Frances Barratt's Fanfiction Page 6

-TRANSITION- by Frances Barratt Part 1 Autumn came to the Shire. Twenty-year-old Frodo Baggins stood watching a leaf falling to the ground from its place on the old oak tree. A lifespan completed, returning to the earth to renew that with its own decay. He wondered that if all living things also helped replenish the land on which they had once depended. Except Elves of course; Elves were immortal. Not for them the pangs of death and grief; though he was sure he recalled that they could be killed -- as in battle. It seemed an idyllic existance: to go on year after year, age upon age, bearing witness to the changes within Middle-Earth; rather like the trees, but as sentient beings rather than the inanimate founders of the woodlands. He sighed. Another leaf floated to the earth at his feet. "Time for me to go, Jess," he said to the open space amongst the trees. "I smell rain on the breeze and I left my coat at home..." The last word barely left his mouth before he shuddered with the significance of it. Home; one simple word that encompassed so much. Home is where the heart is; his heart was out in the woodland but that could not be described as his home. He lived at Bag End and had done since Jess died a month before. A month, was that all? The twenty-third day of the tenth month in the Shire reckoning -- Winterfilth, with all its expectations of winds, frost and snow. He shuddered again as a foretaste of that wind suddenly encircled him. Tucking his hands under his armpits, he reluctantly turned away from the little clearing and walked towards the footpath that would lead to the Hobbiton Road. He had to return to his new life; once more alone amongst many, but at least this time they all cared about him and his welfare, even Bilbo. As he walked, darkness fell around him; storm clouds denied the moon its chance to light the way and spots of cold rain stung his cheeks. He became chilled very rapidly so that when he heard a soft sighing in his ears, he thought it to be the onset of some fever. Until he heard the voice... "You must not be sad. What we shared was pure and simple. Time cannot erase any of it. Be happy, Frodo. Do not be afraid of that. My heart was always yours... will ever be so. We will meet again, my dearest." Frodo blinked. There was nothing, not a living thing in sight and he could be forgiven for thinking he had imagined it. Only he hadn't. As the rain began to fall in earnest, tiny points of light flickered before his eyes until they converged into one shimmering mass of white-heat. He gasped. "Jess?" was squeezed from his throat as he stumbled before the aparition. "It can't be..." Thudding to his knees in new mud, Frodo panted from the icy grip of what was now sleet. He raised a hand towards the angelic image shivering so close to him. "Let me come with you." He touched the transparent hand: it was warm. He became warm. There was no sleet; no darkness; no cold or pain, just a voice. "Not yet." TO BE CONTINUED...

Frodo heard a familiar voice near him... No, It couldn't be.....

-TRANSITION- by Frances Barratt Part 2 They found him sprawled in a ditch yards from the Road. A search party had been rounded up by Bilbo Baggins as soon as the snow began to fall. He knew that even in his melancholy state, Frodo wouldn't stay out in such weather -- not without coat or cloak. Fearing the worst -- and realising that he truly cared about Frodo's fate, Bilbo had gone knocking on doors to ask for help. Now that too was unusual; he'd earned the reputation of being singularly insular. "Snow's come too soon," the Gaffer commented as the group made its way out of Hobbiton. "It'll be a long winter if this keeps up," he feared. "And we'll be lost out here if we don't hurry!" Bilbo urged. "The lad must be found -- quickly." No one breathed a word; they all understood the need for urgency and were not exactly dallying, but to hear everyone's concerns put into cold words -- and by Bilbo Baggins no less -- added speed to their trek. And so it was that they came upon the inert figure of the young hobbit. Everyone rushed at once, calling Frodo's name as they went. The first to reach him was Samwise. "Mister Frodo!" he called anxiously, shaking his young friend by the shoulder then turning him face upwards. "Mercy, look at him! He's gone blue!" Sam said in alarm. Hamfast Gamgee knelt beside his son and leant over Frodo, putting an ear to the lad's mouth. "There's breath still in him; though shallow." He peered around and up at his companions. "Bring them blankets; hurry now!" he commanded and was obeyed without question. Approaching cautiously, Bilbo crouched down alongside his young relative. "Ought we not to carry him back?" he asked. "In a moment, Mister Bilbo," Hamfast said. "We'll need to assemble the stretcher first," and he beckoned forward two other hobbits. "Sam, you wrap Frodo up an' I'll see to the stretcher." Sam nodded to his father and began to roll Frodo onto an unfolded blanket. Then Bilbo lent his hands to the task and together, they soon had Frodo cocooned. Within moments, brawny hobbit-hands had placed the Orphan onto the stretcher and four halflings bore away the unconscious lad. They took the shortest route back to Hobbiton amidst gently-falling snow. That journey -- though swifter -- was no less worrying. Even though Frodo had been found alive, his survival was not a matter of certainty. Sam put forward a chilling thought: "What if he don't want to live?" "Nonsense!" Bilbo scoffed, tramping through ankle-deep snow. Sam eyed the master of Bag End and boldy contradicted him. "He's been melancholy ever since the Wake. Given a choice, I reckon he'd as soon go the same way as our Jess." "Sam!" the Gaffer scolded. "It's true, Dad," Sam defended. "Not that I hold with that, but I know Frodo." He paused. "What's holding him to life?" and he dared glance at Bilbo. "Don't you look at me like that, lad!" Bilbo blustered. "Frodo knows he can stay with me." "Grudgingly," Sam mumbled. "Bah! Master Gamgee, kindly remind your son of his manners!" But the Gaffer kept silent and raised his eyebrows at Sam. Bilbo looked to the others for support but none was forthcoming so he kept silent too, concentrating instead on keeping his feet firmly on the trodden pathway of grubby snow. No one was more relieved than he to spy the Hill above Bag End and welcoming columns of smoke from the chimneys sprouting out of the ground. Hurrying ahead now, Bilbo opened his own front door and permitted the rescuers to troop inside the hallowed passageways of Bag End itself. Insular he may have been; suspicious and ourwardly uncaring, yet now, Bilbo Baggins could only think of saving the life of Prim's son. "So that's it," he said. "Mister Bilbo?" the Gaffer questioned. "Are you alright?" "Yes, Hamfast. Tell your good wife to bring in a cauldron of her best broth, we are all cold and hungry and in need of sustenance that she is renowned for." He turned to the rescuers. "Set Frodo by the fire for now and I'll bank up the one in his room. Make yourselves at home," and he scurred off. Dumbfounded, the stretcher-party nevertheless did as bidden; whilst Hamfast Gamgee left to secure the broth, leaving Sam to oversee the comfort of Frodo. Just a few minutes in front of the roaring fire of the parlour and colour began to return to Frodo's cheeks -- much to Sam's relief. By the time his father and Bilbo returned from their respective errands, the Orphan was beginning to stir. TO BE CONTINUED...

-TRANSITION- by Frances Barratt Part 3 Frodo awoke swaddled by blankets, in his own room at Bag-End. Opening his eyes, he slowly scanned the half-familiar surroundings until his gaze fell upon the person whose hospitality he enjoyed. "Bilbo," he recognised. "At least you're lucid. How do you feel, lad?" "Weary; as if I walked miles." The old hobbit grinned, approached the head of the bed and sat down on the covers. He patted Frodo's shoulder. "Well, you weren't where Sam left you, that's for certain. Where were you going, Frodo?" The youngster frowned. "I... I don't know -- west I think." "West?" Bilbo echoed. "I needed to reach the White Towers; though... how far that is, I don't know." Bilbo took on the frown. "But..." He sighed; cleared his throat and thought better of questioning the lad. "There's fresh broth in the kitchen; Mistress Gamgee's speciality. Will you take a bowlful?" "I am hungry," Frodo smiled, fighting his way out of the swathe of warm blankets. "Good." Bilbo patted Frodo's hand and then departed the room, wondering why a hobbit would want to go to the White Towers, beyond which lay the Grey Havens -- an Elvish place and not for halflings. But then he recalled how Frodo liked to read and had probably come across tales of Elves and their mysterious place across the Seas. "That would account for it," Bilbo decided when he was out of Frodo's earshot. "Stories, and the cold weather, made him dream." Pleased with his deduction, Bilbo joined the trio of Gamgees in the parlour. "He'll take a bowl of your fine broth, Bell." "So he's awake at last," she said, relief evident in her voice, heading for the kitchen where the broth had been left. A cauldron hung on a hook over the fireplace with steam rising from its contents. Bell ladled a generous amount into one of the larger bowls; placed it on a tray and lifted it, carrying it back into the parlour. "May I take this to him?" she asked of Bilbo. "Of course. It's the room opposite." Bell entered the passage that -- like all in Bag-End -- curved away to form a circuit of the place. Two doors appeared before her and she chose the one to the right simply because it was closed. Balancing the tray in one arm, she opened the door with the other and entered without calling out. The room was bright and cheerful, filled with the heavy, carved-wooden furniture that hobbits loved to own. Dominating the room was the bed and the figure within it, sat up as she now moved towards him. Frodo smiled at the matronly hobbit and held out his hands to receive the tray. "It smells wonderful," he said truthfully. "Then I'll expect to take back an empty bowl," she said cheerfully, settling the tray on top of the covers. "May I sit with you?" she asked. Surprised, he blinked at her. "Of course. I won't spill any on the covers, tell Bilbo not to worry on that account." "Mister Bilbo never mentioned such a thing," and she stared hard at Frodo. "What happened out there?" He paused; spoon halfway to his mouth which had already opened to sup the broth. His jaw dropped further, recovered and he shook his head. "I... I'm not sure. Sam left: he was hungry but I wasn't, then it started to rain -- cold rain. I was on my way back by then..." He sighed and frowned. "It was getting dark too as I remember and suddenly very cold," and he actually shivered as he recalled. "Do you believe that the dead can see us?" Calmly, she answered: "I like to think they may; though I don't think they can help us otherwise your mother wouldn't have allowed your cousin to be so mean." The reminder of Seredic's bullying sent another cold shiver down Frodo's back and he took the spoonful of broth as an antidote. It burned his tongue but he paid no heed to it. Looking at Bell, he said: "I saw Jess." "Ah." "You don't believe me." "On the contrary..." She eased forward. "Strange things go on in them woods," she confided. "When I was no more than a slip of a girl... well, let's just say it weren't hobbits I saw out there." "But I did -- see a hobbit I mean," he repeated. "She even spoke to me." "Was this before or after it started to snow?" and her eyebrows raised. "You don't believe me!" he pouted, allowing the spoon to fall into the bowl, splashing broth over its sides. "Did I say that? No! She's not been gone long, lad and there are some who think it takes the dead... that they don't always want to go on -- wherever it is they go to. But I never heard tell of them talking to a living soul." Frodo continued to stare at his friend's mother. "She said we'd meet again," adding sadly: "I wish we could." "I hope that part of the myths is true," Bell said. "I'd love to see my old grandma again." Then she smiled at Frodo; pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket and proceeded to mop up the spillage. "Our secret," she whispered, referring to the damp patches her cleaning left behind. Frodo nodded; took up the spoon again and this time, emptied the bowl. Conversation ceased. Bell calmly removed the empty vessel and tray, recommending that Frodo try to sleep again; then she left him. He lay back down and was soon in a deep slumber. He dreamed of a harbour with huge ships anchored; and tall, beautiful beings. Amongst them, he spied a child being helped on board; the child turned its head and seemed to stare straight at the dreamer. As with all dreams, Frodo knew -- without needing to be told -- the identity of the youngster and the destination of the ship. He knew for an instant only. The image faded and then disappeared. It would be many years before he even recalled the dream... TO BE CONTINUED...

Frodo was found sprawled in a ditch without a coat or cloak in the freezing cold.

-TRANSITION- by Frances Barratt Part 4 The year crept to its close and Frodo's health and well-being also crept towards normality. He developed a routine whereby he went to the Old Oak whenever the weather permitted; spent time with his friends in Hobbiton, and also returned to the Brandybuck Annexe -- as he had promised Esmeralda. His relationship with Bilbo also seemed to enter a phase of mutual respect and understanding. For his part, Frodo enjoyed the company of another living soul during the dark evenings of winter. He grew used to the reticence of his relative to discuss the past but hoped to remedy the matter with the coming of spring. But spring was in no hurry to come forth. Sometime around the middle of Afteryule, Frodo returned to Bag-End after an enjoyable Saturday spent with Merry's kinfolk -- and that had included Pippin. Perhaps for the first time since the death of Jess, Frodo felt light-hearted and contented enough to be humming a folk-tune as he walked the last few yards to his new home. Opening the gate, he entered the garden and climbed the nine steps to the green, circular door. Putting a hand to the central knob, he pushed against it and the huge portal swung effortlessly inwards. Stepping into the red-tiled passageway, he listened for clues as to where Bilbo might be, turning left at the same time to enter the spacious parlour. It appeared empty. "Did you have a good day?" Frodo swung around. There stood Bilbo, a quill-pen clenched between his ink-stained fingers and a merry smile on his face. The image was unusual and for a moment, Frodo remained speechless. Moistening his lips, he uttered a response. "Yes, thank you, I did. Esme sends her greetings." "Hm; can't think why," muttered Bilbo, tapping the quill against his cheek and in doing so, drops of ink were left behind. Seeing this, Frodo pointed. "You've got ink on your face." Then asked: "What are you writing?" Momentarily pre-occupied with wiping away the ink-stains, Bilbo only half-heard the question. "What? Oh... I was writing about you." "Me?" "Well... about your parents. All hobbits should know their own lineage and if I don't set down yours, then who will? Esme?" "May I read it?" Frodo asked eagerly. "Not yet; I have to get all my recollections in the correct sequence." It was part-truth, but more of a delay-tactic; Bilbo needed more time to come to terms with his own past -- and that of Frodo's mother. "Fair enough." Removing his cloak, Frodo returned to the hall and hung it up on one of the wall-pegs. He did the same with his coat and then returned to the warmth of the parlour-fire. "It'll be another frost tonight," he predicted, holding his hands to the flickering flames. Craning his neck around, he squinted at Bilbo who -- for some strange reason -- hadn't moved. "Bilbo, are you alright?" "Yes; yes, why wouldn't I be?" but he took in a long breath and let it go laboriously. "If you're not happy about me staying..." Frodo ventured. Bilbo shook his head. When he spoke, his voice too shook. "No, it has been quite pleasant having you here." He sighed; clicked his teeth; made to leave but turned back again and blurted out: "I think you belong here, Frodo. It's what she would want." "Jess?" "Well... yes; but I was thinking of your mother..." and his concentration drifted off into a realm of its own. "I owe her this much." "Owe her?" and Frodo actually went towards Bilbo. The two hobbits looked each other in the eyes. "I blamed her you see: for not loving me in return; I wanted my own love to die when she walked away... but life is never that simple. Beneath all my resentment for Drogo, I still loved Prim. He had all that I ever wanted, including a son; everything that -- as the years passed -- I knew would never be mine. That's why I turned my back on you, Frodo: you represented Drogo's victory over me. I didn't want any opportunity to even like you." He paused; his mouth twitched, then he pleaded: "Can you ever forgive me?" For an answer, Frodo flung himself towards Bilbo and embraced him. After a brief moment of surprise, Bilbo's arms tightened around him and he felt the old hobbit shudder and whimper. Eventually, they broke the filial embrace and their tears turned to chuckles and finally, full-blown laughter. Gripping Frodo's arms, Bilbo smiled at the youngster. "I've come to a decision," he said. "I intend to legally adopt you -- if you want me to. That's what I've been writing: my Will." Shaking his head in disbelief, Frodo couldn't think of anything to say. "That means: Bag-End and all my possessions will be yours," Bilbo went on. "Yes." "Yes? Yes: you understand or yes: you agree?" "Both. I never expected..." "I know you didn't, that's why it feels right. You will be my heir, Frodo Baggins," and he clapped the lad on the back. "Welcome home!" THE END

Main Page

-A Washerwoman' s Tale- by Lassie Rowan Gamwich

-A Washerwoman's Tale- Page 2-by Lassie Rowan Gamwich

Frodo waking up in his room in Bag End.

-Alone Amongst Many- by Frances Barratt

-Forever Friends- by Frances Barratt

- Moving Home- by Frances Barratt

- A Fork in the Road- by Frances Barratt

-Burying The Past- by Frances Barratt

-Forgotten Memories- by Frances Barratt

Bilbo makes a very important and unexpected decision about Frodo's future.

Frodo became good friends with Merry  during his stay at the Brandybuck residence.