Fear - Chapter 18

Courage Without Guarantees

The Mid-Year's Day at Brandy Hall was always a special affair. It was the day the Brandybuck ladies took over the kitchens and the staff were given the holiday for their leisure. Of course, hobbits, by nature, are an industrious lot and though the common folk were given the day, they tended to use it to show the love they held for the family they served. After being provided a sumptuous breakfast by Menegilda and the other ladies, they decorated the hall, collected wood for the bonfire and then gathered flowers for the long tables that had been arranged in the field in front of Brandy Hall. Afterwards the first of the boat races would begin, and Rorimac Brandybuck himself would call them, cheering for old Gablock, who had been ferryman for as long as anyone could remember, as he met and, if former years' results were anything to judge by, defeated every strong hobbit lad who dared compete against him. Amaranth Brandybuck would oversee the fishing contest, judging the size and weight of the river catfish and carp that were prized from the Brandywine's muddy waters and instructing the still regretfully small cluster of hobbit children on the fine art of applying hook to worm. Though the common folk were more fruitful than their Buckland masters, the Fell Winter of 1311 had touched them as well. Second breakfast would be served on the terrace in front of the Hall's doors and folk would sample the generous fare, taking their turn at table in an ever revolving cycle of eating, drinking and merrymaking until everyone was sated, or at least could survive until luncheon. It was a joyous, giving occasion and was looked forward to by all of Buckland.

That morning Primula was giddy with excitement and most eager to be off by the time Dody turned up for the day.  She had not been able to help with the planning of the feasts and the last several years had missed Buckland's Mid-Year's day entirely while she resided with Drogo in his family home in Hobbiton.  Hobbiton had its own Mid-Year's traditions and while she enjoyed their celebration, especially with Drogo by her side and her infant son in her arms, she missed the time honored customs of Buckland; the sights and smells, the places of her girlhood.  They harkened back to days when she was secure and confident and thought nothing bad could ever happen in the world.  She knew today would be a day of familiar joys and the comfort of life deep in the bosom of her kin.  She needed the diversion and was eager to begin it.

She drew Dody in and made a show of thanking him for his generous assistance in her time of need.  This would be the last day he would be needed and if she saw that he was grim and sullen about seeing an end to his duties, she gave no sign of it.  She kissed him on the cheek and then bent to embrace her son.  Frodo smiled ear to ear to see his mother so happy and wriggled with delight when she pinched his nose and ruffled his short hair.  She promised that his father would be with them by elevenses and Frodo would be allowed to greet him.  Dody gave a short nod to Primula's instruction to bring the boy to the main terrace for the meal and gazed after her as she bid them farewell and whirled down the hall.

When the boys were alone, Frodo looked up at his cousin with curious regard.  He'd noticed the older boy's mood; it reminded him of the way Cook's kitchen maid, Adeline, acted when Miss Daisy told her she could not have any children.  Adeline had been quiet and her eyes held a look that Frodo had not understood, but it made him uneasy.  Dody had that look now.   Though his cousin was always moody and unpredictable, Frodo had never been afraid of him before.  This morning, however, there seemed to be something dangerous about him and Frodo hesitated to speak.

"Is everything alright?" he asked timidly.  "Are you upset about something, Dody?  That you won't be my helper anymore?"

Dody barely glanced at him. "Yes," he answered curtly.  "I suppose so."  The older boy's lips were a tight line and his dark eyes were sunken with an intense sorrow that was edged with desperation.  He was in no mood to be here, dealing with this injured but happy child whose future, despite the setback the fall had given him, looked far brighter than Dody's own.  Frodo sat on the edge of his bed and watched him, his large, bright eyes and shorn head reminding Dody of some strange sort of hatchling chick.  Dody felt an intense hatred for the boy suddenly flare within him.  Frodo would get better, would have his family back and close, would have the care and love of the entire hall.  Meanwhile, Dody would be trapped, prey to a toxic villain whose influence would slowly consume him.  Even thinking about Clearwater's proposal brought on a suffocating panic.  It was as if he could sense the doctor was a great danger to him but could not define precisely what it was he feared.  All he knew for certain was that he did not want to be tied to Clearwater, and that if he was forced to be, his life would proceed down a road he did not want to travel.  One from which there would be no turning back.  Fear and frustration filled him and battered his mind till, in desperation, he focused on the one thing he could reach that was more helpless than himself; Frodo. 

He felt a sharp impulse to strike the child; to beat the bright trust from his innocent eyes and to pummel his small body until Frodo was as in as much pain as Dody was.  He clenched his teeth to master himself and turned away.  Marrietta's words came to him with mocking clarity; 'Do you want to be like him?'  Dody's eyes burned but he did not shed his tears of anger.  No.  He did not want to be like his father but it seemed it was too late.  He already was.  'Two peas in a pod', his mother had often said, and she had been damnably right.  Perhaps he now understood why Dodinas had beaten him.  Perhaps he always had, but had kept that knowledge at arm's length.  With his last chance at salvation exposed as a fool's hope and his impotent fury taking hold of his heart, he could no longer escape the truth.  He was Dodinas' son.

"Don't be mad, Dody," Frodo replied with tentative brightness.  "I'll tell Aunt Menegilda how much you've helped me and she's sure to reward you!  I bet you'll get a whole dish of my mother's mushrooms and bacon to yourself out of this.  Wouldn't that be wonderful?"  He continued to stare at Dody's sullen, hunched form looking for some sign of response.  When none seemed forthcoming, Frodo leaned back over his bed and from the space between the mattress and the wall pulled a short wooden cane.  "I couldn't have asked for a better friend than you've been, Dody," he continued, hoping he could say something the boy would find pleasing.  "Folk always told me you were mean and nasty, but you've been very kind.  You played with me when nobody else would come to visit and I don't think I'd have been able to walk at all without your help!"  Frodo smiled hopefully, encouragingly, and slipped off the bed.  "Father will be so pleased when he sees me walking today and I'll make sure he knows you helped me do it.  He'll see Menegilda rewards you properly.  Don't worry!  My father can do anything."

The child stood, a bit unsteadily, but leaning on his cane instead of the bed.  Dody clenched his fists but said nothing as jealous rage washed over him.  Insufferable child!  Dody wondered if Frodo had any inkling of the peril he was in, any clue at all how much he wanted to throttle the life from him at that moment?  And as for Menegilda, she had already seen to his 'reward'.  What could Drogo do about it now, even had he been so inclined?  Dody seethed in outraged fury.  He had done all that was asked of him, trusted those who purported to be looking out for his future and yet this was what came of being kind, of cooperating and of relying on the good will of his family.

Frodo winced and frowned but stayed on his feet, clutching at the cane as a wave of pain crossed his small face.  Dody, stubbornly, refused to be moved.  He could not feel pity - would not - and yet Frodo's unintentional display momentarily unbalanced his rage.  He turned away, seething in frustration, and strode to the table by the fire, purposefully putting space between them.  Dody might have been his father's son, but he was not a fool.  He still wanted to hit something but had enough reason left to realize it could not be Frodo.  No justification in the world would absolve him of that kind of crime.  A quick glance up gave him a curiously satisfying image; that of Frodo frowning, his eyes unfocused as he tried to master the beginnings of a headache.  Good.  Dody plopped down in the furthest chair and glared into the flames.  He could not harm Frodo, but seeing the child in the grip of one of his headaches, did give the older boy some sense of satisfaction.  If the pain were starting already, he would be in no condition to walk to greet his father later.  Frodo would fail in his endeavor and Dody would get even more retribution from the child's humiliation.  It was small reparation, but Dody would have few triumphs from this point forth.

"Why don't you practice a bit?" he asked with cloaked disdain.  "Just to see how things are going today?  You might not even need that cane to walk those few steps.  Wouldn't you like to meet your father without it?"

Frodo looked up and met Dody's hooded glare steadily.  The shadow of pain mingled with the light of determination in the child's eyes.  For a moment, Dody paused, drawn into those bright orbs.  Frodo looked obsessed, almost fanatical, but with a desperate calm that the other boy recognized.  It mirrored his own desperate state.  Dody was unprepared for the stab of empathy that gripped him and it cooled a measure of his coveted anger.  Frodo squared his little shoulders and gripped the cane fiercely. 

"I am going to walk more than a few steps, Dody," he said calmly, his voice sounding stronger and more resolute than Dody had ever heard it.  "And I am going to walk from the hall to the tables without this cane, or your arm to support me.  I am going to show Father and Mother how well I have recovered.  Father will be so proud, and Mother..." Frodo's eyes glowed with an almost mad focus that seemed incongruous in someone so young.  "She will see I am getting better and will know that there is no longer any reason to worry.  She will see."

Dody frowned but was pinned by the zealous blue of Frodo's eyes and could not look away.  He knew from his own tenure caring for the child that what Frodo had just proposed was beyond him.  His best efforts at walking had, at most, brought him the length of the smial before the effort split his head with an agonizing headache.  Dody had helped him often enough to know what the result of Frodo's intended expedition would be - and so must Frodo have - yet there was something in Frodo's bearing that the older boy could not discount.

Dody's jealous resentment ebbed further and his curiosity grew, though with it came a stirring of concern.  "That's too far, Frodo," he said honestly.  "You're not up for it."  He stood, fumbled in his pockets as if looking for something and then met Frodo's eyes again.  He was still irritable and desperately wanted to hold onto his anger, but with this kind of real dilemma to face, he could not maintain it.  His tenure of nursing had apparently given him some sense of accountability for the child that he had not expected to feel.  "You're already feeling it now, aren't you?" he asked.  The younger boy grimaced.

"Maybe you could make me some tea?  The stuff Mother makes me drink.  It's bitter but she puts honey in it."

"Willow bark.  Yes, Frodo, I know how to make it."  Dody, took the kettle, sloshed it to see there was sufficient water and swung the pothook over the low fire.  He leaned on the mantle, staring into the flames and heard Frodo shuffling over to the table.  "You're going to need a lot more than tea to keep a really bad one at bay," he said quietly.

"I know," Frodo answered him with a very small voice.  He sounded every bit the 8-year-old child he was in that moment; sad, scared and anxious.  Dody glanced over his shoulder, thoughtful but resistant.  His temper cooling, his common sense was reasserting itself.  Dody could resent Frodo's better fortune but it wasn't going to change anything.  He turned back to the fire, surprised at his own thoughts.  Perhaps he did pity the child, despite all, or perhaps Lacy Broadbent's blood was at last pumping in his heart.  Whatever was holding him in check, Dody knew it had his own interests at heart, for no right-minded hobbit would lash out at a helpless child, and no right-minded hobbit would ever forgive someone who had done so.

Frodo slouched in the chair and rested his small chin on top of his crossed arms at the edge of the table.  The fanaticism had left his eyes leaving nothing but a worried boy behind.  Dody got a cup and placed it in front of him and Frodo toyed with it absently, sucking it to his mouth and chin and then dropping it into his hands.  

"I'll make it a double..." murmured Dody, as he pulled out the medicinal mixture.

~*~

Primula's eyes sparkled with delight when it was reported that Drogo's cart had been seen on the ferry road.  She took a platter of steaming hot food to the tables and then ran up the road, her bright skirts flying in her eagerness and her cheeks flushed.  She was a vision of loveliness that could have stolen the heart of any lad but she had eyes only for her beloved.

The pony cart came into sight near the mile marker.  The fat chestnut trotted smartly up the dusty road and the passenger grinned when he spotted her and waved his arms with enthusiasm.  Primula stopped, laughing, in the middle of the road and signaled the driver to halt.  Drogo bounded out then and scooped up his dear wife in a crushing embrace.  He whirled her around happily and she, in her turn, covered him in kisses and buried her face against his neck, breathing in his fine, strong scent and making him quiver with remembered desire.

"Easy there, lass, I've not been gone that long!" Drogo laughed, kissing her back.

"It's been too long for me!" she countered, gasping with delight as he twirled her around again.  "Even a day is too long for me!"  Her hands cradled his cheeks and she gave him a welcoming kiss that had the cart man blushing and turning to look the other way.  When they parted at last, Drogo touched her cheek and stroked her hair, his eyes sparkling as brightly as stars.

"Then I will endeavor to stay by your side from this day forth," he whispered, hugging her closer.  "Although journeying does not seem half so hard with such a welcome awaiting my return.  Come.  We'll journey back to the hall together.  I am eager to see Frodo as well.  Your letters were a sweet comfort but I need to hold you both in my arms as soon as m

They sat together in the back of the cart as the driver continued, though at a slower pace to keep from bouncing his fares off the buckboard.  Drogo and Primula drew close, heads together in tender conference as they wound their way towards the Hall.  Neither noticed they had arrived until the driver stopped and a throng of happy hobbits called out greeting to the pair from the feasting tables.  Primula beamed with pride and delight to hear her darling husband hailed so merrily.  Drogo had already been a popular hobbit among the common folk of Brandy Hall, for he was kind and fair, and among most of Primula's relations because he made her so happy, but the little family's recent misfortunes had touched the hearts of Buckland and made them welcome Drogo Baggins as one of their own.  Even Menegilda seemed to have forgotten her earlier disagreements and smiled to see him return.  Folk came up from the tables and down from the hall to greet the two of them, slapping Drogo on the back and inquiring of Primula news of their son's progress.

The driver paid and Drogo's belongings unloaded, the pair made for the tables for a quick bite.  Drogo's stomach had growled noisily the minute the smells of the food hit his nose and Primula insisted he would not go another step without sustenance.  Drogo acquiesced only when she assured him that Frodo would be brought shortly and they would sit down to the meal together.

"So your nephew has proved helpful?" Drogo asked between mouthfuls of tender chicken.  "No problems that weren't worth mentioning in your letters?  I had hoped you would have been more newsy in them about Frodo but thought perhaps it was because there was not much progress to tell of..."

Primula flushed, not missing Drogo's hint.  "Oh, no, love.  Frodo has improved a great deal," she answered softly.  Her tone held just a hint of reserve, as if she weren't comfortable with some part of the disclosure.  "You won't believe how far he has come just since you went away.  And as for Dody, he's a sullen boy, but as I told you, I had no reason to complain."  She laughed.  "If anything, he is far too tolerant of Frodo, letting him do more than I deem him ready for, but I didn't wish to worry you.  Daisy says it's been very good for Frodo to be pushed a bit, but you know how I worry.  I think I was afraid to say much for fear my silly concerns would come through in my letters and unduly alarm you.  If I said less than you wanted to hear, I am sorry for that.  Daisy says he's doing splendidly and I thought it best you listen to her advice in person rather than read the scribblings of an overprotective mother hen."  Primula clicked her tongue in mock disapproval.  "That's what she calls me, you know.  'Mother hen.’  She thinks I need some sense knocked into me - impudent thing, isn't she?"  Primula rubbed his arm.  "But now that you are back, you can keep me in line instead."

Drogo smiled and took a deep draught of ale.  He sighed gratefully as it hit all the right spots on the way down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, an action that earned him a tolerant scowl from Primula and a hearty laugh from the common folk seated around them at table

"I've set up my accounts so that Dora can oversee things while I am away.  She was most eager to see us back in Hobbiton but I was firm in that Frodo could not be moved such a distance until he was completely recovered.  I also think it is better for him to grow up here, if we can manage it, among a few children his own age but I don't think that sat well with her, or with Bilbo.  Dora's of the opinion that a Baggins should be raised with Bagginses but I think it's mostly a matter of her not wanting to travel to visit us - being as she is getting up in years.  I believe Bilbo simply wants us nearby so he'd have someone of sense to converse with."  Drogo chuckled and winked at his wife.  "But he's still spry and willing enough to travel if he really wants intelligent conversation.  Yes, I think we'll settle here in Buckland for the next few years, if Rory's willing."

"You know he is," grinned Primula, delighted with the news.  "He adores both you and Frodo."

"And your Menegilda?"

Primula made a face at him.  "She'll put up with even you to keep our son close.  She's taken quite a proprietary shine to him.  You might have to step in and assert your parental rights again."  Primula winked back, eliciting another hearty laugh from Drogo.

"As good as done... Now, speaking of Frodo..."

At that moment a hush fell over the crowd and Primula followed her husband's narrowing eyes to the front entrance of the hall.

A distance of barely 20 yards separated the tables from the hall.  The broad terrace was essentially deserted with most of the local folk either down by the river or sitting at table.  There, just outside the great wooden doors stood Dody and Frodo.  The child looked tiny and frail to Primula's eyes but Dody stood behind him looking ready to catch him if he fell.  Primula drew in a sharp breath. 

"Oh, Frodo..." Drogo sighed, beaming with pride.  "Look at him, dearest!  You didn't tell me he was doing so splendidly!"

Primula could say nothing.  Her throat felt tight and a panic gripped her as she watched her son take a hesitant step forward.  Dody followed closely and it was then Primula noted the cane the older boy held.  She stood but Drogo put a hand on her arm.

"And he's walking?!  Oh, Prim!  Why didn't you tell me?"

The joy in her husband's voice held her in place though she longed to rush to her child.  It was too far, much too far for Frodo to walk.  Primula wrung her hands and watched Drogo climbing slowly to his feet.  In his fixed eyes was such profound happiness that she found herself hesitating to disturb the moment.  The hush deepened as Frodo took another step, and another, walking with careful purpose towards his father.  Drogo left the table and stood in the open watching his son's progress with tears in his eyes.  Primula followed, tears forming in her eyes as well.  She ached to stop Frodo, to gather him up and hold him back from this unnecessary display, but she also thought she could understand why he was doing it - and the reasons both touched and grieved her heart.  Touched, because she knew he wanted to make his father happy, show him how far he had come, and grieved, because she knew he thought her recent distance was something he could mend or fix somehow.  Perhaps he thought by giving her this effort, walking to them in the open in front of many eyes, proving to her and all of Buckland that he could do it, it would bring her back to him somehow.  She stumbled forward a step as insight and pity weakened her limbs and blinded her with tears.  Had her selfish fear driven her son to do this thing?  She took another step and stopped, weeping openly.

Frodo had also stopped and was getting his balance again.  Dody hovered just to his side but not touching him.  He was letting Frodo do what he had to do.  Primula's whole body quivered with desperate longing but she did not move.  If this display was to win her heart back, it was working.  In those fraught moments Primula saw clearly what she had not been able to face before; that by shielding her heart from the pain of another loss, she had shut out her living, breathing child.  She had chosen to protect herself rather than help him and it shamed her to the very core.  How could she have not seen it?  How could she have left him, wounded and alone, and closed her heart to his desperate need?  Frodo stumbled forward again and a stabbing, empathetic pain raced through Primula, but something still kept her from rushing to stop him.  This purposeful walk was his gift to his father as well as an entreaty to her and she deserved every bit of the suffering watching it caused her.  Drogo came up to her side and put a trembling hand on her shoulder.  In his eyes was only pride and she turned away lest he see the guilt in hers.  She would not ruin Frodo's gift, she would not shame him before his father and she would endure the pain that watching him struggle caused her.  She would let her child fight this battle, would let him become whole and face the frightening world again, though it was agony for her to do so.  She could not protect him forever.  All she could do was be there for him and be ready in an instant to catch him if he fell.

~*~

Dody was close behind Frodo.  The tea he had drunk, four cups all told, had soothed his headache but though Frodo had declared the pain gone, Dody knew it was not.  After four steps the wince had returned and after five, an almost imperceptible trembling started in Frodo's hands.  Dody stepped forward, offering his aid, but the child ignored it and pressed on.  Drogo and Primula stood clear of the great tables with nothing between them and their son but an expanse of terrace and a little stretch of green lawn.  It was a paltry distance to cross, but Dody was becoming increasingly aware how much of an effort it would be for his charge.

A pause and then another step.  The crowd grew silent, watching the pair of them.  Dody felt the tickling of a hundred pairs of eyes on the back of his neck.  What would they do if Frodo fell?  He inched forward, ready to catch him, but Frodo saw and stubbornly drew his elbow into his body.  He would have nothing of it.  He was determined to walk the whole distance by himself.

Another step and Frodo wavered in his balance.  He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment.  The trembling was noticeable to Dody, but he doubted any other could see it.  Frodo was hurting badly and yet he pressed on.  Another step, and another.  Dody hovered, becoming increasingly troubled by Frodo’s deteriorating condition.

Sweat beaded on his creased brow and his lips lost all color.  His face, which had been flushed before, took on a faintly green hue, and his eyes narrowed to mere slits of dogged blue.  But he pressed on.  Dody shifted the cane uncomfortably.  He shamefully remembered that he had wanted to see the child in pain this day.  He had wanted to see this fortunate boy brought low.  Well, here was that sight, gifted him in a way that few could find him at fault for.  Yet he felt no satisfaction seeing it.  Another, more powerful emotion was brewing in him as Frodo walked on.

Grudgingly and haltingly, admiration took root in Dody's wounded heart.  Frodo was not brought low, but persevered when he could have given up and none would have thought him lesser for it.  This was no performance for the approval of the hall, no vain display, but a sacrifice given in great pain.  Frodo could not do this thing, and yet he would, and all for the consolation of those he loved.  Realization gripped Dody and a deep respect filled him.  This was courage in its rawest, most pure form.  To those who looked on it appeared as nothing but a simple act; a stroll across the terrace, they could have done it easily.  Though hushed and proud, none of those who watched, except perhaps Frodo's mother, had the slightest inkling of what this act was costing Frodo.  And yet, he walked on, caring only for the regard of the two who watched him from across the terrace.  Another step, more notable trembling, a pause and a spreading of his legs to regain his balance.

Dody followed, hovering and yet somehow unable to impede the determined boy.  Never in his life had he been privileged to see such courage displayed.  The sight of it confounded him.  Some of the hobbits at the table began to cheer, encouraging the boy on, but Dody could tell Frodo didn't hear them anymore.  They couldn't really see what they were witnessing anyway.  None of them would ever know the kind of heart that drove this small boy onwards, and yet in that moment, Dody perceived it.  His was a courage that was greater than Dody had ever imagined anyone could possess and it was hidden in a child less than half his age.  What calling could ever show the world the magnitude of this boy's will?  None, Dody realized with a start.  There was no job, no challenge in the entire Shire that would ever reveal it.  Only he knew.  Only he would ever know, in all likelihood.  In that moment, Dody felt incredibly blessed.  Unaware, Frodo had given him a gift unlike any Dody had ever been entrusted with - a show of courage unequalled and utterly selfless.

There was no trace of jealous rage left in Dody now.  He looked up to see how far they had to go and was surprised to find the world blurred by tears.  Drogo met his eyes and leapt forward and Primula stumbled behind him, her hand to her mouth.  He was to them in an instant, drawing his son into a crushing embrace and looking down with dismay when the little child slumped, spent, into his arms.

"Sssseeee?" Frodo murmured, a smile on his white lips.  "I did it...  Told you…"

Drogo, stricken and confused, looked up wildly at Dody.  The blame and outrage in his eyes smote the older boy like a physical blow and at first he drew back, but then he looked at Frodo’s ashen face and seemed to draw his own courage from it.  He stood firm, for the first time in his life feeling more concern for another than for himself.

"What have you done?" spat Drogo, in a furious whisper.  "Have you no eyes?!  Even I can see this was too much for him!"  Drogo drew the boy's limp body into his arms and shook with terrible rage.  Primula clung to his side but said nothing as her husband towered menacingly over her nephew. "Why on earth would you let him do this?"

Dody’s will faltered, and he again took a half step back.  He was buffeted to the core by the might of Drogo's righteous anger, but he held fast and met the older hobbit's eyes openly.  He half expected to be struck down, but somehow no longer felt any desire to dodge the blow.  Frodo's trembling arm reached up to wrap around his father's neck and the sight filled Dody with tearful pride.  He had not expected to feel this way.  He had never known such a love, but seeing father and son reunited in a tender embrace touched him more deeply than anything had before.  This was why Frodo had walked and that was all that mattered.  Perhaps Dody would never know such a love, but he had just been gifted with an awesome, uplifting display of it.  He turned to face Drogo's anger buoyed and fearless.

"Because he loves you," he said softly and turned and walked away from the celebration, the smial and the tiny reunited family.

~*~

TBC