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Title: A Brandybuck Turns Baggins (#389)
Author: Iorhael
Chapters: 4

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Archive: Tolkien
Category: Alternate Universe (AU)
Description: How Merry felt knowing that Frodo was more than overjoyed to find out he was about to leave Brandy Hall.
Published: 08 Nov 2003
Updated: 07 Mar 2006
Warnings: -
Type: Angst
Characters: Frodo, Merry, Bilbo, Saradoc, Finbar (OC)


Chapter 1 - Hidden Feeling

A Brandybuck Turns Baggins

A third LOTR fic by Iorhael

Disclaimer: Nothing in here is mine, except perhaps the plot

Rated: G

Summary: How did Merry feel knowing that Frodo was more than overjoyed to find out he was about to leave Brandy Hall?


Chapter 1 – Hidden Feeling


- ‘And so I have made a decision, Frodo lad. A decision I’m sure you’re going to accept for I have witnessed for myself how unhappy you are there. I have considered it several times but I still think that this plan is the best. I’m asking you to come to Bag End to live here – for good. It won’t be just as a holiday anymore, Frodo, but you will stay here, eat, drink, study, sleep, oh! And I will teach you the Elven language that you’re so fond of. You will have the chance to read any books you want, not just the ones I choose for you. You will have your own bedroom, the one you have always slept in every time you visit me, and you may use the study as well.

You will have the kitchen all for yourself whenever you please. You can cook and bake any food you want without having to be bothered by others and to worry they will get the food first. You…’


Frodo’s eyes bulged out at the unbelievable things mentioned as he continued reading Bilbo’s letter. This was real, he tried to convince himself. The letter was truly for him and the ‘you’ Bilbo referred to in it was he, Frodo!

The content of this piece of paper was like a dream come true, and the world suddenly changed. Frodo could not believe that just several minutes ago, before the boy delivering this letter found him in the porch and handed that to him, his life still seemed to be bleak and dark. But now!

There was someone, the only one actually, that Frodo was dying to tell of this great news. Merry! His younger cousin would certainly feel happy, too.

Frodo rose from where he was lying and strode quickly down the steps to the backyard where Merry was often found swinging on one of the strong limbs of a tree. Merry, several years younger than Frodo, was as agile as a monkey, and Frodo loved him so. Merry was in fact the only Brandy Hall inhabitant Frodo could open his heart to.

“Merry!” Frodo chirped cheerfully, standing under the branch. He had been correct that Merry was there, straddling that big branch, legs swinging freely. Merry lay on his stomach, hugging the branch. Resting his right cheek against the bark of the tree, Merry gazed down at Frodo lazily.

“Good news, Frodo?” he asked, and then yelped a little when Frodo pulled at one of his ankles.

“Come on down! I’ll show you something.” Frodo pretended to be about to tug Merry down again. Not wanting to crash onto the ground beneath him, Merry slung both legs to one side and, grumbling impatiently, hopped down.

“It’d better be good or---“

“Aw, come on!” Frodo dragged Merry to sit down on the silky grass and thrust the carelessly folded paper into his cousin’s hand. The younger hobbit was silently wondering what this was all about —this news that could bring stars into Frodo’s beautiful eyes.

“Read it,” Frodo said softly, bracing himself for Merry’s reaction.

The urgency in Frodo’s voice made Merry even more hesitant to comply. Frodo had never looked so bright and happy before during his stay in Brandy Hall. Whatever was in that letter had successfully broken the ice. Somehow Merry could guess what the letter had told Frodo.

Merry opened the letter slowly. The brittle sound of the paper seemed to be the only sound audible in that big field. Frodo was still smiling but no sound escaped his lips.

Merry threw him a brief glance before his eyes finally skimmed down the lines. Once in a while his eyes turned to Frodo, a cousin who almost seemed like a brother to him. Frodo, on the other hand, leant forward, impatient at Merry’s slowness to respond.

“Well? What do you think?”

Frodo still had to wait for a couple of minutes. Merry did take his time. He finally looked up slowly, folding the letter like it was before, but did not give it back to Frodo.

“You are leaving,” Merry pronounced each word slowly and carefully. There was a slight disappointment in his voice. Frodo frowned. He hoped the grief in Merry’s tone was only his imagination.

“Yes, in two weeks,” replied Frodo. “Merry, aren’t you – happy for me?”

“I believe you are happy,” smiled Merry, struggling to hide his true feelings. Frodo was relieved to see the smile back on his beloved little friend’s lips. He got up and embraced Merry tenderly.

“I was nearly at a loss to describe it, Merry,” Frodo’s voice quivered a little. His eyes turned glassy, although smiles never ceased to adorn his small lips. He reached out at the letter that was still in Merry’s hand. He wondered a little at Merry’s too firm grip on it. Finally he snatched it away and let the strange incident pass.


***

Merry sighed deeply. He could understand that Frodo was overjoyed. Bilbo was Frodo’s closest friend, besides him, of course. Every time the old gentle hobbit paid a visit to Brandy Hall, he always brought a lot of things just for Frodo alone. Books, clothes, food, sweets, and sometimes even strange things he got from his journeys. The rich old bachelor knew Frodo would always welcome the souvenirs brought to him, and above all, Bilbo himself.

Without realizing it, Merry snorted. Always Frodo and not the others. A Baggins for a Baggins. Merry knew now what it was about. When you did not have a blood relation ---

But that was not true either. Frodo had a Brandybuck blood. So why did people seem to always ignore him? Was it because he was here without any parents that should have been there to take care of him? Merry realized Brandy Hall housed many families with their children. With the exception of Frodo, all those families were complete, with father, mother, and children. And that left Frodo alone in the midst of busy parents taking care of their OWN children.

Merry observed Frodo closely, his heart wrenched at seeing how Frodo reread the letter over and over.

“Listen to this, Merry,” Frodo said without lifting his eyes from the paper. “Bilbo said that I will have my own bedroom! Can you imagine that? After sharing one with so many children here---“

Frodo’s voice was fading away as Merry went back to his own reverie. Yes, he thought. That would be quite a change to have your own bedroom. Privacy cost a lot here. Even Merry did not have the privilege to have his own although his father, Saradoc Brandybuck, was the master of the house.

“And I can eat and drink anything I want, and anytime I want! I don’t have to wait for meal times or finish them directly without fearing it will be taken away.”

Merry was snatched back to reality. He glared at Frodo sharply, and spoke a bit more harshly than he’d intended.

“But it is you who never finish your food! Don’t blame my mother if she has to clear away what’s left!”


TBC


Chapter 2 - Ungrateful

Chapter 2 – Ungrateful


Merry was far from himself at the moment, his usual gentleness overwhelmed by a wave of jealousy and a sense of abandonment. He leapt up and stood looming over Frodo’s cross-legged figure. The young hobbit pointed his forefinger and wagged it at Frodo angrily, continuing blurting out his blind defense of his family.

“You’re the one who always comes late to lunch or dinner. You’re too busy taking pity on yourself and hiding in the library! Don’t blame us if you eat so slowly and can’t finish your meal on time.”

Frodo stared at Merry in dismay, gaping at his younger cousin. He fought the sudden tears, which threatened to break forth and forced himself instead to sit motionless on the grass that seemed to crumple beneath his weight. Merry stood before him, looking strong and confident, his face flushed with health and vigor. He was the image of a lad who lacked for nothing – nourishment, education, attention and love – the clear opposite of Frodo, a contrast of a strong and obvious kind.

Actually, the last thing that anyone should worry about regarding the orphaned boy was that he should lack for food. This he had, but Frodo was a perfect example of somebody struggling to grow up by himself otherwise. As a child, he had desperately tried to attach himself to an uncle or aunt, seeking to find a parental figure to fill the void in his life. Yet apart from ensuring that Frodo had his meals, although he was always late for them, those relatives were never by his side during critical times in his young life.

Frodo learned everything by himself, with the aid of the vague memories of those precious moments when his protective father and loving mother were still breathing. From the small things like buttoning his shirt to the more important lessons of knowing wrong from right, Frodo fended for himself. He had even discovered the merits of smoking pipeweed for himself.

Only one other individual seemed to care - Bilbo Baggins, Frodo’s cousin on his father’s side. Oftentimes Frodo would cling wordlessly to Bilbo, and the elderly hobbit would wisely see Frodo’s grief for himself and say, “I know this is really hard for you, lad.” It was that simple. Bilbo never said, “Don’t cry,” or “Everything will be all right.” He knew such advice for the useless thing it was, and he understood that things might slowly get better but would never mend entirely.


Unfortunately the old hobbit did not live nearby, but in Hobbiton. Their meetings were scarce and in the end, Bilbo could only support Frodo by providing things the boy needed.

And there was also Meriadoc Brandybuck, Frodo’s cousin and the son of the Master of Brandy Hall, the very proper dwelling where Frodo resided. Merry was not an arrogant young lad, nor was he a spoiled brat. Moreover, Merry was the only one besides Bilbo who managed to see beyond Frodo’s exterior and into the depths of the lad’s crestfallen heart.

For that very reason, Frodo trusted Merry with all his heart and decided to show him Bilbo’s letter. At first, Frodo had been positive that Merry would understand how happy he was, and that he would be supportive of his expression of his feelings.

Yet Frodo was wrong. He had misjudged the closeness of his relationship with his cousin and the possible reaction Merry’s Brandybuck stubbornness was likely to prompt.

Frodo realized that Merry was not finished with his rant. Clutching Bilbo’s letter so tightly that his knuckles grew white, Frodo could only swallow Merry’s next accusation.

“And what’s wrong with sharing a bedroom? The boys you share with are your own cousins and relatives. I think it’s good to have a shared bedroom for us all. We won’t grow to be individualistic and selfish that way.” Merry’s eyes flickered cynically as he spoke the next harsh sentence.

“How can you be so ungrateful?”

Frodo felt as if he were struck in the heart. NO! He wasn’t ungrateful! He wanted to shout his defense desperately, but no sound emerged from his lips. Instead, he felt his eyes swim with unshed tears. However, he was determined not to cry and he knew one thing for sure. He was NOT ungrateful.

Frodo was still sitting and holding the letter insensibly as Merry suddenly bent over, grasped the page in the center, and tore it from his grasp.

The sound of paper ripping registered in Frodo’s mind and it was too late when he realized what had happened. Bilbo’s letter was little more than shreds of parchment crumpled in his hands, and Merry now held most of it.

“Merry, the letter!” Frodo rose to confront Merry, but his cousin had turned around and fled for home. Frodo was left shaking from the shock of the verbal assault and anguished by the state of the letter, the only thing that had been able to shine light through the clouds over Frodo’s life.

Frodo sank back to the ground with Merry’s words still ringing cruelly in his ears.

Ungrateful. You are so ungrateful.

And what of the words Merry had not spoken aloud?

Orphan. What do you expect? You’re lucky enough to have walls around you and roof above you when you are asleep!

And Frodo rose painfully slowly. No one would ever call him an ungrateful person again. He wasn’t like that. For almost nine years Frodo had stayed – no – the Brandybucks ALLOWED him to stay in their home. During those years he had been fed, clothed, and educated. Although Frodo hardly received any more than that, it occurred to him now that Uncle Saradoc could always decide to just abandon him. They were family, true, but Saradoc was in no way responsible for Frodo’s upbringing.

Staggering, Frodo headed back to the Hall, something inside him hopelessly trying to stitch up the holes and cracks in his heart. No more gloom or sorrow. Frodo would not allow himself to grieve over the bleakness of his life, lest he be considered ungrateful.


TBC


Chapter 3 - Another Letter from Bilbo?

Chapter 3 – Another Letter from Bilbo?

A low screech came from a door being opened and a head with dark-brown curly hair peeped in followed by the rest of its owner. His soundless steps led him down the hall through a cozy living room, a study that was combined with a library packed with dusty, leather-bound books, to a doorless kitchen.

“Frodo?” Another curly-haired head lifted up, revealing a gentle face. “Weren’t you supposed to be out with the other lads on the hills or down the river? Your uncle has been planning the excursion for so long, Frodo. A trip like that could really enrich your knowledge.”

The tween cleared his throat. “Well, aye, Aunt Esme,” he replied softly, though deep inside he felt sure that whatever the hobbits got from the excursion would not exceed the know-how he learned from all the books he had read from the library. “But I unintentionally went past Farmer Maggot’s place and he sent you this.”

Handing out a heavy basket laden with something, Frodo observed his aunt closely with his keen eyes.

“What’s in there?” asked Esmeralda, also with beaming eyes. Curiosity got the better of her and she set aside the lunch she had been busy preparing. Esme took the basket from Frodo and, grinning at its significant weight, she lifted the cloth covering the content of the basket and delightedly cheered, “Oh, raspberries! How beautiful and fresh! But—“

She squinted, her tone changing a bit.

“Did Farmer Maggot himself give them to you? You didn’t –“

Esme left her sentence hanging, knowing that Frodo knew exactly what she meant. Frodo’s face changed drastically from a smile at her aunt’s joy to a blush by her later inquiry. He swayed restlessly at the implied mention of his naughty deed when he was a younger lad. Frodo could not help choking when trying to answer.

“I didn’t, Aunty!” he exclaimed bitterly. His mind involuntarily went back to the picture of himself being chased by the farmer’s mean-looking dogs after he snooped into the field and loaded as many mushrooms as he could into his pockets. Sweaty and breathing raggedly, Frodo had finally escaped by jumping over the wooden fence erected around the field. It was not an easy task, given the height of the fence and the immense amount of energy required of the frightened youngster to climb it.

The experience was not without considerable cost, as Frodo suffered the trauma of it afterward. Never again could he stand still near a dog without breaking into a nervous sweat, and worse yet, there was a time when Frodo felt like vomiting every time he caught sight of mushrooms. It was so bad that Frodo found it completely out of the question that he might repeat the offense. His aunt knew that, so why did she question Frodo?

Bowing his head, Frodo softened his voice a bit when repeating his denial. He had vowed to himself not to do or say anything that would otherwise show his lack of appreciation toward the Brandybuck family.

“I promise you, Aunt Esme, that what I said is true.” His voice trembled in abundant effort to suppress his emotion. “Farmer Maggot did call me to go inside his smial when he saw me passing by. He asked me about the family’s well being and then shoved the basket into my hand. I had tried to refuse it but he was insistent. He---“
Esmeralda raised her hand to stop Frodo’s rambling despite herself.

“Ssh. There, there. It’s all right, Frodo. I trust you.” Did she really? Frodo’s eyes bored into his aunt’s, as he tried desperately to trust her words. It hurt him to think that his words were not worthy of his aunt’s trust.

“Really I do,” assured Esme, realizing what Frodo’s sharp gaze meant. She had come to realize the poor youngster must have thought he was valueless. Actually, Esmeralda never distrusted this orphaned nephew of hers. There was something in Frodo that made her fondness of the lad come easily. Yet Esme could not resist the urge to always question the explanations of young boys Frodo’s age. It was all part of the process of raising and educating youngsters.
She also felt rather uneasy about Frodo’s seemingly changed attitude. Instead of locking himself up in the library as usual, in the last three days, Frodo had become a somewhat more open person. He showed up for meals punctually, helped with the dishes afterward, or helped Saradoc scribble some business letters. Esme could not even begin to guess what might be behind all of this.

Gently, Esme took Frodo by his shoulders.

“I of course thank you for the raspberries, dear. With these we can make a big, delicious pudding for dessert,” smiled Esme. Frodo frowned at her words, but his icy demeanor melted away, and Frodo smiled back to his aunt weakly.

“But now,” Esme pushed Frodo tenderly out of the kitchen. “You really should go back to Saradoc and your cousins. You don’t want to miss the fun, do you Frodo?”
Frodo nodded stiffly. This was hard. He would not mind tending the gardens or doing the laundry – as long as he was allowed to do his tasks alone. Frodo still could not bring himself to get close to the other hobbits, may they be adults or tweens like him. Save perhaps Merry.
Merry.

Frodo sighed heavily, stepping out of the kitchen and tromping along the corridor with eyes downcast. This was already the third day that Frodo had not spoken to him. It was not that he did not want to. Actually, it was Merry who refused to talk to him. That cousin of his even purposely averted his gaze every time they ran into each other.
Frodo sighed again when he came to the library’s closed door. He would rather hide himself again behind the piles of books than face the aggravated eyes of his uncle or the leering faces of his cousins. Frodo felt somewhat tired of facing them all, tired of feeling hated, abandoned, and tired of feeling – alone.

Oh, how happy he would be should Bilbo truly keep the promise he had made in the letter. Judging from their relationship so far, Frodo was certain he would be much happier life at Bag End, even if it came at the great cost of his friendship with Merry. The thought of that happening saddened him, however, and he felt his positive mindset evaporating into thin air.

Frodo reached out to grasp at the doorknob, the chill of its surface piercing him like the coldness in his heart. He turned it to the right and it clicked open. Feeling a little better as he was about to enter a familiar, friendly place where he could read or daydream to his heart’s content, Frodo stepped in, and jumped in surprise as his eyes caught a sudden movement.

It was Merry! Merry was sitting behind the only desk in the library, busily scrawling something on one of the many sheets of paper scattered in front of him on the table. Merry suddenly started and gathered up the papers, crumpling them in his small fists. Frodo could sense a secretive air about his cousin as he stood still, clutching the doorknob.

“Oh, it’s you, Merry,” Frodo drew in his breath both in astonishment and relief. “Why, are you not out with your da?”

Merry flushed, at a loss for words in his amazement at Frodo’s presence. Strange though, Frodo could almost catch a glimpse guilt flashing across his cousin’s face. What had he been doing?

“Hi, Frodo,” Merry offered his brightest smile – a smile that undeniably fortified Frodo’s suspicion. If Merry were still angry with him, why would he smile? “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with those irritating herds, too, are you not?”

That was exactly what Frodo had asked of Merry, without getting an answer. Merry and the library just didn’t seem to add up. Merry was never a lad who was fond of doing anything academic such as reading and writing, not when there were more exciting things to do.
Then, as if realizing his strange behavior, Merry turned cold to Frodo again.

“Can you leave me alone?” Merry asked icily. That was more an order than a request. Frodo stared blankly in bewilderment at this change of behavior. He could only swallow whatever words had meanwhile reached the tip of his tongue.

“Merry, please,” Frodo breathed, bringing himself one step closer to his cousin. He really had not intended to hurt Merry’s feelings. Surely the younger lad had noticed in the last couple of days how Frodo tried to conceal his joy over the news from Bilbo? But instead of giving Frodo a chance to talk about it with him, Merry whipped his head away to gaze out the window. Frodo’s shoulders lifted visibly as the boy took a deep breath in despair. He had lost his only company in this big, soulless house. Frodo almost whished that the letter had never come to him.

***

Merry exhaled loudly when Frodo finally left the room. The hobbit gazed down at the crumpled papers he had been holding and keeping out of Frodo’s sight. Slowly Merry brought them back to the table and smoothed the wrinkles away as best as he could manage. One would never be flattened as the others though, as it had, besides being carelessly creased up, been torn down from the very beginning. Bilbo’s letter.

Merry was staring at it, dazed and stupefied, trying to justify his feeling and action. But finally able to brush aside his remorse, Merry reached for his quill pen. He had practiced this for the last three days and had finally felt satisfied with the result. Creasing his brow, Merry held the pen tightly and started to scribble down on a piece of paper, the very last piece he got that he had stolen from his father’s drawer. Merry was completely oblivious to the shouts and bangs accompanying the return of the young lads and lasses from their excursion.

***

Later on that day, when tea was served, a young hobbit came knocking on the front door of the Brandybuck’s smial. Nobody in the house heard him as the knock was completely overcome by the din of hobbity chats, forks and knives scraping against plates, or cheerful shouts from the youngsters. The hobbit outside knocked again. This time someone detected the faint thump and went to open the curved, wooden door. He took an envelope delivered by the messenger, knitted his brow a bit as he read the name printed on it, and shouted,

“Frodo Baggins! You’ve a message. Here, take it.”

The noise subsided a bit as a screeching sound of chairs being pulled and pushed was heard. A short moment later, a pale face with locks scattered on its forehead appeared from the hall.

“Yes uncle?” replied Frodo timidly. Without saying anything, Saradoc tossed the letter in Frodo’s palm and went back inside after thanking the messenger and shutting the door.
Bedazzled, Frodo stared at the envelope. His name and the house address were written there neatly. It looked like Bilbo’s handwriting. Why did his older cousin write him again, so soon after the previous letter?

Frodo tore open one end of the envelope and pulled out a small piece of paper from it. Small. And after glancing at it briefly, Frodo could see that the letter was short, much shorter than the first one.

Frodo read its content silently but the more his eyes swept through the sentences on that letter, the shorter his breaths became. And when he was through, Frodo was but a boy with his blue eyes unbelievably widening in utter disbelief and devastation. His knees shook hard and gave beneath him and Frodo helplessly slumped forward, falling unconsciously on the welcoming, hard, wooden floor. Silence. Complete silence followed as opposed to the roars still heard down in the dining room.


TBC


Chapter 4 - Flight

Chapter 4 – Flight


“That’s true, Frodo,” Bilbo exclaimed, ruffling the curls of his young cousin who was comfortably seated on a cushion, one of several which were scattered about in front of the fire. They were in Bag End, thought Frodo, without knowing how. But he kept quiet, just letting Bilbo tell him exactly why the elder hobbit decided to deny his own words before. Yet it seemed that he only repeated what he had written in his second letter.

“What else can I say?” Frodo’s cousin added, sighing deeply. “I have another journey to take. An elf that happens to be my best friend is leaving the Middle Earth, ready to sail to Valinor. A best friend, Frodo. Can you imagine?” Bilbo took Frodo’s jaw and tilted the boy’s face upward. Frodo’s gaze was sad as he looked back at Bilbo.

“Then take me with you, uncle. You know how I wish to travel with you. And I – I’d rather be with you than with the Brandybucks.” Frodo could not help sighing, and bowed his head against Bilbo’s gentle grasp at his chin. Bilbo looked down and his heart melted at the sight of the lean, raggedly clothed lad. That was exactly why he wanted to bring Frodo to stay with him at Bag End, so that he could dress him properly and feed him more regularly. Bilbo knew Brandy Hall never lacked food but it lacked people who should pay more attention to children that did not belong to them, children like Frodo. Frodo, like many children could recklessly forget to eat, especially since food occupied his thoughts somewhat less than it did those of other young hobbits.

Unfortunately, it was impossible for Bilbo to bring the boy to Bag End. No, not right now. And Bilbo could not take him on his journey, either. The road would be long and the time was short. Bilbo did not want to have to rush an easily exhausted lad with him. Frodo heaved a disappointed breath when Bilbo pointed out his objections.

“I’m not sure if you want to live with the Sackville-Bagginses here at Bag End, though. They will stay here to take care of the smial during my leave.”

Frodo widened his eyes in disbelief. Live with the Sackville-Bagginses? Live with LOTHO? Was Bilbo jesting? Frodo would rather be chased by dozens of trolls! Lotho was not much older than Frodo but he was larger with a muscular body, an advantage that he gladly used when bullying Frodo. Frodo was well acquainted with that fact, and remembered how painful the blows and kicks Lotho’s powerful limbs delivered could be. Even if the world were at an end and Frodo’s chance to survive was to be under the same roof with that vile boy, Frodo would have preferred to meet his doom instead.

“No, Uncle!” Frodo cried. “I will never voluntarily live with them.” Lotho’s mother, Lobelia, treated Frodo no better than her son did.

“So be it,” said Bilbo grimly. “Then you will have to stay in Brandy Hall longer.” He moved to the fire and poked it to let the embers die down, leaving the young lad staring into the dark and quivering in the chill of the study, desperately wanting to know the meaning of the word ‘longer’.


***

“Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo shrieked and snapped awake. “Oh!” His fingers clamped on his throbbing forehead. Apparently he had hit his head when he had fallen down, seemingly hours ago. Frodo sat up, wincing and blinking. Where was he? Everything was dark and cold, but it certainly was not Bag End, much to Frodo’s confusion and disappointment. He was not in his bedroom either, he realized as he felt the hard floor he was lying on.

Frodo scrambled up to a sitting position, and slowly everything came back to him as he looked down at a crumpled sheet of paper in his fist. This was what his dream was all about. Bilbo’s statement that he had decided to change his plans to take Frodo to Bag End. Bilbo’s denial of the contents of the first letter he had sent to Frodo several days ago. Bilbo’s decision to take a fortnight to be sure of his plans. Bilbo’s reasons for departing on yet another journey, and his heartless offer for Frodo to live with his cousin, Lotho, who had been so ruthless toward Frodo during his short stays at Bag End. Did Bilbo know nothing whatsoever of this matter?

The watery film covering Frodo’s crystal blue eyes swelled and some of it spilled over onto the hobbit’s translucent cheeks. The pulsating pain on his swollen forehead was nothing but numbness compared to the bleeding cuts in his heart right now.

Frodo extended and unclenched his left hand, staring down at the slowly uncrumpled letter. It might contain a number of lines, sentences, or words. But to Frodo, there was only one meaning: rejection. It seemed to him that in the length of two weeks, Bilbo had reconsidered and rethought his decision, and it occurred to the old hobbit that bringing Frodo to Bag End was an unfavorable thing to do.

Frodo brought his right hand to his face and wiped his tears away harshly. He should not act this way. He was not a baby anymore! If Bilbo decided to change his mind, that was completely and definitely his right. Bilbo never promised anything. It might be Frodo’s own fault to let his hope fly high to the star-lit sky, cuddling him in its intoxicating tranquility. When the embrace suddenly vanished, it hurt Frodo so much to slam back down to reality, finding himself alone and forlorn, without anything or anybody to cling to.

Glancing to the door leading to the rest of the big smial, Frodo found himself staring at an unfriendly, if not dejecting, darkness. This place seemed to offer everything. Rooms with their lit fireplaces to keep the inhabitants warm, abundant food at each mealtime to keep the dwellers from starvation. Volumes of books with their amazing tales to make sure the people in this house were well-educated and well-informed. Cheers and laughter both from the adults and children showing how they enjoyed their lives. Adults and children that did not even realize Frodo had not returned to the dining table that night.

But the rooms, the food, and the books were not meant for the poor hobbit. They never had been. Nobody expected him to be here. It was just some cruel trick of fate that made Frodo reside in this place. He was a Baggins, not a Brandybuck. He was not meant to be in Brandy Hall, which, in Frodo’s opinion, was supposed to shelter only the Brandybucks.
Frodo straightened up, staggering a little as his emotions shattered into pieces. It was no use for him to stay at this house any longer. There was nobody to bind him to this place either. Not even Merry. No. That younger cousin of Frodo’s had turned Brandybuck-ish, negligent and insolent toward him.

Frodo rubbed out his wet and slimy nose with the back of his hand, proof that he had been weeping without even realizing it. Yet his heart hardened with a determination. He must get out of this house. If there was someone calling him ‘ungrateful’ now, so be it. He WAS being ungrateful by deciding to step out of the only place that had sheltered him from rain and sun all these years.

Frodo turned the key to the left, unlocking it and opening the door without making any sound. Cool breeze welcomed him, making him unconsciously wrap his arms around his chest to hold at least a little warmth into his body. Frodo did not want to risk waking people who might hinder his escape as he crept into his room to snatch his cloak. (Oh, wake up, Frodo! Do you still expect something like that will happen? His heart mocked.)

For a brief moment, doubts seeped in as if through the pores of Frodo’s skin. Where would he go? He had yet to decide that. What should he do afterwards? Frodo could not tell yet. His days were usually spent in the company of books, and he was unfamiliar with things other tweens might do with their time. Frodo walked further, looking down at the grassy path below his feet, wondering if this would be the last time he’d see it.

***

A deafening crack sounded like the sky ripping in two. Wrapped in his warm blanket, Merry could not help but jump out of his bed, dragging the blanket to Esmeralda’s room.

“Mama!” His small voice pitched in alarm as he burst into his ma’s bedroom and the solace of her soft bed.

“Oh, Little Merry,” whispered Esme lightheartedly. “There, there. It was only thunder, and from so far away. You’re not scared, are you?”

Merry could not help wincing at a flash of lightning, followed by yet another thunderous sound and rain so heavy it might have been poured down from a gigantic bucket.

“Let me sleep here with you, yes, Mama?” Merry’s pleading eyes shone so sadly that Esme hardly had the heart to disapprove. But it was Saradoc who decided everything. The big hobbit hopped out of the bed from the other side and scooped Merry up together with the blanket.

“No, Meriadoc,” said Saradoc sternly, and without even taking an extra breath carried his son’s wrapped form to the door and lowered it down outside the room carefully. “Go back to your own room and sleep tight. You’re a big lad, not a baby.”

Merry flushed and, stomping his foot, darted away quickly to his room, too angry to say anything back to Sara. Whether or not it would be the right thing to do, he cared little. He was so angry that he was not aware of the freezing wooden floor beneath his feet.

Striding hastily in his short steps, Merry stopped dead when reaching the door to Frodo’s room. A wondering thought flashed across his mind. It was unusually quiet inside, yet Merry knew that Frodo was always terrified of thunder as well. Suspicious yet doubtful, Merry rapped softly at the wooden surface.

“Frodo?” called Merry timidly. Gone was all Merry’s displeasure toward the older hobbit that had been haunting him for the last three days.

Merry knocked at the door once more, and decided to open it when there was still no answer.
A cave-like blackness welcomed Merry, forcing him to squint to adjust his vision. With the thick clouds obscuring the moon and the hard rain still gushing down to earth, Merry finally noticed the room’s emptiness with difficulty. He slid forward toward the bed and his hands felt the smooth, silky surface of the mattress sheet, telling Merry wordlessly that Frodo had not been in the bed this whole night.

Merry’s heart sank. “Frodo?” He called again, shakily this time.

Without his knowing it, his feet had brought him to the glass window at the other side of the room. Stunned, Merry fixed his gaze in terror at the layers of water that were still pouring and pouring outside. Could Frodo be outside right now, soaking and shaking in the deadly cold of the rain?


TBC
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