Part of this chapter owes its genesis to a role-play with FrodoBagginsOfBagEnd. Thank you for the inspiration Febobe.

As spring melted into summer Esmeralda found her place in Brandy Hall changing.

She discovered that she had a dormant skill quite by accident in a week of very wet and dreary spring weather, when she had found a group of listless and bored children sitting in the library. Within half an hour she was ensconced in a chair by the fire, surrounded by a little huddle of wide-eyed faces as she related family stories. Frodo had been among those in the room but Esmeralda noticed that he remained in a window seat, keeping his eyes upon the river, flowing swiftly in the distance, brown with mud and swollen by the rain. In truth she had thought at first that he was not listening, but then he had smiled as she recounted the adventures of a toothless great, great auntie and she realised that he was actually as bound up in the story as the others.

Over the months that followed Esmeralda watched her ward more closely. To be sure, he joined in games with the other children when invited, but he was more often to be found sitting with a book in the window seat of the library or under a tree. She had even heard him laughing once or twice, a beautiful infectious giggle that made anyone within earshot unable to resist joining in. Sadly, it was rarely heard although that slow shy smile, deep blue eyes looking up through dark lashes, was often directed at Esmeralda and it warmed her to the core.

Mostly Esmeralda would find him sitting before his parent's graves and when she did she would make a point of stealing off to another corner of the cemetery to give him privacy for his grief. Sometimes she would look up and meet those wide deep blue eyes and then would have to turn away or her own grief at the loss of a loved one would rise up to drown her as surely as the Brandywine had swallowed his.

Officially, Esmeralda and Saradoc looked after Frodo but in fact he more or less looked after himself. The fostering of children in a Hall such as this was not the same as in a small smial. There were several such children, either from broken families, like Frodo, or simply from families who wanted their children to experience the world outside their own smial. To be fostered at Brandy Hall was considered quite an honour by those living along the banks of the Brandywine for it came with good food and a formal education.

Esmeralda could not help but feel differently about Frodo Baggins, however. She found herself drawn to seek him out but, so quiet and unassuming was he, that even Esmeralda would find there were times when she could not remember seeing him for hours and would seek him out. And so it was that she left the dining hall one evening, having not seen him at a meal all day. She discovered him in the first place she looked . . . the library.

Although the sun was low in the sky it was still a long way from setting this summer evening and, in the window seat, Frodo's form was just a dark shape against its brightness, the outlines of his small body lost in the copper brilliance. Even so, Esmeralda could see that he was curled in upon himself. His legs were drawn up and his hands clasped about his ankles. The head of dark curls rested upon his knees, and as she stepped closer Esmeralda could see that his eyes were closed.

Wiping her hands upon her apron she sat down on the seat beside him and the brushing of her skirt against his foot made the small head jerk upward. Esmeralda was surprised to see tears in his eyes and she reached out a hand to brush back his curls in concern. His forehead was a little warm, although not alarmingly so. As always, when someone touched him, Frodo did not pull away, rather leaned into the touch as though hungry for contact. Esmeralda smiled gently at him and brought her hand to rest upon his at his softly furred feet.

"I was worried when I didn't see you at table. Had you forgotten that it was dinner time?"

Frodo swallowed and turned his face away, staring at the river rolling silver in the distance. "I'm not feeling very hungry, Auntie."

Esmeralda tucked her finger under a chin not yet squared into adolescence and turned his face back to her, looking intently into his eyes. They were a deep shade of bluebell in this light and her heart melted once more.

"It's not like a growing hobbit lad to go without a meal . . . and unless my memory is deceiving me you weren't at the table for any of the other meals today either." Esmeralda tucked a stray curl behind his ear. "Why don't you feel hungry?"

"Tummy ache." The small chin quivered and tears began to spill in earnest down his slightly flushed cheeks.

Esmeralda held out her arms to him, any intentions to be only a guardian swept away in that moment. "Come here," she murmured and he practically threw himself into her lap, sobbing loudly upon her shoulder as she held him close.

One hand grabbed a fistful of her apron and the other arm wrapped itself about her waist, clinging with all his strength. Esmeralda found it hard to hold back her own tears as she rocked him gently, kissing the crown of his head.

When had been the last time someone had held him like this? Esmeralda could not remember ever having seeing any of the other adults charged with caring for the Hall's fosterlings hug him, and she chided herself for not daring to offer him this simple comfort before. Sometimes her husband patted him on the head as he passed and even this small sign of affection had brought a smile to the lad's face, but she could not ever remember seeing anyone cuddle him as other children were. Frodo Baggins seemed to hold himself apart . . . perhaps fearful of committing himself to another relationship that could be cruelly shattered by fate.

Under her gentle ministration the sobs subsided into hitches and then sniffles and Esmeralda handed him one of her handkerchiefs. The lad blew his nose loudly and then looked up at her apologetically.

She smiled. "That's alright. I have another one."

He snuggled against her, curling up at her side clutching the damp handkerchief, and she simply held him, trying to decide what to do next. His face looked very flushed now but it was difficult to tell whether it was from fever or crying.

"Does your tummy still hurt?"

The small head moved against her shoulder and a trembling voice replied, "A bit. Not as much as before."

"Do you think you would like some dinner now? Or does it still hurt too much?"

Esmeralda felt his arm grip more tightly and Frodo curled closely. "Are there lots of people in the dining hall?"

Bending to kiss his soft curls again Esmeralda replied, "About the usual number. All your young friends are there." His hair smelled of sunshine. "There's apple pie for pudding."

The dark head tilted back to look up at her, face hopeful. "I'd like to try some apple pie but . . . I'm not sure I want to go into the hall. What if I get sick?"

His hand tightened in the waistband of her apron and Esmeralda made a mental note to press it later. She had discovered many things over the last summer and one of them was that tummy aches, whilst feeling real to a youngster, were often as much a symptom of emotional hurt as physical. A little ginger tea would not do the lad any harm, however.

"All right then, Frodo. How about my fetching you some ginger tea to help with that tummy upset before you try any apple pie?"

"I think I'd like to try some apple pie. Will there be honey in the tea?"

"I know where to find the best honey in the Hall." Esmeralda coaxed him into the corner of the seat again, wrapping her shawl about him. He pulled it close at once, bending to sniff, and smiled.

"You smell of sweet peas. Mamma used to smell of lavender."

Fancy a young lad noticing that, Esmeralda thought as she bent forward and kissed his brow.