A/N: Did I say these "Growing up in the Shire" chapters would end with Frodo's fiftieth birthday? Whoops, I meant forty-ninth because I just had to keep adding more scenes to build the world and Naruto's training. Sigh. Anyways, enjoy ~ love, depressedchildren
Chapter 4: Growing up in the Shire pt 3
3016 October
Frodo was sitting out in the garden enjoying a cup of tea. Sam had done an excellent job tending to the autumn flowers. The white Stonecrop along the path to the Bag End danced slightly in the breeze. It was peaceful as the Shire always was, yet the sight of the autumn blooming flowers only left Frodo with an ache and sense of longing. He missed his son so much, and the only reprieve he had from his longing was found in Bilbo's Ring. A ring his son was convinced was influencing him and was the cause for the boy's distance.
Perhaps he was so melancholy because the scent of heather and sage on the wind reminded Frodo of the night he found his son among blooming alyssum and fallen leaves. Moreover, his son had not sent a letter this year, and it renewed insecurities Frodo would always have being a hobbit raising a human child.
Frodo had written a letter to his son wishing him well and a happy birthday, yet he did not know where his son was and so had yet to post it. In the past year, it seemed the child traveled around the Shire in unpredictable patterns. One season he was patrolling the northern border, and the next the southern. Until Frodo received a letter from his son, he would have no idea where to send a letter to. It made him miss the child all the more.
Lost in his melancholy, Frodo did not notice Postmaster Boffin trotting up the hill until the older hobbit knocked at the garden gate. "Master Frodo," he greeted cheerfully.
Frodo startled slightly but gave the male hobbit a warm smile. "Hello Postmaster," he returned the greeting.
"You seemed miles away," the elder hobbit stated with concern edging his words.
Frodo sighed and nodded. "Yes, I worry about Dôranna. I have not received news of him in quite some time."
"Well, have I good news for you," Postmaster Boffin began with a bright smile as he held up a letter. Frodo nearly sprang from his seat.
"Is it truly a letter from my son?!" Frodo exclaimed as he rushed over to the garden gate.
The Boffin nodded as he handed over the still sealed letter. "Indeed, it is!" he confirmed. "Came all the way from Buckland it seems."
"Ah, he must be stationed in the Old Forest again!" Frodo felt conflicted on the posting; after all, the Old Forest was a queer and sometimes frightening place.
"I'm glad to be of service, Master Baggins," Postmaster Boffin stated and was about to bid farewell when Frodo spoke up.
"Oh, wait a moment, please!" he pleaded. "It was Dôranna's twelfth birthday recently, and I have been meaning to send him a letter celebrating it, but I did not know where he was."
"That would be a problem," the older hobbit agreed. "Have you written the letter already?" the Postmaster asked.
"Yes, I have. Could you wait just a moment?" Frodo asked as he began to turn toward the door to his burrow.
"I could, but I feel it is my duty to remind you that your boy did write you—perhaps something in that letter will need response and you will be sending two letters with a rather steep postal fee."
Frodo halted and nodded slowly in concession. "Yes, I suppose that is true, and perhaps my son wrote his next posting in the letter. I suppose I am too eager," he muttered, and the Postmaster gave a warm laugh.
"All parents are eager to hear how their children are. You've nothing to worry, Master Baggins. I will be at my Post Office until sundown," the Boffin explained. The two hobbits then exchanged goodbyes and Frodo hurried to his study to read his son's most recent letter.
Breaking the rudimentary wax seal once at the writing desk, Frodo unfolded the letter and scanned over the modified Westron—it seemed his son would be using the dream-language, which usually indicated his son wanted what he wrote to remain secret from nosy hobbits and postmasters.
Dear Papa,
What an awful son I've been! I am so very sorry for missing your birthday! I hope you had a wonderful celebration with Merry, Pippin, Fredager, and Folco. If it is any consolation, I would have missed my own birthday if it were not for the rangers reminding me. It seems I've been too caught up in my training to noticing the passing of time!
Speaking of my training, I have become quite proficient with all manner of weaponry, though I've yet to use any on creatures besides wolves and spars with the rangers. More of whom have joined our band in the past year, which is troubling. While I confess I did not pay much attention to Halbarad's words this Seasonal Meeting, it does seem more trouble comes from the East. I am not sure what the trouble is exactly, but it does set me on edge.
On another matter, I've finally manipulated the world around me with my energy, but this has led to several revelations. One revelation is that Mr. Fox and, apparently, I do not come from this world. It is truly a baffling concept I imagine you have no further reference for than I do. The best I can equate it to is that the world I'm from still has entities like the Valar residing within it, except the awful humans have captured and trapped these Valar-like beings and put them inside other humans. Apparently, I contain Mr. Fox within me. Mr. Fox is an entity of pure energy like a Valar—in a sense. It is not a perfect analogy, but it is the one which makes the most sense to me. I hope it makes sense to you too.
I've also learned that my parents are dead. My mother held Mr. Fox before me, and she was awful to him. Oh, it makes my heartache for Mr. Fox and his siblings. Why would the humans of my birth world be so cruel?! Why trap these entities of power within others, why chain them down as my mother did Mr. Fox? Oh, Papa, humans can be truly awful.
I can tell Mr. Fox does not wish for me to resent my parents or the world of my birth, but I cannot help but feel some anger for the casual cruelty of that world. It appears the reason Mr. Fox was sealed within me is because a villain put an illusion over Mr. Fox and made him attack the village of my birth. My sire was the protector of the village and sealed Mr. Fox within me at the cost of his own life to stop the destruction. Mr. Fox believes he did so, so no other child would suffer the stigma of bearing him, yet why should the humans bearing entities of power be vilified or ostracized? It gives me such a bleak picture of my birth world.
I will do my best not to despair and instead focus on honing my ability to manipulate the world. Mr. Fox believes that language is the key to manipulating the world around me and that I have a natural affinity for wind. With more training, I anticipate being able to lift that vile energy's influence from you.
I hope to visit soon because I miss you dearly, Papa. I wish you all the best and long to hear from you. I should be staying within the Old Forest through mid-winter, so please write even though I have not been the best son.
With all my love, Dôranna
Frodo blinked several times as he re-read the letter and then read it once more. His son had a Valar-like entity within him?! Mr. Fox was a truly powerful being. It was disconcerting and yet it gave Frodo comfort. Oh, how Fordo wished he knew where Gandalf was so he could write the wizard. Surely, he would know what advice Frodo could give his son.
Frodo leaned back in his chair and chewed his lip. His original letter of congratulations would no longer suffice. He would need to write a new one. Taking out some fresh parchment, Frodo unstopped his inkwell and grabbed a quill. How ever should he start?
…
Dôranna gave a chakra imbued jump until he landed on the next tree branch. It was thick and had moss coating the branch. He began to slip but caught himself using a branch above his head. Mr. Fox had given up explaining the "wall walking" exercise since that required the energy leaving Dôranna's body to interact with the world around him. It might coat his hands or feet, but it was still exiting his body and thus changed from chakra to something else.
The blonde closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of decaying foliage and crisp autumn air. It was revitalizing. As he breathed and listened to the Old Forest around him, he imagined voices whispering among the wind. Who wanders beneath our boughs? The whispers seemed to ask.
"Only I," he responded in the old elvish tongue—it felt more appropriate than the modern elvish.
Who? The whispering asked.
"A child of the earth and forest," he replied quietly. "A child of the Shire and a land far beyond."
Do you come to hurt? To chop? To burn?
"I come to walk beneath your shade and keep evil creatures away. The Dúnedain and I know to only take that which is fallen and dead. We do not come to hurt or chop or burn."
Then walk among us and talk. Tell us stories from beyond our reach, the whispers commanded.
Dôranna smiled and jumped down from his perch. Using the energy within him, he strengthened his legs and feet so the impact did not hurt as much. He then began to walk and tell the stories he heard of in the Shire and beyond.
The whispers asked questions, and Dôranna answered when he could. The whispers were particularly interested in the flowers and plants Dôranna described, so the blonde began to put more thought into his words and wished he could make an illusion of the plants as he supposed one would be able to in his birth world. It was during the description of the blooming flowers that he reached down toward the moss and fallen leaves. He felt his energy leap from his fingers and a warmth build in his chest that resonated with a warmth in the earth. Intuitively he began to name and describe the flowers as he coaxed the energy within him to interact with the ground until—there! The flowers sprouted beneath his fingers. He exhaled in amazement.
Wizard! The whispers murmured.
Dôranna shook his head. "I am human, but I have power within me. Can I learn to harness it beneath your boughs?" he asked quietly.
Will you hurt? Will you burn or chop?
"I do not intend to and will heal any harm I cause," he assured the whispers.
The whispers seemed to converse among themselves, the words unclear until they settled. Only if you are watched by the Jolly One, the whispers decided.
Dôranna frowned as he straightened from his crouch. "Who is this?"
Follow the river and mind Old Man Willow, the whispers ordered.
Dôranna did just so and began to wander deeper into the forest until he came to the river and then began to follow its winding path. He felt the gentle tug of the wind at the ends of his hair and heard the whispers of the forest encouraging him. Eventually, the river curved toward a waterfall and a hill. A warm and bright home was built atop the hill.
The blonde boy carefully trekked up the grassy hill, shifting his quiver and bow in nervousness.
"Hello?" he called in Westron as he neared the home.
"Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo! / Ring a dong! who comes along! from down the willow!? / Asks Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!" a cheerful voice sang out from the house and soon the door opened to reveal a short, thickset man with bright yellow boots and a blue coat. His brown beard was a bit scraggly and his face red from mirth or sunburn, Dôranna was not sure which. The man had laugh lines and wrinkles that made the boy think the man was of a usually jolly disposition. Jolly One, of course.
"Ah, hello sir," Dôranna greeted suddenly nervous as bright blue eyes surveyed him from the home's porch. "My name is Dôranna Baggins, I hail from the Shire, Hobbiton specifically."
"Oh," the man shouted as he practically skipped down from the porch. "What brings a Shireling into the old forest?" the man asked loudly and with a blinding smile. He was only a few inches taller than Dôranna but quite a bit shorter than any of the Dúnedain the blonde boy had met.
"I am training with the rangers guarding the Shire, but the Forest—I'm guessing it was the Forest, with the whispers and all—" the boy cut himself off and shook his head at his rambling. "The Forest said I should find the Jolly One and to follow the river, so here I am."
"What? Has Old Man Willow gone a-causing trouble?" the jolly man asked and looked ready to march down toward the river.
"Ah, no, sir. I was told to mind Old Man Willow by the whispers," Dôranna explained quickly as he continued to fidget.
The man cocked his head to the side and observed Dôranna with his gaze narrowed slightly. "Is this Shireling of elf-kind?" the man inquired in a slightly softer tone, though it was still quite loud.
"No, I am human. I was just raised in the Shire and my Papa has taught me the elvish tongue."
"Ho! How the surprises come! The Forest speaks and the young one listens! Tell me, why the Forest sent you this a-way?"
"Well, I wanted to learn how to manipulate the world around me with my energy. I made flowers bloom and have beckoned the wind before."
The man's eyes were bright with curiosity and joy. He suddenly grabbed Dôranna's hands and began to jump around in a circle. "Hey dol! merry dol! what wonder here! / Goldberry, Goldberry, come lend your ear! / flowers the child sprouts from air!"
Dôranna could not help but laugh as he hopped with the curious man in a circle before a movement caught his eye. A pale blonde woman, slender and almost ethereal, appeared at the door of the home. Her dress was green like fresh river shoots and was adorned with a golden belt of lilies. She smiled brightly as she stepped out the door. Her feet were clad in some sort of earthenware.
"Hello, dear child," she greeted warmly once the man stopped dancing with him. "Do you seek rest beneath the roof of Tom Bombadil?" she asked gently.
It took Dôranna a moment before it clicked. "Oh, your name is Tom Bombadil!" The blonde addressed the jolly man before laughing and rubbing at the back of his head sheepishly. "I suppose you said as much in that first rhyme." The boy then turned his attention to the woman who now approached them. "And you must be Goldberry," he guessed.
"Yes indeed. Laugh and be merry, child. I am Goldberry, daughter of the River." As she said this, she took Dôranna's hand and squeezed it. He could feel a power within her, just as he had felt a power within Tom Bombadil. It was subtle in a way that was dissimilar from all the boy had met yet who held power.
"Thank you," Dôranna replied but could not help but duck his head in embarrassment. "I hope you both might teach me to harness my energy as you both do. My Papa is being influenced by something truly awful, and I want to free him of it."
Goldberry gave Dôranna a look of sad understanding. He then felt her envelope him in a hug. He had not been hugged in the past two years. Sure, the rangers gave him pats on the back or head, but he had not been hugged—he hadn't even hugged his Papa the last time they saw each other because of that awful energy. The child felt a sob climb up his chest and did not have the will to stop it.
"I miss Papa so very much!" he cried, and Goldberry just held him tighter despite his quiver and bow getting the way.
"Come now, derry dol! ring a dong dillo! / sing a ring, my child o' spring / off we go to find the willow," Tom sang before prying Dôranna from Goldberry. "No tears now, little one, / Training you have to do/ Hop along with Tom Bomba-bomb/ we have much to do!"
Wiping at his remaining tears, Dôranna laughed and began skipping after the odd man. Goldberry smiled and waved from the hill before she turned and re-entered the home. The blonde child could only wonder what he was about to learn from this Jolly One.
…
Halbarad wanted to curse. The hobbit postman was eying him distrustfully and refused to hand over the letter until its recipient arrived. Dôranna had gone scouting in the Old Forest and was supposed to be watched by Prestadír, but the ranger had lost trail of the child when he began jumping up into the tree boughs. Undoubtedly the gossipy hobbits would spread tale that the shifty, grim looking men had failed in their duties to watch the "young Master Baggins." It would set any goodwill the rangers had built to ruin. Where was that boy?!
"Has something happened to young Mr. Baggins?" the postman asked rather pointedly.
"He's just catching dinner," Langlas commented. This displeased the hobbit who scrunched up his nose.
"He's a child, isn't he still? Why does he need to be catching his own dinner?" the hobbit asked accusingly.
"Because he got upset at us 'babying' him," Prestadír replied without missing a beat. It was a matter of contention with the boy—he'd get upset and pouty whenever he realized the rangers were giving him the safer or less strenuous tasks.
"Yes, he decided that us hunting for him was 'coddling'" Halbarad added to clarify and hopefully deescalate the situation.
The postman huffed and shifted impatiently. "And just how long is it going to take for him to get back?" he asked testily.
Halbarad made a subtle gesture for Langlas to begin searching for the child's trail while he gave the hobbit a non-answer that implied it depended on the child's hunting skills.
The hobbit made some snide comment about the rangers having not taught the child well enough if it was taking so long, but Prestadír and Halbarad ignored it. Prestadír, instead, offered to share stories with the hobbit to pass the time. It took a little cajoling but, at last, the hobbit sat down and agreed to hear some news from outside the Shire. Once the most exigent news was shared from Bree and the Havens, the rangers moved farther afield in their discussion with hobbit. Just as Prestadír began to explain that the evil of Angmar had moved to Mordor, a burst of wind cut through the clearing.
"Postmaster Bolger!" Dôranna greeted loudly as he sprinted into the campsite. He looked windswept and had moss and bits of leaves all over his cloak.
"Hello young Mr. Baggins. How did the hunting go?" the hobbit inquired as he reached back into his satchel for the letter he was to deliver.
"No luck I'm afraid!" he replied cheerfully. "Is this from Papa?" he asked eagerly as he accepted the letter. The hobbit looked mildly amused as he nodded—it was the sort of amused one got when they were met with an oddity they had reluctantly accepted. "Thank you!" Dôranna said genuinely while he held the letter close to his chest.
Halbarad watched as the boy exchanged a few pleasantries with the postmaster before the hobbit bid farewell and left their campsite. Halbarad waited until the child had read the letter and the hobbit postmaster was a speck on the horizon before he called the child's name. The boy didn't seem to hear him and was too busy rereading the letter.
"Dôranna," he repeated the boy's name sternly, and the blonde snapped his head up.
"Yes Halbarad?"
"Where did you go? You know not to leave your companion's line of sight," he chided.
"Prestadír could have tracked me down," Dôranna replied flippantly.
"Not when you jump up into the trees!" Prestadír hissed, and Halbarad nodded his head.
"The trees in the Old Forest are tall and some are not in the best condition. What if you fell and injured yourself?" Halbarad continued to chide. "We thought you might have gotten lost, and that forest is…alive—perhaps not as much as Fangorn, but it is still no place for one to wander recklessly."
"I know," Dôranna practically whined, "but the Forest likes me so it wouldn't have hurt me, plus I've learned some songs to put the trees asleep if they get mean like Old Man Willow."
Halbarad was lost. "What are you talking about?" he asked tiredly.
"The Forest whispers to me and it told me to talk to this Jolly One who then taught me how to sing songs to put the trees back to sleep."
Halbarad looked over to Prestadír to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "You hear the forest talking, like some elves can?"
Dôranna shrugged and scuffed one of his feet against the ground. "It's not that hard, you just have to listen."
Halbarad shook his head and refocused his attention away from the child's dismissive reply. "Who is this Jolly One and what songs are you talking about?"
"Tom Bombadil. He's a really happy person and he's always singing, so he taught me a few of his songs!" the blond replied cheerfully.
Prestadír had dropped his head into hands by this point, but Halbarad managed to remain composed despite his incredulity. "And one such song was…?" the ranger prompted tiredly.
"Hey ho! wind in the bough / come to me and circle aroun'" the blonde child sang merrily. He held his hands out as he sang and, sure enough, the wind changed direction and began to circle around the boy before spinning around one of his outstretched hands.
Halbarad felt his mouth fall open as he stared at the child before him. Somehow he didn't faint, but it was a close thing. Dôranna giggled as he moved his hand, and the spinning ring of wind followed the movement.
"Right…I should go find Langlas, then," Halbarad said a bit woodenly as he jerkily stood up.
"It's okay, I know where he is already!" Dôranna chirped. The boy shook out his hands and the wind dissipated. The blonde child then took off back toward the forest.
"What just happened?" Prestadír asked quietly.
"I have no idea," Halbarad replied before he dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his face. What on earth was that child!?
…
Dear Papa,
I was ever so happy to receive your letter. I am glad to hear yours and Uncle Bilbo's birthday party was a merry event. I promise to be at your next one! No training will keep me away!
Speaking of my training, I've found a mentor for manipulating the world around me. It is slow going but I believe I understand it all better. My mentor likes to use songs and it is easier to focus my energy and intentions with songs, but Mr. Fox thinks it's silly and takes too much time to be "effective in heat of battle." So, I have begun working to shorten these invocations. I think the key is understanding the essence of the word, the properties and power within them. What word captures the meaning of the action I wish to do? Oh, I wish Gandalf might visit again so I could ask him about this all. Do you anticipate him visiting again?
I've talked too long about myself. I hope to hear more about how you have been doing, Papa. Have you discovered any new paths through the Shire? Has wanderlust struck you again? I do so miss you and eagerly await your reply.
Ever your loving son, Dôranna
…
3017 January
Dôranna panted as he stared at the training post the rangers had set up for him at the Northern border's main campsite. His breath formed clouds in front him, and the winter air felt like knives along his throat. He glared at the wooden post and then down at the spear in his hands.
It was more difficult to manipulate the world around him when he was in places that held less energy. The Old Forest was teeming with energy, but the lands to the North of the Shire did not have energy pulsing through it. He guessed some sites just had more energy to them; maybe because they held onto the energy of the people who had passed through them or existed within them—like the Old Forest with Tom and Goldberry or Mirkwood with the elves. All that lingering energy made it easier to connect to and influence the world around him.
This was just another part of his training so he could free his Papa of that icky-energy's influence. He had to be able to manipulate the world around him without there already being ambient energy in place. Dôranna narrowed his gaze at the post one more time and took a deep breath.
He thought of what wind meant, the essence of it. Freedom, life, cold, warmth, drive, force. Some wind was so strong it could knock down trees. Some wind carried a sharp edge that left skin scrapped and chaffed. Mr. Fox described wind chakra as cutting in that other world, and the boy knew the same could be done here—he just needed the right word or phrase. He could do this; he could do this.
He charged at the post with the spear raised. Words flowed off his tongue. The wind was coming from the north, down from the Hills of Evendium. His voice settled into old elvish—down from hills, wind razor thin—he could feel the sharp edge of his own energy leave his body and surround the spear tip. There was a satisfying splintering sound as the head of the spear pierced clear through the post. Dôranna withdrew the spear and smiled when it came out of the wrecked wood and he could see through to the other side of the post. This would work even better with an arrow!
Dôranna's chakra settled back down to its usual warmth. It had worked; now he just needed to make sure it wasn't a fluke.
…
March
Galasebdir crouched low to the misty ground and motioned Dôranna to do the same as they traversed the Downs. There was an oppressive feeling in the air, and despite the sun shining above them, it felt dim and cold. Even though it was well past the spring thaw, Dôranna's breath still clouded before him as they crept between the Barrows. Dôranna swallowed thickly.
Halbarad had advised against this course of action, but Dôranna needed to work on disrupting vile influences, and there was nothing fouler than the energy around these Barrows (well, besides the energy around Papa). It helped his case that Galasebdir was looking for rare medicinal plants that only grew on Númenórean graves. Radanir was one of the most skilled travelers in the company and would know the safest routes to cross these unsavory Downs while Corunir would know the best means of avoiding the wretched wights lurking among the graves.
Dôranna felt his palms grow sweaty and yet he felt cold. His heart quickly beat, and it sounded loud among the stillness of these graves. Corunir gestured to one formation of rocks and the weathered symbols carved into the surface. The ranger's whisper sounded too loud, but none of the other rangers motioned for him to quiet as he explained to Dôranna the warrior who resided within that mound of earth.
A shiver ran down the boy's spine as Corunir explained the greed and battles of the corrupted men lying in these graves. Their malice lingered in the air and cast a haze over the area. Were they tricked by Morgoth and Sauron? Or did they just succumb to greed and the desire for power as humans all were want to do? Dôranna could not decide but he did know one thing: the rangers held the failings of their ancestors close to their hearts and treated the past as lessons to learn from. Dôranna could only hope all humans had such a drive to live righteously and correct the mistakes of their ancestors.
"Hold," Radanir whispered as he held his hand up in a fist. Each ranger crouched lower to the scraggly brush and Dôranna held his breath. The chill grew stronger, and Dôranna soon found himself trembling in place.
Galasebdir set a hand on the blonde child's shoulder, and the warmth seeping through the rough spun cloak helped settle the boy some. Dôranna licked his lips and closed his eyes. One hand sunk to the ground, and he felt the cold dew still lingering on the grass. He felt the malice in the air, the earth, and the mist around them. He could feel it reaching toward each of them, brushing against them like how the wind batters against a hill. The grimness of his traveling companions was growing, Dôranna could tell. What words would soothe this malice, or make it go away, he wondered.
He rolled the words over his tongue, tasted them as each syllable formed. Go back to your barrow, go back to your treasure. Leave us be. The malice grew, the oppressive feeling in the air climbed, and Dôranna felt momentarily choked on the coldness of it. "Begone" he said more forcefully; for a moment his energy sparked, and the fear lifted from him.
Dôranna opened his eyes and looked to the other rangers. Radanir had a pinched look to his face as he held strong against the energy of the Barrow Downs. Galasebdir was frowning and also held his resolve. Corunir merely glared ahead of them. No wight was out, not in the sunlight, but its influence simmered in the air—it's attention and ill-intent focused on them. Each man was being affected.
The boy reached his hand out to Galasebdir since he was the closest dúnedain. The ranger raised an eyebrow but did not comment. Dôranna closed his eyes and tried to feel where the malice lingered and affected the ranger. His hand traveled up the ranger's arm to his shoulder and then neck—There! At the base of the skull, he felt the corruption trying to burrow in like worms into the earth. The blonde licked his lips and breathed the word again. Galasebdir gasped and Dôranna smiled. He could feel the foul energy had lifted from the ranger.
Feeling more confident, Dôranna repeated the process on the other rangers and soon they were all able to move again despite the wight who lingered nearby and watched them with bitter anger. They talked no more and quickly climbed one of the barrows to collect the plants Galasebdir had been needing.
It was on their way back out of the Barrow Downs and through the Old Forest that the others spoke of what happened.
"Dôranna," Corunir broke the silence first and drew the blonde's attention back to him. "Halbarad said you were…unique, and Branínaith boasted how you had pierced clean through a log with an arrow, yet I could have never imagined…" the ranger trailed off and shook his head.
Galasebdir nodded his head. "I had felt the despair of that place and then with one word it lifted, and warmth came to my limbs again. How can you do such a feat?"
Dôranna ducked his head and tried to fight down his blush. "I can feel energies and I've been trying to learn how to interact with them."
His companions were shocked but there was a curiosity to their expressions too. "How are you able to interact with the energies of the world?" Corunir asked intently.
Dôranna looked down at his hands. "I have energy within me too," he replied. "It's easier to influence the world when a place is…filled with energy—like here!" the boy gestured to the trees around them. They thrummed with an energy first awakened by the elves and then fostered by Tom and Goldberry.
Radanir gave the boy a skeptical look which made him glare slightly at the man.
"It's true!" Dôranna insisted with his cheeks puffed out. He then stooped down at the base of one of the trees who had always been friendly to Dôranna. He stuck his fingers into the mossy underbrush and coaxed life to grow. He didn't name any particular plant, but just said "Flourish." The energy within him sparked and flooded out from his fingers—it changed as it interacted with the innate energy of the Old Forest—to saturate the ground. Flowers bloomed, the moss thickened, and fungi sprouted along a fallen branch.
Dôranna stood and turned to Radanir with a defiant tilt to his chin and smirked. The ranger blinked at the sudden growth before looking at the blonde child and then back down at the plant life. Galasebdir was studying the different plants while Corunir hummed.
"See," Dôranna said a little petulantly when the rangers remained silent.
"We see, young one," Radanir replied almost dryly. "We just wonder how this can be."
"It's like I said—" the blonde began before the rude ranger held up his hand.
"I heard you the first time. I am just trying to understand this. No human should have such magic."
Dôranna pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I do."
Galasebdir laughed suddenly and stood up from his examination. "Come, Dôranna, we must discuss what else you can make grow. Is it just what grows there already?" He began to usher the boy through the forest and back toward the main campsite. It was another seasonal meeting and Dôranna's training exercise for the day had been the excursion to the Downs.
"Well," the blonde began, "I suppose it is easier with what already exists within the earth, but I've coaxed other plants forward."
This piqued Galasebdir's interest further. "You don't say. Could you make these sprout away from the downs?" he asked almost teasingly as he held up the herbs they had collected.
Dôranna shrugged. "I could always try," he offered with a smile and the ranger laughed.
"Gilvegil would appreciate it. These plants help his joints when the weather changes, or just when they get too stiff," Galasebdir explained almost conspiratorially. Corunir and Radanir followed quietly behind them. Dôranna laughed a little and happily skipped beside the plant-obsessed ranger as the man began to explain the other medicinal properties of the plants they had gathered.
…
July
Michel Delving was beautiful—always had been though Dôranna and Frodo seldom had reason to travel so far south or so close to the borders of the Shire. Now Dôranna was here examining the hobbit town that had once functioned as the capital. It was still beautiful and nestled among the Far Downs, which was where he was training with Galasebdir, Baradír, and Saeradan.
The blonde child walked beside the bald ranger through the winding streets that led to the various hobbit holes. Some of the homes were built into the hills themselves while others were standalone stone and wood constructions. Most of the hobbit holes had expansive gardens in the front yards and were filled with summer blooming flowers. It made Dôranna's heart ache and longing swelled within his chest for his papa.
Saeradan gave a disarming smile to one of the hobbits leering at them from their porch. The older hobbit narrowed his eyes further but otherwise did not react to the bald ranger. Dôranna grabbed Saeradan's hand and began to pull him toward the market area. "He doesn't mean anything by it," Dôranna tried to reassure the ranger. "Most hobbits don't see bigfolk all that often unless something bad is happening, you know?"
Saeradan gave the blonde boy a wry smile. "I'm aware, young one. I am also used to such distrust."
"It's just because you all look so grim!" Dôranna explained in an attempt to further reassure the ranger. This only drew a chuckle from the man.
"Indeed. I have tried to tell my companions that a smile will get them farther with the ones we protect, but…" he trailed off and shook his head sadly. His smile fell and he appeared almost wistful. "We have seen much woe and even more evil. It is a struggle to keep such darkness at bay—to not be darkened by the horrors of the world in turn."
Dôranna felt his own smile dim as he squeezed the ranger's hand. "You shouldn't have to face scorn for it though," he whispered. Saeradan only hummed as a response. Even if he did wish to respond, they were nearly to the market anyways.
Dôranna picked up his pace and quickly approached the tanner. "Hello Mr. Proudfoot!" he greeted cheerfully.
The man blinked a few times before recognition passed over his face. "Ah, young Mr. Baggins," he greeted slowly. "What brings you…two into town?" the tanner gave a look to the side where Saeradan still stood. "Thought you were wandering the wilds?" he asked Dôranna next.
"Well, we have some hides we were hoping to trade!" Dôranna then pulled his satchel from his shoulder and began to pull out the wolf, hare, and deer hides they had acquired in their hunts. "You know Mrs. Tunnely, the furrier, right?"
The Proudfoot nodded slowly. "Yes, I do business with her," he admitted and then began to examine the animal hides. "These were well skinned."
Dôranna gave the hobbit a beaming smile. "Thank you!" he paused a moment before speaking again, "What might we get for them?" he asked cheerfully, and after negotiating with the hobbit for a few minutes, Dôranna and Saeradan left the tanners with enough money to purchase fruits, vegetables, and other provisions. While the rangers could hunt, eating meat for every meal was not very healthy, and there wasn't always a guarantee they could forage enough roots and weeds to supplement their diets.
Humming, Dôranna led Saeradan off to one of the famer's markets as he wondered what they should buy and how to best spread those rations over the next several seasons. He supposed he might be able to get some ingredients and jars together to preserve some of the leftover produce. The blonde boy was drawn from his thoughts when he realized the ranger was no longer following him but speaking to a hobbit who was weeding a garden.
"Saeradan?" he called for the man's attention as he approached.
"Ah, Dôranna," he addressed the child in return before gesturing to the confused hobbit. "I was just asking this kind sir if we might take some of these weeds off his hands."
"I don' know why yee'd wan' these?" the nonplussed hobbit gestured to the small white flowering weeds.
"Oh! Kingsfoil, that's one of the plants Galasebdir collects," Dôranna chirped.
"Why'd anyone wan' to keep these useless weeds?" the hobbit asked with his face scrunched up.
As Dôranna was about to open his mouth to respond, Saeradan held up his hand and responded. "It's an herb we rangers use. If you're getting rid of these, might we take them off your hand? I'm sure Dôranna would even be willing to help you with the weeding," he offered much to the blonde's consternation.
"Oi!" Dôranna protested with his cheeks puffed out and his arms crossed over his chest.
The hobbit scratched the back of his head before shrugging. "I s'pose there's no harm in that," he replied and then began to hand the blonde boy the weeds he'd thus far collected.
Dôranna sent Saeradan a glare as he got to work, and the ranger just smiled before moving over to sit on a bench and whittle a piece of wood. He hated when the rangers did this—basically renting Dôranna out for manual labor!
Grousing under his breath, Dôranna set to work pulling the unwanted plants; however, the longer he had his hands in the dirt, the more at home he felt. He felt a smile pull at his lips and thought of the garden at Bag End and Samwise Gamgee teaching Dôranna about the different plants and how to tend them.
There was love and care in the dirt beneath his fingers. There was a love of all things growing that saturated the Shire. He felt the gentle thrumming energy like a calming presence and a warm embrace. Words came to him—they were different from the ones he'd speak in the Old Forest—and, in Hobbitish, he encouraged the plants to grow stronger and bloom more.
When Dôranna finished weeding the garden with the hobbit, he felt at ease. The hobbit turned to the blonde boy and had his head cocked to the side. "Ye aren' that human Frodo Baggins took in, are ye?" he asked quietly.
Dôranna flushed and nodded his head before ducking his chin to his chest. "Yes, my Papa took me in but I'm traveling with these rangers to learn about the bigfolk." He fidgeted slightly in place and the hobbit hummed.
"Is it true?" he asked, but before Dôranna could ask a clarifying question, the hobbit continued speaking. "Is there gold in there tunnels?" he asked, and Dôranna burst out laughing.
"I've searched all over Bag End with Fatty and Pippin, we've never found any gold!"
"That's a shame," the hobbit muttered before giving Dôranna a smile. "Well, thank ye for yer help," he said with a smile. Dôranna waved the thanks off and exchanged goodbyes as he collected up the Athelas.
Galasebdir had explained Kingsfoil had healing properties, so it made sense for the rangers to collect what they could for their various cuts. Of course, it didn't just help with physical ailments; the scent alone could raise one's spirits. Apparently, if Dôranna hadn't been able to lift the pall that had fallen over himself and his companions when visiting the Barrow Downs, Galasebdir would have set a pouch of Athelas beneath each of their noses to ease the oppressive malice.
As Saeradan and Dôranna finished up their business in Michel Delving, the blonde wondered if there was some inherent energy within the herbs. His curiosity eventually got the better of him, so he took out some of the Athelas he'd collected and closed his eyes as he pressed his fingers against the leaves and flowers. Saeradan set a hand on Dôranna's shoulder and began to steer him out of the town, which the blonde appreciated since his focus was on the plant between his fingers.
There was something to the plant, a comfort within it that was perhaps an energy? Or maybe it just had the potential to become energy? He'd have to explore this a bit more, but maybe he'd be able to heal with this or learn how to heal from it? The essence of this plant was good, was comforting, and felt like a balm. He could think of the words to describe this feeling and felt the energy sparking within him—it was changing to match the essence of the Athelas plant, the comfort and healing it could bring. He would just need to say the words and his energy would leave him and enter another. He knew this instinctively and wondered what Mr. Fox would say about it.
Dôranna came to his senses just as they were leaving the town and then his eyes widened. "Ah! I was supposed to send Papa a letter!" he cried and immediately spun on his heel to sprint back into town. Saeradan chuckled behind him.
"I'll wait here then!" he called after the blonde boy, and Dôranna couldn't help but pout at the ranger's clear amusement. Dôranna ought to switch out his tobacco for all his teasing! No, Papa would be disappointed in Dôranna if he did that, but still…it was tempting. Mean rangers!
…
September
Dôranna took a deep breath as he reached the road crossing and looked at the weathered signpost. East to Frogmorton, north to Bywater, then straight on to Hobbiton. He adjusted the straps of his pack and took the road to his left. He hadn't seen his father in nearly three years. Would he be much changed? Was Dôranna much changed?
Chewing his lip, Dôranna kept walking. The Shire was unchanged, but he had already known as much. It was a comfort to see the same stores and same hobbits diligently working; although it made it more clear how different he was from them. He grew faster than the hobbits his age and not just because of his height. He felt older, maybe even more mature than the hobbits he had tried to play with as a young child. He aged faster than hobbits, he'd always known that, but it just struck him more clearly as he walked these familiar roads and saw the people unchanged.
He passed the boisterous Green Dragon and supposed it was a little late to be arriving home, but the walk from the West Farthing had taken longer than he had thought since he didn't want to startle any hobbits by using his chakra to increase his speed. Oh well, surely Papa wouldn't mind?
The road began to climb up the Hill and soon the familiar shape of Bag End appeared. Sam was doing a wonderful job with the garden. The pink aster stood out sharply from the flourishing sedum and purple carpet of alyssum. Home, this was home!
He quickly opened the gate and walked up to the green circular door. He was maybe a foot taller than he had last been when he saw this door. He could even look through the small glass window built toward the top of the door. He swallowed thickly and rapped at the door before pulling on the doorbell's rope.
There had been a light on in the study and smoke had trailed up from the chimney, so Papa was home, but the minutes ticked by and left Dôranna feeling anxious. He knocked a little louder. "Papa!" he called as he reached for the bell's cord again; however, the blonde's keen ears picked up the overturning of a chair.
"Dôranna!" his papa gasped, likely from his study.
Dôranna brought his hand down and waited patiently at the door as he heard his father's footsteps quickly approach. The door swung open and Dôranna stared down at his papa who stared up at him in amazement.
"Dôranna!" the hobbit cried out in surprise. He looked torn between hugging him and hiding behind the door.
The ickiness of the energy around his father couldn't keep Dôranna back, his love and longing were too great. He missed his papa too dearly, so he launched himself at his father. The dark energy roiled and lashed out at him, but Dôranna gritted his teeth and held onto his papa harder.
"Papa!" he gasped against the hobbit's shoulder and buried his face against the soft material of his vest—even if it meant he had to kneel down.
Papa's arms encircled his neck and he held on tightly. "Oh! Dôranna, I've missed you so much!" he cried, and the blonde felt the hobbit's tears falling into his hair and onto the side of his whiskered cheek. "I was afraid you'd never visit again—that you were ashamed of me or—" Papa choked on his words.
"Never, Papa! Never!" Dôranna insisted and held on more tightly despite the wild skittering of the dark, corrupting energy. It didn't like Dôranna, it tried to lash out, to push him away, but the blonde refused to let it keep him away.
"I've missed you so much," he whispered against his father's vest before the tears came. His papa was smoothing his hair and repeating how much he had missed the boy.
After a long moment, long enough for Dôranna's knees to start hurting, they separated and gave each other watery smiles. "Well, come in!" Papa said with a gesture to the sitting room. "You need to tell me all about your time with the rangers!"
Dôranna chuckled and nodded as he hurried to his favorite stuffed chair. Papa closed the door and entered the sitting room. "Have you had dinner? What about supper?"
"It's a few hours yet until supper, isn't it?" Dôranna asked as his papa became a flurry of movement. The hobbit had set a kettle over the fire and had begun to prepare a plate of breads and cheeses for Dôranna. The blonde couldn't help but laugh into his hands at the sight. He had forgotten about all the extra meals.
"You're too thin, and you've gotten so tall!" Papa exclaimed with a shake of his head as he handed over the plate of bread and cheese.
"Really?! I've felt so short these last few years!" Dôranna said around a mouthful of cheese. Oh! He'd missed this! "Is this from the Cotton farm?" he asked after swallowing. They had the best dairy cows.
"Of course!" Papa replied like he was almost offended.
"It's so good!" Dôranna said with tears in his eyes. "I haven't had cheese in so long! And bread with butter!" he sighed longingly as he took a bite of the bread. This was definitely made by Clematis Boffin.
"Were they not feeding you!?" Papa asked alarmed and he looked like he was about to march off to the Seasonal Meeting to tell the rangers off.
Dôranna laughed into his hands and shook his head. "Of course they fed me, Papa!" He had to stifle another laugh at his father's responding look. "We just normally ate stews or dried meats with different foraged fruits and vegetables," he explained. "Sometimes, we'd go into town to trade animal furs so we could buy some of the different harvests, but they don't keep very long and we weren't always close to a village, you see?"
Papa sighed and nodded his head as he finally sat down and stopped fussing over the blonde. "I suppose that does make it difficult to have cheese and bread, but you would think they'd last a good while."
"Of course, but they were also more expensive," Dôranna explained.
"That is a shame," Papa conceded before he just looked at Dôranna and smiled. The blonde was in the middle of stuffing his face but slowed down and raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"I'm just so happy to have you home," the hobbit whispered with tears threatening to gather in his eyes. "My little boy's home."
Dôranna ducked his head as he swallowed and smiled. "Yeah, I am, and I think I can help with that bad energy finally," he whispered in return. When he looked back up, his papa had his brow furrowed and his lips drawn into a frown.
"You tried to explain it, but what did you mean about a…an icky energy," he used the dream language for the last bit since that was the language Dôranna had described it in.
Dôranna set aside the now empty plate and regarded his papa seriously, but before he could answer the question, the kettle began whistling. The hobbit got off his chair and began to prepare two cups of tea. The human child followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
"I feel it when I'm near you, Papa," Dôranna explained once the hobbit sat down across from him at the table. Before the hobbit could ask a clarifying question, the blonde hurried on. "It shrouds you like a cloak in this…this malicious energy. I've felt something similar in the Barrow Downs but this…" he gestured to his papa's person (specifically his vest pocket). "This is more potent than those wights."
"Wights!?" Papa exclaimed. "You were only supposed to encounter wolves!" The hobbit's eyes were rapidly scanning over Dôranna's person for injuries.
"I didn't fight them, Papa," Dôranna said with a sigh. The concern came from a good place, but it was a little insulting. "I wanted to try and disrupt a corrupting influence, a foul energy. The wights were the closest and safest option. I went during the day with three other rangers, and, yes, we felt a wight trying to influence us, but it didn't leave its barrow."
Papa was not reassured by Dôranna's words, though he did not interrupt him, so the blonde continued. "I could feel the darkness…the malice and the corruption in its energy. It wanted to rob us of our will to move, it wanted to keep us there and make us as miserable as it was. But when I found the energy and learned what it was, I was able to make it leave us alone. After that, we were able to get the medicinal herbs from the graves and leave without being bothered any further."
Papa was frowning down into his teacup. "I don't like that you put yourself in danger," he stated before looking up at Dôranna and smiling slightly, "but I am proud of you."
The blonde ducked his head and flushed at the compliment. "Thank you, Papa."
Papa smiled a little broader for a beat before his expression dropped. "I suppose you've come home because you can remove this…foul energy's influence from me?" There was a sort of skepticism to his Papa's words.
"Papa, it exists," Dôranna insisted, and his father just gave him a weary smile. The blonde huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "It does!" he repeated. "It was lashing out at me, trying to make me let go of you when we hugged just before."
Papa reared back at this. "Were you hurt?" he asked quickly and looked about to reach out but thought better of it.
Dôranna bit his lip as he tried to explain what he felt. "I think it wanted to, but it couldn't because…well, I'm not sure." The blonde gave a sheepish smile as he shrugged. "I'll have to ask Mr. Fox tonight, but I think we have more energy than it does, or maybe it's because our energy is from a different world?" Dôranna pursed his lips in thought and rubbed his chin before shaking those distracting thoughts away.
"All I know," Dôranna began again, "is that it feels wrong and its uncomfortable to be around it. I'm not sure if it can physically hurt me but it doesn't feel good."
"And you believe this foul energy is harming me?" Papa asked quietly.
Dôranna nodded. "Yes, Papa. Again, the harm might not be physical, but it is harming you. I think it digs into people like the wights do, and maybe it's not trying to make you afraid like the wights do, but it is doing something. It's dark, Papa, foul and corrupt. There's…a greed to it, I think," Dôranna frowned and cocked his head to the side as he tried to explain what the energy felt like.
Papa's hand was in his pocket again and Dôranna could tell he was fingering something. The blonde took this lull in the conversation to really look at his Papa. He looked the same as he always did, but that was strange, wasn't it? His Papa was turning forty-nine tomorrow, he should have more laugh lines and crows' feet. He should look older; not like he was just out of his tweens.
The dúnedain aged slowly, and hobbits aged slower than humans, but it was like time did not affect his papa.
Papa sipped at his remaining tea and set it aside before giving Dôranna a small smile. "Well, shall we try removing its influence then?" he asked, and the blonde could tell his father was indulging him.
Dôranna nodded firmly and finished his own tea before moving to sit beside his papa. He then set his hands on either side of his father's head. He hissed slightly as the foul energy snapped at him—it didn't hurt per say, but it didn't feel good. Papa called his name worriedly, but Dôranna shook his head and closed his eyes as he concentrated.
He felt the tendrils of its foul energy, the oppressive darkness of it. There was desire, greed, ambition, a thirst for power. That was what the energy felt like, and it tried to coax those feelings out of Papa too. It didn't like Dôranna, or the love Papa had for Merry, Pippin, Bilbo, Folco, Fredegar, Dôranna, Gandalf... It wanted Papa to isolate, to rely solely on it. I am all you need, it seemed to say. It made Dôranna's stomach twist.
It curled around Papa's form and sunk into his skin like water into dirt. It sparked against his own energy and the blonde could imagine it hissing at him each time it did so. It wanted to seep into Dôranna too, but it couldn't. It was hard to concentrate on it between the skin crawling feel of it and its constant moving.
"Begone," he whispered in old elvish but nothing happened. The foul energy felt like it was laughing at the attempt—it seemed like the energy within Dôranna did not react to the word. "Begone," he said more forcefully but, again, his energy did not react.
"Dôranna," Papa called his name in mixed parts worry, confusion, and amusement.
The blonde shook his head. Something was wrong…no something was different. Perhaps the wights felt corrupting and malicious like this energy, but this energy was far more potent and had a different source. Where was its source? Yes, it was centralized around Papa's vest pocket, but that wasn't the source. Just like how the very Barrow Downs held energy, the source of that foul corruption was not from the Barrows but from the wights in those mounds.
"Dôranna, you're becoming pale." Papa's voice was filled with worry now.
Dôranna retracted his hands and opened his eyes. His vision spotted out and his head spun for a moment. He started to topple forward but quickly caught himself against the table while his papa called his name even louder and set his hands against his shoulders to steady him.
"Whoa," Dôranna breathed. His vision cleared after a moment. He realized he was tired and there was a cold sweat at the nape of his neck. Papa was giving him that scared and concerned look again that always made Dôranna feel bad.
Papa brushed back some of Dôranna's hair and frowned more. The blonde forced a smile. "I'm fine, Papa. It just took more out of me than I thought it would!"
Papa pursed his lips in displeasure. "You feel cold and a little clammy too," he pointed out.
The blonde rubbed the back of his neck where the cold sweat had gathered. "Is that so?" he asked with a laugh.
"Dôranna," Papa said sternly, and the blonde sighed as he dropped his head forward. The hobbit could always tell when Dôranna was lying or at the very least omitting something.
"I won't push so hard tomorrow," the boy promised.
"You won't be trying tomorrow," Papa countered, and the boy pouted.
"What?! No fair!"
"You said you could do this, and it's clear you can't," Papa pointed out, which stung. "I don't want you fainting or hurting yourself," he added as he set his hand on Dôranna's shoulder.
Dôranna flinched at the foul energy's spark against his energy. Papa pulled his hand back quickly and looked down at it pained. It made the boy set his jaw in determination. "I need to do this, Papa! It's hurting you and trying to hurt me. I have to do something—I just need to find the right words. Words that the energy will respond to."
Papa sighed sadly but then nodded his head. "Are you going to be leaving again?" he asked quietly, and Dôranna frowned.
"It's your birthday tomorrow, and I promised I wouldn't miss it!"
Papa laughed and gave Dôranna a fond look. "Of course. Then how long will you be staying?"
The boy hummed in thought and began tapping his chin. "I was hoping to stay until you kicked me out," he said a little teasingly before frowning, "but maybe I need to do more training if I can't figure this out?"
Papa frowned but nodded understandingly. "So, a week then," Papa said with a disappointed sigh.
Dôranna screwed up his face in confusion. "What?! No, I'm staying through my birthday of course!"
Papa began laughing heartily and brushed back some more of Dôranna's hair. "I am happy to hear that!"
The boy soaked in his father's warmth and love, but all the while that energy lurked and zapped at his own energy. It made it hard to relax and it left Dôranna's stomach in knots. He needed to help his father. He had to. "I'll figure this out," he vowed quietly before he began helping his father prepare supper.
He gasped suddenly, and Papa turned to look at him inquisitively. "I haven't had seven square meals a day in years!" the blonde boy explained, and his papa's eyes widened.
"Well that just won't do!" he exclaimed and then began bustling around the kitchen. "We'll need to fix that right away!"
Ah! Dôranna has missed this so much! Life in the Shire was perfect.
TBC
A/N: To clarify, Naruto does not have wood release, this is just how Middle Earth magic reacts to him. Could this eventually lead to him developing it though? Maybe, I could see a way it might mutate his chakra but at the same time…Naruto world laws and Middle Earth laws are different. Hopefully I have successfully Tolkien-ified Naruto enough. Expect an update June 1st. Much love ~ depressedchildren