Walk On

Part 8: Storms

Note: I had some problems with the last part of this chapter…I hope that it's not too terrible. :)

Dawn broke over the West, and Frodo welcomed the warmth of the sun upon his cool face. He knew that it would soon grow unbearably hot, but for the time being he welcomed the sunlight.

The country had grown hilly since he had entered the West Farthing. Frodo figured that was just as well; it would make it easier for him to hide, if Griffo were to chase after him. Frodo was beginning to doubt that, though…but with Griffo he could never be too sure. He shuddered. Hopefully he would never have to see him again.

How he longed for something to eat! It felt like he hadn't eaten in ages. After he also longed for a nice, warm bath…dirt from the forest was clinging to his body and he felt disgusting.

He climbed to the top of a particularly large hill when he decided that he needed to rest. He simply felt famished…he couldn't go on much further without food.

He walked to the hill's bottom and saw another tree. He was so very tired of seeing trees…but…he looked up at it…it was an apple tree! He couldn't believe his good fortune. He stopped underneath its branches and reached up to shake the lowest one. He found that he was quite weak in the arms; he couldn't shake the branches very hard. However, plenty of apples fell to the ground. Frodo dropped to his knees and picked them up. He decided that, this time, it would be smart for his to take some with him. He unclasped his cloak from his shoulders he set it on the ground. In it he placed the apples. He stood up and shook the branch again. The last of the apples fell from the branch. He placed all but one of them in his cloak. It was not very much, but it would have to do. He tied up his cloak into a small knapsack and slung it over his right shoulder. He stood up.

"Hey! Yo! What're you doing in my fields?" Frodo turned about and saw a stout little hobbit – not much different looking than Griffo – standing a few paces behind Frodo. "And stealing my apples nonetheless?"

Frodo thought to reply, but he knew better. He turned in the opposite direction (luckily the way he intended to go) and ran. He had not had good experiences with farmers before. When he had lived at Brandy Hall, Farmer Maggot was always on his case for stealing carrots and mushrooms…he had even been chased away by a pack of dogs once. He shuddered at the memory.

"Hey!" he heard the farmer shout. Frodo continued to run as quickly as he could, but then found that he could run no further. He was too exhausted. He turned back and looked at the farmer, who was still standing at the bottom of the hill, making a fist at him. He had not chased after him, and for that Frodo felt grateful. He could not have run even if he had needed to.

The farmer's smial was tucked away in the very hill that Frodo had walked over. He had been so silly that he had walked over somebody's house and not even noticed it! There was not one apple tree, he noticed, but many that were scattered about the large field. He had intruded upon the farmer's orchard. But at least he had food.

He reached Overhill about two hours later. It was eight in the morning by his reckoning. That meant that there would be people about the markets and shops. He was trying to decide if he should go through town or not. On the one matter, he could stop for food…but then, he had no money. With his torn clothes, tousled hair, and dirt-streaked face, he certainly looked the part of a thief, but he would not reduce himself down to one. That, and Griffo might be there. He was very suspicious that Griffo was somewhere near him…he would not give up on Frodo so easily.

With those thoughts in mind, he decided that it would be best for him to walk outside of town. He had to start walking southeast to reach Hobbitton. Perhaps he would be able to get there before night fell. That excited him very much.

He walked outside the town-limits to guide him. After he reached the end of the town he would find out what direction he had to go. The sky still looked cloudy. In fact, the clouds were beginning to darken and the air was starting to grow chilly. It would not be a warm rain as Frodo had hoped. It would be cold. That was wonderful. He had used his cloak to wrap up his apples. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was still clutching an apple in his right hand. He lifted it up to his mouth and took a bite. The sweet juice spread throughout his mouth and Frodo greedily took another bite.

So he limped, munching his apple and feeling decidedly happy. Above him the sky continued to darken.

He had nearly reached the edge of the town when he saw a hobbit standing by a shop of some sort. Frodo frowned and slackened his pace. He had been going rather quickly.

However, the hobbit appeared to have spotted him. Frodo suddenly wished that he still had his cloak handy to cover his face with. The strange hobbit quickly walked towards Frodo.

Frodo stopped and decided to wait for the man. Perhaps he was friendly.

"Hello," said the hobbit. It was not an unkind voice. "Are you Frodo Baggins?"

He was obviously looking for him. So Griffo had sent out a searching party. His heart sank. "No," he lied, his voice hoarse.

The hobbit chuckled. "Then who are you, and why are you walking about in such untidy clothing?"

Frodo hesitated. He was not one for making up names. "Bolger," said Frodo suddenly, "My name is Tom Bolger." Frodo winced. That really was a terrible name.

"Is it," said the hobbit. "Who are your parents? Perhaps I know them."

"What is that of your concern?" snapped Frodo. He was still a little testy when it came to the subject of his parents. "All I am doing is walking, and here I am, being questioned by a strange hobbit about someone named Frodo Baggins. I do not have any idea who he is." Frodo wasn't a good liar, and he was sure that sounded horribly forced.

"You don't need to get up and angry with me, young hobbit," said the hobbit. "I am sent by Griffo Boffin to look for his nephew, Frodo. He has been lost since Wednesday. Ran away, actually. You look worn by travel. I notice that your ankle is horribly twisted. So was Frodo's, according to Griffo."

"I was waylaid in an orchard about two hours back," said Frodo. "He – the farmer - caught me stealing from him. I was given a severe beating." Thunder sounded in the sky above him. It was going to rain soon.

"I'm afraid that you sound a lot like Frodo Baggins," said the hobbit. "Griffo is in Underhill. Why don't we go to meet him?"

"I need to get home," said Frodo in alarm. "It is about to rain and my parents -" He winced involuntarily. "—and my parents shall worry if I am not back. I really need to be going." He cut in front of the hobbit and walked quickly away.

"Frodo?" asked the hobbit. Frodo didn't turn around. He knew that it would be a dead give away.

"Farewell, good stranger!" said Frodo as cheerfully as he could.

"I am going to go get Griffo," said the hobbit.

"It will be a waste of your time," said Frodo. The hobbit did not answer. Frodo turned around. The hobbit was gone…he had went to fetch Griffo. The apples were too much weight on his shoulders. He took the cloak off and dumped the apples on the ground. Rain had started to fall from the sky. Frodo looked around. There was no forest to hide in anywhere in sight. He had to run. Frodo ran for all his life. He ran even faster than when he had been running from Griffo. His ankle was in more pain than it had ever been in. He couldn't stop. He had to keep going. The rain was now pouring from the sky, and the sky was as dark as if it were night. That would be an advantage to Frodo. He hoped that he was going southeast, he thought suddenly. This was all so unfair.

He quickened his pace. He knew that he was not running fast enough. His ankle was slowing him down. He could barely stand to step on it. The pain was shooting all over his body. He couldn't stop, or the pain would be much worse, he told himself. That was all that kept him going.

The rain was spilling all around him. The grass was so wet that Frodo slipped on it and nearly fell over several times. His hair was wet and his clothes clung to his body. He wrapped his cloak around him. The lighting flashed brilliantly in the sky. The wind was howling. Perhaps Griffo wasn't following him in this weather. But then again, he probably was.

Frodo couldn't bear to think any longer. He could only run. He listened to the methodical beat of the rain upon the ground, of the howling wind, and the thunder crashing. He tried not to concentrate on his ankle.

He squinted. In the distance, there was a road. It must have been the road that led to Hobbiton! All he would have to do is follow the road and he would be there. However, if Griffo knew Frodo's ways (and that he did) he would know that was the way that Frodo would be going. But then again, wouldn't he then think to not take the road, as Frodo would probably think to do? It was all too confusing, trying to analyse Griffo's ways. Frodo didn't know. He decided that it didn't matter. He ran to the road and followed it. He had no other choice. He would surely get lost if he didn't follow the road. It was dark, and Griffo would surely not be able to see him.

Frodo coughed loudly. Now he was getting a cold. How wonderful. Curse this weather, he thought to himself. He pulled the cloak around his head and continued to run. He hoped that, for his sake, it wouldn't be too much farther to Bilbo's smial.

There was a sound in the distance. Frodo continued to run, but he strained his ears to hear above the rain and wind. It sounded like shouting…and...ponies galloping? Was it a cart or carriage, possibly? The sound grew louder…it was obviously gaining on Frodo. It could have been Griffo. Though the weather was terrible, Frodo knew that he was out looking for him…he would stop at nothing to find him.

Exasperated, Frodo looked around for a place to hide. The great hill of Hobbitton was far in the distance. He needed a place to hide – quickly. Frodo stopped running and got off the road. He fell to the ground and saw that there was a small stream a little up ahead. Frodo ran to it. There was a small bridge that went over it. Frodo laughed in relief. He splashed into the water and gasped. It was horribly cold. He waded down its side and went under the bridge. At least the rain had stopped falling on Frodo's head. But his feet and lower legs were deep in the deathly cold water.

Frodo leaned against the side of the stone bridge and sighed. He could hear nothing above but the sound of the hard rain. Several minutes passed and Frodo still could hear nothing. Then, the galloping started again. It must have been the carriage. There was a great deal of shouting on it – Frodo forced his ear to hear what they were saying…

The carriage came on top of the bridge, and Frodo could hear the shouting clearly. "Are you sure he went this way?"

"Yes -"

The shouting faded away, as did the sound of the carriage. For several minutes, Frodo did nothing but stand and wait.

The carriage - it was going to Hobbiton. That had obviously been Griffo and the hobbit from before. Griffo had probably concluded that Frodo was going to Hobbiton, and he probably knew that he intended to go to Bag-End. And obviously, he would get there first. Frodo had to hurry. He splashed out of the water and climbed onto the road. He was so numb with cold that he could barely feel the pain of his ankle. He ran.

Frodo lost track of the hours. It had to be night. It was very dark. He could no longer run, so he walked hurriedly. The rain continued to pour, and Frodo's cough seemed to get worse. He could no longer feel his toes, and the dirt road had turned to mud. Griffo had probably already reached Hobbiton. This was such strange weather for July! It had to be for Frodo.

He looked to the east, hoping to see some sign of a town, but he saw only darkness. It couldn't be too far, he rationalised. The road didn't go that far.

He looked back at the road and, to his amazement, there was a sign not far ahead. Frodo walked closer and noticed that the road divided into two. He looked at the sign. It had an arrow pointing at the smaller path. The word 'Hobbiton' was written neatly underneath it. Frodo grinned. Bilbo couldn't be that far away. He headed down the path. Now he had the unfortunate task of finding Bag-End in such horrid weather. As far as he knew, Bag-end was outside of the town of Bag-End…just a little northeast. In fact, he thought suddenly, the path might be on this very road. But he couldn't be too sure. For now, he thought, he would just follow the road.

The minutes passed and Frodo continued down the road. Mud was sloshing up on his feet, and the rain continued. It showed no sign of stopping. It was such queer weather for late summer. He wished that the sky would lighten so that he could tell where he was going. But the sky was dark black, and rain was pouring, and the wind was wailing. Frodo's senses were blocked. He just had to keep going. But what good would it do if he got lost?

The ground felt slippery suddenly…he looked down and noticed that he had gone off the road into the grass. He walked backwards and went back onto the road. The road to Hobbiton had divided into two again; that was why he had gone off the road. One path went west; the other to the northeast. There was no sign, thought Frodo in annoyance. It had probably blown over in the wind, or there had never been a sign to begin with. He was pretty sure that if went straight, it would take him straight into town. Since Bilbo lived outside of town, he decided to take the path that led north. He looked to the ground and followed the path as closely as he could. The rain seemed to be falling even harder, though Frodo didn't see how that was possible.

Lightning flashed in the sky and thunder rumbled. Frodo used to be scared of storms when he was a small child; he could remember when he used to climb into bed with his parents when he got too scared of the lightning. He used to be frightened to the very core of him of lightning. Now he knew that it was only a force of nature…but he still hated it, and he was losing faith in himself with every step that he took. He would never be able to find a smial, let alone his Uncle Bilbo's smial, in this type of weather. He had been lucky enough to make it to Hobbiton without being caught by Griffo. Luckily, that hobbit that had questioned him had been rather stupid.

But there could not be too much luck left for him now. When he looked to the side of him, he could see only darkness, but there may have been a smial there. He may have already passed by Bag-End.

Frodo was tired, scared, and he felt that he could no longer go on…he had gone on for long enough.

A brilliant flash of lightning lit up the sky, and for a second the entire area was illuminated. Frodo found that he was looking straight at a smial…a rather large smial, with a huge garden. Was it…could it be? The lighting flash dissipated and the sky became dark again. Frodo no longer cared. It had looked like Bag-End…and perhaps he was delusional, but he had to try…knock, maybe….

He ran straight ahead, off the path into the grass. If he had been thinking more, he would have remembered that a path led to Bag End and the rest of Bagshot Row. But he ran through the grass and ran into something hard. He inched along it and found that it did not end…for a moment Frodo was confused…but then he remembered…of course, it must have been the gate. He let his hands feel all around its surface, and he found the latch. He fumbled around with it and it opened. Frodo ran inside and didn't bother to close it. He tripped against something and fell to the ground. He grasped at the ground, blinded by the wind. He was on the steps that led to the door of Bag-End…that's where he had to be. He found that he could not get up to his feel, so he crawled up the stairs. He felt like the stairs would be endless.

But finally, he reached a point where there were no more stairs. Frodo hesitated and then reached blindly out. His hand hit against something hard. He was at the door. He reached up with both hands and grabbed the doorknob. He pulled himself to his feet. Frodo took a death breath, and slowly he reached out with his right hand and knocked on the door.

To Be Continued