Chapter 2 – Memories Stir

Frodo dashed through the tunnels, unaware that Edon watched after him as he rounded the corner. He knew only that he needed to get to his room as soon as he could. He didn’t trust himself to maintain control of his emotions for too much longer. The walk from Hedge Field had been long and slow in the company of his companions.

He had hid well how upset Gil’s words had made him, simply because Edon and his friends didn’t know him very well for all that they spent time together. However, he would need to gain control of himself before he entered his Cousin Esmeralda’s apartment, at least long enough to get him to his room. His guardian would notice immediately that he was in a dark mood and he did not want to explain why. If necessary, he would feign tiredness from his excursion to Hedge Field and excuse himself to his room until dinner.

He stopped outside the apartment door, took a deep calming breath that did little to calm him, and went inside. The windows were open to the nonexistent breeze and the parlor was filled with the smell of the afternoon tea brought in from the kitchens. The sun filled the room with soft yellow light and the roses out in the garden were being visited by many birds. It was a sight that always brought warmth to Frodo, but today it only made the heat less bothersome.

Esmeralda was nowhere to be seen but she could be heard in the nursery, cooing to the bairn. A hint of a smile touched Frodo’s lips as he thought of the bairn, his little Merry. He softly tiptoed to the nursery and peeked inside to find Esmeralda changing the bairn’s soiled napkin for a clean one, speaking bairn talk as she did so. The nursemaid, Scarlet, was off duty on Highday afternoons, so Esme had the bairn all to herself.

Frodo watched them in silence, not wishing to disturb them. He watched as Esmeralda finished changing the napkin and tickled the bottom of Merry’s feet, causing the bairn to kick and gurgle in delight. Merry waved his short, chubby arms with excitement and peeled with laughter each time Esme renewed her attack on his feet. He watched as Esme wrinkled her nose at the soiled napkin and deposited it into the lidded hamper, watched the way Merry’s eyes followed her about the room as he suckled on a closed fist and continued to kick his feet, silently asking for more play.

Typically, Frodo would have gone in to join them and help with the bairn in any way he could. He loved helping with the bairn, and holding his cousin and seeing those gleeful grey eyes looking back at him was the only time he ever felt truly at peace. If he were lucky, he would get to hold Merry and burp him after Esme finished nursing him. Sometimes, Merry would even fall asleep, and Esme would sing to them both as the bairn drifted off to untroubled dreams. Esme had a lovely voice, and with her Tookish accent, Frodo could close his eyes and pretend he was somewhere far from Buckland and Brandy Hall.

This time, however, he remained in the doorway, watching from a distance, a pang of longing gripping his heart. He would never begrudge his little cousin the security and comfort of his parents. He would never wish upon Merry any of the heartache he’d had to endure. He would never wish that upon anyone.

Still, the image of Esmeralda coddling her child, come so soon after Gil’s careless words, pierced through him in a way he couldn’t explain. Screaming like a faunt in the dark. Gil could not begin to guess what images those words evoked, what Frodo dreamt when he would wake in such a state and could not be comforted or cajoled. All the same, those words only served to remind Frodo of what he had lost and would never have again. Despite the happy scene before him, he found himself nearly crying as the old wound, which had never truly healed, reopened in his heart.

Esmeralda and Saradoc tried as best they could, but they could not begin to replace his parents and Frodo could never feel completely at home here. In a small, shut away corner of his mind, he understood that this was all temporary, that he would not remain here long. He could not explain how he knew it, anymore than he could explain why the sun always rose in the east, but he knew it undoubtedly. He could not begin to understand what it meant. All he knew was he could never believe his guardians when they told him this was his home, for he knew this wasn’t where he belonged. What he didn’t know was where he did belong. In a way, he envied Merry, who would never have to doubt his place in his parents’ lives, but he feared for the bairn as well.

The nightmares had started when Esme first announced she was with child. Back then, the fear had been that something would happen to the bairn, that both the bairn and Esmeralda would be lost somehow, that he would wake up late one night and find Esme dead, the bed sheets stained in blood and Saradoc pacing numbly in the corner of the room. He could not sleep for the fear and would sneak into his guardians’ bedchamber each night to watch Esme as she slept until the bairn was finally born. No amount of reassurance from Sara or Esme could settle his nerves and he watched Esme constantly, day and night, for the slightest sign of fatigue or illness.

Now, he worried constantly that something would happen to both Esme and Sara that would take them away from Merry. He knew, unequivocally, that unexpected things happened all the time, without any warning. There was a constant fretting at the back of his mind, and he was forever on the lookout for signs of danger or tragedy. If Sara did not come back from his duties on time for dinner, or if Esme suddenly needed to take a nap in the middle of the day, or even if Merry came down with a fever, all these events spelled certain doom for Frodo.

He kept his fears to himself as much as he could, knowing already what his cousins would say, knowing by heart their empty promises. ‘We’re not going anywhere.’ ‘We’ll be here no matter what happens.’ Those words meant nothing to Frodo, only that his guardians didn’t understand how truly dangerous life can be, how quickly one could be left to make their way alone in the world. He didn’t want that to happen to Merry. For all the joy that Merry brought him, he spent even more of the sleepless nights in fear than he had before the bairn’s birth.

Frodo felt the warmth drain from his face as a sudden, horrible thought occurred to him. Surely, his conviction that his time living here would be short did not mean that something would happen to Esme and Sara. Did it?

Frodo backed away from the doorway and retreated to his room before Esme noticed him. He closed his bedchamber door softly and plopped onto the bed. He drew his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his forehead on his knees, hiding his face.

The day had started out so promising, but now he was wishing it would end quickly. He had gone out with Saradoc on his rounds of the local farms, and had returned in time for his studies with Uncle Dino. Then he had helped Scarlet and Esme fold the bairn’s clothes – Merry had a lot for such a little thing – and had been rewarded with a few hours of playtime.

He had decided to go to the races, which gave him the excuse to sidetrack to Crickhollow and visit the hidden smial – his smial, the one he and his parents were to move into, had his parents not drowned. He had not spent long there; he had begun sneezing as soon as he entered the dank, musty hole and had to leave it quickly. Then he had run into Edon and his group, and they were nice enough to let him tag along; Edon could always be counted on for his kindness.

Then there was Gil.

Gil usually left Frodo alone, ignored him more accurately. When he did pay Frodo any mind at all, it was to relay a message from Esme or Sara, or Frodo’s Aunt Asphodel or Uncle Dinodas. Once he had even delivered a summons from Master Rorimac. Gil had actually spared a moment then to ask how Frodo’s day was going, though he had not waited for an answer. Frodo supposed a lad of Gil’s age and position had more important things to do than play post messenger to a wayward teen, but for all his briskness, Gil had never been cruel or mean. Until now.

Now, Frodo had spoken against Gil, for no other reason than Gil had nudged and teased Edon. Why had Frodo felt compelled to defend Edon, who could easily stand up for himself?

Frodo replayed Gil’s words in his mind. They still stung sharply and he flinched as he remembered them. It was true that he had no real friends, not like he’d had while living in Bucklebury with his parents. He still saw those friends occasionally when he went into town with Esmeralda, but more often than not, his time was spent with Merry in the Hall, or hiding in one of his numerous retreats. He tended to shy away from larger groups now, and his friends in Bucklebury always traveled in a large crowd.

Did that make him a coward then, as Gil had said? He had been truly relieved when he walked into Fendi, and Edon invited him to join them to Hedge Field; he didn’t think he could have come so close to the High Hay if he had gone by himself, and the crowd gathered there had been quite intimidating. The Forest itself had been quiet and still behind the Hedge, but Frodo could all but feel the menace pouring out of it, making him want to bolt and hide far away. So he was a coward then, and everyone knew it seemingly, as they knew about his dreams.

That was the harshest taunt, the mention of his nightmares. Gil might not have known it, but those nightmares more often than not were of his parents, or of his darkest fears. Just over three years had passed since their drowning, but it seemed more like an age of the world since that cold Astron afternoon. Yet at the same time, he could remember everything with perfect clarity, as if he were still in that awful moment of first discovering that his life was forever changed. …  

Aunt Asphodel and Aunt Amaranth were standing in the parlor of Asphodel’s apartment, whispering tightly to each other. Their eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and Amaranth still had wet streaks of tears running down her cheeks. She was clutching a handkerchief in her white-knuckled hand and she was trembling as she tried to regain control. Asphodel was focusing on her sister and didn’t notice Frodo standing in the room until the child spoke.  

“Aunt Amaranth, what’s wrong?” Frodo asked, and instantly both sisters tensed and stilled.  

Ami stifled a cry and turned toward the door and Del visibly collected herself before turning to her nephew. “Nothing’s the matter, dearest,” she said, her voice too cheerful and horribly forced, her smile tight and false. “Why don’t you go into the sitting room and have what’s left of luncheon while my sister and I speak?”  

“Yes, Aunt Asphodel,” Frodo said and walked out of the room. However, he did not go to the sitting room. He stayed behind the wall and listened. He knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but he had to know what was happening. He had never seen either of his aunts express sorrow before, much less cry, so he knew something awful must have happened.  

“Oh Ami,” Del said when she thought Frodo was out of earshot. Her voice was distressed now too and she sounded close to crying herself. “How do I tell him? What do I do? He’s already asked once why Prima and Drogo are so late in fetching him.”  

A cold chill ran up Frodo’s spine and came to a tingling stop at the base of his skull. His heart raced and his breath came shallow. Had something happened to his parents?  

“I don’t know, Del. Let’s just wait until Rory gets back. We don’t know for certain yet that it was them,” Ami said without conviction.  

“It was Drogo’s boat they found washed ashore. Who else could it be?” Del whispered and sobbed anew. “How do I tell him? What do I say?”  

Now Frodo’s knees were trembling and weak. He leaned against the wall for support as his stomach turned into knots and the blood drained from his face. His father’s boat had been found? What did that mean? Why would that cause such tearful reactions and why wouldn’t they want to tell him about it?  

“I always said boats were tricky things, and they’d come to a bad end,” Amaranth said, her voice teary again. “Oh, but Del, I didn’t mean it!”  

“Hush, love, I know. They know,” Del said, and Frodo could hear the brush of fabric as the sisters embraced.  

Frodo could take it no longer. He had to find his parents and find out what was going on. If his father had lost his boat and found it again, then that meant his parents were by the River somewhere. He would find them and ask them how they lost the boat and if that was why they hadn’t come at second breakfast to retrieve him and take him home.  

Frodo tiptoed silently down the tunnel to the sitting room. There was another door there, the servants’ door, and it led to the tunnels of Brandy Hall. He opened the door and slipped outside, then broke into a frantic run. He was outside the Hall and headed for the river before his aunts even realized he was missing.  

“Frodo?” Esmeralda’s concerned voice called. She placed her hand into his curls and waited for him to raise his head. At the sight of his unshed tears, she quickly moved Merry from her shoulder to the crook of her left arm. She sat upon the bed and drew Frodo into her right side. “What’s the matter, dearest?”

Frodo could only shake his head. If he told Esme what was bothering him, she would only fuss more. She would feel guilty as well, for not being able to help Frodo with his sorrows. “…waking up crying…” Should Frodo no longer be haunted by that day? Should he have accepted it and moved on by now? Hadn’t he accepted it? He thought he had, but perhaps that was what the nightmares meant – that he had not.

“Frodo-lad, do you want to talk about it?”

Again, Frodo shook his head. He bit back the tears and quieted his sniffles with slow, deep breaths. He would cry later, at night when he would not disturb anyone. Now, he needed to be good so as not to worry his guardian or the bairn.

Little Merry was staring up at him in perplexity as he sucked on his tiny fist, slobbering down his arm. Frodo managed a smile and Merry gurgled around his fist, creating air bubbles in the drool. He reached out for Frodo. “Ffffffbababada,” he gurgled happily.

Esme sighed. “Well, if you’re certain you’re all right,” she stated warily and waited for Frodo to nod. “Come into the parlor then and have your tea before it gets too cold.”

She kept her arm around Frodo until he was standing firmly on his feet. Then she shifted the bairn back to her shoulder and led the way to the parlor. She sat Merry in his playpen and sat next to Frodo on the settee and served him his meal. She kept a sharp eye on Frodo throughout the meal, but the lad showed no more signs of distress, being now completely absorbed in his little cousin.

She would never get any answers from Frodo now and she knew it. Though she tried again to discover what had caused Frodo to cry, he would only say that it didn’t matter anymore and not to worry about it. By the time Saradoc returned from his duties, Frodo was lavishing attention on the bairn and for all appearances seemed perfectly fine. He ate with his usual appetite, and even took his bath at his normal hour, coming immediately when Esme knocked upon the door.

In the end, Esmeralda let it go.  

The sun was sinking close to the horizon by the time Edon and Sed parted ways with Fendi and Morti. The cousins lived in the Hall, but the brothers lived down Bucklebury Road, a mile south of town, and they would have to walk quickly to make it home before supper.

They saw the cousins to their quarters, then turned about and made their way through the labyrinth of tunnels to the South Door. A left turn, a right turn, a handful of lefts, followed by a few more rights, a long run straight down the central tunnel, another right… They had traveled the path so many times over the years, they no longer had to think. Their feet led them as they chatted about their day and wondered what their mother and sisters were making for supper.

At last, they reached the South Parlor and were halfway through the room when a voice spoke from a nearby chair.

“Hallo Swiftfoot.”

The brothers knew that voice and they halted as Gil stood up. Sed fisted his hands, but Edon remained calm, if a bit annoyed. “Evening, Trotter,” he greeted back. “Where’s your entourage?”

“I saw Fuchsia to her apartment already,” Gil answered, knowing exactly what Edon meant. Edon blushed slightly but held his ground.

“Let’s go, Edon,” Sed prompted and started to leave. He looked back when his brother did not follow. “Edon. Ma will be waiting.”

“Go on ahead,” Edon said and shot his brother a look that would not be argued with.

Sed sighed and made a quick survey around the room. He was glad to see a few other hobbits about at the other end. Whatever confrontation his brother and Gil were about to have, it would remain mild and civil at least. “I’ll wait outside,” he said and stepped out the door.

“What do you want?” Edon turned to Gil when the door closed behind his brother.

“Nothing. I was just saying hello,” Gil answered and tilted his head at the younger lad. “Can’t I even say hello to you anymore?”

“Well, there’s something I want to speak to you about,” Edon said, undaunted. “Your behavior this afternoon was atrocious.”

“Yes, I know,” Gil admitted regrettably. “What about your behavior?”

“What about mine?”

Gil sighed as if his patience has long been tested. “You don’t get it; you never have. You want to impress her? You want to make her take notice of you? You want to steal her from me? Well, it’s never going to happen, not the way you’re going about it. You are the one who should have come to Frodo’s defense this afternoon, not her. But you did nothing, just as you always do.”

“Is that what that was about?” Edon asked, appalled. “You insulted Frodo just to get my ire?”

“It was bad judgment on my part, I admit. I shouldn’t have put him into the middle of all this, but it did remind me why we stopped being friends in the first place,” Gil replied. “I will do whatever it takes to defend a friend, while you just stand there and say nothing.”

“You can insult me, ridicule me as much as you wish, but you owe Frodo an apology. A real apology,” Edon said, not baited. “What you said this afternoon hurt him.”

“I’ll apologize in the morning, no worries,” Gil said.

“No, you don’t have any worries, do you?” Edon shot back. “You want to know the real reason why we stopped being friends? It’s because you are the most selfish hobbit I’ve ever known, and you only look out for yourself. Those few times when you supposedly came to your friends’ aid were really just to make you look good in front of her, and if that’s the kind of shallow and self-centered lad she wants, you can have her.”

Gil laughed and looked impressed. “Good show,” he said. “I almost believed that.”

“I’m not putting on airs.”

“Is that so? We’ll see how long it is then before I catch you staring at my lass again,” Gil said and smirked. “You’ve been in love with her since you moved here. Your desire for her is in your blood, but she’s in my arms and that kills you, doesn’t it? Do you really think they all believe you?”

Edon swallowed the anger boiling inside him and relaxed his hands, which he now realized he too had balled into fists. “This is about Frodo and how you treated him this afternoon, nothing else.”

“I said I would apologize,” Gil said. “I know I was acting out of line. I don’t need you, of all hobbits, to teach me proper decorum.”

“Then apologize right now,” Edon said but Gil didn’t move.

“I’ll go in the morning,” Gil repeated. “If I apologize now, before he’s had a chance to calm down, he won’t hear a word I say.”

Now it was Edon’s turn to smirk, but he did so with disgust. “Oh, I see now. If you go in the morning, there’s the chance that Fuchsia will emerge from her apartment down the tunnel while you’re about it and see you. I’m sorry. I was clearly out of line myself when I called you selfish. You are a good friend, and more’s the pity to me for letting you go.”

Edon turned away then, but he did not get far before Gil’s voice rose to stop him again. “My, but you are the noble one. Edon the Stout-hearted. You're fooling even yourself with this act, aren't you? Yet you seem to be overlooking the fact that you choose now, five hours too late, to grow a spine. This is quite a habit of yours. Do your current friends know how lucky they are in having you at their side? And then you call me selfish. Is it selfish of me to want to please her? To want her to be happy? What does it matter if everything I do is for her? And yet, you only want her because it will make you happy. So who’s the selfish one? Oh, and Edon… I let you go.”

Edon did not respond, but stalked out the door, leaving Gil to stand there on his own. Edon stormed past his brother, who jumped up from his perch on the stoop and ran after him. They didn’t say anything until they were on the Road and the Hall and Buck Hill had disappeared behind them. Then Edon stopped before a tree and ran his fist into the bole, splitting the skin over his knuckles.

“Now Ma will have words for you,” Sed warned, but Edon ignored him. His anger now drained, he picked up the pace again and continued down the Road as though nothing had happened.
 
 

To be continued…