2. A Strange Place
February 1382
Frodo Baggins paused uncertainly outside the heavy wooden door, then hesitantly pressed a small, delicately pointed ear against the cool surface. He could hear voices within the room. They were talking loudly. Frodo frowned, trying to determine if one of the voices belonged to the person he sought. He wiped his nose with a small, grubby hand and listened carefully.
The voices burst suddenly into raucous laughter, and Frodo drew back with a startled sniffle, then made himself continue along the round hallway as silently as he had come. He was looking for his Aunt Esmeralda, and none of the voices in the room was female.
Brandy Hall was an enormous network of rooms and passageways beneath Brandy Hill, and could bewilder any adult hobbit. But Frodo was only thirteen years old, and he was completely lost. He missed the small, cozy hobbit hole he had shared with his parents.
The boy whimpered quietly. Thinking of his parents still made him cry like a baby hobbit sometimes, and he had frequent nightmares about the day they drowned in a boating accident on the Brandywine River almost two years ago.
He crept softly down the long passageway, making himself shrink into the shadows as much as possible in case any of his boisterous cousins made an unexpected appearance.
Frodo knew that these Brandybuck relations were his family now; it had been explained to him many times, but he just couldn't seem to feel comfortable in Brandy Hall. Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda had assured him, when he was first brought to live with them, that he would soon get used to the chaos and feel quite at home.
Uncle Bilbo had said the same thing. Frodo smiled fondly, thinking of his favourite uncle. Bilbo had come to Brandy Hall soon after the accident, and his presence had been such a comfort to Frodo. All too soon the visit had ended, and the dear old hobbit had gone back to Bag End, promising to come again as soon as he could.
There had been several brief visits since then, but Frodo hadn't seen Uncle Bilbo since before the New Year. Bilbo had said he would come back in the spring.
Frodo paused, holding his small hands over his mouth to muffle the coughing fit that overtook him suddenly. He wasn't sure, but he thought springtime really ought to be fairly soon. After all, it seemed like a dreadfully long time since Uncle Bilbo had gone away, so really, spring could come any day now.
Satisfied with his logic, Frodo returned his attention to his present mission. Where could Aunt Esmeralda be? He needed to tell her he was sick. Mama had always said he should tell a grown hobbit if he wasn't feeling well, and Aunt Esmeralda was the only one at Brandy Hall who paid him much attention. Uncle Saradoc was very kind as well, but he was even busier than his wife, being more involved in the smooth running of Brandy Hall. Frodo didn't want to bother him.
In fact, he didn't really want to bother Aunt Esmeralda either, but he didn't see any other choice. She was probably in her bedroom, where she had been spending a lot of time resting lately, but Frodo didn't know which way that was.
Frodo came to a hallway that branched to the right. He turned the corner and whimpered in frustration when he still didn't recognize where he was. He leaned back against the wall and slid slowly to the floor. He was so tired, his nose wouldn't stop running, and his throat ached abominably. The floor was of smooth, hard wood, but Frodo curled up into as small a ball as he could make and soon fell fast asleep.