy that the wizard only usually saw in the world of men somehow tainted the land of hobbits? If not, how had one so young as Merry learned to harbor such jealousy and to take such hurtful actions?

Gandalf could see one possible reason why Merry had done such things, and that was well affecting the wizard. Merry must love Frodo very much if he would rather hurt his elder cousin than be separated from him. What the little hobbit had not been aware of was the possibility that something like this would happen. Frodo would leave him, not for the love and care of another, but in profound dejection.

More exasperating still for Gandalf was the sight of a desperate Bilbo sobbing before him. Through his tears, Bilbo had told him everything. As the hobbit looked up at him through dampened lashes, the wizard had made little comment about the tragedy. Not a single promise Gandalf gave that he would be able to find Frodo, all because the wizard simply could not do it. There was no promise he had broken so far and he did not want this to be his first. The Shire might not be such a large place to search, but there were many things that might have happened, especially since Frodo had now been gone for five days.

The Bywater River flowed lazily, reflecting the bright sunlight and the fields were green with shadowy trees and swaying grass. Hobbiton was at peace as it had always been, but Gandalf felt no peace within his heart. The news he had just received made him come to the conclusion that the peacefulness was, at least for the time being, merely at the surface.

Gandalf moved slowly along the road, passing some smials with their round doors and windows, wondering if Frodo was somewhere inside one of them. But the wizard denied his own suspicion. The Shirelings he passed either greeted him politely or ignored him completely. There was no strange gesture or suspicious motions that might indicate any of them knew anything about a missing hobbit lad.

Gandalf continued his journey and again he came to an open, grassy area with a few big trees.

And that was when he suddenly halted, pulling short at the reins, and asking the horse to stop. Gandalf dismounted, keeping the horse at a good distance from the tree and telling it to wait. The horse neighed softly, as if understanding Gandalf’s command, and stood quietly as if knowing he must.

Gandalf moved stealthily forward, careful as not to disturb the two figures resting under the tree. The first one – a man – was slouching with his back against the bark. And the second one was wrapped up in a cloak, curling up on the ground beside the man. Gandalf could not clearly perceive the look of him save for the dark curls shooting out of the cape and the fact that the figure was small enough to be a child… or a hobbit?

The man’s eyes suddenly shot open.

“Stop right there!” He shouted. “Who are you?”

* * *

Merry was awakened by the racket outside his window. Half confused and half hopeful he sprang out of his covers to listen more closely. What happened? Had people found Frodo at last?

Voices of his father, Sara, and the Bucklanders were alternately rising as Merry’s sanguine feelings soared just to gradually diminish as the conversation continued. The hobbit turned his back against the window and he slowly slid down along the wall as desperation took over and sobs engulfed him.

We found a lodge by the forest. It is big and it’s unlikely that a hobbit lives in it.”

“What do you mean? You mean one of the big folk lives in that?”

“We suppose so.”

“And does it have anything to do with Frodo?”

“Ah, that’s the interesting part. We also met a hobbit couple. They said their name was Smallburrow. And they admitted the house belongs to a ranger and several days past he sheltered a wounded, sick hobbit child. They told us the name is Frodo!”

“But they were gone!”

“Yes, unfortunately. They left a day before, in the morn.”

Silence.

“Where did they say the ranger was going?”

“They couldn’t tell. It could be anywhere since the ranger is supposed to patrol the entire Shire.”

TBC