Author notes:
Special thanks to Ariel for betaing.

Chapter One: Ward

It could have been a peaceful image; a motherly hobbitess cradling a sleeping child, but her heart ached for the one in her arms. Exhaustion had claimed him after many hours of heartbroken crying. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes swollen and his breathing was still choked with too many tears. It was the third time that week that her husband had had to look for the lad and, as usual, he had found him on his way to Brandywine Bridge and brought him back home. But this was not the boy's home - not anymore.

A fire flickered in the hearth, its soft, warm light a comfort to her aggrieved soul. The constant back and forth of her rocking chair, the raspy breaths of the child reminded her of better days long past. Fate could be cruel at times. She had often combed her fingers through the dark, silken curls or stroked her hands across the heated cheek, but now when she did, she felt tears well up inside her.

If only she could ease his pain. She felt it as distinctly as her own, his trembling causing her body to shake and his sobs, more forlorn than any she had ever heard this child utter, broke her heart. His despair was like a living fire consuming all joy and happiness, all the life she used to see in his eyes. Where once were cheerfulness and an open heart, now there was anger and bottomless despair. Fate, indeed, had dealt a cruel hand.

She looked up and met the eyes of her son and her daughter-in-law. Both sat on the comfortable sofa. Both looked sadly at the boy asleep in her arms. Saradoc and Esmeralda had agreed to be his guardians and though Menegilda did not doubt their competence she could feel their frustration. Over the past few days, Frodo had become difficult and neither of his foster-parents could reach him. Even she and Rory were locked out of the boy's heart, though she, for some unfathomable reason, had gained the child's trust, if trust it could be called. Every step had become difficult.

"You put a lot of responsibility upon yourselves," she said softly, careful not to disturb Frodo's sleep. "I hope you know what you have agreed to."

Saradoc and Esmeralda nodded. Her son looked tired. While her husband had gone to the bridge, Sara had taken the ferry. They knew where Frodo had been heading to and had searched every possible way to Bywater. Saradoc had only returned after nightfall. His face was pallid. Dark circles lined the green eyes which were now pale with pain and worry. Esmeralda hardly looked any better. She kept hold of Sara's hand, but whether to assure herself or her husband Gilda could not quite guess.

"I know what I agreed to do, mother, but he doesn't let me," Saradoc finally said, his voice as disheartened as the expression on his face. "He keeps telling me I'm not his father. He doesn't want me."

"He has a point in that, hasn't he?" Gilda answered without hesitation one hand covering the child's ear. Her son looked at her in confusion and she smiled to reassure him. "You must keep in mind that the lad had a father, Saradoc. If you try to replace Drogo, you will fail. Be to him as a father would and he will come to accept you in time, I'm sure."

"How am I supposed to care for him when he neither talks nor looks at me with anything but a glare?" He shook his head helplessly. "I don't recognise him anymore."

"With patience, my dear," Menegilda asserted. "Lots of patience and love. Time will mend his broken heart. It's been but two weeks, after all."

Saradoc sighed heavily, his sad eyes fixed on Frodo. The fire painted odd shapes onto his face and his hair shimmered gold. It almost surprised Gilda that he could still look so young and dependent. "Perhaps it was the wrong decision to keep him here."

"Don't say such nonsense, Saradoc," she admonished, giving him a stern gaze. Yet she could understand his concern as much as she could understand Frodo's behaviour. "Frodo has been through too much already. What would you do if you were in his place and barely twelve years of age? You lost your aunt and uncle. You hurt. So does he and his anger is the way he deals with it. Don't think he doesn't love you just because he doesn't show it."

Saradoc did not answer. His face was blank, his look became distant. Menegilda knew what he saw in his mind's eye; Frodo, his face defiant, his eyes flashing with fury, his fists clenched and his voice full of tear-choked hatred. She could still hear his accusation that he was being held like a captive in a place he hated, and his insistence that he could manage on his own and did not need either of them. But she had also heard his desperate and sad cries when his Baggins relations left for the Westfarthing without him. It was no easy task to understand Frodo, especially not for one who had not yet had any children of his own, yet she dearly hoped her son and daughter-in-law would not give up. It was grief that now guided Frodo's words not his belief, and Menegilda was sure, deep in his heart, Frodo was as pained by his behaviour as they all were.

Esmeralda again took her husband's hand in hers and this time Menegilda noted the uncertain glance she gave, not him, but Frodo. "You needn't be afraid of him, Esme dear," she said softly, causing the young woman to start. "He's a child and he might be a bit cool at the moment, but there is nothing frightening about him."

As if to prove her point, Frodo shifted in her lap and gave a small sigh. Menegilda was suddenly painfully aware of how much the boy had grown since she had last seen him. With a nod she beckoned Saradoc. "Take him to bed, lad, will you?"

Saradoc lifted the child gently. Frodo seemed to be aware of the change for he moaned quietly but he did not wake and when his cousin held him in his arms he immediately snuggled closer, sniffling.

"Hush, lad," Saradoc whispered quietly and Menegilda felt a fond smile growing at what probably was an unconscious gesture. Her eyes followed her son as he carried the child out of the room then focused on her daughter-in-law again.

Esmeralda certainly possessed the Took's pride and honour. She had a strong will but her inheritance now seemed as much a curse as it was a blessing. She was determined to be a good mother to Frodo. Everyone had seen that when she and Saradoc offered to take over guardianship. Yet there was something about Frodo that restrained her. It was fear but the longer Gilda pondered it the more she understood that it was not the child Esme feared. Did she doubt her ability to raise the lad?

"Dearest?" Menegilda got to her feet to came to sit beside her daughter-in-law. Esmeralda had her hands folded in her lap and she only looked up when Menegilda reached to cover them with one of her own. It was indeed fear that lingered in those blue eyes. "He needs you, and if you hold back your love, he will remain as fearful and withdrawn as he is now."

Once more Esmeralda hung her head, but Gilda gently laid her finger beneath her chin and forced the young woman look at her. "Don't show him you're afraid of what lies ahead of you. You're going to be Mistress of Buckland, lass. Frodo will be by far easier to manage than this land, or your husband for that matter."

Esmeralda, whose shocked expression had confirmed Menegilda's assumption, broke into a smile. "I wish I could trust your words, mother," she chuckled. "Frodo is so difficult. He knows Saradoc well enough, but me…" she trailed off. Swallowing, she looked away again. "How could I possibly be the mother he needs?"

"Do I really have to repeat what I have just tried to make clear to my son?" Menegilda asked sympathetically. "Be patient with him. Frodo will learn to love you and you will learn to listen to him. Not to his words, mind you," Menegilda pointed out. "There are other ways of speaking besides talk and Frodo makes quite frequent use of them."

Esmeralda nodded, but remained silent. She needed time as much as Frodo did, but Menegilda was convinced that her daughter-in-law would eventually manage the task. Saradoc would help her and perhaps one day even Frodo would oblige them.