Author notes:
Warning for the very gentle hearted: Rating for first paragraph (up to the ~*~*~ ) is rated PG - I think. :)

Chapter Three: Confidant

"Mother?" There was a ghostly ring to his voice as it echoed through the cosy smial just outside Bywater. "I've come back, mother. I'm not going to leave again."

He ran down the long corridor, uneasy because there was no reply. His steps resounded as if he were in a huge hall like the one his Buckland-relatives always celebrated Yule in. There was a sinister mist surrounding him. The walls swayed and the pale, ethereal light of the candles flickered eerily. A chill was in the strangely humid air.

He almost slipped as he came to an abrupt halt in front of the open parlour door. The room was a dull grey as if it had been covered with ashes. Yet the only ashes he could see lay in the cold and empty fireside. A cool wind welcomed him as he stepped inside. "I'm home!" he called again his voice shaky from running. "Mother? Father?"

They were sitting in their huge chairs in front of the fire as they always did in the evenings. They had their backs turned to him, but he could see their arms on the armrest. He trembled, the chill creeping into his bones casting a shadow over his very soul. There was a low splash as his foot stepped into water. He looked down, for the first time perceiving the puddle there. Water was dripping from the ceiling and running down the walls, its smell reminding him of Brandywine River. He frowned when his breath suddenly came out as a swirling white cloud.

His voice was almost desperate as he called for his parents again. Why didn't they answer him? He grabbed for his mother's arm which was cold and slippery, and shrank back. Her face was white as snow, her hair had lost its brilliance and hung in filthy strands over her shoulders, and her eyes were wide open, a veil covering the green and blue which used to shine so brightly. His father's gaze bore the same deathly emptiness. Several blades of weed hung from his head hiding the grey skin and once dark hair.

He felt the scream build in his throat, a tight knot which seemed to pull all feeling, all blankness to that very spot. He could not breathe, he could not move. His heart faltered and then the scream burst through. So shrill and full of pain and despair was it that the walls crumbled and the weight of wood, stone and river-water buried him.

~*~*~

Frodo bolted upwards, awakened by his own cry. He was panting like a hunted animal and was drenched in sweat. Dark curls stuck to his forehead and tears streamed down his cheeks. He trembled violently. Even his stomach was churning and seemed determined to make him sick. His heartbeat drummed in his ears, his mouth was dry and his tongue was swollen. With eyes wide open, he searched the room, but there was only pitch-black darkness.

"It's not real," he whispered feeling a chill creep down his spine. "Not real."

He sank back into his pillow, coiled up against the wall, clutched one corner of his blanket and listened to his shaky breaths. It was not real. As Merimac had told him weeks before, it was but a dream. Dreams could not harm him. There was no water, no unexpected chill, no…

Frodo shuddered. His chest tightened and he had to bite his lip to keep from sobbing. There was no Primula, no Drogo Baggins either. They were gone and would never come back. He was alone, abandoned, forlorn, orphaned. He was the lone Baggins in a smial full of Brandybucks.

Darkness began to weigh heavily upon him. He was dead tired and yet fought sleep with all his might, fearing what other nightmares it might bring. He had grown used to the silence of sleeping all alone, but tonight it made him uncomfortable. Perhaps light would make the room feel less bone-crushing? Frodo reached for the matches, but hesitated, thinking better of it. Who knew what horrors awaited him in the darkness?

Frodo suddenly wished his uncle and cousins had not stopped guarding his door. He longed for the comfort of another voice, another breath - someone whose mere presence might chase away these fears. Saradoc and Rory had both comforted him when he was haunted by the dream, but only cousin Mac would stay with him until he fell back to sleep. He wondered if going to Merimac now would be an admission that he did need the companionship he had so violently rejected. Would it be that wrong to confess that he did?

Conflicted, Frodo crawled out of his bed and stumbled into the dimly lit hallway. He shut the door to his room quickly, locking in the darkness and every foe lurking there. Tears still glistened in his eyes, but he did not bother to wipe them away. His breath was shaky and his legs were weak from fright and sorrow. As if he was still unsure of this course of action, Frodo approached Merimac's door slowly and, not yet daring to knock, pressed his ear against it.

More silence. After a moment's hesitation, Frodo turned the knob. Little Berilac, cousin Mac's newborn son, chose that moment to start crying and Frodo nearly leapt out of his skin. He pulled the door closed again quickly, leaving it open slightly so he could still peek in.

There was movement in the bed. Then a very drowsy murmur of "Don't cry, dearest. I'm on my way."

Merimac sat up but was pulled back into the pillows before he could fully rise and Adamanta's voice mumbled: "Go back to sleep. This one is my call." Then she rose and shuffled to the cradle where she murmured to the infant before taking him into her arms and sitting down in the rocking chair.

Frodo swallowed nervously. How could he possibly intrude on his cousin now? He had other worries and surely didn't need to act as surrogate father and comfort a frightened boy when he had his own child to care for. As silently as he had opened it, Frodo closed the door and tiptoed backwards until he touched the far wall of the corridor. The infant's cries faded and once again he was alone in the dimly lit corridor.

It was out of the question that he go back to his room. He still could not face the prospect of spending the night alone. He could not go to his Aunt Gilda, either. Uncle Rory had fallen ill two days ago and his aunt would undoubtedly not be happy if he showed up in the middle of the night and disturbed them. But there was one more room he could consider.

Frodo glanced at the door opposite his. It was cousin Sara's and Esmeralda's chamber. He hesitated. In the past couple of months, he had come to fear the cousin who now called himself his guardian. Frodo did not need to be guarded. He needed his parents, his family. Brandy Hall had always been a place where he had felt welcome, but now so many things had changed. He did not like changes. He wanted stability, something to hold on to. Saradoc offered neither. His cousin had become very different now that he was what others called his 'foster-father'. He didn't seem to know quite what to do with Frodo. One moment, he would be over-protective, forcing his way bruisingly into Frodo's grief, and yet when Frodo rebelled against his cousin's uncertain affection, Saradoc retreated completely. He seemed anxious to see Frodo settle in at Brandy Hall and yet seemed to have no idea how to help the orphaned boy actually do it. Esmeralda seemed as unsettled around him as her husband. Merimac was the only one who still treated Frodo the same as he used to. Frodo would much rather have stayed with him than wake up Saradoc, but when he looked up he found that he had already entered his eldest cousin's room.

The huge bed stood several paces from the door against the wall. Soft, yellow light streamed from the hall illuminating his cousin's sleeping face. Frodo swallowed hard. It felt wrong to seek out Saradoc for comfort. He loved his cousin dearly, but where once there had been understanding, there was now confusion. Frodo did not know how to approach his cousin, guardian, foster-father, or whatever he was, any more than Saradoc knew how to handle Frodo.

He shifted from one foot to the other, weighing his options.

"Frodo?"

He jumped at the sound of his name. Saradoc sat up in his bed, blinking at him sleepily. Frodo's heart was in his mouth, sudden fear choking him though he was not sure what exactly he was frightened of.

"What are you doing here?" his cousin enquired sounding worried.

"I… I'm sorry. I didn't…" Frodo stammered helplessly, retreating. "I just… I didn't mean to wake you."

Frodo backed out of the room taking light and the half open door with him. Inside, he heard the mattress protest and a mumbled query from Esme, then the doorknob slipped from his fingers and Saradoc suddenly towered before him. "Wait!"

Frodo froze, and hung his head in shame as if awaiting a punishment. His muscles were tense and he suddenly felt small and helpless.

"Why did you back away?" Saradoc asked, concerned.

Frodo shrugged. "I don't know."

His cousin knelt down before him and gently lifted his chin. Frodo felt tears well up inside him and could not meet his cousin's green eyes. "What happened?" Saradoc asked, brushing the curls from Frodo's forehead.

Frodo hesitated. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I couldn't sleep and then there was water and they did not answer and I…"

Before Frodo could say another word, his cousin had pulled him into an embrace. The sob he had tried to choke back escaped his lips. He longed for this simple comfort yet dared not quite take it. Torn between rebellion and acceptance, Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and unwittingly gave in to his sorrow. Words he could not catch met his ear and brought back half-forgotten memories. All of the sudden, the new Saradoc faded and turned into the cousin Frodo once knew. Unable to silence the sad yearning any longer, the child sank willingly into the arms that held him. It seemed all too easy to trust his elder cousin now and Frodo clung to him not understanding what had kept him away so long.

Saradoc combed his fingers through Frodo's hair and murmured soothing words. It was odd to share this intimacy and Frodo was surprised how much comfort he gained from it. It was not the same as the love his father and mother might have given him, but it was enough to ease some of the pain and silence the voices uncertainty and longing. Tonight, at least, he belonged here. Tonight he needed his cousin.

"Better?" Saradoc slowly got to his feet when Frodo pulled away to rub his nose with the sleeve of his nightshirt. He nodded, still sniffling. Unsure of what to do next, he glanced up to his cousin and was almost relieved when a strong arm was laid over his shoulders. "Come with me, child. You don't look like you should be alone tonight."

Frodo was drawn into his cousin's room once more. Esmeralda had lit a candle and looked at him bleary-eyed but smiling nonetheless. Frodo could not find a smile to answer hers, but for the first time in months he didn't feel contempt for their clumsy affection.

Hesitantly, Frodo climbed onto the bed. His cousin's reassuring nod gave him the nerve to slip under the covers and there he curled up timidly. Saradoc smiled and lay down beside him. He squeezed his wife's hand as she laid down on Frodo's other side. The boy looked from one smiling face to the other and felt his uncertainty returning. These weren't his parents, but he would need someone to care for him for a while at least. His cousin stroked his brow and Frodo closed his eyes, remembering. For a fleeting moment, it was almost like being back at home, except that the smell was subtly different.

"Rest, cousin-mine. Sleep while you may," the elder whispered before extinguishing the candle.

Frodo did not answer, but felt tears of relief burn behind his closed lids as he settled into the warm bed. He inhaled deeply the musk of ink, honey, pipe-weed and the flowery smell of freshly washed hair. He still missed his parents more than words could say and even if this was not his home, right now it felt close enough to it. Perhaps he could manage to find a way to let Saradoc in just a little bit - to confide in him, not just as his cousin, but as his guardian. He might even come to let Esme mother him as she so desperately wanted.

Frodo gasped as his cousin's wife laid her arm across his chest. She was reaching to hold hands with her husband. She hesitated a moment, feeling his muscles tense, but when he relaxed again so did she. Relief filled him with a great tranquillity. Frodo even smiled a little as his cousin pulled the covers up. Perhaps he could give the Hall a chance after all.

~THE END~