By: Dana
Summary: Folco attempts to jolly Freddy from his mood.
Characters: Freddy Bolger, Folco Boffin, Estella Bolger, Diamond North-took, Ruby Boffin
Pairings: The story itself is rather gennish, but there is Estella/Diamond (because of the series)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Gennish
Author's Notes: This follows after Those Who Wander. In this story, more things happen at Budgeford.
I would like to thank dreamflower02 for the beta on this. ♥
Series Index: Roads Go On and Years Go By.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

Afteryule, SR 1420

'Where've the Captains gone?' Freddy asks, with only half his heart. His face is weary, too thin, and if Folco's heart hadn't already broken, then it would surely now break in his chest.

But Folco smiles, as if to cast that pain away, and he leans back in the broad-back chair, casting his hands to the end of the arms. 'They're off to Bywater – and there by now, I'm guessing. They meant to check on Frodo, and Bag End – I'd have thought they'd told you, though, before they left.'

'Oh,' Freddy blinks, then shrugs. A ghost's grin sits on his lips. 'Well, they did. It seems it's been a long day, Folco – or perhaps, instead, it's been a very long week. That must have slipped my mind.' Then, quietly, he says. 'How long has it been?'

'Two days now,' Folco says, quietly. 'Ruby and I made acquaintance with them in Whitfurrows – but they were set on riding west, and we hadn't yet made it to Budge Hall.' Then, he adds: 'Now, you needn't worry yourself overmuch, Freddy.' Folco sits forward – and then he stands. He can't keep still. Freddy watches him, his expression almost amused.

'Can't you sit still?'

'No,' Folco says, laughing. 'No, I can't.' He goes to the end of the bed, plops down there. 'We ought to get you out of bed.' It's been months now. You're eating, and you should be yourself, but you don't seem to be yourself. But Folco doesn't say that, only grins (a grin that then turns to a smile). When first he came to look in on Freddy, he found his friend caught in a terrible terror – the memory of smoke in his eyes, and in his lungs, and it was so striking that memory fell upon Folco, too. They'd have taken Folco, too, if they'd not already thought him dead. He thinks of that, now, but then Folco lets that memory go, and looks up, as Freddy shakes his head. He's pulled his legs up, and the cover with it, and he looks almost like the shadow of a child, bundled against winter's cold.

'No, I'd rather not,' he says, as if he has contented himself to live his life like this, scarred and frightened, broken and half himself. Folco's heart swells, with love and steel. If Freddy thinks that Folco will allow this, then Freddy need be proven wrong. Sure enough, Freddy was the one to first put boldness forward – Folco would not have ever thought standing against Lotho, or any of the Men he had brought to the Shire. He remembers saying, at first, that enough was surely enough, but they needn't go further than that. Still, when Freddy had chosen his road, Folco had taken the same as his own.

Up again, then, Folco rounds to the bedroom window, and throws open the drapes, letting in the light of day. 'It's a lovely day out, Freddy, he says, 'you should see the trees, and the flowers all blooming. There's to be a party, though I don't think there's much reason for one, now – but Uncle thinks it best. He must think all days are worth celebrating, now we've come to light.'

'Perhaps,' Freddy says, voice withdrawn. Folco lets loose his hold on the drapes, turns, frowns down at the picture before him. Months now, and Freddy's not himself – and Folco can't know how Freddy suffered, other to know that he was beaten, that he was starved. Freddy was an open passage, before, but now he seems a heavy oaken door, like from out of Buckland, bolted and locked.

For a moment, Folco thinks Freddy must be looking at him – but he's not, out the window, instead. He lets out a small breath, hands tightening on the cover, and he bends his head. 'It's too much,' he says, and doesn't look up, shaking a little as he breathes. He doesn't cry for himself, though he often cries for Rosemary – those nightmares might just shock him more than those others. Folco has his own nightmares, different but the same. And sometimes, he dreams that he has burned alive.

He wants Freddy to need him, but he will not force himself upon his friend – and Freddy does not wish to talk, or think, or act, but Folco has not yet lost his hope.

'I'll leave you to your rest,' he says. He goes to Freddy's bedside, bends his head, and kisses the dark crown of Freddy's head. 'I love you, you daft Bolger – don't forget that, please.' But Freddy doesn't answer him, nor does he move his hand to cover Folco's. Folco sighs, breathes in the heat of Freddy's sorrow, then stands.

He never expected to walk the road he has, nor to come here, of all places – for all that Budge Hall is like a second home, and Freddy brother more than cousin and best friend, he now feels out of place, as if Freddy is using his silence to push him away.

'Mum blames you, I think,' Freddy says, sounding thoughtful. 'But she might as well blame the day for being long, or Frodo, and Merry and Pippin, for having gone off at the start.' Then he looks at an indeterminable point, somewhere on the far wall, and it takes Folco a moment to recover himself, before he finds his reply.

'But she does,' Folco says. 'That's what Estella's told me, anyhow.'

'Oh.' Freddy blinks, then turns his head, and focuses once more on Folco. 'Well, I hadn't known that. There's no good in it – the next she comes to sit with me, I'll let her know there's no good in that.'

Folco supposes there's no good in telling Freddy that he sounds cracked, repeating himself as he is. 'Estella and Diamond think they might come and sit with us at luncheon, with Ruby, too,' Folco says. 'At the gazebo, in the garden. How does that sound?'

'Diamond's rather lovely,' Freddy says, instead. 'I knew her brother. But I think he's now dead.'

'He is – he is.' Folco's repeating himself, too – perhaps he's cracked, just the same. But Diamond's told him her story, and she'd smiled some, even as she'd wept. 'And Diamond is very lovely – I think Estella might be sweet on her.' It's only been months. 'Ah, what do you think?'

'I suppose I'll never have my chance with her, then,' Freddy says, false cheer in his voice – but he smiles, so Folco smiles back at him. But he knows that Freddy hasn't answered him, not what he'd asked. 'As for luncheon...' He falls quiet, then turns to look at the wall, and the window, and what lies beyond. 'That does sound nice. Just as long as mother keeps her distance – I don't think I know what to think, her thinking that this is all your fault, or Merry's, or Frodo's, or Pippin's. I shall have a talk with her, the next she comes to sit with me.' He falls into thoughtful silence, once more, then adds: 'She needs to know, there's no good in that.'

Then Freddy studies his hands, turning them over, flexing his fingers, slowly. The scars will fade, and even the worst of the bruises have faded to time – and Freddy might have broken some, but he's not broken fully. That he sits here, now, gives Folco proof of that.

Still, he thinks, as if it were all his fault, I should have watched better, and been a better cousin. I shouldn't have let him be taken. He shouldn't have suffered, not least of all alone.

Estella had thought that Folco might rouse Freddy from his sorrows – but he hasn't done a good job of that. Now Freddy is looking at him, his gaze so sharp and clear he might as well be privy to Folco's most private, and inner, thoughts – as if he could read Folco's mind.

So Folco says, 'Come now – I'll get you settled in the garden, and then I'll see that Estella knows our luncheon date is on. How does that sound?'

Freddy looks at him, focuses his gaze, then nods. 'I'll go. But I needn't be settled, as if a small child–' And he rises, faltering some when he has his legs beneath him – but Folco catches him, and Freddy's expression fades from sharp, to clear, to soft. 'Thank you. It does all seem like too much. And I'm not quite the hobbit I once was. I think Estella and mother would keep me for ever abed, eating nine meals a day – I'm not quite in such need as they think.'

He seems roused now, awake, himself, not the shadow of a hobbit half-mad. And he grins at Folco, and leans on him to walk, and chatters cheerfully, and truly seems himself.

And Folco hadn't thought he'd done a good job at it, at rousing Freddy from his sorrows – but perhaps he has, though not in any fashion that he can be aware. Was it something he'd said? He can't recall.

Luncheon is bright and cheerful, out in the garden, underneath the gazebo. All around them, spring is in bloom, a riot of such colours and scent. Freddy, in a good cheer now, tells tales of his rebelling days, as if it weren't his rebelling days that had left him a shell of himself, skin and bones only where a hobbit had once been. Estella smiles when Freddy does, and blushes pale-rose at each compliment brother and sister pay her, and Ruby tells them it's time for afters, fresh berries and sweet cream, and smiles broad as Freddy eats his fill.

Luncheon had been bright and cheerful, and Freddy complained (but his tone had been cheerful) that it wasn't fair, all four of them making sure he fully cleared each of his plates. Ruby has the last on that, saying it's not right, him not growing back into himself – 'it's a new day, and a new year, and we ought to keep that in mind. It's time to walk in light.'

Then she says something, else, but low, so only Freddy hears it – and he grins, looking up, and Ruby smiles back at him, her shorter fingers brushing over the back of his hand. 'You've such stories, Fatty,' she says, and her tone is sharp, as ever. 'You should write them down, I think, and put them in a book.'

He shrugs, but doesn't say that it's a bad idea – instead, he looks thoughtful. 'Come now,' Folco says. 'We've had our luncheon, and our pipes. Freddy here must want to return to his bed, now, and waste away the day!'

'No,' Freddy says, looking sideways at Ruby, gaze skittering over Estella as he turns to look at Folco. 'No – I think, if you're willing, we might go out for a ride.'

That surprises Folco – he shuts his mouth, nods, says, 'I'm willing, I'm willing – how far shall we go?' He feels they must indeed stand in a new day, and more than that, the door is opening, and Freddy is welcoming him in.

'As far as we might,' Freddy says, then picks himself up. 'Come now, Freddy – ah, Estella, thank you, thank you, for such a lovely meal. I think there's not a part of me that hasn't been stuffed with food.' He kisses his sister's cheek, then Diamond's, and Ruby's, too. Still, as Freddy and Folco put the garden behind them, heading back into the Hall, Folco feels that a storm must be brewing, for all the skies above are clear.

They go for the stables – Folco lets Freddy lead the way. He looks mussed, and somewhat shadowed, but he smiles at servants and relations, all the same, and a number of them greet him as brave Captain Freddy, which only makes him shakes his head and grin.

Panders, the stablehobbit, insists on readying their ponies both himself, and so Freddy and Folco stand back, waiting. Folco leans against the wall, crosses his arms, and grins sideways at Freddy. 'You're enjoying this,' he says. 'You're as much a brat as Estella ever was.'

Freddy looks insulted, even as he grins. 'Estella's twice as much a brat as I ever was, Folco – and you should know that well enough. And I'm not enjoying this – not at all. To suggest as much would be a terrible thing.'

'Well then, perhaps you're not so bad as Estella, but at least half-bad as Pippin – you need to be careful, Freddy! I'd not want you growing an over-large head.'

Freddy laughs at that, rubs his eyes. 'I don't think it possible, Folco, that I could grow so big a head as Pippin – did you notice how very tall he was? And Merry, too?'

He had, in fact, and he nods, telling Freddy that.

Still, Freddy grins, thanks Panders for his help, but accepts no other help. He mounts Snap on his own, looking a breath winded once he has. He grips the reins, tight, and Folco reaches for his leg, not to steady him, but just to offer that support. Freddy looks down at him, nods, then straightens himself, and Folco pulls his hand away. 'Come along, Folco – I'll be halfway to Whitfurrows before you even get your mount.'

Freddy of course doesn't make it that far – Whitfurrows is several miles down the road, after all, and Freddy's taken Snap at a canter. He's ridden across the front courtyard, down the front lane, following the turn that takes him to the main lane, which cuts through Budgeford, north and south. 'Whitfurrows, eh?' Folco says, but Freddy shakes his head.

'I feel the need to run,' he says, whistles sharp and gives his reins a light snap. Snap tosses his mane, then turns his head west, as Freddy presses with his heels. Folco does the same, and he and Bumble follow Freddy off the road, cutting across the field, until the grass grows tall.

The farming land's to the north – the wedge of land between Whitfurrows and Budgeford is empty space, the fields tall and green, the sky overhead endless, blue. Freddy looks sideways at Folco, grins, then gives a sharper whistle, another snap, and then Snap takes off at a gallop – and Folco and Bumble are pressed to keep up.

Freddy turns north and west, sharply, and they end up riding along the course of The Water, until the river-course spreads wide into the lake, and then they follow along the length of that, for some miles more. They stop, but only for a short rest, and sit on the south bank, looking out over the water. The day is The sun is slanting, but it's only mid-afternoon. Out of that quiet, Freddy speaks up, saying, 'I don't want you blaming yourself, Folco – not for this.'

Folco startles, looks at Freddy, eyes wide. 'How did–'

'Because I know you too well,' Freddy answers him, laughing as he does. Then he smiles, and his smile is sad, stretching slowly. 'As well as you know me. I won't have you blaming yourself, Folco, or wishing it might have happened otherwise... I can't say I enjoyed my stay in the Lockholes, but if you have suffered that, as well... now, I couldn't have born that.'

'Freddy, I–'

'I know what you'll say – that you should have done a better job as cousin, as friend, and kept me from getting into such a pinch. But the truth is, Folco, is that I'm full come of age, and I made those choices on my own.' Then he smiles once more, and shakes his head. He reaches out, brushes his fingers over the scar on Folco's brow, out doesn't say a thing. Folco reaches for Freddy's hand, presses it tight, then bends his head over it.

'If what you're saying,' he says slowly, as evenly as he can, 'is that both of us failed in keeping the other safe, well, I think we need agree to disagree, at least this once.'

And Freddy laughs, merry as spring. 'Oh, get out, you fool.' Folco looks up, grinning, and Freddy's smiling at him. 'And don't go getting your smallclothes in a twist, but I love you too.'

Folco grins, reaches over, snags a handful of Freddy's hair, and keeps hold of him – and he kisses him, half like a cousin, and they're both laughing as Freddy pulls back. 'Come now – what did you say about the Floating Log?'

'I haven't said anything about the Floating Log,' Folco replies. 'But, now that you mention its name, I do believe I heard they're open again, and available, them and their very good beer.'

'Well then, we aren't yet finished with our ride!' Freddy says, cheerfully. He rises, and Folco shakes his head, grinning, before he follows.

And so they don't return to Budgeford until late supper, but are welcomed back, anyhow – Rosamunda looks half-relieved, though she's smiling like she hasn't in a year. 'Oh, lads, it's good to have you back – I'll have cook bring you something, if you're set to retire to Freddy's room.'

'No, mother,' Freddy says. 'We'll take our meal in the west dining room, I think,' and Rosamunda nods, half-embracing her son, and then kissing his cheek. She looks sideways at Folco, frowns, and Freddy puts a hand on her shoulder – when she looks at him, he frowns, and shakes his head.

So Rosamunda turns her head, exhales, frowns softly, but then she smiles. 'I am glad my son has you, Folco,' she says, and Folco thinks she means it. 'I'd not want him to be alone, not now – and finally, someone has managed to cheer him from his mood.'

Freddy's smile falters, for a moment, and Folco sees, though Rosamunda doesn't. There are chips in this mask he wears, but he redoubles his effort, and smiles wider. 'Mother,' he says, 'I think poor Folco's about to waste away,' and then she hurries them both off, getting them seated in the west dining room. She leaves them there, kisses Freddy's cheek once more, and then they are left in each other's company.

Freddy pokes rather dispassionately at his food, pushing it about his plate – but only for the first five minutes. He begins eating, then, though hardly with what one would call enthusiasm. But he talks around his bites, smiles and laughs and finds other tales to tell, and Folco almost feels like this is normal, like this is right.

The morning after, Folco is heading down a corridor, when he hears Estella's voice, the pitch of it piercing, high. 'And don't you think you fit,' she snaps, with such venom, and heat, that it could likely set flame to empty air. 'You aren't... you aren't Rosemary, and I won't thinking that you are.'

'Ella–' Diamond's voice carries, in protest.

'Estella, I don't–'

'Don't look at me like that, Ruby Boffin – I know what you mean to do, and who you mean to steal. He isn't yours, and you won't fit – and I think it might be best if you leave!'

Folco's known Estella all her life, and while he's heard her shout, he's never heard her do so with such heat – she comes out, like a storm (and Folco realises, yes, the storm has come) – and stops dead, shocked and pale, when she sees Folco standing there. She trips over her words, stuttering, and Diamond comes out, pale and worried. 'Oh, Ella, please–' but then Estella hurries off, and Diamond spares one glance at Folco, frowning (and her frown somehow seems to speak more than words alone), and then following after Estella, at a fast pace.

Folco blinks, the heat fading to a clammy chill, and then he rounds the corner, goes in through the open door, and finds himself in one of the little parlours. His sister is standing there, her expression stuck, frozen, like stone – utter dismay.

'Ruby-bright, what's happened?' he asks, going to her, taking her hands – her arms had hung so limply, and her hands seem to have taken a chill.

Ruby blinks, then looks at him, startled at first but then recognizing. 'We were all sitting, and talking – I only suggested I might see to Fatty's breakfast, myself. Estella didn't say a thing, at first, and then her teacup rattled, from atop its little plate – she was shaking so hard, I...' Ruby blinks, eyes fit to overflow. 'I didn't mean a thing by it, Folco – I'm Fatty's friend too, aren't I? I'd always thought I was.'

He's tried to rub warmth back into her hands – tears trickle down her cheeks, and he pulls Ruby tight, close, letting her rest her forehead against his shoulder. 'We all might have gone, together – but she acts as if I wish to trod on Rosemary's memory, Folco, as if I... I wouldn't hurt Fatty, or Estella, not for anything.' And she says nothing more, gripping his arms, holding herself so tightly (and likely biting her lip to keep from sobbing), that she shakes, and whimpers, then lets his arms go.

'I'm quite alright,' she mutters, pulling away – he frowns, and she rubs her cheeks, then smiles. 'I'll speak with Estella – no doubt, she didn't mean to...' But she looks young, small, her face pale and her eyes red, and high colour in her cheeks. 'She didn't mean to,' she repeats, and Folco nods.

'Come,' he says, and reaches for her hand. 'I was going to see to Freddy's second breakfast, so you might as well join me, and help carry the trays.' She grins at that, blinks away the last of her tears and so, then, they go from the room.

The light had been low – it wasn't late at night, but close at dawn, instead, and everything was faded, grey. Folco woke, smoke in his eyes, in his lungs – he remembers, well, lurching forward, half-dark, stumbling, burning, looking for Freddy, for anyone, but they were all gone –

No, that wasn't how it had been – Freddy had been there, had shouted at him, and Folco had stumbled down a path, shouting. The Men had come, were smoking them out, and there was no way out but forward, and he'd not die here, not burning in the dark.

He heard another shout, and something hard smacked into his head – and his head knocked back, and he heard another crack, as he stumbled, his head striking stone. And he fell, sinking, into darkness, and he burned there, died, and he heard Freddy's screaming, and for all he knew it a dream, nothing more than that, a nightmare, his own memories twisted to pain, it felt so real, so real, that he woke, weeping, gasping for breath.

'Shh, shh,' Freddy whispers, pulls him close – Folco blinks, blinks again, and Freddy rocks him against his chest, his arms long and thin, but holding tight, tight like a band. 'Shh, shh, it's over now, Folco, it's nothing but a dream.'

Still, Folco gasps for breath, holding on to Freddy, thinking that he might be a dream, too. 'You're real,' he gasps, voice gone hoarse, and he weeps anew, shaking as he does, holding Freddy tight. But he doesn't say, I'm sorry, and Freddy only holds him, soothes him, until Folco's too tired to weep anymore – and anyhow, his tears are all gone.

He thinks he feels better, for crying it out – and he tells Freddy as such, and Freddy chuckles, presses a kiss into the line of Folco's curls. 'I woke, when you cried – you'd fallen asleep in the chair, again, and I thought you'd fall out of it. I caught you, thought – I've got you, now.'

Folco nods, and then, his voice shaking even though he'd rather it not, he tells Freddy about his dream. 'It's not always the same,' he says. 'I dream of burning, but that didn't happen, not when they came. No, I might have died there, if Til and Andy hadn't found me, hadn't dragged me out – but they Men had taken what they wanted, were gone already. And I–'

'Folco–'

'I'd failed you. I thought it might have been better, if I had died, but Til and Andy needed someone to help keep them together – they'd been out, when it happened, and they came back... well, they needed someone, to keep them together, and I needed something, to keep me from falling apart. I led, because you couldn't – you thought you owed it, to Frodo, and I thought I owed that, to you.' He shakes then, shuts his eyes, shakes his head. 'It gave me something to do. But I wasn't as good a leader as you were, Freddy, though I tried – and I couldn't save you, for there was only one way into the Lockholes, and no way out.'

'Oh, Folco, Folco lad,' Freddy says, pulling Folco up more closely, if that is even possible. 'I thought a number of things, as they dragged us off – they...' He doesn't say more, then, and Folco understands, he does, what it is like, being unable to speak. 'I was happy, in a way, that you hadn't been taken. I was terrified, of course, for I hadn't ever thought I might be caught – but I was happy, too, knowing you were free. Oh, Folco – it would have broken me, if they'd got you, too.'

'But Freddy, I–'

'Shh, shh,' Freddy soothes, again. 'You're my best friend, you dear fool, and I love you more than I can say. But I said it before, and I meant it then as I mean it now, but I could not have born it, Folco, if they had taken you – if they'd beat you, thinking it might make me talk. And they... they would have found some way to hurt you, Folco, that would have made me talk.'

'Where does that leave us, then?' Folco asks, softly – and Freddy sighs, then laughs, sounding tired, worn.

'We might as well get in bed. I don't know about you, but the night's long enough when you're only sleeping, but longer still when you're wide awake.' Freddy grins at that, and Folco grins back at him, for all the dream still feels real, and there is some part of them that can still hear, no, feel, Freddy's screams.

But he can't think on that, and he won't – it's dark enough, already, without thinking too long on dark things.

So they get in bed, together, as they might have when they were younger – and Freddy drops off, like a weight, and Folco, as if another weight has been lifted, follows in short order.