There standing in the threshold, arms akimbo, face wearing a furious expression, was the future Master of Buckland, all two feet of him, aged six.
Ring Around the Merry Prelude: Part 1/5
“Goodbye Little Master”
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Year 2988, Third Age
(Frodo is 20, Merry is 6)
Frodo plopped his body down upon the bed in his now nearly empty room at Brandy Hall. Clustered about the bed were all of his earthly possessions, now packed away in large lumpy bundles bound with twine and in a motley group of different sized chests coated with a thick veneer of dust from their long sojourn in storage. Many of his so called “possessions” Frodo had not laid eyes upon since his parents untimely demise, since this guestroom had become his permanent lodging, since his tranquil life at home had been replaced by life in a perpetual crowd at the broilsome Hall, since his privileged position as an only child had degraded to just another ward of the Master of Buckland.
“So Frodo,” he mused to himself. “This is it!”
Bilbo, his dear eccentric cousin whom he’d always called “Uncle,” was coming to collect Frodo from Buckland and bring him to live at Bag End as his heir. Frodo knew intrinsically that moving in with Bilbo was much more than a change of location. It would not only alter the rhythm of his life but its trajectory as well. Frodo leaned back onto his silk feather pillows and took a moment to trace his eyes along the fine brocade on the emerald-colored covers and the gorgeous silver inlay along the rim of his stately oak bed stand. He had been denied nothing here at Brandy hall, nothing that money could buy. Frodo let his eyes drift shut, taking in the muted echoes of a hundred voices emanating from any twenty tunnels, the rumble and bustle of an enormous smial that never seemed to sleep. Yes, that was it. Frodo lacked the benefit of solitude. More than that, he lacked any guardian who could lap him with all the undivided attention he required. For most hobbits such guardians took the form of parents. For Frodo, it had taken the form of Bilbo.
Bilbo - the one adult relation in Frodo’s constellation of relatives who took the time to pay attention just to him. Between the old hobbit’s wild tales of dragons and elves, to which Frodo had listened with rapt attention as a small lad, and their long walks in the country Bilbo had engineered for the benefit of the doleful-eyed lad, a true, deep affection had grown between the two hobbits that transcended generation. The eccentric old bachelor and the bookish young orphan shared much more than the same birthday. It seemed to Frodo that each supplied something the other was missing; in Bilbo, Frodo found an adult guardian, and in Frodo Bilbo found a kindred spirit with whom to share his twilight years. “Two peas in a pod,” folks would whisper, though in hindsight Frodo was now quite sure it was not meant as a compliment.
If the letter that arrived bearing Bilbo’s spidery hand had surprised the Brandybuck patriarch, it had certainly not surprised Frodo. That wily old hobbit had been dropping hints delicate as boulders that he had half a mind to bring Frodo to Bag End should he wish it—and Frodo had known that “half a mind” would transform to “whole mind” should he give the slightest indication he’d desire it. Frodo had suspected the old hobbit would come out with it at last, as Bilbo seemed determined the lad should spend his birthday at Bag End that year. And upon that September 22nd – Frodo’s twentieth birthday and Bilbo’s ninety-ninth, Bilbo’s ham-fisted hints finally coalesced into a solid, unmistakable invitation. “You had better come and live here, Frodo, my lad,” Bilbo had said after taking a great swig of the Gaffer’s homebrew “and we can celebrate our birthday parties comfortably together.”
Of course, Bilbo’s invitation was much more than a way to throw combined birthday parties; it was the old bachelor’s way of opening up his home and his life to the one hobbit in the Shire who Bilbo knew truly needed it. So the letter to Frodo’s guardian, Saradoc Brandybuck, was written on the spot and in Frodo’s presence, to be posted even as Frodo made his way home to Buckland. When Saradoc had entered his room, a familiar roll of parchment in one hand, a serious expression on his face, Frodo knew.
“Are you sure you want to do this lad?” Saradoc had asked, his firm hand upon Frodo’s shoulder. “Your Uncle Bilbo is nothing if not…peculiar.”
“That is why I love him, Uncle Sara,” Frodo had replied. “And, yes, I am sure. Though what you’ve done for me, you and Aunt Esme---”
Frodo found he could not finish, and his normally reserved Uncle captured Frodo in his arms, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.
“Our Merry will be terribly put out, Frodo,” the Master of Buckland finally pushed out in a voice laden with emotion. “You are his favorite relation—oh, I know the lad can be a terror, but he only torments you because you’re so patient with him.”
Frodo nodded, his own face glistening with unexpected tears. “I shall miss his tugging at my knees more than anything in Buckland, Uncle,” laughed Frodo, and he felt a new flood of sorrow rise up, knowing that last words he had spoken were absolutely true.
That has been a fortnight ago. Now the time had finally come to replace the chaotic life at Brandy Hall with something akin to his childhood home. Once again he would be part of a very small family, albeit an unconventional one. “Family,” sighed Frodo and a smile danced upon his lips as he did so.
A real family at last! Frodo’s new position as Bilbo’s heir was the least of Bilbo’s gifts. After all, Frodo thought, he’d only lay reluctant hands upon these things once his most beloved Uncle had gone. Yes, the larger-than-life bachelor was a hobbit of considerable wealth - even if much of it only existed in the overactive imaginations of the townsfolk. Bag End would belong to Frodo, the grandest smial in Hobbiton, and all his uncle’s marvelous collection of books, and even that strange “magic” ring Bilbo always seemed to finger but never wore. Yes- even that mysterious trinket would pass to Frodo in due time. But to Frodo, Bilbo’s greatest gift was, and would always be his uncle’s fine company and his undivided love.
Frodo’s reverie was shattered by the unmistakable patter of small hobbit feet scurrying to the door. Frodo knew who it would be even before the door swung open, hitting the wall with a great thump. There standing in the threshold, arms akimbo, face wearing a furious expression, was the future Master of Buckland, all two feet of him, aged six.
“Merry,” said Frodo.
“Frodo!” yelled the lad, stomping a furry foot for added emphasis. “You were going to sneak off without telling me, weren’t you!”
“Come here, Merry-lad.” said Frodo with a sad smile, his arms thrown wide.
The stern line of Merry’s little jaw melted and his lower lip began to quiver. By the time he bounded into Frodo’s enclosing embrace, he was full sobbing.
“Frodo! Frodo! Please don’t leave me!”
“There, there, Meriadoc,” cooed Frodo has he ran his long fingers through Merry’s thick mop of hair. “It’s not like I’m leaving the shores of Middle-earth, lad! I’ll just be down in Hobbiton. And I’ll visit all the time!”
“IT WON’T BE THE SAME!” wailed Merry, collapsing into a fresh flood of tears. “Who will read to me? Who will tell me stories?”
“Oh Merry,” sighed Frodo with no small measure of regret. Frodo’s mouth turned up in a wry grin. “And, as I recall, you seemed to hold precious little interest in your book lessons, unless I’ve been tutoring another rascally little hobbit lad that looks just like you!”
“I liked spending time with you just fine, Frodo,” sniffed Merry. “It’s the lessons I hated.”
“Well Merry, I’m sure that your parents or one of your army of cousins will be happy to teach you your letters and read you stories.”
“But they’re not you!” whined Merry, and Frodo felt a lump rising in his throat and tears creeping into his own eyes.
“Frodo,” continued Merry, “You’re special! Why won’t you stay home wif me?”
“Merry dear,” answered Frodo as he drew Merry’s small gaze up to meet his own. “Out of all the hobbits here at the Hall, I hold you the most dear. You know how much I love you! No amount of distance can erase that, Merry.”
Merry’s bright eyes lit up suddenly as a new idea flew into his mind.
“I can come with you, Frodo!”
“No Merry,” said Frodo gently. “Not this time. Perhaps later when you are older. I’m sure your Da will allow it then. Don’t you worry, Merry, you’ll grow up before you know it.”
“Frodo?”
“Yes Merry?”
“Frodo, why didn’t you tell me you were going?”
Frodo heaved a heavy sigh, “I was just afraid you would take it hard. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Well!” exclaimed Merry, setting his small face in a determined look that belonged on much older features, “I shan’t let you give me the slip again! I’ll let you go live with Bilbo but, but,” Merry screwed up his face as he tried to dig up one of his father’s favorite phrases, “I’ll have my eyes bolted upon you, lad!”
Frodo choked back an affectionate laugh.
“Very well, young sir!” replied Frodo enthusiastically. “I’d expect nothing less from the future Master of Buckland! What would Frodo Baggins do without Meriadoc Brandybuck to keep him in line?”
Merry cast Frodo an impish grin before burying himself back in his older cousin’s arms.
“Don’t you worry, Frodo! I will always take care of you!”
TBC