Old Tales

Old Tales
By WindWolf                                  



      Frodo stretched his legs out in front of him, pulling his arms back behind his head and breathing the crisp, fall-time air deeply as he sat upon the bench outside of Bag End. It was a beautiful day, he mused. A few clouds drifted lazily across the azure sky while all around him autumn had set into the Shire. Fields stretched out golden as far as the eye could see, orchards were laden with apples, and the leaves of the trees shone in an array of reds, yellows, and browns. Yes, autumn had embraced the land indeed.
      Although Frodo truly felt at his best this time of year, he was also at his worst. For today was October the fifth, and tomorrow… tomorrow was that day, that terrible day where once again Frodo would have to fight for his very life and suffer through the resurrected pain of a deadly wound dealt long ago. Every year it would come, and every year Frodo dreaded it.
      Yet today it was not so. Today Frodo felt as well as he ever had, sitting outside in the place he loved and grew up in. He smiled as he looked across the lawn where only a short distance away a young hobbit child brandished a small stick he had found in the grass, wielding it as if fending off many foes and speaking aloud to his self in true child-fashion.
      This boy was fair of skin and slight in frame, dark unruly curls tangled upon his head and hung into his eyes which were a mixture of blue and green, reflecting both the sky and Earth. At only four years old (he would be turning five next month, something he was very excited for) he held his head high and spoke clearly. This child, Toby Baggins, was Frodo’s son.
     Frodo watched him, feeling as though he was gazing through the thick fog of time upon his self as he had played similar games of pretend as a child. Toby greatly resembled his father, although as the lad turned his face toward him Frodo could plainly see features of his mother, Wind; his eyes especially were that of hers.
     Frodo loved him dearly. Although he was inexperienced as a father, and had not known his own for very long, he loved the boy and tried to do what was best by him.
    “Hey, Toby.” Frodo called to him. “What are you battling today?”
    Toby turned towards his father, his eyes wide. “I’m fighting goblins!” He said, puffing out his chest proudly. “Goblins, huh?” Frodo replied, leaning forward and raising his eyebrows to demonstrate his interest. Toby suddenly brandished his stick before him, his teal eyes becoming even wider than before. “And there’s a troll!” He gasped.
    Frodo understood immediately and stood up with a laugh, trying to make his self appear big and menacing. “You’d better watch out.” He said with a playful sparkle in his brilliant blue eyes. “I think this troll his hungry for little hobbits!”
    With that Toby dropped the stick and let out a yell that quickly turned into a giggle as he turned and ran away, Frodo giving chase. “No, you big, mean troll! I won’t let you eat me!” He said, suddenly turning and launching his little body forward in attack. “Oh no!” Frodo cried out in mock fear, allowing his self to be tackled to the ground. “Oh, you’ve done it now! I’m gonna eat you all up!” He laughed, rolling Toby onto his back and tickling his belly mercilessly. “Never!” Toby cried followed by a stream of shrieking giggles.
    He then twisted his self beneath Frodo’s hands and slipped out from under him, rising up in his only defense. “I’ve got you, you troll!” He giggled, throwing all of his weight forward with his arms stretched out before him, intending to pin the “troll” to the ground and have victory.
    Frodo and Toby had played this way many times before and Frodo was always careful to ensure that Toby did not get hurt no matter how rough they got. Toby was so young and light on his part that it was virtually impossible for him to hurt Frodo in his turn. This time however his tiny hands found a weak spot, Toby’s right hand pressing roughly against the most tender area of Frodo’s left shoulder; the unhealed scar from that fateful night on Weathertop all those years ago.
    Frodo let out a pained cry as he felt the pressure against the wound. It may only have been that it was too close to the anniversary of his wounding, but what was merely a scrawny four-year-old jumping upon him suddenly felt to Frodo as if a blade had been slashed deep within his shoulder.
   “Dad?” Toby said questioningly upon hearing Frodo’s yell, gazing down upon him worriedly as he lay back against the lawn. But Frodo did not see the concerned child, nor the bright fall day before him, his world had turned grey and dark. Above him a figure rose up, taller and taller, his ghostly raiment flapping around him in the chill wind while his dark, empty eyes bored into Frodo and pierced his very soul with malice. He began to reach for him. Reach for the Ring.  Frodo’s heart was pounding wildly with fear.
 No! No! Not again!
   “Get away from me! Don’t hurt me again!” Frodo screamed, reaching out with his right hand to push the hideous nightmare away while scrambling desperately to his feet, reaching at his side for where he would keep his sword.
   Panting, his heart still racing he blinked a few times to try and get his eyes to focus. The dark landscape melted away to reveal the Shire’s peaceful countryside, while the terrible wraith shrunk down until Frodo realized with a sudden, sickening jolt that he was looking down upon his son who was gazing back at him with scared, tearful eyes. His sword was not at his side but was mounted above the fireplace within his study. If it had not been…
  “Daddy?” Toby squeaked out. “No…” Frodo said faintly, turning and quickly walking away until he hopped a fence and disappeared into the nearby field.
   Toby stood outside where he had been left, his lower lip quivering. He swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears and finding that he was shaking all over. He had never seen his father look at him like that, or been shoved back like that. It hadn’t hurt him, but it had scared him badly.
  “Toby?” The voice of his mother called out as she opened the front door, looking at Toby with worriment plain on her face. Toby let out a chocked cry of “mama!” before rushing up the steps to Wind and burying his face against her waist, finally allowing the tears to spill down his face in a rush.
   Wind felt both shock and surprise at Toby’s reaction, wrapping her arms about him and rubbing his back in an attempt to soothe him while he continued to stain her dress with tears. Wind was confused, she had heard Frodo’s cry and had immediately rushed to see what could be wrong, but she could not see her husband anywhere in sight.
  “Toby, what’s the matter?” Wind asked, keeping her voice soft and trying to hide the fear she felt. “Daddy hates me!” Toby threw back his head and cried. The statement practically stunned Wind. “Your father doesn’t hate you.”
  “He does too!” Toby cried again. He blinked up at Wind, tears still leaking down his face. He gulped back a sob. “W-we were just playing. And I h-hurt him.  He yelled at me, and now he hates me and it’s all my f-fault!”  Toby explained in-between sobs.
  Wind let out a sigh and closed her eyes. She still wasn’t quite clear about what had happened, but she knew that Frodo would sometimes begin to act strangely just before the sixth. It seemed to be happening early this year, but that was no reason for him to scare Toby so badly. She leaned down until she was level with her son, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking into his eyes. “Toby, I promise your father doesn’t hate you.” She said. “You promise?” Toby whimpered.
  “I do. You see, your father is, well… lets just say he’s a bit fragile.”
  “Fragile?”
  “Yes. He’s strong, but he’s not as young or quite as tough as you. We have to be a little careful when we play with him.”
  “Oh.”
  “But he still loves you, I promise you that.”
  Toby spared Wind a shaky smile, the tears still glistening in his eyes and ready to pour down his face at any given moment. “Oh, Toby.” Wind sighed, wrapping her arms about him in an embrace. “I’ll find him and have a word with him.” She said.
  Wind then looked up and saw Sam heading up the path with his young daughter Elanor walking beside him and holding his hand. “Hey look, Sam is here, and Elanor is with him.” Wind said, tapping Toby on the shoulder.
  Toby turned, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and sniffling. At least twice a year for as long as he could remember he had been sent with Sam to spend the night and the following day at his hole. He was friends with Elanor although she was a year younger than him, and he liked Sam; Sam would always tell him the most wonderful stories, stories unlike his dad ever told him.
  “Hey there, Toby!” Sam greeted him cheerfully. He looked from Toby to Wind, noting the concerned expression Wind wore and the tear stains upon Toby’s face. Sam frowned. “Mrs. Wind, is everything all right?” He asked. Wind nodded jerkily. “Toby, why don’t you go inside and go get your things ready.” Wind addressed the lad. Toby gave her a sad look. “All right.” He said, beginning to head inside with a slump in his shoulders. “Elanor, can you go help him?” Sam said to his daughter. She nodded enthusiastically, her blond curls bouncing around her face. “Okay!” She said, hurrying after Toby into Bag End.
  “So what’s the matter? Where’s Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked once the children had gone. Wind let out another deep sigh. “I’m not sure. From the sound of it he and Toby got playing a little too rough and Frodo may be hurt.” Wind explained what she had gathered from Toby’s story. Sam’s brows knitted together. “He got hurt playing with a four-year-old?” He asked incredulously. Wind gave him a meaningful look and Sam clapped a hand to his forehead. “That’s right! That’s what I’m here for, after all.” He said. He gave Wind a sympathetic look. “Sounds like it’s startin early then.” He said quietly. Wind’s eyes narrowed. “I’m still not entirely sure what has happened, but whatever it was Frodo sure gave Toby a fright.” Wind said. “I’d better go find him.”
  “Yes, I’ll watch the kids.” Sam said. Wind nodded and gave Sam a grateful smile. “Wind.” Sam called as Wind began to round the side of Bag End. “Good luck with him.” He said. He knew that Frodo still suffered because of what he had endured during the War of the Ring, and Sam knew how hard Frodo tried to hide it and be a good husband and father. He only hoped that his dearest friend was all right.
   It didn’t take too long for Wind to find Frodo; he had walked through the field behind Bag End and had stopped once he had reached the woods. Wind spotted him standing with his back against a tree, his arms folded and his head bowed. “Frodo?” Wind called his name, stopping to stand beside him and tentatively touching his arm.
   When Frodo said nothing in response Wind frowned, her eyes narrowing into a glare. “Our son is under the impression that you hate him, you know.”  She said. Frodo turned towards her, hurt expressions chasing across his fair face. “I don’t hate him.” He replied. Wind shifted her weight to one side and folded her arms across her chest. “Then do you mind explaining to me what happened?” She said, allowing an angry edge to her soft voice.
   Frodo let out a breathy sigh. “We were just playing, and I suppose it got a little out of hand.” Frodo explained. “I know Toby didn’t mean to, but when he jumped on me… I was suddenly back… you know…” Frodo paused and touched the scar in his left shoulder. “It… felt so real, and Toby wasn’t Toby anymore…” Frodo trailed off and fixed Wind with tears glistening in his too-blue eyes. “I could have really hurt him, Wind.” He said faintly.
   Wind’s expression softened. Now she understood. “Frodo…” She whispered, wrapping her arms about him and feeling him shudder as he hid his face against her shoulder.
   They held each other like that for a long while when Frodo presently pulled away, looking at the ground and refusing to meet Wind’s eye. “I’m no good, Wind. I’m no good as a father. I am wounded, and too much of me has been lost.” He said quietly, seeming to shrink on the spot, as if wishing he could vanish into the forest’s floor. “That isn’t true, Frodo.” Wind said, taking his face in her hands and looking levelly at him. “You are the most loving, wonderful hobbit I could ever wish for. I know you love our son, and he looks up to you so much. What happened was an accident; it was not your fault.” Wind said, trying to put everything she felt for Frodo into those words and willing him to heed her.
  Frodo could only stare blankly at her. How could she see so much in him when he only saw weakness in himself? He was lucky, he mused; so lucky to have her when he would have given up on his self long ago. He loved her, and he loved his son too, if he was going to be a good father then he needed to think of them before his self. He only wished that is was not his self that he needed to protect them from.
 “How does your shoulder feel now?” Wind’s voice broke Frodo’s thoughts. He shrugged. “It’s all right now; it only really hurt for that short moment, not like how it will be tomorrow.” Frodo said, rolling his left shoulder to rid it of tension. Wind reached out and took his hand in hers. “Perhaps it’s time that Toby understood.”  She said. Frodo shot her a pained look. “I don’t want him to think less of me if he knows what happened.” Frodo protested lamely. Wind shook her head, smiling gently. “You’re his father, Frodo, he loves you. And he will always love you no matter what.” She said. Frodo gave her a sidelong glance and let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “I know.” He said smiling.
  He then kissed Wind softly but earnestly, brushing her long soft hair out of her face as he did so. “Go and find Toby. I’ll be waiting for you back home.” Wind said before disengaging herself from Frodo’s embrace, casting a loving look over her shoulder as she turned and began to head back to Bag End. Frodo bit his lower lip as he watched her go, then turned and began to walk. It was only just barely starting to get dark, and Toby was probably already at Sam’s house by now.
  Soon he stood outside number five at Bag Shot Row, the last light of the setting sun casting long shadows all around. Raising a shaking hand Frodo knocked on the round yellow door which was quickly opened by Sam’s wife Rosie.
  “Good evening, Master Baggins.” She addressed him pleasantly. Frodo nodded. “Good evening, Rosie. May I come in?” He replied. “Of course.” Rosie answered, stepping aside to allow Frodo into her hole. It was warm and brightly lit inside their cozy hole and smelled as if they were just about to have dinner.
  “Hullo, Mr. Frodo!” Sam called from the living room where he sat in his favorite arm chair while Toby, Elanor, and his youngest son Frodo played together. The senior Frodo nodded Sam’s direction, coming into the living room. Toby had stopped what he was doing and was staring up at Frodo with wide, fear-filled eyes. Frodo felt bitter resentment towards his self that his son should ever fear him.
  Sam gave Frodo a concerned look. “Are you all right?” He asked. “Yes, I am quite all right, Sam.” Frodo answered, giving Sam a sad-looking smile in reply. “Mind if I borrow my son for a moment?” He asked. Sam nodded and Toby crossed the room to stand at Frodo’s side, not looking up to meet his gaze. “We’ll only be a moment.” Frodo said, turning to leave with his son trailing despondently behind him. “I’ll see you in a bit, Toby.” Sam called after him as they left.
  By now the sun had set and the stars were shining brightly. Frodo lead Toby back to Bag End and up the small stairs that lead to the top of the Hill. He then sat down under the single tree that grew above Bag End and motioned for Toby to join him.
  The two of them were silent for a long moment before Toby began to sniffle, looking at Frodo with his eyes swimming with tears. “Dad? I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
  “I know, it’s all right. You’re not in trouble.” Frodo interrupted him. Smiling gently he put his arm around Toby, holding him close and maneuvering him so that the child sat in his lap, the boy hugging him around the neck and whimpered softly. “Easy there, lad. It’s all right.” Frodo crooned, rubbing the toddler’s back soothingly. “I’m not in trouble?” Toby asked in a small voice. “Of course not.” Frodo replied.
  “Toby, I think it’s time I told you a story.” Frodo said, looking seriously into Toby’s face. The young hobbit’s eyes lit up. His father didn’t tell stories very often, but when he did they were some of the best he had ever heard. “Oooh! What kind of story?” He asked, immediately feeling better. Frodo smiled and let out a quiet laugh. “Well, it’s a true story.” He said. Toby nearly bounced in his lap. “Is it the one about Uncle Bilbo and the dragon?” He asked excitedly. Frodo gave him a shrewd look. “You’ve already heard that one.” He said. “But it’s my favorite!” Toby replied. Frodo laughed again. “It’s one of my favorites too, but this story is about the king, Sam, your uncles Merry and Pippin, your mother and I… and a Ring.”
  Frodo then told him his tale, careful to leave out certain details that may frighten him too much, those he would learn when he was older. All the while Toby listened with wide wonder-filled eyes.
  Finally Frodo ended by raising his right hand, showing Toby the scarred stump where his ring finger used to be. Toby ran his hand across Frodo’s. He had always known his father was missing a finger, but it had never concerned him, it seemed so natural to him after so long that he never had reason to question it. “So that’s why you don’t have as many as mom and me.” He said. Frodo smiled grimly. “Yes. There are some hurts that scar, and will always be there to remind you of what happened.” He explained, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt and pulling the left side down to bare the dark scar on his shoulder.
  Toby’s brows knitted together in a frown and he reached one small hand out to lightly brush his tiny fingers down the wound with hardly any more weight than a butterfly’s wing. It felt rough unlike the smooth skin surrounding it, and it was colder too unlike the constant body heat that Toby was used to. “That’s a bad owie.” Toby said, letting his hand fall to his side. “It was.” Frodo said, pulling the side of his shirt back into place and redoing the buttons. “Sometimes it still hurts, but I am all right, and no matter what I will always be your dad who loves you very much.”
  Frodo did not know how much of this Toby understood; at almost five the child was bright and curious, much like he and Wind had been in their early childhood. He seemed quite coherent, more so than some children he had encountered, but Frodo was unsure of how much of what he had told him made sense to him.
  Toby was quiet for a moment, one hand raised to his mouth and his eyes screwed up in thought. After a moment he looked up at Frodo, a wide smile upon his face. “You’re the bravest dad ever!” He said. “You’re like, a real live hero!”
  At this Frodo actually laughed, a true deep laugh from his heart. His son thought he was a hero. Of all things, he thought he was a hero. “Oh, come here.” He said, scooping the child up in his arms. Toby hugged him tightly. “I love you, daddy.” He said. “I love you too.” Frodo replied.
  After a while Frodo looked around, noting how late it had gotten while he and Toby had been talking and remembering that the Gamgees still had dinner waiting for his son. “Come on, now.” Frodo said to Toby. “We’d best be getting you back to Sam for the night.” Frodo said, leaning forward and allowing Toby to climb upon his back for a piggyback ride. “Aww. Do I have to?” Toby protested, holding on to Frodo as he stood up. “I thought you liked spending time with Sam.” Frodo replied. “Yeah, but…” Toby trailed off as Frodo began walking back down Bag End. “It’ll be all right, Toby. It’s only for a couple of days and then we’ll see each other again.” Frodo explained, taking smooth steps so that Toby wouldn’t feel as if he could fall. “Then can you tell me the story again?” Toby asked with true child-innocence. Frodo chuckled. “Of course.” He replied.
  Soon they had both arrived back at Bag Shot Row and Frodo set Toby down on the step as the door was opened by Sam. “How did it go?” Sam asked Frodo. Frodo smiled. “Better than I had expected.” He answered. Sam returned his smile. “I’m glad.” He replied.
  “Sam!” Toby exclaimed, rushing up to him. “My dad is the best! Did you know that? He’s a hero!” He said exuberantly, waving his arms to demonstrate his excitement. “I always knew that.” Sam replied with a wink. He then turned back to Frodo. “I think Toby will be fine now, you take care of yourself, all right?”  He said. Frodo nodded in response. “Thank you, Sam. I will.” He replied. “Come on now, Toby.” Sam said, leading the young hobbit inside. “Let’s get some dinner in you and then I think that it may be time for bed.”
   Toby turned as Sam lead him inside. “Good night, daddy. I love you!” He said. “I love you too, Toby. Good night.” Frodo replied, gazing lovingly after his child.
   Frodo turned to leave once they had gone inside, heading back to Bag End feeling much lighted. “Did you settle everything?” Wind asked as Frodo stepped inside and shut the round green door behind him. “I think everything should be all right now.” Frodo replied, approaching Wind as she stood in the parlor and resting his hands upon either side of her waist. Wind leaned in to kiss him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders and gently swaying with him.
   Frodo chuckled quietly to his self and Wind raised one eye brow in amusement. “What’s so funny?” She asked. Frodo shook his head, still smiling. “It’s just something Toby said. The boy has it in is head that I’m a hero.” Frodo said with a little laugh. “I could have told you that.” Wind said, her voice soft and lilting as she rested her head against his chest, glad that everything was right again.


                                     The End