Chapter 13 – Secrets Revealed

Gil watched the others, trying to guess at their thoughts and failing utterly. He did not know about the others, but for him the last two days had done little to ease his fears of the forest. If anything, he was now more afraid of this place than he had been before entering. He had always hoped those stories and songs were nothing more than folklore, with only a pinch of truth to them if any. Now he saw that the tales did not nearly touch upon how formidable the forest was and he was beginning to wonder how anyone could make jokes about this dreadful place.

He thought again of Frodo, never far from his mind, and the guilt stabbed him like a blade. Frodo was in here also, entirely alone. How was the teen holding up? Was he even still alive? Those wide blue eyes continued to haunt him at every turn and with every breath, eyes so full of fear and doubt, placed there by his own careless words. He had hoped that coming to help with the search would alleviate some of that guilt, but with each yard searched, with each mile walked, the guilt dragged upon him more and more, until it was a great weight about his neck, pulling him down. He wondered that he even had the strength to continue walking at all.

Next to him, Milo nudged him and handed him a water skin. “Just one draw each,” he said. Gil took it and wetted his lips before letting the water pass down his throat. He was not particularly thirsty, but he knew better than to pass up water when it was offered. And what of Frodo? Was he thirsty? He must be, not having brought any water in with him.

“This isn’t your fault, lad,” Rufus stated as he took the water skin from Gil, as though he could read the lad’s thoughts. “This isn’t the first time Frodo has done something as reckless as this, as I’m sure you remember.”

Gil nodded numbly. He did remember, though he had not at the time of the taunt. How could he have forgotten something like that?

“After Frodo’s parents died, a part of Frodo died with them, and I sometimes wondered if he wasn’t simply waiting for the rest of him to die also,” Rufus went on quietly as the others grew still and listened. “After the incident in the bath… It got to the point that my Del simply couldn’t bear the heartache anymore and bade Sara and Esme to take him on.

“They’ve done wonders with the lad, and he has got better over the last couple of years, but I think sometimes I still catch a glimpse of that old yearning, if you can call it that. That is why Esmeralda and Saradoc never allow the lad to be alone in the bath for very long and always have someone check on him every couple of minutes, and why he isn’t allowed near the River by himself. They watch him like a hawk, and when they aren’t watching him, the rest of us are. Still, he’s a wily thing, always has been, even before; we have Primula to thank for that. He knows far too well how to slip past everyone’s notice.”

“But I told him…”

“I know what you told him, or the gist of it. Whatever you said, Frodo would not have taken it seriously if he did not already believe it himself. You didn’t put those thoughts there,” Rufus continued. “This would have happened, sooner or later, if not here, then somewhere else.”

They fell into silence again, Gil not feeling any better for the reassurance. He wanted only to see Frodo again, to beg forgiveness and explain to the lad how wrong he had been. The only coward here was himself and Frodo had been stronger than he thought to stand up against someone so much older. Would Gil ever get to tell Frodo that?

After a time, the searchers produced more travel cakes from their packs and sat munching on the grainy food. No one spoke further and Gil noticed the deep frown in Saradoc’s brow. The talk had upset him, had brought up things he would rather remain forgotten. And forgotten they had been, for Gil at any rate. Of course, Frodo couldn’t be allowed near water, and as he was too afraid to go near it, they had all likely thought themselves free of further worry on that account. Until now. Despite Rufus’s reassurance, Gil couldn’t help but feel at blame for all this.

They finished their food and continued to sit. What Rorimac was waiting or hoping for, the others didn’t know, but they were beginning to despair of ever finding Frodo or leaving the forest. Surely, sitting here doing nothing would not accomplish either end, and even if the forest would attempt to prevent them from leaving or going forward, at least they would be moving.

The sun was reaching its zenith and Dodi was getting ready to say something to his brother, when there was suddenly a great sound of earth disturbed and roots torn asunder. A groaning, loud and deafening, could be heard down the wall of trees and the ground reverberated with the power of the trees as they moved. The hobbits jumped to their feet, taken by surprise and unprepared. Instinctively, they reached for their torches and Dino readied the striker.

The ground grumbled and rolled beneath their feet and leaves were scattered in a violent shower all around them. Then just as suddenly as it had started, the trees grew quiet and still, and the forest became deathly silent once more. The hobbits strained their ears and Saradoc and Rorimac separated from the group to inspect the wall and determine what had just happened.

Thirty yards away, they saw that a few of the trees had left the wall and a gap now stood wide open to the dark heart of the forest beyond. More astonishing than that was the sight of a small form, lying on the ground were the trees had once been. It was Frodo.

Saradoc dropped his torch and ran forward, not thinking of anything other than taking that form in his arms and never letting go again. He slid to stop on his knees before Frodo and gently took the lad in his arms and hugged him tight. Frodo made no sign of acknowledgement and his eyes were closed as if in slumber.

“Come Sara,” Rory said urgently. “We must get him back to Dodi and get him seen to. He needs water at least, and the tonics the healers provided will help. Quick.”

Saradoc nodded and stood in haste, being careful not to jostle his bundle too much. He followed his father back to the others, and even though they were shocked to see Frodo, they did not hesitate to act. Dodi reached into his pack and retrieved the healer’s supplies from his pack. Rufus grabbed the water skin and uncapped it. He handed it to Dino, who bent over Frodo as Sara placed him gently on the ground.

The water revived Frodo somewhat. After a few minutes of goading the water down his throat, Frodo at last registered the cool sensation of the wet liquid against his lips. He turned his head to its source and began to drink. Dino was careful not to let him have too much too soon, giving him small sips only, as Dodi went over the healer’s instructions and inspected Frodo.

Despite the obvious need for water and food, Frodo was filthy, covered in dirt and grime. Beneath that, many bruises could be spotted and some gashes could be seen upon his hands and feet. Other than that, the lad appeared whole and sound.

Once Frodo had enough water to keep him for a while, Dino stood back and let Dodi work. He mashed up some of the travel cakes first and fed those to Frodo. As the healer said might happen, Frodo was slow to take the food and even refused it at points. Nearly ten minutes it took for Frodo to consume that first cake, but then the lad began showing even more signs of comprehension and ate more readily, if not as eagerly as they would have hoped.

As with the water, Dodinas gave Frodo only small bites and waited a few moments in between before feeding him another. When the second cake was gone, Dodi took the pouches of prepared tonics and made Frodo drink those next. There were four different tonics. They would not be as effective cold as they would be hot, but they would do their job well enough, it was hoped, to get Frodo back to the Hall. It helped that Frodo was still drowsy enough not to fight the sour taste of the medicaments and he drank them with little trouble.

Once that was done, Saradoc took Frodo in his arms again and stood. He turned to his father, a question on his face. “How did you know?”

Rory shrugged. “These are His woods, not ours. He would know if something were amiss with them and it is said He travels them often in the summer months,” he answered. “It was a hope only, a small hope.”

“Lucky for us, and Frodo, that it was answered,” said Rufus. “I had forgotten all about Tom.”

Then suddenly, comprehension came to them all, and they smiled. Tom Bombadil was a mysterious figure and not to be approached, but he was jovial enough by all accounts except a few. He has been said to have helped lost wanderers before, though the accounts were few and far between and rather vague in detail. Most didn’t believe the stories, but those with the authority to know otherwise never doubted them.

“Come, we must leave here now, while the trees are still under His bidding,” Rory stated and together, they gathered their supplies and turned to the west and home.  

Edon waited until it was nearly teatime before going to the Master’s study to slip his letter under the door. Fendi and Morti had been of considerable help once they realized their friend would not be changing his mind, and they had more or less composed the letter for him. He was quite satisfied with the result.

Dear Mistress Menegilda,  

I write this letter to request your audience on a matter of great concern to me. I understand that you are quite busy with seeing to the affairs of the Hall in your husband’s absence, but as my concern deals directly with the reason for his leaving, I am hoping you will be able to see me as soon as may be. I will be visiting my friends, Fendimbras Goldworthy and Morton Goodbody, and will there await your response. I will make myself available for whichever time you will first be able to see me. I thank you for your time in this matter.  

With regards,
Edonson Brockhouse

Edon walked directly to the Master’s study, trying not to sweat all over the letter in his nervousness. He knew once he delivered the letter, he would not be able to change his mind, so he wanted to get the job done before he could talk himself out of it.

Still, he found himself standing frozen before the Master’s door, staring at the slit between the door and the floor as though it were a monster lying in wait. He took several deep breaths and managed to bend down a couple of times, but the letter refused to leave his hand. Finally, he wiped the perspiration off his brow with his sleeve, took a great huff, and resolved to himself that, this time when he bent over, he would slide the letter under the door.

“If you don’t remove yourself from the doorway, Master Brockhouse, I will never be able to get in to read your letter. That is, should you deliver it,” the Mistress said from behind him, her voice kind but firm.

Edon jumped out of the way, blushing brightly at being caught out; he had not heard her approach, so intent he was upon the door. “I’m sorry, Mistress,” he mumbled as she stepped past him.

Gilda took out a small key and unlocked the door. She paused before passing into the room and held out her hand for the missive. After several moments’ hesitation, Edon handed it over. “Come in, lad,” Gilda said and entered the sunlit room. “Keep me company as I enjoy my tea.”

“I don’t wish to disturb you,” Edon said lamely, realizing that was of course the exact reason he was here.

The Mistress noticed the absurdity of this statement also, for next she said, “Oh? Then what is this? Your mother’s favorite biscuit receipt?” There was a kind smile on her lips, but her eyes were calculating and sharp; she was observing him closely. She indicated the chair next to the tea table. “Sit.”

Edon sat.

He watched as Menegilda bustled about the room, writing things down in ledgers and binders, skimming through the other letters that waited there for her, answered a few of them and looked over her schedule for the next day. She made no comment to him, no further inquiry, and he was not certain if she wanted him to start speaking or not. He remained quiet, trying not to feel too awkward or inconsequential, and waited for her attention, however long it would take.

After a time, an attendant entered with a tray of tea and crumpets with jam. She noticed Edon and quickly left again to retrieve a second setting and a bit more food. Once everything was laid out in proper order, the attendant left, closing the door softly behind her. Menegilda closed her books with a flourish.

Edon sat up and looked alert, his hands clutched together in his lap. Gilda placed her quill in the inkwell and rounded the desk to sit across from him at the tea table. “Go on and eat, lad,” she said and watched him until he filled a plate and began to nibble on a crumpet. Once she was satisfied that her guest wouldn’t unnecessarily starve himself out of nervousness, she opened his missive and read it.

Edon felt his mouth go dry as he watched the Mistress’s eyes travel down the parchment and he drank an entire cup of tea in one gulp to help the crumpet go down. After that, he couldn’t eat anymore and simply waited for the inevitable. Why had he thought this would be a good idea?

When she finished, she folded the missive and placed it upon the table, then filled her own plate and poured herself some tea. She fixed the tea with a scoop of sugar and a bit of honey. “The weather is lovely, isn’t it?”

“Yes’m,” Edon replied out of habit.

The Mistress sipped on her tea and slowly ate a crumpet. Edon could only watch in misery and tried not to fidget too much. He had the distinct feeling that the Mistress was testing him somehow.

Finally, Gilda finished her crumpet and set down her teacup. She sat back in her chair and studied Edon intently for several more minutes, during which time Edon tried to appear innocent and contrite.

“Esmeralda tells me she had the most interesting conversation with you and Madi yesterday – with Gil, that is,” Menegilda stated. “She is of the mind that you and Gil both did Frodo a terrible disservice the other day and I am inclined to agree with her. Do you know of any reason I should not? Something, perhaps, that you forgot to mention?”

Edon paused, taken off guard by the question. He realized immediately the opportunity being handed to him. He could get himself out of this somehow, make himself appear the innocent. Yet it would never work. The Mistress was not a fool and she had already read his letter. Still, could he not even now use that to his advantage? He could say he had been afraid to speak plainly yesterday, with Gil right there, for surely Mistress Esmeralda would believe her own kin before a brewer’s son.

“Well?” Gilda asked. “Have you nothing to add to your testimony from yesterday?”

Edon shook his head. “No ma’am,” he said at last.

“I see. So then what is the purpose of this visit? I assume it has something to do with my nephew.”

“Well, um,” Edon started shakily, then cleared his throat. “I’m worried, ma’am, about how this may effect my family – my behavior, I mean. I’m willing to take responsibility for my part in all this, but I’m afraid that folk might look down upon my parents for raising me wrong, or some other such thing as they do at times.”

The Mistress nodded gravely and picked up her teacup again. She refilled it and fixed her tea as she pondered Edon’s words. She took a long drink before answering. “Your part in this is minimal, Master Brockhouse. You did nothing more than let the lad run about with you. Surely, no one can find fault in that,” she said, contradicting what she had just said a moment earlier.

Edon paused for a moment, thrown by this seeming change, until he realized the Mistress was still testing him. “I didn’t defend him when Gil said those things to him,” he replied.

“Did anyone ask you to?”

“No one should have needed to. Frodo defended me without a thought, I should have done likewise. That’s what friends do.”

“Is Frodo your friend then?” Gilda asked. “I was of the impression that you only tolerated the lad’s presence out of pity.”

“Of course not! I mean, of course he is,” Edon said hotly. “I like Frodo. He’s a fine lad and never has an unkind word. I think it’s horrible that I’ve heard so many rumors about him the last couple of days, and in these very tunnels no less.”

“And did you defend him then?”

“Well, no,” Edon answered, his righteousness instantly deflated. “I didn’t. It’s a family affair.”

“But Frodo is your friend, and friends are supposed to defend each other. Those are your words, Master Brockhouse,” Gilda pointed out. “You do not get to choose the family you are born into, but you do choose your friends, and that can, at times, make friendships more powerful than any other relationship. Not always, as I’m sure you have come to realize, but sometimes. If you nourish them properly.”

“Yes’m.”

“So then Frodo is your friend, and you failed him in this regard. Then it appears you did do him a disservice, not only once but several times.” Gilda placed her teacup back on the table so she could sit back in her chair more comfortably. “Our actions say many things about us, though we do not always understand what those things are, or why we even do the things we do. We cannot take back what is already done, but we can choose what we will do next. What you choose, lad, says quite a lot about you as well.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“So then what are you going to choose in this matter, Master Brockhouse?”

“I wanted to join in the search team,” he started, but stopped for realizing how that sounded.

“And yet you are still here. So you chose to remain silent and you chose to remain behind. That’s two choices,” Gilda said.

“I don’t know what to do,” Edon said at last, feeling horribly wretched. “I don’t know if there is anything I can do.”

The Mistress nodded. “Perhaps not for Frodo there isn’t,” she said, a tinge of pain in her voice. It quickly passed. “You have many relationships and how you treat one of them is ultimately how you treat all others. You did not come to Frodo’s aid when he needed it. This is not the first time such a thing has happened I deem, but you can choose to make it the last.”

Edon mused over this, taking hope in her words. There was still a chance of redemption for him then. “So what will happen to me, Mistress? For what I’ve done?”

“You are punishing yourself enough it seems. You are not to blame for the choices Frodo makes, any more than he is to blame for yours. Frodo is often taken with melancholy, and he must be closely watched at all times. As such, the one I blame for all this is my own darling son. Saradoc should not have allowed Frodo to go off on his own, where there would be no adult supervision. This all could have been avoided or, at the very least, delayed.”

“Thank you Mistress, for your mercy, but I feel that others will not be so forgiving.”

“As I said earlier, your part in this was minimal and most have already forgotten that you were even there. True, you did Frodo a disservice, but no worse than anyone else,” Gilda said. She bade the lad to eat another crumpet and have another cup of tea before continuing.

“Now, about this feud between you and Madi. Rory and I have let it go without comment, hoping the two of you would work it out on your own, but no longer. It is time we get to the bottom of this, and I believe that you will be able to clear up some points that seem a bit hazy. From what I’ve been able to gather, it started because of a lass, Miss Brownlock to be exact. Is that true?”

Edon sat frozen. He had not been expecting this sudden change in inquisition and it took him a while to comprehend what the Mistress had said. If he had felt caught before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Calming his nerves as much as he could, he nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Is it? I thought that Madi did not start courting Miss Brownlock until after the two of you fell out. I am quite certain I have my dates correct on this count,” Menegilda said. “In fact, it wasn’t until after Madi returned from his grandmother’s in Pincup that he approached Miss Brownlock, at which time the two of you were already butting heads. So tell me, lad, what exactly caused such a strong friendship as yours to end? And remember, Master Brockhouse, choose your actions wisely. You can only be seen as you present yourself to be and if you want to appear noble, so too must be your choices.”

Edon started fidgeting again, realizing that he was, indeed, as caught and told out as he could be. He wondered if the Mistress had not planned to call a meeting with him on her own and if he had conveniently produced himself so that she needn’t bother. He held her calculating gaze as long as he could, then looked down at his hands. Before he knew it, he found himself spilling out a secret long held between him and Gil, one he knew would land him in more trouble than he ever feared of being in over Frodo’s disappearance.

“It did start with Fuchsia, in a manner of speaking. I had a fancy for her but I was too afraid to do anything about it. Gil fancied her also, but he didn’t act on it for my sake. Then she approached him at last year’s Spring Festival. I was jealous that she chose him in the end rather than me. In fact, I was jealous of a good many things that Gil had that I did not, and Fuchsia was the final straw. True, Gil turned her away initially, but I was afraid he would eventually change his mind and pursue her, despite his promises to me. I needed to do something to make him appear unworthy of her attentions.”

“So then, instead of approaching her and sweeping her off her feet, what did you choose to do?” Gilda asked as though she already knew the answer.

“I framed him,” Edon mumbled. “I talked him into going farm raiding with me and once we were there, I told him that we would cover more ground if we split up. Then, after he entered the fields, I ran and called out the farmer, telling him I had seen ‘someone’ enter his fields, and then I went to hide behind some trees to watch as the farmer dragged Gil out onto the lane. Gil would have figured I had seen the farmer approaching and got hid, so he didn’t name me out.”

“Even after returning to his room?”

Edon nodded miserably. “Yes’m. I was the one who had planted all those stolen vegetables in his room, when I came to pick him up for the raid and he stepped out to check on his parents and make sure they were sleeping. I had stolen them from the same farmer over the week prior to the raid. By the time Gil figured out what had happened, it was too late for him to say anything. It would only have made him look more guilty for trying to place the blame on someone else.”

The Mistress nodded, her suspicions at last confirmed. “Gil always maintained he was innocent, though he refused to name another culprit. However, the fact still remains that he was in the farmer’s fields with the intention of thieving. He served his punishment and then some. And so too, shall you.”
 
 
 

To be continued…