The small party plodded slowly along the path by the little stream. They could not expect too much with the pony laden with bundles of food, supplies and a young hobbit. Even then, soon they were leaving the river and found themselves among the trees.

Frodo half regretted having left the warmth of the sun behind, though the wood was not dense enough that they could not see anything. There was the greenness of leaves surrounding them and narrow planes of grass here and there.

The hobbit eyed the man walking beside him. Finbar walked a bit faster than the pony so Frodo could only see a part of his face and small strands of blond hair swinging on the side of it. Not the smallest sign of weariness did the man show and his breaths were measured and even. Frodo sighed. He felt oddly stiff after sitting on the back of the pony for a couple of hours. His back ached and a throbbing headache that remained from his sickness started to bother him again. He longed for the softness of Finbar’s bed and pillow. Why couldn’t they return to the ranger’s house? Why couldn’t he?

The thought of home reminded Frodo of Finbar’s suggestion to go with him for a while to see him at work while he decided where to go and stay. Frodo did not have much choice, if any at all. Two parties had shut him out, the Brandybucks and Bilbo. Two places where he actually belonged were closed to him. He was part Brandybuck and part Baggins, was he not? Well, it could be said that it was Frodo that decided to leave the Brandybucks, but he was certain the family had actually felt grateful for his decision. That way they did not have to tell him themselves what they actually had in mind concerning Frodo’s staying with them.

In fact, Frodo still had relatives from his mother’s side who resided in the Great Smials in Tuckborough. Tooks they were, but relatives. But as they had left Frodo with the Brandybucks, Frodo doubted they would accept him now.

Frodo tightened his grasp on the pony’s reins, feeling more desperate as he tried to get hold of whatever strength was left in his heart. He did not cry. He did not think there were still tears in his eyes. This matter was too big for him to decide while he was still a tween. Let fate decide it for him. He could go to Bree if he needed to, having read and heard about the town and finding out it was not a bad place to live. Other hobbits dwelled in Bree, after all. Frodo was not sure what he would do should he go there, but would work it out somehow.

Frodo’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes wandered unseeing to the road ahead that alternately straightened and wound about before him.. Yet, unlike the road and the forest that was still lit by rays of morning sunlight, Frodo could barely see any light to brighten his life. It was dark. Lonely. It was not the first time he thought he would better off had he drowned with his parents.

* * *

“Frodo?” Finbar’s voice was full of concern. He had stopped walking for some time and now was watching how the pony kept wandering without guidance. He had long released his hold on the reins, but the beast’s rider was clearly not gripping them tightly either. Finbar saw Frodo bowing his head, quiet as the night. Not a word had come out of the hobbit’s mouth since they left his cabin, while Finbar had initially thought the young hobbit would be full of questions and remarks on things along their journey.

They had spent quite a while together and since Frodo came to see Finbar as the nicest person he knew, he had begun to show his real self – inquisitive and also willing to tell anything about himself, though he often stumbled with words as he came to the bitter parts of his life.

Talking. That was what Finbar liked Frodo to do. And he had come to love the halfling’s soft, mellifluous voice and his cheerful laughter, both of which seemed denied him now.

The pony was still toiling forward. The poor beast would not stop, of course, unless there was a sign from its rider. Frodo seemed to care little what happened to himself, let alone to a mere pony.

Finbar could see that, too, and finally decided to take action. He strode quickly, grabbing the reins and tapping Frodo lightly on his back.

“Are you well, little one?”

Like someone coming awake from sleep, Frodo turned to Finbar in surprise, lost for words.

“Are you tired? Or hungry?”

Frodo straightened his back. Yes, he was tired. His back felt sore and his rump did, too. He had never sat this long in his life. But hungry? Of course he was hungry. It must have been nearly lunchtime. They had certainly passed the second breakfast and elevenses. But as hungry as he was, Frodo found himself unable to show much interest in food.

The ranger decided he was the one to know best what Frodo needed, seeing how the muteness of his charge lingered. He placed both hands on the halfling’s waist and hoisted him up.

“Come. Let me help you down.” And Frodo simply complied.

* * *

And so they ate.

At first in silence, as each of them devoured the softness of Mrs. Smallburrow’s homemade bread, the thick and rich gravy of the pumpkin stew, and the crunchy almond biscuits Finbar and Frodo agreed wordlessly to save for last. Finbar was glad to see that despite Frodo’s initial reluctance to eat, his appetite had not lessened once he smelt the food.

But shortly after they had begun, Finbar noticed the hobbit’s restiveness. Not once did he glance around. Was Frodo afraid being in the middle of the woods? But he did not seem afraid. In fact, Finbar could see excitement in those clear eyes.

“Something wrong, Frodo?” Asked Finbar quietly, re-wrapping the food that remained. “We shall soon move again, if you’re uneasy here. You will see different things other than the trees. There will be a small spring in which you can freshen yourself. And I promise to stop once we come to a vast green field. We’ll get there soon I hope.”

Frodo had so wanted to show Finbar how he cherished his new experience and it seemed the tasty food they had had helped a lot to lift up his spirit. Frodo stood up and turned his back to Finbar, facing instead the expanse of woven tree limbs and greenness before him.

Turning back to Finbar, Frodo smiled shyly.

“A spring in there?” He whispered. Finbar tried to ignore his slight annoyance at the doubtful tone in Frodo’s voice, and nodded.

“And a field? With a big tree?”

Finbar nodded again, but his eyes flickered a little this time. How did Frodo guess there was a big tree in the field? Should it always be that way?

“Yes, Frodo. But you haven’t answered my questions.”

This time it was Frodo whose eyes gleamed with childlike mischief.

“If you know this place so much, what’s the point of walking it over and over?” He teased.

Finbar could not help chuckle.

“Because that’s what I do, you saucy boy!” He grabbed Frodo and ruffled the hobbit’s dark, wispy curls mercilessly. Frodo chortled in mirth.

“But – why! They’ll stay here always – the trees, the spring, the field. And I’m sure they’d all be quiet and safe until the end of time. Nothing can disturb them.”

Bemused at what Frodo had to say, Finbar smiled, his eyes and lips. The innocence of a young lad! Or might it be because he was one of the Shire folk who absent-mindedly knew nothing of bad deeds in the world, stealing, forging, killing. Perhaps the Shire people did not even see why men like him needed to be there. To make them safe, of course, but from what?

“Really, Finbar,” Frodo broke the ranger’s reverie with his gentle voice. “What do you have to watch for?”

“Why, the bad persons of course. Those thieves and robbers. You might not see them now, Frodo, but they’re here, hiding under the shadows of the trees and bushes.” Finbar thought he needed not scare the little hobbit further by telling him that those people were not necessarily hobbits. Big folks, too. Mainly.

Yet the man should have just pushed his concern away, for Frodo was busy with his own thoughts now, praying that the man would not notice his blushing face. He had stolen once, and the memory of his misdeed remained with him. Now he considered lucky he was only to be caught by the farmer and not by some gruff – looking ranger! Frodo would surely have been more severely punished in that event, he was certain.

Frodo turned abruptly and went to the pony with a bowl of water in his hands, while Finbar went on telling his experiences. He was wondering, though, why Frodo suddenly walked away, seeming to ignore him. Finbar followed the hobbit with his eyes. The man could sense something was bothering Frodo but he decided to let it pass. He was certain the halfling would tell him when he thought fit.

Then clouded expression seemed to lift from Frodo’s face when he turned back to Finbar, making the ranger even more curious at the sudden change. Was Frodo purposely trying to divert Finbar from his tales? But why? Which part of his stories disturbed Frodo?

“Is the spring far from here?” Chirped Frodo. Finbar mused at his suspicion for a while, and finally answered the question, settling himself to play along.

“Not very far. We can get there even before the daylight fades.”

“Then let’s get going so we can reach the field sooner.” Frodo unleashed the pony and tried to mount it, without succeeding. Finbar set aside his doubts regarding Frodo and laughed at the eagerness of the hobbit. Whatever his mind suspected, Finbar believed it was all not true. He saw himself how the young lad suffered in his bed when he was ill and he could not be gentler or more grateful when he was recovered. Finbar had worried for nothing.

With a sigh, the man collected the food, folded the blanket on which they had been sitting, and packed them back on the pony. He turned to Frodo.

“Here let me help you up,” he said and hoisted Frodo on to the beast’s back. “Rest yourself.” Then Finbar snatched the reins. “Lean against the pony’s neck and sleep if you can. I’ll wake you when we get to the spring.”

Frodo glanced sideways down at Finbar and smiled faintly. His lids suddenly felt heavy and he started to lean down. Sleep. His last thought before drifting off was gladness for the simple pleasure of rest.

* * *

The spring was nowhere near where Frodo had imagined it to be. He could not even have found it if not for a coney. Frodo, though stiff after too much sitting, felt fresh thanks to enough sleep and decided to get down off the pony and accompany Finbar as he walked down the path. He looked up, amazed at the man. There was no trace of exhaustion shadowing his steps, and it was already hours after lunch. Finbar smiled down at Frodo and slowed his pace somewhat.

“Do you want a bit of bread?” Inquired the ranger. Frodo considered this for a while, his face flushed a little in response to the exertion of keeping pace with the tall man. He felt rather warm and well exercised, but not hungry.

“A meal doesn’t really appeal to me but a sip of two of fresh water right from its source will be very welcome.” Frodo continued his walk but his playful voice still echoed clearly amongst the trees that were growing more dense, closing in around them. “Are we getting nearer to the spring, Finbar?” Frodo whipped his head around.

“It’s somewhere around here,” Finbar said, stopping and fishing out a bundle of food from a sack on the pony’s back. “But I don’t remember exactly where.”

Frodo was a bit disappointed to hear that and turned back. That was when he saw a running creature scurrying to the direction of a bush.

“A coney!” Frodo said in surprise, and he darted away. Finbar looked after him in dismay. He did not want something bad to come upon Frodo again.

“Frodo, be careful!”

But it was a bit too late now that Frodo had run all the way to the bush, bursting through it, caring not for any thorns or uneven ground beneath it. Finbar could only hear the hobbit’s breath catch and his own with it just before Frodo called for him.

“Finbar, I found it!”

He had indeed done it. Frodo would have even slipped and fallen into it had he not been able to stop running.

He sighed with pleasure as he saw it.

The spring.

It was not large, but the water was the most pristine he had ever seen. The water seemed still like the surface of a mirror. No splashes played in its rim and no rings of water formed in the middle. Frodo held his breath as if fearing to make a sound that would disturb the water. And as he looked up, he saw more of the beauty of the surrounding area. The spring lay there surrounded by the bushes, like a great diamond rimmed by small cuts of emeralds.

There was a rustle behind him and Frodo turned his head to find the ranger emerging from the forest to join him.

“It’s beautiful,” Frodo breathed the words softly, glancing again at the amazing sight. Finbar’s answering smile escaped his notice. He did not even heed the gentle fall of the man’s hand upon his shoulder.

* * *

Frodo insisted he would not drink the water from the spring no matter what Finbar said. He seriously did not want to disturb the peace. He felt he had no right to do so. He would only taint the pureness of it should he take the water. It was enough for him to just drink in the sight of its serenity. Nothing Finbar said could sway him and finally the man accepted it.

“All right then,” sighed the ranger. “Though I thought I heard you say you want a sip of fresh water from it. So, how about a dive in, Frodo?”

Was the ranger jesting? Frodo felt what might have been a twinge of anger. He did not dare to even touch the silent pool before him and now the man suggested he leap into it?

“Finbar!” The hobbit snapped and frowned as he saw mischievous flickers in the blond man’s eyes.

“Well, it’s not like this is a sacred place, is it?” Finbar tried to reason.

Frodo leant back on his elbow, eyes wandering to the food spread about on the blanket before him. Suddenly there was an air of solemnity about him and for the first time Finbar felt differently about Frodo. The hobbit had changed so much from the first time he found him. He had grown more mature in mere days. All the experiences he had must have made him learn and think a lot. Yet somehow Finbar pitied him.

Sorrow seemed to fill Frodo’s glassy blue eyes again. The hobbit spoke ever so softly, almost inaudibly.

“I don’t want to disturb the water. What if it cannot return to how it used to be? I once ‘ve disturbed other things before.”

“What have you disturbed, young Frodo?” Finbar asked softly.

“A family, and though they refuse to admit it, I know they are sorry I’ve been there. I’m not one of them. I have stirred the quiet water. I have made them feel awkward with my presence.” Frodo’s eyes searched Finbar’s. The man looked away, unable to witness the utter grief in them. “I know they love me but I don’t deserve it. I’m glad I decided to go.”

Finbar rose, almost toppling over in his abruptness. He could not stand it anymore. He never knew he would have to face something like this in his life. He wished he could help Frodo but in a way he wished he had never met the young hobbit. The man felt helpless and it galled him as a physical wound.

They continued their walk in silence. Even after they got to the vast green field with the big tree neither of them uttered a word. Frodo was still feeling wretched and he was overcome with weariness. All he wanted was sleep so he did not say anything when the man prepared him a blanket to lie on. He simply huddled over on it and dozed off.

Frodo slept restfully all through the night and still did until the dawn broke in the east, casting warm scarlet streaks of light over the greenness of the field. He was also not aware when a figure came out of the shadows and made its way toward him and Finbar. Frodo slept on even when Finbar straightened up all of sudden and raised his voice.

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

TBC