Frances Barratt's Fanfiction Page 9 -Final Decisions-

-FINAL DECISIONS- by Frances Barratt Part 1 Frodo stood on the east bank of the Brandywine, staring at the Ferry. It seemed an eternity since he'd been there and he couldn't even recall his last trip on the Ferry. Looking around for the Ferry-Master, Frodo allowed his memory to dredge up the time when he'd first encountered Tiller Goodchild -- and Jess. No time for too many recriminations. Taking a deep breath it evolved into a sob and he sat on the grassy bank, still clutching The Letter. Holding it up in front of his face, he perused the text and the sentence which had caused so much aggravation with Esme. '...I was once guilty of a rash action...' He'd asked Esme to explain those words. She'd tried to dismiss it as a young girl's heightened sense of morality. "But it was written only days before she died!" he'd virtually shouted back at the lady for whom he'd had the utmost respect. "Guilt is a dangerous -- destructive -- emotion, Frodo," had been the response. "Prim's guilt was rooted in her love for Bilbo and..." Frodo closed his eyes; he could see so clearly the look on Esme's face as she'd mentioned the tryst between the pair. So he'd asked when it had taken place. "Before you were born," she'd said in haste. "But when she was already wed to Father?" "Yes." So that was the big secret! His mother's 'rash action' had been in meeting her cousin! He understood though how the kinfolk would have frowned upon it; why Bilbo had never mentioned it, for it would have besmirched her name. Bilbo's silence and lies had all been in an effort to protect her reputation. So be it. Frodo stood up and looked at the slate-coloured water of the River. "Where did they drown?" he asked. It was one part of the story he had never been told. Were they upstream or down-river from the Ferry? "Near the junction of the Stockbrook." Startled, Frodo swivelled around, coming face to face with Tiller Goodchild himself. "So I 'eard," he added. "Good day to you, Frodo Baggins. Are you looking for passage?" "Yes. Good day. Is that true?" he rattled off, replying in reverse to each of the Ferry-Master's sentences. Fortunately, Master Goodchild kept apace. "Well, that's where they came ashore. Folk said as they'd been caught in the cross-current. 'Cept it's not that strong up there. Now, down at Shirebourn it is." He took stock of Frodo's appearance. "You look as if you've had an argument with some vicious shrubbery," pointing to a scratch across the lad's left cheek. "In a hurry were you?" and his eyebrows raised in query. "Something like that." Frodo sucked on his teeth. "Master Goodchild, can you spare a few minutes to brew us a pot of tea? I need to clear my mind," as he shot a glance back at the Brandywine. "It's time to let the Past lie." "Thought as you'd done that when we buried our Jess." "So did I; so did I." He cast a pleading glance at the old hobbit. "I'm guessing that this particular trip to the Past was less than favourable." "Depends on perspective I suppose. A child's memories aren't always reliable." "So you seek confirmation from older folk, eh?" Frodo nodded. "I knew your Ma." The lad stared -- wide-eyed at Tiller. "Tell me about her." Tiller laughed. "That'd take more'n one pot of tea!" "I'm in no hurry to go home." "Does Mister Bilbo know where you are?" "He thinks I'm at the Annexe -- visiting Esme." The old Ferry-Master winced. "Nice lass," he commented. "Well now, don't look like there'll be anymore trade today so I'd be glad of your company. Be dark soon anyway. I've got fish for supper if you'd care to share it with me?" "I'd consider it a privilege," Frodo smiled. "You 'aven't tasted my cooking!" Frodo laughed; for the first time in what seemed like weeks. He slung an arm around Tiller's shoulder and they walked back to his house. TO BE CONTINUED...

Will Tiller Goodchild spill the beans?

-FINAL DECISIONS- by Frances Barratt Part 2 Dusk hung over the Annexe; the High Hay looming larger in the gathering gloom of that Rethe evening. Esmeralda Brandybuck shivered in the sudden chill and pulled a shawl around her shoulders as she got up from the garden-bench. Sorrow gripped her heart; sadness that Frodo had departed under such circumstances. He'd gone to her, trusting her to give him answers and she'd fabricated excuses to explain away his queried of Primula's wording in her letter. In telling the lad of the tryst between Prim and Bilbo, Esme had been tempted to say more, but she had resisted. "It would do more harm than good," she muttered at the doorway. "What would, Ma?" She'd not realised that Merry stood just inside the house and she literally bit her tongue when he spoke. "Ow! Mercy on us, Merry! What are you doing skulking about like that?" "Skulking? I wasn't skulking, Ma, I was coming to look for you." He looked out into the garden. "Where's Frodo?" "Gone!" she replied sharply and pushed past her son. "Dinner must be almost done and the vegetables haven't been prepared!" "Yes they have; I did them." Esme cranked her head around in surprise. "You? I didn't think you knew where to find them!" Merry put an arm around his mother. "You underestimate folk, Ma." She met his eyes, looking for hidden meaning in them. "Do I? If it means being pleasantly surprised then that's all to the good. Come, show me your handiwork and if it impresses me then you may have earned yourself an extra chore!" Merry smiled. "Frodo will be alright -- won't he?" She returned the smile. "He's Prim's son," and she nodded her head. "In the short-term -- yes, I believe so." "That's an ambiguous answer, Ma," Merry complained. "Please don't you ask me to explain. My dear Boy," and she touched his cheek tenderly, "some things are best left unsaid." Merry looked at her, knowing that she'd had the final word. He closed the door on the spring evening and the events of the day. She carried a secret fear and he knew well enough how great a burden it was; a burden she could never share. TO BE CONTINUED...

-FINAL DECISIONS- by Frances Barratt Part 3 They had talked well after dark and so it was that Frodo came to spend the night at Tiller's cottage. The conversations had revolved around Jess and in Tiller comparing her to Primula Brandybuck. It then dawned on Frodo that his most Precious Girl had many of the qualities of his mother and that her death had robbed him of knowing her other than as a parent. His curiosity had then led him to probe Tiller further about the Lass from the Hall. "If you're lookin' to dig up some scandal then you're askin' the wrong person!" Tiller had declared forcefully. "That Lass was pure goodness; an' I won't 'ear a word said against 'er!" "So... there were words spoken against her?" "Not by us who'd known 'er proper-like," he'd pouted. "You 'old onto those memories, lad; cherish what she left you an' let the rest stay buried." Tiller had used the words to finalise the evening and then offered Frodo a bed for the night. "Mister Bilbo 'd never forgive me for lettin' 'is Lad go uncared for." Frodo remembered the warm sensation he'd had from just hearing himself described as Bilbo's 'Lad' so had accepted the hospitality. Oddly enough, he had the best night's rest in many so awoke fully refreshed -- and to the smell of breakfast being cooked. Shades of life at the Annexe only added to the new feeling of joy -- and hope. Wandering into the modest kitchen, he arrived to see Tiller piling two plates with rashers of crisply-fried bacon, golden mushrooms and soft tomatoes. "That is a most welcoming smell, Master Tiller." "Then you can best compliment me by leavin' an empty plate," the Ferry-Master said, turning aside to return the frying-pan to the stove. "What d'you plan on doin' today?" he asked, sitting down and indicating Frodo to join him on the bench. "I should go home; Bilbo might be wondering where I am." "That 'e might -- unless you made arrangements otherwise?" Picking up a knife and fork, Frodo began on his breakfast. "I didn't intend to be gone all night," he revealed, munching on the bacon. "Then you'd best get yourself gone -- not that I don't mind you bein' 'ere. First cart'll be at the west-bank in about an hour. If I were you, I'd get out at Stock an' cut across country to Frogmorton; shorten the road trip by a good few miles." The navigator that was Tiller, knew every short-cut available. " 'Cos it turns onto the East Road towards Bree." "Thank you for the advice." Meeting Tiller's eyes, Frodo added: "And thank you for your wisdom." "Wisdom?!" Tiller echoed. "Didn't know as I 'ad any!" "Well you do. It comes from experience, and I have precious little of that!" "It'll come; it'll come," Tiller promised. Frodo smiled indulgently, knowing that Tiller spoke as a friend. All too soon it was time for them both to board the Ferry. They drifted gently across the Brandywine, docking at the wooden pier on the west-bank with ample time to spare before the first cart trundled up from Rushey on its way up to the Brandywine Bridge. It was a friendly farewell, made with a mutual promise to meet more often, then Frodo clambered onto the cart and sat back to enjoy the short ride. Soon, they reached Stock and Frodo made his way on foot, out towards the Yale, bearing north-west to Frogmorton. He soon lost the morning in the trudge across the green pastures and fields of the East Farthing, meeting the East Road around mid-day, where he sat and rested for a while to await the cart from Bree to Michel Delving -- the main highway of the Shire. It was almost three o'clock when Frodo walked up Bagshot Row and came to the gate of Bag-End. His heart skipped a beat as his hand opened the gate. Mounting the nine steps a new resolve entered his mind: he would live this new life that Bilbo had given him; not regretting the Past and matters he was unable to alter. The circular, green door was a most welcoming sight. It opened with ease and Frodo stepped inside. "Bilbo! I'm home!" he called out. One relieved hobbit hurried into the passage and clasped Frodo to him. In a wordless exchange, both knew a new chapter had begun in their lives. THE END

Sometimes things are better kept unsaid

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Tiller Goodchild tells Frodo to cherish the memories he had of his mother. Now he can get his life in order again.