Chapter 2: Secrets Revealed 
 
21 Rethe

Frodo woke to the sound of whispering across the room. He rolled over to find his cousins, dressed and ready for the day, sitting across Pippin’s already-made bed, their legs dangling over the side. They had been talking adamantly for some time before their softened voices stirred their elder cousin, and it took them awhile to notice he was awake.

“Well, it’s about time you wake up,” Merry chastised when he saw Frodo watching them with interest and amusement. “Your visit, I’m afraid, is already half over, and you’ve missed the Feast entirely.”

Frodo laughed and sat up, stretching his arms and legs out of their slumber. “What a shame. I was looking forward to your mother’s famous apple crumble.”

“You would have enjoyed it,” came Merry’s reply. “It was the best to date. Everyone said so. And she made it especially for you, her ‘precious little dumpling.’ She was quite disappointed you weren’t awake to have any.”

Frodo laughed again. “She couldn’t have been speaking of me then, as any embarrassing childhood names she had for me, you were supposed to be too young to remember.”

“You will find I have a remarkable memory, cousin,” Merry shot back. “Particularly for the things most would wish forgotten.”

“Before you two get carried away,” Pippin said, jumping in before Frodo could work out another reply, lest the banter continue all morning, “I believe we had agreed last night to go visiting some of your old haunts, Frodo.”

“Had we?” Frodo asked innocently.

“Yes, we had,” Merry replied firmly. He was not about to let his cousin off the hook this time, especially now that Pippin was here to back him up, unburdened for once of parents and sisters. “Time to reveal your secrets, cousin. I often wondered where you would disappear to for hours at a time.”

To this Frodo made no reply, but instead became greatly interested in choosing his attire for the day.

When they entered the dining hall a half hour later, they were welcomed by a chorus of greetings, from ‘Good morning’ to ‘How have you been’ and ‘You must tell us what you’ve been up to’ to either ‘You haven’t aged a day’ or ‘Growing like a weed’ depending which visiting relative the breakfasters were greeting.

Another half hour later, all greetings returned and promises made to catch up later, the visitors finally sat down to a breakfast fit to rival that of the richest court in the land. Brandy Hall had become famous for its endless vittles back in old Master Gorbadoc’s day, and even now a well-stocked table was the standard at even the most mundane occasion. Living alone, Frodo had not seen so much food in one place in many months, not counting Pippin’s birthday of course, and he quite enjoyed having his pick of the table.

They ate with Merry’s parents, Saradoc and Esmeralda. They spoke lightly about many things during the meal. Pippin was eager to once again tell everyone about his sister’s pickle experiments. Merry’s little garden was flourishing quite well, and Saradoc was allowing him to make the weekly rounds of the farm fields and vineyards by himself now. Frodo kept quiet on his own affairs, speaking only to add to what his cousins said.

By the time they finally left Brandy Hall, the sun was high in the sky and the early morning mists had long since disappeared. The air was warm, and hobbits were bustling here and there going about their daily activities, dressed in light clothing as if it were summer already. Merry, Frodo and Pippin quickly made for the less populated area just east of Buck Hill, and Frodo was soon leading them to a small pond often overlooked in favor of the river.

The pond lay in the middle of a small grove of trees about half a mile east of Buckland Road. Grass grew up to the very edges of the water and blossoms of yellow and white wildflowers decorated the lawn, spotted here and there with pink and gold blooms. Sunlight came down through an opening in the leaves and shone soft yellow over the pool. It was a well-known area, but as it was little more than a wading pool to even the youngest of hobbits it was seldom visited. As it happened, Pippin had never been there before and he took his time taking it all in. At first glance, it was a beautifully serene spot, but he soon became disquieted.

“I wouldn’t consider this a haunt, Frodo,” Merry said. “Everyone knows about this place.”

“Yes, but they rarely come here do they?” Frodo reasoned. “It’s quiet.”

“Too quiet,” Pippin said. He couldn’t even hear a bird chirping, and the wind made not even the slightest whisper in the leaves over their heads. “It feels abandoned.”

“It is in a way, I suppose. It’s true that hardly anyone comes here,” Merry said thoughtfully. He had never described the location as abandoned, but it did seem to fit the place – and the young lonely teen who had sought refuge there. “Is this where you spent all your time then, Frodo?” he asked, keeping his tone light.

“One of the places,” Frodo answered elusively. He was still reluctant to show his cousins what he considered private refuges, places he had gone to many times in the past, to get away from the bustle of the Hall, or to read or to simply think in quiet contemplation without being interrupted every few minutes by nosey relatives.

In the end, Frodo showed them many of his retreats and found that he actually enjoyed sharing his secrets with his dearest of friends. Though ‘enjoy’ was the wrong word for the relief it gave him to finally have someone else know about his many hiding places. He had no need to hide anymore anyway. For their part, Merry and Pippin found themselves in a similar state of mind as Frodo led them around. They listened, enthralled, as he told them his stories of how he had come by the locations and when he would seek them out. Each spot had its purpose.

A mile east of the pond, in a hillside overgrown with brush, was a deserted hole. It was small, only two rooms, a pantry, kitchen and parlor. The smial was devoid of furniture and the floor was buried under several inches of loose soil. Merry dug some of the soil away with his foot, unearthing what had once been a pristinely polished cherry wood floor. He walked to the hearth and ran a hand over its surface, displacing the thick layer of dust to reveal a smooth marble slab of fine quality. He stared at it with puzzlement.

“Where are we?” he asked. The smial, so obviously unused for many years, had once been elegant. To still be standing in as good condition as it was – even the rusted door had opened with only minor prodding – someone had once spent a great deal of money to have this hole expertly built. He couldn’t understand why it now stood empty and forgotten.

“How did you even find it?” Pippin asked. He scratched absently at a cut he had acquired while crawling through the brush. This hole was near the road, and faint traces of a pathway still could be seen on close inspection. He went to a dirt-covered window and tried to find the road through the grime and shrubbery. People probably walked by this hole a hundred times a day and never knew it.

Several moments passed before they turned to Frodo, who had failed to answer either of their questions. They found him standing in the doorway to the master bedroom. He stared inside the vacant room as if transfixed by a vision only he could see. With great effort, he at last answered, “I was hiding from some of the other lads and I found it. I used to come here and pretend…”

“What?”

Frodo swallowed and looked embarrassed. When he answered, his voice was small and uncertain. “Pretend they were still alive. This was their room. … It was silly.”

“No it wasn’t,” Merry answered quickly. He went over to his friend’s side and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. Not knowing what else to say, he turned toward the other room. “Would this room be yours?”

Frodo only nodded. Pippin entered the second bedroom. There was no window here and the light filtering in through the front door was hardly enough to see in. Long shadows cast themselves upon the floor and along the walls, coming to rest in dark corners. He shuddered. “Well, it certainly is a cheerful place,” he said. “Nice and homey.”

Pippin liked this place even less than the pond. He could not begin to imagine Frodo, even as a young displaced teen, hiding out here. The hole was dilapidated and depressing, so much the opposite of his usually joyful cousin. He was glad when they left.

The tour became more pleasurable after that. Frodo next took them to a wild garden surrounded by high hedges, about a mile south of Crickhollow Lane. Here he would come to read or study in the early morning sun, thanks to a tip from one of the gardeners of the Hall.  Not far from there was a willow tree that sat at the far end of a vineyard. He would climb the tree to look out over the land, to watch the workers in the fields or to daydream about adventure. A couple more miles east, near the Hedge in the middle of an open plain, was a large boulder. The rock was shaped almost like a large chair and was positioned so that its seat faced away from the road. He would come here often when he would get into trouble for one thing or another, and he would simply brood or think.

They sat on the boulder and ate a mid-morning meal of biscuits, apples and cheese, which they carried in pouches tied to their belts. Merry had even managed to grab some sausage links, smoked for tonight’s dinner, and they tasted just as good cold as they did hot. Pippin had been wise enough to procure some brownie squares and a handful of biscuits. Frodo had brought a water skin and they drank from it in turns. After their meal, they turned back toward the Road and Buck Hill, now many miles away.

Frodo led them back on another route than they had come out. There were still two more places he needed to show them. The first was an old bell tower, about two miles east of the Road, which the younger lads like to climb as a dare in the summer months. Not far from the tower was a small outbuilding, a shed of some previous, unknown purpose. Inside the shed, under one of the floorboards, was a box. He took up the box and opened the dust-covered lid. Curious, they looked inside to find several rocks of assorted shapes and colors, all of them beautiful and unusual.

“What’s this?” Merry asked, intrigued.

Frodo shrugged. “Just a collection, picked only because they pleased my eyes.”

“Why are they here though?” Pippin asked.

Frodo smiled. “Because they are,” he answered simply. He replaced the lid and handed it to his cousins. “Here. They’re of dense quality and fairly large. Perhaps you could get someone to fashion some chess pieces out of them. Mind, the pieces won’t match very well, but I’m certain you can find a solution to that.”

Merry took the box. This was all so odd and wonderful; he had no idea what to say. Finally he managed a perplexed and pleased, “Thank you.”

The last stop on their trip was a bluff overlooking the Road and the town of Bucklebury. They sat there and rested their legs, observing the people below going about their daily activities. Frodo gave no explanations for this location, and they found they didn’t need any. For now it was simply enough to sit and watch, knowing that they at last knew their cousin’s secrets. And Frodo smiled, and let them think they had been shown everything, for he had indeed showed them many of his hideaways.

All, that is, but one. For to his most savored and precious haven he did not take them. ‘Not yet,’ he told himself. ‘When they’re older maybe and are better able to understand, and I better able to explain.’ Because he knew when he did eventually take them there, they would want to know its purpose, and he didn’t think he could bear the telling of that tale. Whether he truly intended to show them or not, none can be sure, for the secret of that haven, indeed of its very existence, went away with him many years later over the Sea.

Once they were rested, they walked down into Bucklebury and took an early teatime at one of the inns. The exploring had left them all hungry and blessedly tired, but gave them much to talk about and the conversation flowed as easily and readily as the tea. Pippin then insisted on going into some of the shops, so he could find something to take back to his sisters, who were fond of the trinkets and candies of the Bucklanders, though Frodo wondered just how much of that sweet loot would survive to be enjoyed by his sisters. They browsed then for birthday presents. Merry’s birthday was coming up in a few more months and he liked to be prepared ahead of time. After their shopping, they finally turned and headed back for Brandy Hall.
 

Supper at Brandy Hall was a wondrous affair, and Frodo and Pippin were the center of much attention. Everyone wanted news of Tuckborough and Hobbiton and they wouldn’t let their guests go until they heard their fill of gossip.

Pippin, having spent much of his youth in the Great Smials, was quite in his element and entertained his relatives with numerous stories of the adventurous Tooks. Frodo on the other hand found with each passing year that he had grown quite accustomed to his solitude and the silence of Bag End, and all this attention was beginning to take its toll. So he did not follow the main crowd out to the front parlor and instead headed to his room to gather his thoughts and take an early bedtime.

He found the room just as he liked it: empty and silent, though not exactly tidy as Pippin had wasted no time upon their return to change into fresh clothes and string his old clothes all about the room. Frodo shook his head at the mess, a small smile on his lips as he thought of his young friend who was, no doubt, at this very moment once again in the middle of the crowd, regaling everyone with tales as true as a hobbit is tall.

Frodo yawned and stretched. ‘I should really go to sleep now, I suppose,’ he thought. The day had been quite busy and exhausting for them all, and him especially. He found now that he was more tired than he originally suspected and could easily fall asleep right there where he stood. But he stifled his next yawn and sat at the desk, where paper and quill lay waiting. He wanted to record the events of the day while they were still sharp in his mind. He dipped the quill in ink and gently touched the quill to paper.
 

Dark and cold were all around him, and wet clothes clung to his chilled skin. He was in a tunnel of grey mist and sharp, jagged rocks cut into the protective skin of his feet, drawing thin streams of blood as he stumbled blindly forward. He took no heed of the pain, and he knew not where he was, only that he was alone, utterly and completely alone, and he was searching desperately, frantically, for something that would make it all go away and give him back that which he most desired: peace and comfort. He looked all around him, trying in vain to pierce the veil of shadow before him, for he knew, if he could only see, it would be sitting there, right there before him, waiting to be found; he had only to reach out his hand, to take one more step, to turn one more corner, and he would find it. But the veil would not lift and with each step it became darker, denser, more complete, until it bore down upon him, forcing him to the ground, where he crawled until all strength left him. A great horrible heat rose out of the ground beneath him, suffocating him, and as he took his last breath, the mist lifted and he saw it, just beyond the reach of his outstretched arm. The ground shook with a force never before known to the earth, a fissure broke open to his left and he fell and all faded to black.
 

“FRODO!”

Pippin shook his cousin once more, desperate. He knew he should go and get Merry, get someone, but he couldn’t leave Frodo, not until he was breathing again. “Frodo! Please, wake up!”

Pippin had returned to the room, laughing quietly at the fun he’d had in the last few hours. He had opened the door quietly, figuring Frodo would be asleep already and found that he was quite correct. He hadn’t even been surprised to find Frodo slumped over the desk, a forgotten quill blotting a half-filled page. He had thought only briefly of rousing Frodo enough to get him to his bed, where he would spend the night more comfortably, when he had noticed that Frodo looked pale and sweaty. Not until Pippin had placed a hand to Frodo’s forehead did he notice that Frodo appeared to have stopped breathing, and he was cold and stiff to the touch.

“Frodo! Come on, you old fool. Get up!”

And Frodo awoke, with a sudden intake of air. He bolted from his seat, upsetting the chair, and looked about frantically, gasping for the air that had been denied him in his slumber. Not until he calmed did he realize Pippin was there, watching him anxiously.

“Pippin? What are you doing here? What time is it?”

“Just after midnight,” Pippin said, still shaking. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest, and the haunted look in Frodo’s eyes as he once again searched the ground made his skin crawl. “Are you all right, Frodo? You were having some sort of night terror.”

Frodo did not respond immediately, but closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He was shaking, though why he did not know. He only vaguely remembered dreaming, and the details of the dream eluded him. He only knew it was not a dream he wanted to have again.

“Frodo?”

Frodo shook himself back to his senses and forced himself to look into his friend’s eyes. Slowly, he remembered that Pippin had asked him a question. He cleared his throat and said, “Yes, Pippin, I’m quite all right. It was only a dream.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Vinca can never remember her dreams either, and sometimes she sleepwalks. She once wound up clear outside and halfway to the South Road before Father could catch up with her,” Pippin said lightly.

Frodo smiled, grateful to Pippin for the distraction. “She has a wandering spirit, your sister. I often thought that’s where you get yours from.”

“Without a doubt. The two of us are forever driving Father mad. But those aren’t tales for so late in the night,” Pippin managed as a yawn overtook him. “I suppose it’s time to turn in. No doubt Merry has another busy day planned for us tomorrow.”

“I’m certain he does,” Frodo replied. “Well, good night, Pippin.”

“Good night, Frodo.”

They prepared for bed in silence and soon drifted off to dreamless sleep.
 
 
 
 

To be continued…