Chapter 19

Drogo only relinquished his hold on his listless son long enough to allow Daisy to examine him.  When she proclaimed him out of danger but in need of rest and quiet, he gathered the boy up and strode to the family's apartments.  Primula followed closely behind, strangely subdued and quiet but with none of the tightlipped anger Drogo exhibited.  Neither spoke a word during the intent march and Drogo wondered that his wife had no word for him, either of explanation or agreement. 

At last they reached their small rooms and Drogo laid Frodo on his pallet.  The child had not opened his eyes once and a grimace of pain seemed etched upon his brow, but for all that, he did not seem upset.  In fact, he almost seemed contented, as if, done with a great labor, he could now settle into a well-earned sleep.  When Drogo stood back, Primula slid around him and, still silent, drew the child into her arms.  Frodo did not protest being roused, but reached up gladly and clung to his mother.  Together they sat on the little bed and held each other as if no one else in the world existed.  Drogo stared, becoming more and more puzzled.  Silent tears streamed down Primula's face while Frodo burrowed against her neck, seeming to want to get as close to her as possible.  Drogo shuffled back to the table and sat, burning with questions and aching to speak, but unwilling to disturb the moment between mother and child.  What in the world had happened during his absence?

"Shhhh, poppet, I'll not let you go ever again," came Primula's soft whisper.  Her voice was choked and sorrowful, but she smiled amid her tears.  She clutched her boy and at last looked to her husband.  In her clear blue eyes he saw grief and guilt, but underlying them both, almost too well hidden for him to perceive it, was fear. 

"I'd say we have some talking to do," he said, his anger abating but still raw from the sight of his son in pain.  "But I believe you already know that." 

She nodded and kissed Frodo's cheek.  Then she whispered in his ear and laid him gently back down.  The boy sighed and curled up to sleep as Primula laid the coverlet over him.

"That was quite a display out there," said Drogo, carefully.  "I am still angry with your nephew for his complicity but I am beginning to suspect there is more to this than Dody's lack of sense.  Primula?"

She hesitated only a moment as she closed the drapes on Frodo's alcove, then came to the table and sat, straight-backed and resigned, as if to face a punishment. 

"Don't be too angry with him," she began.  "It wasn't Dody's fault Frodo came to see you that way.  I believe it was mine."  She played with her fingers in the casually elegant way Drogo had learned she did when something troubled her.  He suppressed the urge to place his own hand over them. 

"I know it was wrong, beloved, and I haven't any excuse one as stouthearted as you can respect.  I saw it myself but thought my child too young or too ill yet to notice."  She looked down at those hands.  "But I saw I was wrong today."

Drogo frowned again, but his voice was kinder.

"What happened, Primula?"

She looked up and then away towards the draped alcove.  For a long while she sat, lost in thought, as if trying to figure out what she would say to him.

"I think it was because I was afraid, beloved," she answered at last. "I know he will recover, I have his strong will and your courage to thank for that, but... "  She shifted uncomfortably.  "There are so many things that could happen to him, Drogo, so many dangers even here in the heart of a place I once thought so safe and protected.  This happened so fast.  So fast."  She closed her eyes and shivered.  "I remember that morning.  It dawned bright and promising, and yet before elevenses the world was turned upside down."  She looked down at her hands again. "I was so afraid he wouldn't get better, that he would never get to become strong and kind and wise like his father, but now that I know he's going to be well, I am even more frightened."  She paused and a sad, wistful look crossed her face.  "I should be glad he is whole and will live a normal life.  I should be overjoyed, in fact, but with every step he takes and every obstacle he overcomes, I see him going out into the world where I can't protect him." 

A sob caught in her throat and eyes grew bright with tears again.  "This happened so fast, Drogo," she repeated.  "With no warning or chance to prevent it.  Right here in the safety of my homeland!  What if he should wander into the old Forest, or catch some sort of fever?  What if something else should happen to him?  I can't lose another child, Drogo.  I can't do it.  And yet I can't keep him safe forever either."  She gazed up at him with a look of remorse that nearly broke his heart.  "This accident showed me how tightly I have bound my heart to him, how much I stand to lose should anything befall him.  So, I drew back.  I kept him at arm's length till I could reconcile my fears, till I could see myself apart from him.  I thought I had to.  Fear had consumed me till I no longer had the strength to be the mother he deserved."  She sagged in the chair; a hopelessness and shame emanating from her that Drogo could almost feel through the still air.  "I was selfish and foolish, thinking he would not see it.  I kept my love from him just when he needed it the most and I am bitterly ashamed of myself but even more, I am afraid of what you must think of me."

The clock ticking on the mantle and the whisper and hiss of the low fire filled the suddenly heavy silence.  Finally, Drogo let out a long breath and drew a hand through his curls. 

"Well, that's a bit of a thing, isn't it now?"  He sat back and studied his wife's downcast eyes and her slumped and weary shoulders.  "There now, lass, don't take on so.  I've got to shoulder some of this blame, if we're being so honest about it." He smiled grimly.  "I was so bent on getting over this, moving past things, that I couldn't see you still needed some time."  He raised his hand at her beginning protest.  "I shouldn't have gone.  A few letters to Bilbo and Dora could have sufficed for the time being.  If anyone was being selfish, it was me.  You both needed me here more than I needed to be in Hobbiton."   

Primula gave him a wry smile.  "Well, you wouldn't have stood for my foolishness, but I'm not certain that you could have stopped me.  I've got enough Took in my veins to be hardheaded to a fault."

"Yes," Drogo agreed with a laugh.  "There is that."  And then his smile faded and he looked soberly at his son's draped alcove.  "You touched on something you are right enough about, though, my dear," he continued softly.  "Nothing is for certain in this world.  Bad things do happen, with no warning and for no reason that anyone can determine.  You are right when you say Frodo will face danger in his life, and you are right when you say we won't always be around to protect him."  Primula shifted again as if to evade a truth she could still not face, but Drogo continued.  "No one lives forever, my love.  There will come a time when our son will have to face life on his own and danger is a part of life even if we've got no goblins to fight or treasures to steal.  We can do our best to protect him while he's a child, but even that vigilance can't keep him from every danger, as we've seen.  And one day he'll be a hobbit grown and will need to look after himself.  It would be a better service to give him the tools he'll need to meet those challenges on his own.  He's got the heart, and then some, and that will serve him well, and your fire, that spark that I've always loved in you."

"And your will," Primula added, smiling.  "And your brightness and goodness."

Drogo answered her smile and this time did lay his hand on hers.

"He has many of the things he'll need already," he continued, his smile turning somber.  "But there's one thing he's got to have that we can only give him during these precious years - and that's love.  It's the one thing you can never give too much of, and it's the one thing you'll never regret giving.  I know how much it still hurts you, Primula, to remember what you loved and lost, but even the love you gave her wasn't wasted."  He smiled with tenderness and profound compassion and thumbed away her newly fallen tears.  "It comes back to you in the end, you know," he whispered.  "That pain will never leave you, but love can temper it and ease the heart.  Holding back love won't protect you, should the worst happen, but knowing what you could have done with the time you were given and didn't, well, that could eat you up inside."

Primula looked up and gazed deeply into his eyes.  Her heart was open and bared.  It was as if he could see right into her bright but frightened soul.  She still feared, but Drogo could tell his words had touched and fortified her.  He saw the walls her fear had built up crumble and the sorrow she had hidden behind them spilled forth.  Nine years he had waited to see this.  He stood and took her into his arms.  At last, the long overdue tears came and she sobbed helplessly against him.  His heart broke for her suffering but he knew this was right.  At last she was letting loose her grief and crying for their little Primrose.

Drogo held her tight, his heart overflowing with love for her delicate, transcendent spirit.  She was his heart, his soul and his light.  He had ached to return to her throughout the long month away, had dreamed of her night after night, but no dream could draw from him the overwhelming emotion that her reality called.  He kissed her soft hair and murmured soothingly into her ear.  He had returned and would stay.  He would be hers forever and beyond.  He would love her till the stars of Aman burned out and the song of the world faded into memory.

At last her sobbing eased and she drew him into an embrace that nearly drove the breath from him.  He knew the meaning of it.  She was eased, and in his strength had found her own.  She would be all right now.  At last she lifted her head and, her eyes still closed, found his lips and kissed him.  He knew that gesture's meaning too.  She was his, wholly and completely, and would be unto her dying day.  Their love was stronger than her fear, and she would never allow it to overcome her again.

~*~

How long he walked, Dody did not know, but when he found himself by the muddy banks of the Brandywine, he stopped and dropped wearily at the base of an overhanging tree.

There was much for him to think about.

He felt oddly lightened, almost disoriented, but he viewed his surroundings with a new, sharper focus.  It was as if a light had been un-shuttered and he suddenly saw himself as if reflected in a clear glass.

And a child had revealed this to him.

It was strange that he did not feel jealous, or angry or defensive.  Those were all emotions he might have expected to feel in response to Drogo's anger, but for some reason his mind was clear and his heart curiously joyful.  For the first time in his life he felt a compassion for another being that was bereft of any need or desire of his own.  Even the long cherished love he had held for his mother was not as freeing as the feeling that now washed over him. 

He wasn't even sure what words could describe this feeling of elation, this utter, selfless joy that filled him.  He had seen courage and been drawn into it.  He had seen a light stronger than his would ever be and yet he did not feel humbled by it.  He had come to realize that a small boy was a better person than he could ever be and yet he did not feel envy.  Instead, he felt honored to have seen it, cherished to have been taken into that boy's trust and glad to know that the child would be happy again.

It almost felt like his own soul was opening up, expanding to accept something greater than he had ever known. 

He looked back on his short life with a suddenly clear and critical eye.  He had seen what kind of person he was becoming, and though he had never liked the dark path, the anger, the hatred, the jealousy, he had never thought himself capable of any other course.  But now he saw the evils he had already done, accepted them and forgave himself.  The darkness was not stronger than he was.  It was the easier road, but not the only one.  He did have the strength to turn away from it, and not only by relying on another's faith in him.  He had what it took within him.  He need only ask it of himself.

The wonder of that realization was the source of his joy and he felt like hugging the small boy who had finally showed it to him.  How dearly he now held that child!  Frodo would not even understand what an amazing thing he had done and the thought of those bright blue eyes looking perplexedly up at him made Dody suddenly laugh out loud.  Of course he wouldn't understand, he was but a child.  He had acted in the only way innocence and love demanded he act.  And Dody found that he loved Frodo as much for that innocence as for his strength.  No, this was a gift, unconsciously given, but one Dody knew he would be a fool to forsake.  Here was his chance to step off the dark path and stand on his own for the first time in his life.  It was no longer in his heart to do anything less.

The river flowed swiftly by, its brown waters curling with seductive leisure, but its mysterious depths no longer held any lure for him.  He was happy, truly happy, for the first time in years.  As the sun glinted hypnotically off the ripples, Dody thought of what his mother might think if she could see him now.  She would be beside herself with pride, beaming at him, her bright eyes shining like the glittering swirls.  He could almost hear her laughter in the bubble and slide of the waters and could almost feel her gentle touch on his shoulder.  It made him smile.  His mother would never be further away than a memory.  She was in his blood too, a part of him, and one he dearly treasured. 

She was in his blood too….  A sudden realization jolted Dody.  Lacy Broadbent had always walked the bright path, and yet while she lived, her gentleness had held his father's dark nature in check.  Her goodness truly was the stronger of the two and Dody was astonished he had never understood that before.  But there it was, laid out before his new awareness, the confirmation of his revelations in the pattern of his own life.  Dody felt tears he had not realized he had cried cooling on his cheek and sent a silent thanks to his mother's beloved spirit.  There was a proof he could hold to in the days to come.  He would be Lacy Broadbent's son and know that by his own choices he did honor to her memory.

His smile faded a bit as the thought on what those next choices would be.  His future was still a dark question, but he turned his now hopeful eyes upon it as well.  Clearwater was what he might have become and serving him would be a sore test of his newfound resolve, but he knew in his heart he would have the strength to meet that challenge too.  He would learn what he could from the doctor but resist the darkness as long as he could.  Perhaps this had been intended somehow, that he should work to contain this malice, this darkness that he knew well, and protect what goodness still existed in the world.  Goodness like that he had glimpsed in Frodo's selfless example was worth fighting to protect..

The sun was westering behind the far hills east of the Marish when Dody finally left the river's edge for home.  He had missed the Mid-Year's Day festivities but the loss had not been in vain.  He would be well.  He would do what duty and fate demanded of him, and he would never again listen to the voices that spoke lies in his ears.  A stronger voice, his own, was speaking to him now.

~*~

The tunnels of Brandy Hall's first tier were a far cry from the dry and airy quarters Drogo and Primula shared.  Spare and utilitarian, with drab brick walls and a slate floor worn smooth by ages of hobbit feet, they were serviceable enough, Drogo supposed, for those who spent their days in the fields or in the service of the great house, but scandalously poorer than what he would have expected a nephew of the Master to have had a right to.  Left, then right, then past two adjoining tunnels, Drogo walked, following Primula's directions.  The next left, at the end of the corridor led to Dody Brandybuck's current accommodations: the last smial on the right.  Drogo stopped before the shabby round door, its color long since faded with time and wear, and knocked.

Shuffling sounds inside told him the occupant was at home and he stepped back as the door opened.  Dody looked out, an expression of mild surprise on his face.  Drogo nodded in greeting.

"Dody," he said carefully.

The boy gave a short bow, though his eyes avoided Drogo's.  "Sir?"

"May I come in?" the older hobbit asked.  "I've some words to speak with you, if I may."

A look of worry crossed Dody's face, but he stepped back and motioned Drogo in. 

"I've not much to serve company," the boy apologized, "But I can make tea if you'd like."  His tone was soft, sad and uncomfortable.  Drogo shook his head. 

"I'm fine.  I've just come to talk with you.  Have you any place for us to sit?"

Dody looked around the room sheepishly, as if just realizing he did not have the furniture necessary to entertain even one visitor and hesitantly motioned his guest towards the room's only chair.  In the light of the small lamp, Drogo got the impression of a modest smial that was at once neatly kept and almost artfully disarrayed.  Clothes were tossed in piles and the few books were scattered in a way that suggested the occupant had left the clutter in defiance rather than habit.  He sat and Dody, after a moment's hesitation, settled on the small bed.

"Primula has spoken to me," Drogo explained.  "And I have come to understand that despite today's incident, you have been an adequate helper.  She says in some ways, you have possibly been better for Frodo than she was, and so I should consider this when examining your actions."

Dody had not yet met his eyes, but Drogo saw his thin shoulders relax.  He had not realized the youngster was so tense. 

"I am sorry for that, sir," he whispered.  "Frodo was in my care and I should have known that the effort he was proposing would be beyond him.  He was most eager to meet you that way, fanatical about it almost, but I was in charge and should have denied him.  You are absolutely within your rights to be angry with me.  I failed you and I am sorry."

"I…" Drogo stopped, not expecting such a mature admission from the younger hobbit.  The words were spoken plainly, not as an excuse but as a statement of fact, and without petulance, anger or defiance.  Drogo peered at him more closely.

Though Dody still avoided looking at him, he could see this was no longer the boy he had interviewed in his parlor.  He looked resigned, but accepting; tired, but no longer guarded like a hunted animal.  There was no trace of irony or sarcasm in his dark eyes and they held the same hint of fulfillment that Drogo had noticed in his son.  Even with Primula's explanation, Drogo felt Dody had acted irresponsibly and had been fully prepared to confront a defense of excuses and justifications at their meeting but this confession was so unexpected Drogo almost found himself wanting to apologize to Dody.

"Yes, well," he muttered, patting his pockets more out of habit than any real need of a smoke.  "That you've come to that realization yourself does you credit, Dody.  You can understand my anger on the field, I hope, but as long as you see the error of your ways, I'll hold nothing against you."

"Thank you, sir," was Dody's calm reply.  He looked down and Drogo wondered at the difference between the reputation this child had acquired and the reality.  The rumors he had heard did not seem to fit the person who sat before him.  .

"What are your plans now?" he found himself asking.  "Has your aunt made any further arrangements for you?"

A regretful smile crept up one side of Dody's face. 

"Yes," he answered, daring a touch of irony.  "It seems someone was impressed with my skills in caring for your son.  Aunt managed to arrange an apprenticeship with Doctor Albarus Clearwater for me.  I begin in the morning."

Drogo felt a chill grip his belly.  Clearwater!  Why on earth would Menegilda bind her blood kin to such a creature? 

"I… see," he replied, carefully.  "And how do you feel about this situation?"

Dody shrugged. 

"The doctor seems to think I have some skill," he answered, though Drogo could see Dody was more resigned than enthusiastic about the arrangement.

"Do you like the doctor?" Drogo pressed.

Another shrug.

Drogo fell silent, thinking.  Whatever previous notions he had had about the boy, Drogo was realizing very quickly they had been wrong.  Dody was no longer anything like the creature his reputation painted him to be.  The worth that Drogo had just seen the promise of at their first meeting had begun to blossom at last, emerging as if from deepest darkness.  He seemed on the verge of maturing into a polite and humble hobbit.  But to be tied to a creature like Clearwater!  The doctor's influence would destroy that worthiness, of that Drogo was inexplicably certain, and he felt a surge of protectiveness for his nephew.

"Mister Baggins?" Dody asked.  "Is Frodo all right?"

Dody was at last looking at him and the clear, dark eyes pierced Drogo.  Dody truly did resemble his son.  Others had remarked on it before, but he had never noticed.  The shade of resentful sullenness had always hidden any likeness from him.

"Daisy seems to think he suffered no harm from his ordeal, though she was not pleased to hear about the 4 cups of willow bark tea."

"I'm glad to hear it," Dody replied, blushing, though his smile was one of unguarded relief.  His genuine concern warmed Drogo and he had the clear impression that Dody's earlier tension was a result of his worry for Frodo and not from any concern he had for himself.  The older hobbit again felt frustrated that this boy was to be given to Clearwater.  It simply could not be borne. 

"You've done a lot of growing up this summer, haven't you?" he asked.  Dody fixed on him again, with the calculating awareness of his former habit.  He seemed to search the older hobbit's face, not desperately hoping for salvation, as he had done a month before, but perceptively, as one who saw an equal.  After a long silence, Dody nodded.

"I've not had much choice," he said with another shrug.

The longer Drogo studied the boy, the more he felt Menegilda's choice was utterly wrong.  An intense and strengthening desire to do something to prevent this catastrophe made it difficult for Drogo to keep his seat and he suddenly launched himself from the chair.  Dody looked up, startled, but got to his feet as was proper to see his guest away. 

"You start your apprenticeship tomorrow?" Drogo asked curtly.  Dody nodded, puzzled.  "If you don't mind, I think I should like to speak with your aunt before these arrangements are made final.  My cousin Bilbo has a wide range of friends from many levels of society.  He put me in contact with some information Menegilda might be interested in."

"Ah… all right," stumbled Dody.  "I am to meet the doctor at my Aunt's apartments in the morning to sign the apprenticeship contract.  You could speak with her then."

Drogo smiled and laid a hand on Dody's shoulder.  The boy looked confused but willing to let Drogo have his say, even if he didn't seem to think it would do much to alter the situation. 

"I'll see you then," Drogo assured him solemnly.  "And let's hope the news that I have is enough to change your aunt's mind."

~*~

He was warm and his head didn't hurt anymore.

Those were the first two sensations that Frodo became aware of upon waking.  The next was that he felt soft warm breaths being periodically spent into his hair and that there was an arm wrapped comfortingly about his waist.  He opened his eyes. 

There beside him, deeply asleep, was his mother.  They were in his parents' bed, rather than his, and the darkness suggested to him that it was deep night.  Behind him, he could hear the deep rumble of his father's sleeping breaths and could feel his lax hand resting protectively on his shoulder.  His mother was dressed in a night dress of soft cotton and had gathered him close to rest on her soft breast.  He could feel her warmth through the thin fabric.

He hadn't slept with his parents like this for many years, mostly at his own insistence because he felt he was much too old to be coddled so, but at that moment, he would not have wanted to be anywhere else.  He had them both back, as if nothing bad had ever happened.  Enfolded in their arms, he could almost pretend that it had all been nothing but a dream.  He wriggled closer to his mother until he could feel her warmth along the length of his body.  She stirred and gave him a sleepy squeeze.  Frodo smiled. 

Yes, he had them both back.  The comfort of that knowledge settled him and in the warm dark he felt sleep stealing over him again.  Yes, everything was back to normal, just the way he needed it to be.

TBC