To Choose with Courage

Buckland, 1382, S.R.

Bilbo gazed with wonder at the slight figure his eyes landed upon near the Brandywine river. A young lad stood alone on the bank, leaning with one shoulder against an old willow tree staring at the flowing of water.

The elder hobbit leaned over, whispering to his cousin, “How did you get him out of his room, Rory?”

“I didn’t,” replied the Master of Buckland, also transfixed at the sight before him.

Both hobbits sat beside one another on one of the many wooden benches along the river bank made specifically for Bucklanders to enjoy listening to the eddy of the river or to merely sit in thought. Strolling along the pathway that ran parallel to the river, Bilbo spied his cousin sitting upon such a bench and so stopped to sit and rest for a while.

Their tranquil scenic view was framed by the high, sheltering branches of green leaves of the willow tree to their left, other groups of trees to their right, green grass under their feet to keep them cool in the late summer heat, and above them, the open blue heavens. The sun had little problem shining her brilliant rays upon the Shire--in spite of the few sailing white clouds overhead. Likewise, her glittering sunlight danced upon the rippling brown water of Buckland, enchanting the gazer as it passed by on its way south.

“Then what--or who, in the name of great wonders, did?” asked Bilbo.

Rorimac shook his head slowly, his blue eyes remained fixed upon the young lad standing beside the tree. “No one, it would seem. The lad wouldn’t say much on the subject when I asked him,” he replied to his friend. “He simply came out of his darkened room at about ten o’clock this morning and asked me if I would accompany him to the riverside.”

“You don’t allow him to come here alone?”

“I’ve never forbade him to come here,” said Rory, “but the lad would never come here on his own--and I can’t blame him, really. However...who knows what a grieving lad will do?”

Bilbo took out his pipe and lit it while Rory answered his questions. So much pain for a child to bear, Bilbo observed, and then blew out a plume of smoke.

“Two years ago, after his parents drowned, he withdrew from life altogether,” explained Rory, his full attention given to the teen still gazing out over the water. “Every day he’d wake up, eat second breakfast, then go back to his room until called for at the next meal. Hilda or I would send him on an errand in Bucklebury once in a while--otherwise he’d have stayed inside his room as if it was a cocoon. Yet he was no butterfly. No--more like a moth drawn to his despair within rather than to light. That is, until today. ”

Finally, the slim figure turned and meandered up the path toward the Master and his guest. He hesitated when he spied the two hobbits on the bench rather than the one he invited on this outdoor excursion. He approached cautiously.

“Hello, Frodo-lad,” said Bilbo, squinting at the reflecting sunlight upon the water behind the teen. He gave the teen a warm smile, though the lad didn’t respond to it. To Bilbo, Frodo appeared a bit gaunt, his dark curls unruly, his skin pale; most likely from lack of sunlight. So, this is what a depressed child looks like, Bilbo thought sadly to himself.

“Frodo, you remember your...your mother’s cousin, Bilbo, do you not?” It was a weak introduction, Rory knew, but he didn’t know if hiding in his room for two years gave Frodo a short memory or not. “He’s been staying with us for a fortnight.”

Frodo stood with his hands inside his breeches pockets, his expression unreadable. “Yes, I do, Uncle.”

Bilbo smiled again. “Frodo,” he addressed the teen, “I have not posed this idea to your Uncle Rory yet, but...I have a birthday coming up soon and I happen to know that you and I share the same day.”

No reaction from Frodo; his blue eyes remained downcast while he stood listening to his elder.

Rorimac got the idea of what Bilbo was attempting and gave him a wink. If they could convince Frodo to take a holiday away from Brandy Hall--away from the dark confines of his room, then that would be an accomplishment, indeed. Perhaps a change in environment would be just what the young lad needed.

Bilbo went on when Frodo made no gesture to counter his offer. “As you know, I live away in Hobbiton where--,” Bilbo chose his next words carefully in front of the Master of the Hall, “where it is a bit more...peaceful. I understand you like solitude. You shall have plenty of it there. Rory here could see that you’re dropped off a few days before, so that you can get your bearings and then we’ll have a most splendid celebration on our birthday! What do you say to that?”

Every fibre in Frodo’s being fought the impulse to reject the invitation. It wasn’t supposed to be this way; he was supposed to grow up in the care and nurturing of his mother and father, not his uncles. He was supposed to grow up, marry at a respectable age and then give his parents grandchildren to dote on. Alas! That dream was not to be. Moreover, sitting alone all day in his darkened bedroom had come to serve as a constant reminder, to Frodo, of how much he missed his parents. Frodo had already made the decision this morning to break out of his shell--to leave behind the life that he so desired, but could no longer have. And now opportunity was knocking at his door. What shall I say?, he thought.

“I...I would like that,” Frodo answered, barely above a whisper.

Rory almost requested the child repeat his answer, catching only a snippet--but he caught the right one. Rather than provoke the teen to retreat again into his cocoon, he scooted away from Bilbo a little, making enough room on the bench for the three of them to sit together. “Come and sit, Frodo-lad,” he said, then waited for the lad to get comfortable. Rory slipped his one arm over the slim shoulders of his charge, giving them a gentle squeeze. “That is very brave of you, my lad. Very brave.”

Bilbo, too, was taken aback. It was then and there that he regarded the teen as the most spirited Baggins he had ever known. Indeed, he had found his heir.

The End

A/N: I was inspired by a verse my sister started using with her email signature:

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” -Anais Nin