Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

As I said, this was my first fanfic, so it's definitely not my best work. It is the prequel to my WIP, "Always a Silver Lining" (which I will be posting shortly), but it could stand alone, I suppose. Feedback is very much appreciated! :)

It was a clear Spring day in the Shire, and the golden sun shone down upon three small figures making their way through a field of wheat that was nearly over their heads. The smallest hobbit (for that is what they were) appeared to be bouncing rather than walking, and he was far ahead of the other two, who seemed to be in a quiet conversation together, punctuated every so often by soft laughter.

Presently, the oldest stopped and shaded his eyes to see the smallest hobbit still hopping far ahead. "Merry!" he called frustratedly. "Slow down! Uncle Bilbo told us not to get seperated."

The distant figure halted, his hands on his hips and the sun turning his curly hair as gold as the field he was in. "Frodo," he complained as the other two neared, "would you quite worrying about me? We’re scarcely out of Hobbiton! What could possibly happen?"

They continued on their journey until they reached a small green meadow near a clear stream and surrounded on three sides by trees. Frodo decided that they would make their camp here, so while Merry went to explore the stream, the older lads dropped their packs (Merry had given his to Frodo when he got tired of carrying it). Frodo lay down on his back, clasping both hands behind his head, and watched the clouds with his companion. "Look, Sam," he said, pointing, "doesn’t that one look like Smaug? See, there are his wings and there’s the fire coming out of his mouth."

The younger boy settled down next to him and looked where Frodo pointed. "It surely does, Mr. Frodo!" he agreed, grinning. "Oh, look at that one! It looks kind of, maybe, like an Elf!"

Frodo shaded his eyes with one hand and sought to find the Elf-shaped cloud. "Ohh, there it is! You're right Sam; there’s his head and the bow in his hand...and oh, look! There’s Bilbo beside him!"

Both lads laughed and Sam started to point out another interesting cloud when they heard an excited shout from the stream. They jumped to their feet and rushed down to the water. "What is it, Merry?" asked Frodo in alarm. The creek zig-zagged ahead of them, so they could not see the youngest hobbit as they splashed towards him.

Frodo sped past Sam and rounded the corner where he saw Merry near the shore, soaking wet and muddy, struggling to keep hold of an enormous fish in his hands. Frodo laughed and ran over to help him while Sam stood back a bit and watched. The water was deeper there, up to his chest and Frodo’s waist, and he didn't want to get in any deeper than his knees.

Both Merry and Frodo were laughing so hard that they could barely keep ahold of the fish, which was nearly as tall as Merry himself. Frodo got dunked into the water once and Merry slipped in himself trying to help him up with one hand. In the process of trying to get up, the fish squirmed free of their hands and quickly disappeared downstream.

"Aww!" Merry complained, sitting down in the shallows with a dejected plop. Frodo laughed again and filling his cupped hands with water, he suddenly splashed his cousin in the face. So began a noisy water-fight.

Sam backed up a bit so as not to get splashed, and laughed at the two lads wrestling playfully with each other. But his laughter quickly turned into a gasp as he saw something thin and black swimming towards them. "Mr. Frodo!" he shouted. "Mr. Merry! Look out, a snake's swimmin’ your way!"

Merry had just dunked his cousin underwater and looked up, perched on Frodo’s chest. "Oh don't be such a ninny, Sam! It's just a sti—" He broke off with a yelp of fright, and grabbed Frodo's shoulders, pulling him up out of the water. "Frodo! A snake!"

Frodo shook the dripping dark curls from his eyes and looked over where Merry was pointing. His eyes widened and he quickly sprang into action. "Merry, out of the water, quick!" he ordered. Merry jumped up to obey his cousin. "Sam, go back to the other side!" Sam was already hastening to the shore and was quickly out.

Frodo stepped backwards toward the shore, keeping his eyes on the snake, which was fearfully trying to avoid the enormous splashes the boys were making. He knew that the snake would not hurt him as long as he left it alone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merry, still in the creek, splashing about frantically. He turned to his cousin and his eyes widened in fear as he saw Merry's head go under water as if pulled.

"Merry!" Without a second thought, Frodo took a deep breath and plunged into the deeper water.

It was a good thing Frodo had grown up in Buckland—therefore being a good swimmer—for the water was much deeper here. He swam strongly against the current, and saw ahead of him sand being stirred up. His eyes widened as he saw Merry struggling frantically to get free of something wrapped around his ankle.

Frodo swam through the sand floating thickly around him and grabbed Merry’s hand. His cousin looked up at him with blue-grey eyes wide with fear, and struggled harder as Frodo pulled with all his might. But the creature would not release the hobbit-boy. It tugged back sharply, pulling them both down deeper.

Frodo let go of Merry’s hand and swam down to the bottom. As the sand shifted, he was finally able to see the creature that held his cousin. Had he not been under water, he would have gasped in horror. The beast was eel-like, with reptilian scales and round, black-slitted red eyes. It was even larger than the fish Merry had caught earlier; probably twice Merry’s size and thicker than Frodo’s fist.

Frodo desperately drew his small, Elven-carved pocketknife and drove it into the scaly hide of the creature, which gave a hiss of pain and recoiled, letting go of its prey. It opened its mouth and snapped at Frodo, who withdrew his hand just in time. He quickly pulled his knife out of the creature and grabbed Merry. His own lungs were now burning from lack of air, and Merry was limp in his arms.

With one last burst of energy, he pushed himself and his cousin up to the surface. He gasped for air as found firm ground beneath his feet and the water down to his neck. His head was spinning, but he quickly carried Merry to the shore and gently laid him down. He was nearly oblivious to Sam’s shouts of relief, which quickly turned to concern as the younger hobbit saw Frodo kneeling over Merry’s motionless form. He splashed across the brook, heedless of the thin black snake still trying to swim to safety.

Frodo frantically brushed his fingers under his cousin's chin, and pressed for a pulse. After a few agonizing moments, he felt it, though very weak. He quickly wiped the tears from his azure eyes and looked up at Sam, who knelt down beside him.

Frodo vehemently shook his head. "He's alive, but he's not breathing. Help me get the water out of his lungs, Sam!" Sam nodded and placed his hands on Merry’s chest. "Now!" Both he and Frodo pushed down three times, then paused as Frodo checked for breath. "Again!"

Three times they pounded on Merry’s chest and Frodo felt tears welling in his eyes again. But suddenly, Merry coughed up what seemed like a bucket-full of water. "Once more, Sam!" Frodo and Sam pressed down hard on Merry’s chest, and he coughed up more water before slowly opening his eyes.

Merry stared silently up at the two frightened faces bending over him for a few moments before he spoke. "What are you two blockheads doing, pounding on me like that?" he demanded with a cough, sitting up, with difficulty. "I feel like bread dough!"

Frodo laughed with relief and hugged Merry tightly, much to the younger lad’s embarrassment. "Oh, Merry," he whispered, "I thought I had lost you!"

Merry hugged his cousin back fiercely; despite his indignant words, he felt horribly shaken. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment; then, opening them, he pulled away slightly and gave Frodo a reassuring kiss on the cheek. "Fear not, cousin!" he said cheerfully. "’Twill take a good deal more than a snake to get rid of Merry Brandybuck!"

Frodo smiled, brushing away some tears sliding down his cheeks. "So it seems," he sighed, kissing his younger cousin’s forehead in sheer joy now that the fear was passing and he realized that Merry was indeed safe and sound. "Of course, our first trip on our own and you have to go and nearly drown on me! What will Bilbo say? We'll probably never be allowed out of his sight again."

All three lads laughed merrily, and Frodo helped Merry to his feet. "Come on, let’s go get some dry clothes on. Thanks to you, I'm soaked."

Merry looked up at his cousin incredulously. "Me? If I recall correctly, sir, you were the one who pushed me in to begin with!"

Evening found the three hobbit lads sitting around a fire, laughing at a story that Merry was telling—he seemed to have completely forgotten his scare that afternoon. "You should have seen cook’s face when she caught me with my arms full of food!" he laughed. "I wasn't allowed to even set foot in the kitchen for a month, and I had to do extra chores for two weeks when my father found out. Don’t know why they were so upset—it was only some carrots and tomatoes and maybe a few other things. It’s not as though they needed any of the food I took. The pantries are huge! So of course I did it all over again once my punishment was up." He grinned impishly. "And this time, I got to eat most of it before they found me." He and Frodo laughed at Sam's appalled face.

"Don't worry, Sam," Frodo reassured him, "it really doesn’t harm anyone to raid the pantries of Brandy Hall every so often. They’ve more than enough food for everyone." Sam looked relieved, and the lads went back to chewing their supper quietly for a while.

After a few minutes, Frodo broke the silence. "Sam, why don't you recite a poem for us?" he asked. "You probably know more poetry than Merry and I put together."

Sam started to protest that he wasn't nearly good enough, but Merry cut him off. "Of course you're good enough, Sam!" he said. "Frodo's right, you know more than either of us ever will!"

Sam couldn't resist the pleading blue eyes and sighed defeatedly. "All right, if you really want me to." Both boys nodded vigorously. "But what shall I recite?"

"How about one you make up yourself; you're good at that," Merry suggested. Sam thought for a moment, then stood up and clasped his hands behind his back as though he was in school. He cleared his throat and began so softly that Frodo and Merry had to lean forward to hear it:

He ended and sat back down, looking expectantly at the other two. Merry was gaping open-mouthed at him and Frodo was staring into space, deep in thought. When neither said anything, Sam prompted worriedly, "Well? What did you think? I know it's not very good, but—"

Merry interrupted him. "You wrote that?" he asked incredulously. "Sam, that’s amazing! You’ll be joining Bilbo next, don’t you think, Frodo?" He elbowed his cousin sharply in the ribs.

Frodo was startled out of his euphoria. "I'm sorry, Merry, what did you say?" he asked, blinking.

Sam lowered his eyes and stared fixedly at his plate. "You didn't like it. Well, I...I know it's not the b-"

"Oh, no, no, Sam! That's not it at all!" Frodo exclaimed quickly. "It’s just that it made me think about things..." He trailed off and Sam looked at him curiously.

Instead of answering, Frodo lay down on his back and gazed up at the stars, both hands clasped behind his head as he had that afternoon cloud-watching, and asked Sam a question in return. "Have you ever realised just how big the sky is, Sam?"

The younger lad lay down next to him and looked up as well. On the other side of Frodo, Merry silently followed suit. "No, I don't think I've given it a whole lot of thought, sir," Sam replied, thoughtfully staring at the stars. "Until now, that is."

Frodo looked sideways at him and smiled. "That’s what your poem made me think about. Oh!" He propped himself up on one elbow. "And I’ve just thought of something else. Uncle Bilbo has been exchanging letters with one of the Elves he met in Rivendell, named Lindir." He paused, waiting for Sam's reaction. The younger hobbit's eyes lit up at the mention of Elves, and he turned his head to stare at him in rapt attention. "Lindir is always asking for new songs from Uncle Bilbo, so he can sing them for the other Elves. You should recite your poem to my Uncle so he could send it to Lindir! I'm sure they would love it!"

Sam nearly choked in surprise. A poem of his? Sung by Elves?! It was too wonderful to even imagine. "I...but...it's not nearly...I mean..." Frodo watched in amusement as Sam tried to explain how he felt. "Oh, but they...they won't like it at all..." He trailed off and looked into Frodo’s eyes, half-afraid to even dare to believe him. "You mean it, sir? My poem? Sung by Elves?"

Frodo laughed. "Of course I mean it! You really do have a talent for making up poems and songs, which I'm sure the Elves can appreciate."

Sam sighed, suddenly indescribably contented and sleepy. "Thank you, Mr. Frodo!" he said earnestly as his eyes started to close, despite his excitement. "I should dearly like to see real Elves someday, and hear them sing. D’you think you could sing a song of theirs before I go to sleep?"

Frodo smiled and wrapped their blankets around Sam and the already sleeping Merry. "Of course. I'll sing the one about Elbereth."

He first put out the fire, cleaned up the remainders of their meal, and then snuggled up under his own blankets. Then he softly chanted,

Frodo looked over at the younger boys, both sound asleep. He rolled over on his back and looked up at the stars again. As his eyes began to close, he murmered, "A Elbereth Gilthoniel..." With that, he fell asleep.

Frodo awoke in the early hours of the morning to hear quiet sobbing nearby. Groggily, he opened his eyes and sat up, for a moment forgetting where he was. He looked around and saw Sam still asleep next to him, snoring softly.

As that thought entered his mind, he hurriedly searched around the campsite for his cousin. Another muffled sob sounded from the trees to his left, and he turned to see Merry, sitting behind a tree, his knees pulled up under his chin, his face buried in his sleeves. He didn't seem to notice Frodo until the older lad had sat down beside him and placed a gentle hand on his shaking shoulder. "Merry?"

The crying hobbit-boy looked up quickly and wiped his face with a sleeve. "What’s wrong?" Frodo asked softly.

"Really, I'm all right." Merry got up and walked a few feet away. Frodo sighed at the stubbornness of his cousin, though he could guess the cause. He suspected that Merry had had a nightmare and was embarrassed that he had been seen crying over it. Frodo knew what it was like; he had done it many times himself. He followed Merry and sat down at the base of a large beech tree, patting the ground for his cousin to sit next to him, which Merry did, reluctantly.

"Do you remember the time I fell into the Brandywine, when we were catching frogs there?" asked Frodo quietly. Merry nodded, staring fixedly at the ground. "I had a terrible nightmare about it that night, and I woke up crying. Aunt Esmeralda came into my room and asked me what was wrong. And I wouldn't tell her at first because I was embarrassed about it." He paused and looked at Merry, who was starting to sniffle again, and patted his cousin on the back. "But do you know, once I did tell her, I felt much better about it, and Aunt Esme was very understanding. She helped me get back to sleep and I’ve never had that nightmare again."

He waited for Merry to respond, but his young cousin continued to stare moodily at the ground, though tears began sliding down his cheeks again. He angrily brushed them away and Frodo put a hand on his shoulder. "It’s all right to cry, Merry," he said softly. "Remember? I cried this afternoon when we almost…lost you."

At this, Merry lost control of his tears and began sobbing again. "What’s wrong?" Frodo asked in confusion and alarm. "Did I say something to upset you?"

Merry did not answer, but suddenly launched himself into his cousin’s arms and buried his face in the older lad’s shirt. Frodo could feel the younger hobbit trembling in his arms as he rocked him back and forth, trying to comfort him as best he could.

Frodo waited patiently as the sobs to died down to whimpering hiccups, and then pulled out of his cousin’s tight embrace and held him at arms’ length. "Do you feel better now?" he asked gently. Merry nodded with a sniffle. "Good. Are you ready to tell me what is troubling you?" Merry nodded again and nestled into Frodo’s lap, resting his curly head under his older cousin’s chin as he had done when they were both younger, together in Brandy Hall.

After a few moments, Merry drew a shaky breath and began quietly, "I had a nightmare. About what happened at the stream this afternoon." Frodo nodded encouragingly, his brow furrowed in concern. Merry gulped and continued, "I was playing with you in the water, like we were today, and then something grabbed you and pulled you down. I dove in after you and all I could see at first was black all around me. I heard you, you kept calling for me and I tried to find you. I found your hand and tried to pull you up, but something yanked us both down again. For some reason, I found a knife in my hands and I stabbed what felt like a snake or something. Then, all of a sudden, I could see, and I saw you being sucked down into the sand. You kept crying for me to help you and I tried to get to you but it was as though invisible people were pulling me away. I screamed…and then I woke up."

Tears were spilling down his cheeks again. "Oh, Frodo!" he sobbed, "It was awful…and so real!" He buried his face in Frodo’s shirt, once again soaking it with his tears. Frodo stroked his hair and held him tightly, unable to find words to comfort his distraught cousin. ‘Poor Merry!’ He thought sympathetically, ‘How horrible! Much like the dream I had after falling into the Brandywine…only that was about my parents…’ He shook his head as if to avoid those painful memories and turned his attention back to the trembling, whimpering boy in his arms.

"It’s all right now, Merry," he murmured reassuringly. "It’s over. There is nothing to fear. Shall I sing you the song I sang to Sam earlier?" He knew he was treating Merry like a child, but he could think of no other way to comfort his cousin.

Merry nodded. He had cried all his tears and felt exhausted now. Frodo rocked Merry back and forth as though he were holding a hobbit babe, and softly sang.

Merry sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. He felt himself drifting off to a peaceful sleep as his cousin continued the sweet song to Elbereth.

Frodo quietly carried Merry back to the campsite and nestled him cozily in the blankets beside Sam. He watched them both affectionately for a few moments, before settling into his own blankets. As his eyes closed, he suddenly felt Merry grasp his hand tightly. He smiled, and drifted off into a peaceful sleep, holding his cousin’s hand tightly in his own.

Merry had no more nightmares that night and the next morning the hobbits continued on their way. They were planning on journeying to Bywater to stay for a day or two. After three days of traveling (to add to the "adventurous" part of their trip, they were taking the long way through the countryside), the weather that had been cloudless and warm turned against them. They were forced to find shelter from the howling wind and driving rain in a small cave.

"Oh, why did it have to rain?" Merry lamented, drawing his grey woolen cloak tighter around him. "The weather was so enjoyable!"

"You know, me Gaffer said—before we left—that it would rain today," Sam commented, chewing on a bit of sausage.

"The Gaffer is never wrong," said Frodo as he popped a mushroom into his mouth.

"Well, I’m not sure, Mr. Merry, but he says that the air smells different somehow when it’s getting ready to rain. I can’t smell the difference yet, but I s’pose that comes with practice."

"Hmm. I wonder if I could ever learn that," mused Frodo thoughtfully. "Maybe the Gaffer could teach me."

"I’m sure you could, Mr. Frodo, but I don’t think it could be taught, if you take my meanin’; I kinda think it’s just somethin’ you learn on your own."

Frodo considered this. "I suppose you’re right, Sam," he agreed with a sigh. "Well, then I shall have to work on it."

Merry yawned. "Well, I’m sure this is all very interesting, but shouldn’t we be moving on now? The rain’s slowed a bit."

Frodo laughed and gathered his things together. "You just can’t sit still for long, can you Merry?" The youngest hobbit grinned and handed his things to Frodo to pack up. Sam was busy cleaning up their lunch and putting the fire out, so Frodo packed his things for him.

After walking for several hours, the hobbits came upon a large cornfield, the stalks reaching above their heads. "Let’s see if we can find the farmer’s house, and we’ll ask him permission to rest here awhile," Frodo suggested. "Or maybe the whole night. It’s getting late." The younger lads agreed, and they made their way through the field. They had not been walking long when they spied a cloaked figure up ahead, pushing a wheel-barrow.

"Hullo!" Frodo called out. "Might you know where we three travelers can find food and shelter?"

The figure turned, and seeing the shivering hobbit lads, he hurried toward them, pushing the barrow. "What are you young ones doin’ out in this weather?" he asked as he neared. He was a fairly young looking hobbit, probably in his late 40’s, with sandy-colored curls and kind green eyes.

The farmer looked the boys over and nodded. "And might I know what your names are?"

"I’m Frodo Baggins, this is Sam Gamgee, and this," he gestured toward Merry, who had nearly fallen asleep on his feet and was leaning on Sam, "is Merry Brandybuck."

The farmer nodded politely. "Ferdirand Broadbelt is my name. Pleasure to meet you all." A flash of lightning split the sky, followed almost immediately by an enormous clap of thunder that shook the ground. "But here I am talkin’ while you’re soaking wet!" he exclaimed. "Come along inside. I’ll ask questions later, once you’re all warm and fed." He glanced at Merry, who was now completely asleep, despite the storm. "Let’s put the little one in the barrow. He looks tuckered out." Frodo nodded and Farmer Broadbelt gently lifted Merry into the wheelbarrow, and taking off his own cloak, wrapped it around the boy.

Farmer Broadbelt was an excellent host. After the three young hobbits had warmed up by the fire they were treated to a delicious supper provided by Mrs. Broadbelt (Merry, of course, having awoken as soon as he smelled the food).

"Now, where did you say you were from?" asked Farmer Broadbelt, once they had all finished and were gathered before the crackling fireplace in the sitting-room.

"We’re from Hobbiton, and heading towards Bywater," answered Frodo, allowing Merry to curl up warmly beside him on the comfortable sofa. "Do you know how far it is from here?"

The farmer nodded. "Aye. ’Tis another days’ journey I’d say, if the weather improves—considerin' that you three are most likely goin’ fairly slow, havin’ such small lads wi’ you. Beggin’ your pardon, Master Merry, of course," he added as the youngest hobbit-lad sat up indignantly.

"When d’you think the rain will stop, sir?" asked Sam, after a moment of silence.

Farmer Broadbelt looked out of the large round window. "I don’t rightly know, Sam, but I s’pect that it’ll stop or at least let up by tomorrow."

"And you lads are welcome to stay as long as you like," Mrs. Broadbelt spoke up, sitting in a rocking chair with two-year old Daisy on her lap.

The hobbit-lads stayed the night at Farmer Broadbelt's home, and awoke the next morning to find that the farmer had been correct: the rain had stopped and the clouds were swiftly departing.

They quickly dressed and trooped down the hall into the kitchen. Mrs. Broadbelt greeted them warmly and served each of them a stack of delicious hot-cakes, smothered in butter and maple syrup. Merry eagerly dove into his, while Frodo and Sam were more polite and ate a bit slower.

After breakfast, the boys volunteered to wash the dishes—or to be more correct, Frodo and Sam volunteered to wash the dishes, while Merry had no choice but to help them. Mrs. Broadbelt accepted their offer gratefully, as she had a great many chores to do that morning, and gave them each a motherly kiss on the top of the head, declaring them to be "such sweet lads."

Once they had finished, Frodo went outside to help Farmer Broadbelt, while Sam packed up their things and Merry played in the kitchen with little Daisy, who seemed to have taken quite a liking to him.

Daisy was an adorable little hobbitling, and would grow up to be very pretty; with her mother’s chestnut curls and her father’s olive-green eyes, a small, turned-up nose, freckles across her cheeks and dimples when she smiled—which was often.

At the moment, she was taking great pleasure in playing peek-a-boo with Merry. She giggled and clapped her tiny hands in delight as he suddenly removed his hands from his face and said, "Boo!"

Merry covered his face with his hands again, then suddenly removed them. "Boo!" Daisy laughed and bounced up and down. Mrs. Broadbelt came into the room with a basket of laundry in her arms. She smiled at the two and fondly patted Merry’s head on her way to the back door.

"Mrs. Broadbelt," asked Merry as she passed, "may I please take Daisy outside to play for a little while?"

Mrs. Broadbelt smiled indulgently. "Of course you may, dear. I’ll be washing the laundry out there anyway and I’m very glad of your help, keepin’ the little one out of my hair."

Merry grinned and picked up Daisy. "Oh, thank you!" he cried joyously. "We’ll have fun, won’t we, Daisy?" The small hobbit-lass giggled and clapped her hands in excitement.

Outside, the two found some wild daisies growing on the hillside and Merry attempted to make a chain of them for Daisy, but failed completely. "Oh, well," he laughed, putting one flower in the girl’s dark curls, "I suppose I haven’t much practice making daisy chains. You’ll have to settle for just this one."

Daisy didn’t mind in the least. "Pretty!" she giggled. She spotted a dandelion nearby and picked it. "Mer pretty, too!" she said excitedly, tucking it behind Merry’s ear.

"Why thank you!" said Merry in exaggerated pleasure. "It does look pretty, doesn’t it?"

Daisy picked another of her namesake flowers. "Make mama pretty, too!" She toddled toward her mother, with Merry following behind. "Mama! Make pretty!"

Mrs. Broadbelt looked up from scrubbing a shirt and brushed away a stray curl from her face. "What are you up to, little one?" she asked, bending down to Daisy’s height.

"Pretty, mama," the girl repeated, tucking the daisy into her mother’s bun. "Daisy pretty," she said, pointing to herself. "Mer pretty." She pointed to Merry. "Now mama pretty too!" She hugged her mother tightly.

"Why thank you, dear!" Mrs. Broadbelt laughed. "A pretty daisy from my own pretty Daisy!" She pulled out of her daughter’s embrace and planted a quick kiss on the girl’s rosy cheek. "You go on and play now, Daisy-lass. Mama has chores to do."

"Come on, Mer!" Daisy cried excitedly, grabbing Merry’s hand and pulling him back to the hill. "Get more daisies! Make papa pretty, and Frodo pretty and Sam pretty!"

By elevenses, everyone was "pretty;" unable to resist indulging the sweet little Daisy, they good-naturedly wore their assorted flowers (Farmer Broadbelt a poppy, Frodo a forget-me-not, and Sam a white peony) all that day. Frodo decided that, though he was reluctant to leave the Broadbelts, they should go on their way after the meal. Sam had already packed everything, including some mushrooms and dried fruit from Mrs. Broadbelt. Merry was quite unwilling to leave, and would not agree to it until Frodo promised that they would come back on their way home.

The Broadbelts were also sorry to see them go; they had become quite fond of the boys, though they had been there for less than a day. Farmer Broadbelt offered to drive them to Bywater in his small wagon, but Frodo declined politely, saying that they would rather walk.

When they tried to explain to Daisy, the child burst into tears and launched herself into Merry’s lap. She would not let go of him through the entire meal, and poor Merry felt that she must think him heartless and cruel for leaving her so soon.

After eating (though he did not have much of an appetite), Merry took Daisy into the sitting-room to try to reassure the lass. Frodo and Sam kindly waited for them outside with Mr. and Mrs. Broadbelt.

"Daisy," Merry began softly. Daisy looked up at him, tears streaming down her round, rosy cheeks. Merry bit his lip and took a deep breath. "Daisy, we have to go. It will take a whole day to get to Bywater."

Merry felt tears welling in his own eyes. "No, no. Of course I love your house, Daisy, and I don’t want to go. But we’ll come back on our way home."

After a sorrowful farewell to the Broadbelts—and after prying Daisy’s arms from around Merry’s neck—the hobbits made their way as swiftly as possible toward Bywater. After about an hour of traveling, they came upon the Bywater Road, and traveled on it for another hour before stopping for lunch. Merry was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal, and Frodo knew that he was sad about leaving Daisy. Sam seemed to sense that as well and they both made an effort to cheer up the youngest hobbit. Merry’s natural high-spirits soon got the better of him, and by the time they set off again, he was his usual cheerful self.

Their trip to Bywater was, much to their disappointment, almost completely uneventful and rather boring. Of course, there was a minor incident that involved Merry and a large—and rather deep—mud puddle, but a quick rinse in a nearby stream fixed that. The hobbits made camp at sundown by the side of the road and started off again at first light.

Finally, after walking half of the next day, they arrived in Bywater. It was a typical hobbit town—very much like Hobbiton, but it had two Inns: one in the middle of town, and one on the edge of it by the road. The Green Dragon was the largest and most popular, and The Ivy Bush was smaller and quieter. All three lads had been to Bywater several times, and knew that The Green Dragon was likely to be quite crowded and noisy.

After a brief discussion on the matter, they decided upon The Ivy Bush. All three of them preferred it when given the choice, and the Innkeeper, Mungo Sandybanks, was quite a nice fellow.

Frodo led the way inside and made his way to the counter. "Excuse me?" he called politely.

A moment later, a thickset hobbit with wild brown curls and cheery red cheeks appeared over the counter.

"Oh, good evenin’ young Frodo!" Mungo returned, grinning fondly as he recognized Bilbo’s nephew (who was rather a favorite of his). "Haven’t seen you for a while." He looked around expectantly. "And where might your Uncle be?"

"He’s given permission for my friends and I to come here alone," Frodo explained. "But he wanted me to ask you how Mrs. Sandybanks and Miss Adamanta are doing?"

Mungo grinned broadly. "They’re doin’ just find, thank you kindly for askin’, and your Uncle for thinkin’ of it. Addie is comin’ nigh on her 11th birthday now. It’s August 21st – next week."

"Wonderful! Perhaps we’ll get to visit her while we’re here and wish her a happy birthday."

"Aye, I hope so—she’d like nothin’ better, I’m sure. But now, what can I do for you tonight?"

Mr. Sandybanks laughed. "Well, you haven’t changed t’all since I last saw you, little Merry—though you’ve grown a deal. Not so little anymore, eh?" Merry grinned with pleasure at his observation. "Beds for three is it? All right. I’ll show you to your room in half a moment. And we have some nice vegetable soup with some fresh bread if you like. You just find a seat and I’ll be right with you." He hurried off into the kitchen and the boys sat down at a table opposite a group of hobbits talking quietly in a corner.

The Innkeeper returned shortly and escorted them to their room, which was in the back of the Inn. There were three beds on one side of it and a fireplace opposite the door. "Well, this should be comfortable for you," said Mungo. "Lunch should be ready soon, so you can join us whenever you like." Frodo thanked him and he shut the door.

Merry promptly dropped his pack on the floor and collapsed on a bed. Frodo and Sam did the same, and all three lay there, too exhausted to talk, for several minutes. Finally, Sam broke the silence. "D’you think lunch is ready yet, Mr. Frodo?" he asked, sitting up.

Frodo propped himself up on one elbow. "I don’t know, Sam, but we could go and find out."

Merry also sat up, yawning. "Yes, let’s go eat before I get too tired to do anything."

Frodo looked at him in mock surprise. "What’s this? Meriadoc Brandybuck to tired to eat? Heaven forbid!"

When they entered the Common Room, they found that, firstly, there were hardly any guests there, and secondly, lunch was not ready. So, they glumly sat at their earlier table, across from that same group of hobbits, the only other occupants of the room, and chatted for a while.

"How many food tables are you going to have at your coming-of-age feast, Frodo?"

Frodo shook his head, laughing. "Merry, my coming-of-age isn’t for another six years—and yours isn’t for another twenty!"

Merry shrugged. "No harm in thinking ahead. I plan to have at least thirty-three—maybe more! There’ll be cakes and cookies and all kinds of wonderful desserts!"

"And you’ll empty every one of those tables yourself, I’ll wager," Frodo teased. "Though I’m afraid you’ll have to share at least half of them with Pippin—that boy can empty an entire pantry by himself!"

Frodo elbowed Merry sharply in the ribs as Sam looked away and mumbled something inaudible. Frodo quickly came to his rescue.

"He’ll have just as many tables as he wants, of course! His coming-of-age will be just as grand as yours and mine will be. But no need to think about that now;" he neatly changed the subject, "we have quite a while to wait yet. I’ve been meaning, for a long time, actually, to ask you, Sam, about a cherry tree I saw down by the Brandywine when I was visiting Merry last Spring. There were little white bags all over it—like someone had woven a bunch of spider webs together. What are they?"

"Tent caterpillars, probably," answered Sam promptly, smiling in relief at the change of subject. "Actually, they were in the trees in the garden at Bag End last spring, too, but me and the Gaffer pulled ’em out. They can kill a tree, if you let ’em. They haven’t been quite so bad as they were last spring in years, me Gaffer says."

Merry began to ask more about the caterpillars but was interrupted when one of the hobbits from across the room ambled over to their table.

"Well, well. Look what we have here. If it isn’t Frodo Brandybuck and his little friends."

Frodo resisted the urge to groan, and turned to face his cousin. Lotho Sackville-Baggins sneered at him. "And what’re you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your dear Uncle—or has he lost interest in you at last?"

Frodo had long ago ceased being surprised by the mean remarks the S.-B.’s always had for him. He clenched his teeth and prepared himself for more cruel words that were sure to come. "Nice to see you too, Lotho," he said dryly. "I don’t believe that it is any business of yours what we are doing here. Suffice to say that Uncle Bilbo has given his permission for us to be here alone."

Lotho barked a short laugh. "Has he now? And has he given you permission to be mingling with the likes of these two?" He gestured disgustedly toward Merry and Sam. "A gardener and that good-for-nothing cousin of yours from Buckland."

Frodo felt Merry tense beside him and he struggled to control his own temper as Lotho continued.

"Honestly, what Bilbo was thinking when he adopted you is still a mystery to me. But he’s always been queer—ever since he went on that ridiculous trip with that scheming wizard."

"Queer!" Someone spoke up from across the room. The boys recognized with sinking hearts that it was Ted Sandyman, the miller’s son. "Mad is nearer the mark!" This produced snickers from the group he sat with and from Lotho.

Merry’s infamous Brandybuck temper got the best of him and he stood up, folding his arms across his chest.

"Ted Sandyman, you would do well not to speak of what you don’t know anything about," he said firmly, quoting something he had once heard Frodo say to Lotho. "But I suppose I should excuse you for lack of wits."

Ted jumped up with a snarl and things could have gone ill, but thankfully, Mungo came in just then with a tray of steaming vegetable soup and fresh bread.

"We shall have to talk later," Lotho hissed in Frodo’s ear before joining the others with the most innocent expression he could muster.

Frodo sighed in relief and turned his attention to Mungo, who was watching them with unhobbitlike curiosity. Frodo opened his mouth to try to explain, but Mungo shook his head and placed the bowls of soup in front of each of them. "No, no. I don’t want to know." He lowered his voice. "It’s enough to know that that troublesome Lotho and Ted were involved; they’re a bad lot and no mistake. But don’t you worry. They won’t trouble you no more tonight if I can do aught about it."

Frodo thanked him sincerely and he hurried off as one of Lotho and Ted’s companions loudly called him over, leaving the boys to their supper. Sam and Merry eagerly dove into theirs, while Frodo stared into space, absently twirling his spoon in his soup. This did not go unnoticed by the younger boys, and both immediately began trying to cheer him up. Encounters with the S.-B.’s always made him rather melancholy.

"Forget what those know-nothings said, Frodo," Merry told him, patting his cousin’s hand and shooting a dark look in Lotho and Ted’s direction.

"Don’t worry, Mr. Frodo," Sam added, "they don’t know what they’re talkin’ about."

Frodo knew what they were trying to do and managed a small smile. "You’re right," he said with a sigh. "I don’t know why I let it bother me."

Merry and Sam grinned with relief. "Good," said Merry, growing serious. "Now, you better eat your soup, Frodo, before it gets cold."

After finishing their meal, the hobbit-lads retired to their room, too tired to bother worrying about Lotho and Ted. Even though it was still only early afternoon, they fell asleep almost the instant their curly heads hit their pillows and slept for a good three hours.

Frodo was awakened abruptly by an enormous clap of thunder. He sat up and looked out the window. Rain again. It poured against the window in sheets, and a flash of lightning lit the sky. Frodo counted silently the number of seconds between the lightning and the thunderclap. ‘One, two, three, four, five, si—’ An ear splitting CRACK interrupted him before he even got to seven.

Frodo grinned. Counting the seconds in between the lighting and thunder had always been a favorite game of his. On stormy days like this, he and Bilbo would play it together while drinking some hot cocoa and nestling together in a thick, warm quilt on the big armchair in the sitting room. When the storm stopped, Bilbo would read stories from his thick red book until Frodo fell asleep.

Frodo walked over to the window and sighed, propping his elbows on the sill. He watched as the raindrops changed to hailstones that started out small and grew to about the size of his fist. He enjoyed watching storms when he was indoors; seeing the beautiful patterns of lightning in the sky, and the hail making the ground look like it had snowed. He smiled as he thought about the small ice-hobbit he and Sam had once made out of the melting hail. It had only been about six inches tall and melted by the next morning, but it was fun anyway. They had used two sticks for the arms, a baby carrot for the nose, two small pieces of coal for the eyes, and a clump of brown moss for the hair.

A soft touch on his arm made him jump. Sam was standing beside him. "Oh, hullo Sam," said Frodo softly, mindful of Merry, still sound asleep.

"H’lo, sir," Sam returned, a little shyly, worried that he had disturbed his master’s thoughts. "What were you thinkin’ ’bout, if you don’t mind me askin’?"

Frodo smiled, shook his head and looked back out the window. "Of course I don’t mind," he said. "I was thinking about Uncle Bilbo, and that ice-hobbit you and I made after that hailstorm last summer."

Sam grinned and propped his elbows on the windowsill in the same way Frodo did. "That was fun," he said with a quiet laugh. "D’you remember what it looked like after it melted?"

Frodo laughed as well. "Bilbo said that it looked as if a troll had stepped on it."

Sam looked out the window. "I wonder if we’ll be able to make one after this hailstorm," he said. "Sure don’t seem to show any signs of stoppin’."

Frodo watched the hail beat against the window. "I don’t know, Sam," he said. "But I hope so. Then we can show Merry the finer arts of ice-hobbit making."

The two fell silent, just listening to Merry’s soft snoring and the hail crashing against the roof. A flash of lightning lit the sky and Frodo and Sam covered their ears as a huge clap of thunder followed instantly, shaking the room. Merry woke up with a start and climbed out of bed to stand next to them. "My, but that was loud!" he exclaimed, trying to cover up the fact that it had frightened him, a little.

Frodo leaned closer to the window. "Yes it was," he agreed, looking down at his cousin with a teasing smile. "It didn’t startle you, did it?"

Merry snorted and walked over to his pack. "Of course not," he said indignantly, pulling on a clean shirt. "Merry Brandybuck fears nothing!"

All three boys laughed at his bravado, and Sam and Frodo got dressed. "Well, come to think of it, there is one thing I fear," said Merry once they’d finished dressing.

"That supper’s going to be cold by the time we get there to eat it!" Merry cried, throwing open the door and speeding down the hall, leaving the two slower lads to catch up.

After a large supper (thankfully Lotho and Ted were not there), the hobbit lads donned their cloaks and went outside. Frodo had some letters to send to Bilbo, telling him about what had happened on their trip, how long they’d be staying in Bywater, and asking if they could stay with the Broadbelts for a few days. "It will probably only take Uncle Bilbo a day or two to respond," Frodo commented as they left the post office. "Bywater is only a few hours from Hobbiton—unless you take the long way ’round like we did and have Merry to slow you down," he added with an impish glance down at his cousin. Merry stuck his tongue out at him and made a face.

They wandered about the town for a while, just enjoying being outside, even if it was a bit wet. The hail had lessened to just large raindrops, but unfortunately, there was not enough of it on the ground to make an ice-hobbit. The rain cooled them off in the humid air, and they gradually made their way toward the outskirts of town.

"Why don’t we visit Milo and Peony?" Frodo suggested. "Their smial is right over there." He pointed to a cozy hobbit hole far ahead, under a small green hill. Merry and Sam agreed eagerly; Milo and Peony Burrows were favorite cousins of Frodo and Merry and were always fun to be with. They had no children of their own, and enjoyed spoiling all three of the lads.

They quickened their pace and were soon at the door of the Burrows’ smial. Frodo knocked and pulled back the hood of his cloak. There was an overhang covering the doorstep; a rare thing for hobbit holes. The door was quickly answered by a pretty young hobbit lady, with long chestnut curls pulled up in a bun and a sprinkling of freckles on her shapely nose.

"Well, hullo there, lads!" she exclaimed upon seeing them. "I haven’t seen you for a few months. Come in, come in!" She made way for them and they entered gladly. They took up their dripping cloaks, which she hung up on the hooks lining the hall. "Well, what brings you three to Bywater?" she asked, hugging them each in turn. "And without Bilbo?"

"We’re on our first adventure, Peony!" Merry exclaimed excitedly. "All by ourselves!"

Peony looked at him in mock surprise. "What’s this?" she said teasingly. "Three sensible hobbit lads on an adventure?" Being a Baggins by birth, and growing up listening to Bilbo’s tales, Peony herself had once had a small ‘adventure’ out in the Old Forest of Buckland.

Peony led them into the sitting room and brought them each a cup of cold apple cider. "Now," she said after they had all settled down and chatted for a while. "You must tell me all about this ‘adventure’ you’re on. I’m afraid Milo is not here at present—he went to get some seeds to plant next spring. But I’d love to hear the tale, and you can stay just as long as you like and tell Milo when he gets home."

The boys told the story -- well, Merry told most of it, with Sam and Frodo filling in with their own comments every so often -- and when they had finished, Peony invited them to stay for the night. "I’m sorry, Peony," Frodo said remorsefully. "We’d love to stay, but we’ve got rooms in the Ivy Bush and we’d probably better be going."

Merry nodded. "Mr. Sandybanks said that he’s making cherry pie for desert," he added enthusiastically.

Peony laughed. "And you wouldn’t want to miss that, now would you? Well, if you must go, then be sure to come back tomorrow. I’ll be baking an apple pie and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss that, either!"

The hobbit lads reluctantly bade Peony goodbye, promising to come back the next day and to consider her offer to stay with them for the remaining time they would spend in Bywater, as well. "We shall have to come back tomorrow!" Merry said as they entered the Ivy Bush. "I don’t want to miss that apple pie!"

Frodo chuckled and took off his cloak. "You’d better hurry up and change out of your wet clothes if you don’t want to miss out on the cherry pie tonight!" At the horrified look on Merry’s face, both Sam and Frodo laughed. Merry was in such a hurry to get dressed that he accidentally fastened his buttons unevenly. "Merry," said Frodo, pushing down Merry’s interfering hands as he fixed them, "the pie is not going to just get up and walk away."

Merry looked at him solemnly. "But the others might eat it all before we get there!" he said melodramatically. "I wouldn’t be able to wait until tomorrow for pie!"

Just for the record, I am aware that Peony and Milo had at least one child at this point, so I did mess with canon a little here. Otherwise I've tried to keep it as correct as I can, but please point out any errors I might have missed if you come across them. :)

"That was the best pie I’ve ever eaten!" Merry said, pushing back his chair and sighing contentedly. He glanced at Frodo’s plate, which still had half a slice of pie on it. "You going to eat that?"

Frodo laughed. "No. Here." He pushed the plate over to Merry, who eagerly stuffed half of it in his mouth. "I’ll wager you’ll say the same thing tonight at Peony’s house after trying some of her apple pie," he said teasingly.

Sam took the last bite of his slice of pie and looked at Frodo. "So, Mr. Frodo," he said, "are we goin’ to stay at Mr. Milo and Miss Peony’s house for the rest of our time in Bywater?"

Frodo shook his head. "I don’t know," he said. "It depends on what you and Merry would like to do."

Merry looked up, his cheeks distended with pie so that he looked a squirrel with acorns in its cheek pouches. He gulped the pie down. "Well, I for one want to stay with Peony and Milo," he said.

Sam nodded. "I s’pose I’d vote for them, too, but it’s up to you, Mr. Frodo."

"Well, I wouldn’t want to invade their home," he said, "especially with this walking stomach I call my cousin." He recieved a sharp elbow in the ribs from Merry. "But since they’ve invited us, I suppose it will be all right. I hope they know what they’re in for," he added with a sly glance at Merry. "Merry will probably eat them out of house and home."

Merry folded his arms. "I will not," he protested indignantly as Frodo and Sam laughed.

"I was only teasing you," Frodo assured him, patting his shoulder. He got up and pushed his chair in. "Well, since we seem to be in agreement that we’ll stay at the Burrowses, we’d best go pack."

After they finished packing, Frodo went back out into the common room to inform Mr. Sandybacks. He found the Innkeeper wiping one of the tables clean. "Hullo, Mr. Sandybanks," he said with a smile. "Would you like some help with that?"

Mungo looked up in surprise at seeing him there. "Oh, hullo, Frodo," he said. "No, I don’t need any help, but thank you kindly for offerin’." He finished cleaning the table and went to pick up the enormous pile of dirty dishes on another one.

Mungo sighed resignedly from behind his pile of dishes. "All right, young Frodo, if you insist," He chuckled. "Stubborn lad, aren’t you? Just like your Uncle Bilbo."

As they carried the dishes into the kitchen, Frodo said, "Mr. Sandybanks, I’m afraid that my friends and I will be leaving the Inn today."

Mungo set his stack down on the counter and took Frodo’s from his arms. "I’m right sorry to hear that," he said sincerely. "And where might you be goin’, if you don’t mind me askin’?"

Frodo smiled and helped him pump water into the sink used for washing dishes. "We're staying in Bywater for another day or two with some friends, Milo and Peony Burrows. D'you know them?"

Mungo nodded as he scrubbed a plate. "Aye," he said. "They’re nice folk. I’m right glad to hear that you’ll be stayin’ in Bywater for a few days more. Perhaps you’ll drop by for a visit if you get the chance."

"We shall," Frodo promised. "And I’ll pay on our way out. We shall probably leave in about a half an hour, I should guess. That’ll give Merry a chance to have some lunch before we go."

Mungo laughed. "That boy could probably eat every scrap of food in this entire Inn by himself!"

Frodo nodded. "I’m sure he could," he said. "But now I’d best get back to our room before he and Sam wonder where I’ve gone."

Mungo finished washing the last of the dishes and dried his hands on his apron. "All right, then," he said. "I’ll get some luncheon ready before you leave."

Frodo thanked him and made his way back to their room. He opened the door just as Merry and Sam were coming out. "It’s about time you came back!" Merry said with his hands on his hips. "What took you so long?"

"We were beginnin’ to worry ’bout you, Mr. Frodo," Sam added. "Did you tell Mr. Sandybanks?"

Frodo nodded, shutting the door behind them as they entered the room and sat on the edge of Merry’s bed. "Yes," he said. "He was sorry to see us go, but I promised him that we would come by for a visit."

They made ready to go, making their beds (much to Merry’s annoyance) and strapping their packs on their backs.

"Mr. Sandybanks said that he’d have lunch ready before we leave," Frodo said as they left their room.

Merry’s eyes lit up. "Oh, good!" he said, rubbing his stomach. "How long has it been since elevenses? I’m starving!"

Merry looked horrified. "An entire hour?!" he exclaimed. "No wonder I’m so hungry!"

After eating lunch and bidding farewell to Mr. Sandybanks, the hobbits walked through town toward the Burrowses’ smial. As they passed the post office, Frodo stopped. "Half a moment," he said. "I’d like to check for letters from Bilbo."

They went inside and the postmistress, Rowan Bolger greeted them cheerfully. "Hullo lads!" she said. "What may I do for you? Surely not another letter to your Uncle, Frodo. You’ve sent three already!"

Frodo smiled and shook his head. "No, Mistress Bolger, not for a few days yet! But I was wondering if there were any letters for any of us?"

Rowan nodded her head and went into the back to get them. "They came in just this morning," she said. "One for you, Frodo—my, but your Uncle answers quickly! And there’s one for young Merry and for Sam as well." She came out, holding the three letters in her hands. "Here you are."

Frodo thanked her and they left the post office, each eagerly opening their letters and reading them silently.

‘Hullo there, lad! Glad to hear that you have made it to Bywater safely. Be sure to stop by the Burrows’ house while you’re there. I just got a letter a few days ago from Peony, telling us to visit soon. She always was a sweet lass, and one of the few who truly enjoyed my tales. Milo’s a nice chap, too, and he takes short trips out into the forest every now and again. Perhaps he’ll take you on one while you’re there.

‘How is old Mungo doing? I didn’t have a chance to see him the last time I was in Bywater, and I’m sure he was pleased to have you staying in the Ivy Bush.

‘The Broadbelts sound like wonderful folk, and I wouldn’t mind you staying with them for a while at all. Though, I must admit, it is getting lonely around here without a young lad about. Perhaps I’ll join you later, since you plan on staying with them long enough to help harvest, which will no doubt take at least a month. Always wanting to help, aren’t you, dear boy?

‘Well, I’m afraid I must go. Lobelia is coming over for tea this afternoon—oh, there she is at the door now. I envy you, Frodo, for being able to get away from those dreadful S.-B.’s!

‘P.S. Be sure to keep an eye on young Merry! That lad always manages to find mischief somewhere. And try to stay out of it, yourself, as well, Frodo; I daresay you’ve inherited my most unhobbit-like curiosity! Good-bye, my dear boy!’

Frodo smiled and tucked the letter into his pocket. Letters from Bilbo made him feel almost as though the dear old hobbit were right there with him. He had lived for them, growing up in Brandy Hall, after his parents died. Obviously, since he now lived with Bilbo, he didn’t get them often anymore, but when his Uncle went on trips by himself, he always sent Frodo a letter.

He looked at the other two, and saw that Merry had finished reading his letter and put it in his pocket, as well, but Sam was still reading his. No doubt he had already read it once, but it was a rare thing for him to get a letter. This one was from his mother, written in Bilbo’s hand (as Sam was the only Gamgee to learn his letters). It read:

‘Mr. Bilbo has just received a letter from Mr. Frodo, saying that you’d arrived safely. I’m so glad! I’ve been worrying about you ever since you left. I hope you’re enjoying your stay there, and staying out of mischief.

‘Mr. Bilbo has also told me that you three are planning on staying at the Broadbelts’ home for a month or so. I don’t mind you staying there, and I know you’ll help with the harvesting. I actually grew up with Mrs. Broadbelt and know them well. They’re very nice folk, and I’m sure that little Daisy is just as pretty as her mother is.

‘Your own Daisy-sister sends her love, as do the other children, of course. It seems so strange, not having you here. Little Marigold keeps asking me when you’ll come home, but I’ll not tell you to hurry. I know you’re enjoying your time with Mr. Frodo and Mr. Merry, and you deserve it, my dear. Be sure to behave yourself and take care of them.

‘Mother’

Sam wiped a tear from his eye and realized that Frodo was watching him. He forced himself to smile and tucked the letter into his pack. The truth was, he felt a wee bit homesick, but he didn’t want to spoil the trip for the other two, so he said nothing.

They reached the Burrows’ smial and Frodo knocked. This time, it was opened by a young hobbit in his forties, with sandy colored curls and sparkling grey eyes. "Hullo, lads!" he greeted them cheerfully. "It’s about time you’ve got here. Peony and I were wondering if you’d forgotten. Come on inside!"

The hobbit lads entered and he ruffled Merry’s hair. "Hullo, Milo!" Merry said cheerfully. "Have you finished carving that bird for me yet?"

Milo laughed. "Leave it to you to get right to the point. Yes, as a matter of fact I have finished it." He led them down the hall and into the guestroom, which had been made ready for them.

"You seem to have known that we would accept your offer to stay," Frodo commented with a smile.

Milo grinned over his shoulder. "Aye, we expected you would," he said. "Now, I put Merry’s bird in here somewhere—ah! Here it is!" He brought out a small wooden bird off of a shelf and handed it to Merry. It was in the perfect likeness of a robin, head cocked as though looking at something puzzling and it’s wings spread out slightly.

"It’s wonderful," Merry breathed, turning it gently over in his hands. "Thank you, Milo!"

Milo beamed. "I’m glad you like it," he said. "I—" He was interrupted by Peony, calling from the kitchen.

Even at the mention of food, Merry slowly and carefully placed his wooden bird back on the shelf. Then he snapped back to his usual, ever-hungry self and, dropping his pack on the floor, darted out of the room. Frodo and Sam dropped their packs as well, and quickly followed him and Milo, who had dashed out even before Merry.

"I told you that you would say that!" Frodo said teasingly. He turned to Peony. "It truly was wonderful, Peony."

Sam swallowed the last bite of pie on his plate. "It was delicious, Miss Peony," he said.

Peony blushed with delight at these compliments. She did not bake very often and was only just learning how to do it properly. "Thank you lads," she said. "I’m glad you liked it." She stood up and cleared away the dishes.

Peony laughed at her cousin’s ever-willingness to help. "No thank you, Frodo," she said, washing a plate. "What kind of hostess would I be if I let my guests do all the work? Besides, I think you had better pack."

Frodo looked at her quizzically. "Pack?" he asked in confusion. "We haven’t even unpacked yet!" Peony smiled knowingly and after a moment, decided to have mercy on the young hobbit and tell him straight out. "Milo is going to take you boys camping in the forest outside of Bywater tomorrow," she said, watching with satisfaction as Frodo’s face lit up. "You’ll be leaving at dawn, so I suggest you pack now so you can spend as much time with your favorite cousin before you go."

Frodo raised his eyebrows. "And who might my favorite cousin be?" he asked mischievously. "Merry and Milo are going with me, Bilbo’s back home, and Pippin’s in Tuckborough!"

Peony laughed and swatted him with the dishtowel. "Go on, you imp," she said. "You’d better tell Sam and Merry."

Frodo laughed and darted out of the kitchen before she could swat him again. Peony smiled as a moment later, she heard an excited whoop from Merry and an eager question from Sam about whether they would see Elves or not from down the hallway. The sounds of their enthusiastic chatter faded away as they went into the guestroom to pack for their camping trip.

That night, the boys were so excited that they couldn’t sleep, so Milo and Peony stayed up late with them, talking and finishing the last few slices of the apple pie. Peony recounted her adventure in the Old Forest of Buckland. "So I wandered for hours," she said. "And when night fell, I curled up in the hollow of a tree. Early in the morning, when it was still dark, I heard a ferocious growling and snarling surrounding the tree. I could see three pairs of bright yellow eyes staring at me and I screamed and shut my eyes, thinking that any moment that I would be torn to pieces."

The boys held their breaths, wide-eyed as though this was their first time hearing it (though in reality, Peony had told it many times). "But suddenly, I heard a voice call out and I carefully opened my eyes again. A lantern shown nearby and I could see that holding it was a young hobbit lad a little older than I was; his late tweens, I learned later—of course that wasn’t on my mind just then.

"The yellow eyes whimpered and slunk off, and I joyously ran out of the tree and hugged my rescuer tightly. He seemed surprised at first, then bent down and asked, ‘Are you Miss Peony Baggins?’ I only managed a small nod, concentrating on not crying in front of a stranger. He gently picked me up and carried me—I wasn’t sure where, at the time. ‘Everyone has been lookin’ for you,’ he said as we walked along. I could hear rustling in the bushes on both sides of us and saw that those yellow eyes were still following us. The boy must have seen my eyes get wide in terror, because he said, ‘Don’t worry ’bout the dogs, miss. They won’t hurt you. They belong to Farmer Maggot, but he let me bring them with me to help find you.’

"I must have looked amazed, for he laughed. ‘Didn’t you know where you were?’ he asked. I shook my head. ‘You were almost at the edge of the forest,’ he said. ‘By Bamfurlong, Farmer Maggot’s land. Quite a distance from Brandy Hall, though.’ I smiled and asked, ‘What’s your name?’ He grinned rather sheepishly. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, miss,’ he said. ‘We haven’t been properly introduced. My name’s Milo Burrows.’"

Peony smiled and nudged Milo affectionately. "Cousin Milo rescued you?" Merry asked incredulously.

Milo pretended to be hurt by his doubt. "And why not?" he said indignantly. "Don’t you think I could?" Merry shrugged and everyone laughed.

"Well," Peony continued, "Milo carried me to Bamfurlong where my parents were waiting for me. Farmer Maggot drove us home in his wagon and I fell asleep on the way. After that, Milo and I became wonderful friends and were constantly together. I must say I was quite smitten with the lad. And years later, when he was 35 and I was just come of age, he proposed to me, and of course, I said yes." She concluded her tale with a smile at her husband.

Peony nodded. "Oh, yes," she said. "Several times, actually. And both of those times were with Milo. We like to go camp out there on our anniversary sometimes." She fondly rested her head on Milo’s shoulder and Milo kissed her on the cheek.

Merry grimaced. "Wonderful story, Peony," he said hurriedly. "But we’d better get to bed if we’re going to leave at sun-up. G’night!" He dashed off into the guestroom and the others laughed.

Frodo nodded, still laughing. "Probably. But he was right about us getting to bed," he added around a small yawn. "Goodnight, Peony, Milo."

He and Sam sleepily trudged into the guestroom. "Thank you for the story, Miss Peony!" Sam called. "G’night!"

Frodo and Sam shut the door behind them and collapsed on the bed. "Where’s Merry?" Frodo asked after a few moments of silence.

Sam propped himself up on one elbow. "I dunno, Mr. Frodo," he said. "I thought he was in here."

Merry crawled out from under the bed and popped up on the side of it, shouting, "Boo!"

Sam jumped but Frodo didn’t even flinch. Growing up with Merry in Brandy Hall had gotten him used to things like this. "Oh, there you are, Merry," he said calmly. "We were wondering where you’d got to."

Frodo shook his head. "’Fraid not, cousin," he said smiling. "You’ll have to do better than that."

Merry grinned. "Good. At least I scared somebody." He pulled his letter from his pack and jumped up on the bed. "D’you want to hear my letter?" he asked. "It’s from Pippin." Frodo smiled and Sam nodded.

"Of course we’d like to hear what Pip’s got to say," Frodo said. "I wonder why he never writes to me," he added, feigning a pout.

Merry laughed. "Because I’m his favorite cousin, that’s why," he said matter-of-factly. "Now can we please read it?" He handed it to Frodo. "Here, you read it to Sam and me."

Frodo pretended that he was giving a speech and cleared his throat dramatically, which caused Sam and Merry to giggle. "‘Dear Cousin Merry,’" Frodo began in his best imitation of Pippin’s high voice with its singsong Tookish accent.

"‘How are you? I am doing good, tho I just had the flu a few days ago. Yuck! You’ll never guess what I did to Pervinca! I actully managed to bring two frogs and a whole jar full of worms and bugs and mud inside the howse and I put them in her bed!! I got in a terrible amownt of trouble of course – I’m still washing the dishes, and I did it two weeks ago! It was definitly worth it tho. You shood have seen her face! And how she screemed! She chased me all over the howse! I wish I had some way to show you, but I gess you and me can do it again when you come visit. You have to come soon, and bring Frodo with you! You’ve told me that he tot you evrything you no, so maybe he can teech me to. I have to go because Pimpernel is chasing me with a broom (I put a cockroach in the soup she was making). Good-by!

"‘Pippin

"‘P.S. When you come, will you bring Sam to? He’s fun to play with and maybe he can show us where the best straberrys mite be growing round here.’"

Frodo finished and found the Sam and Merry had fallen asleep. He laughed softly and tucked the blankets over them before settling down himself. Merry was sucking his thumb—a habit that everyone had tried to get him to break, but eventually, they had given up. Frodo gently tried to pull his thumb out of his mouth, but the stubborn young hobbit managed to keep it in, and swatted Frodo’s hand away.

Frodo sighed and gave up. He turned off the oil lamp sitting on the nightstand and curled up in the blankets. Sam was snoring softly beside him, something that Frodo had gotten used to, and actually enjoyed, strangely enough. He smiled as thoughts of Pervinca, Pippin’s oldest sister, screaming and chasing the young troublemaker all about the Great Smials came to his mind, and he drifted off to sleep.

The boys were awakened at dawn the next morning by Peony. "Rise and shine, lads!" She sang cheerfully, pulling back the curtain so the sunlight could shine in, and went back into the kitchen to make breakfast. The three lumps of blankets groaned, and Merry grumpily put the pillow over his head.

Frodo was the first to fully wake up, and he quickly jumped up and dressed, then went back to the bed to rouse the other two. "Wake up, Merry!" he called, plucking the pillow off his cousin’s head. Merry irritably pulled the blankets over his head and curled up in a ball. Frodo stuck his head under the blankets so that his lips were touching Merry’s ear. "Merry," he whispered. "Milo is taking us camping today!"

One would have thought he had yelled at the top of his voice. At the mention of the camping trip, Merry’s eyes flew open and, with an excited whoop, he jumped out of bed and quickly dressed. Frodo went over to Sam, who was just starting to wake up. "Sam," Frodo said softly, "Wake up. Milo is taking us camping today."

Sam’s half-opened, sleep-filled brown eyes opened fully and he sat up and jumped out of bed to join Merry in getting dressed. While the younger lads did that, Frodo made their bed—Merry could never understand why Frodo insisted on making his bed every day. Once a year was good enough for him. If even that often.

The boys were quickly ready to go and trooped cheerfully into the kitchen where Peony was just serving a large breakfast of hotcakes. Milo was already at the table, digging into his stack of hotcakes almost as eagerly as Merry did when he was served. In many ways, Milo and his young cousin were very much alike. They both had wild, golden colored curls, grey eyes that always sparkled with merriment, and they were both dimple-cheeked when they smiled—a very similar boyish grin.

Everyone finished breakfast quickly—not without a contest, of course, between Milo and Merry to see who could eat the most hotcakes fastest. Milo won, having a larger mouth and an obligation not to lose to a cousin who was over thirty years his junior. "That was wonderful, love, as usual," he said, standing up and kissing Peony on the cheek.

Peony beamed. "Thank you, lads," she said happily. "I’ll make them again when you get back, if you like."

Everyone agreed heartily to this, and Peony shooed them out of the kitchen to get their packs. They did, and Peony saw them off at the door. "See you in a day or two, Peony," Milo said, kissing her again on the cheek.

"G’bye, Miss Peony," said Sam shyly, earning a tight hug and a quick kiss from the hobbitlady, much to his surprise and embarrassment.

"’Bye, Peony!" Merry called from far ahead. He had surreptitiously managed to avoid the hugs and kisses from Peony and was already well up the lane.

"Oh, Peony," said Frodo, pausing on the doorstep. "Do you think that you could take my letters to Uncle Bilbo to the post office today? If it’s not too much trouble."

Peony laughed and kissed him on the cheek. "Of course it’s no trouble," she said, lightly swatting him on the shoulder when he rubbed his cheek with feigned disgust. "And I’ll deliver them just as soon as I can. Now run along before you get left behind!"

"Have a good time, Frodo!" Peony called back. "And look after that husband of mine—he has a knack for getting himself into trouble!"

With a laugh, Frodo promised he would, and ran off to catch up with the others. They were waiting for him, not far down the lane. "What took you so long?" Merry demanded as he joined them.

"I needed some letters for Uncle Bilbo delivered to the post office," Frodo replied. "And I asked Peony if she could do it."

Like the lads’ trip to Bywater, there is not much to tell of their journey to their camping spot. They started off down the road again, turning off of it just before they reached the town. Then, they followed a dirt trail, which led through a small forest and then back out into the countryside. After crossing that, they came once more to a forest, this time much denser and larger. They tramped (with some difficulty and much complaining from Merry) through the thick underbrush for several hours, and finally, they reached a clearing. Milo announced that this was their camping place for the day, and they all promptly threw their packs down and collapsed together on the grass.

"What made you choose this place, Milo?" asked Frodo after a few moments of silence. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around. The clearing was round, and sheltered on all sides by trees. He could hear the soft murmur of a creek nearby, and the sweet cooing of a dove above him.

"Well, it does seem like the perfect place, don’t you think?" Milo replied. "There’s a creek nearby for water, and plenty of branches for a campfire. And," he added with a grin, "there are mushrooms better than Farmer Maggot’s growing right over there." He pointed to the edge of the clearing.

At the word "mushrooms," Merry’s eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet. "I’m starving!" he exclaimed happily as he ran to gather some.

Frodo and Sam shook their heads, and Milo laughed. "That boy will never change."

"I’m trying—ow! But you’re hurting—ouch! me! Snakes and adders, that hurts! Stop it, will you!"

Frodo sighed and looked up at Sam, who stood watching nearby. "It looks as though we’ll have to try your plan, Sam," Frodo said. "You’ll have to sit on him while I hold his arms and Milo pulls it out."

Sam nodded and everyone took their positions. "Be careful!" Merry begged as Milo took his hand. Buried deep in the middle of his palm was a large, red thorn.

Milo licked his lips in concentration and tried to pull the thorn out as gently as possible. Merry yelped. "Ouch!" he cried. "That hurt!"

Milo sighed and tried again. This time, he succeeded in pulling it out about halfway. "Almost there, Merry-lad," he said. "I’m doing this as gently as I can." Merry squeezed his eyes tightly shut and gritted his teeth as Milo pulled again.

Merry opened his eyes and saw the thorn in his cousin’s hand. It was as big as a wolf's tooth, and nearly as sharp. He looked down at his own hand and saw that it was covered with blood. Frodo grabbed a cloth that Sam had soaked in the stream and wrapped it around Merry’s hand. "Here, Merry," he said. "This will help."

Merry winced at first, but gradually, the cool, wet cloth did help, and his hand stopped throbbing. "Now how did you manage to get this thorn stuck in your hand in the first place?" asked Milo, examining the thorn. "I thought you were getting mushrooms."

"I was," Merry defended himself. "And I saw an enormous one growing by the stream. I’ve eaten it before, so I knew it was safe. I didn’t see any thorns on it. But when I pulled it up, I got stuck with that."

Milo started laughing, much to Merry’s confusion. "So you’ve encountered your first West Farthing Thorny Mushroom," he said. "I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner, with your appetite. The Thorny Mushrooms are quite delicious—once you get past the thorns. I tried to eat them many times myself when I was a young rascal just like you; and they’re still my favorite. Though nowadays, I prefer to buy them in the market when they’ve already had their thorns removed."

Frodo and Sam helped Milo gather some firewood while Merry sat on the bank of the creek washing the mushrooms they had gathered earlier. He kept a safe distance from the water; he was still wary (rightfully so) of it, and had not forgotten his nightmare.

Thankfully, nothing lurked in this stream—at any rate, nothing that showed itself—except fish and frogs, and Merry returned to the campsite safely. The others arrived a few minutes later, each with enormous stacks of firewood in their arms, which they piled at the edge of the clearing.

"Why don’t we take a walk through the woods?" Milo suggested, coming over to sit beside Merry. "We still have about three hours before sundown – time enough to explore. What d’you say?"

Frodo, Sam and Merry agreed heartily and Sam ran off to refill their water bottles. "Are you sure it’ll be alright to leave everything here?" Frodo asked Milo somewhat anxiously.

Merry snorted. "Frodo, please stop worrying!" he exclaimed before Milo could reply. "It’ll be fine. We shan’t be gone more than a few hours, and most likely no one else will be exploring the woods. Besides," he added, "we don’t have anything valuable in the camp. There’s no reason it wouldn’t be safe."

An eagle’s sharp cry rang through the still forest air as the hobbits trekked through the trees. Frodo shaded his eyes with one hand to look up at it. The golden bird was only a small speck against the clear blue sky, wheeling in circles overhead. Suddenly, the eagle turned and dove almost straight down toward the earth. Only a few feet above the treetops, he stopped his downward plummet and soared over them. He called loudly again, then, with a keen glance at Frodo, he turned and headed in the opposite direction.

Frodo had always loved eagles, ever since Bilbo had told him of his rescue by the Eagle King. As Frodo watched the majestic bird soar out of sight, he sighed wistfully. ‘I hope I shall meet an eagle someday,’ he thought. ‘Wouldn’t that be a tale to tell Uncle Bilbo?’

Merry jerked him back to the present. "Frodo!" he called impatiently. "What are you doing? Come on!" With a laugh, Frodo turned and headed back toward the others, and they continued through the woods.

The hobbits did not come upon anything of interest on their trek through the thick forests—except for some poison ivy, which fortunately, they (narrowly) avoided. Other than that, however, the excursion was disappointingly dull.

By the time they reached the camp on their way back, the sun had nearly set, and above the trees the sky shown crimson. The wind blowing softly from the south increased slightly, just enough to cause the smaller, thinner trees to sway at the tops.

Milo and Frodo made a campfire while Sam got their food out of their packs and started to make supper. For the moment, there was not much that Merry could do, so he went inside the tent that he shared with Frodo and sat down, leaning his back against his pack. He reached into one of the pockets of it and pulled out the little wooden robin that Milo had made. He smiled as he turned it over in his hands, thinking of the first time he and Pippin had gone exploring together.

‘What is it, Pip?’ Merry looked up from the large mushroom he was attempting to pick. He younger cousin bounced up and down excitedly.

‘Look! Up in that tree! What is it?’ he pointed to a large oak tree to the right of the trail. Up in one of its thick branches perched a small robin, not yet fully grown, singing loudly and flapping its wings.

‘It’s a robin, Pip.’ Merry stood up and laughed as the bird hopped up and down on the branch, beating the air with its wings.

‘What is the robin doing, Merry?’ Pippin asked curiously. Merry opened his mouth to reply, but just then another robin of the same size glided overhead and landed rather clumsily on the same branch. The two birds chirped excitedly to each other, and the first robin combed its beak through the other one’s feathers.

‘I’m not sure,’ Merry said. ‘They must be friends. Or brothers. Or cousins.’

Pippin smiled and slipped his small hand into Merry’s and squeezed it. ‘Yes. Like you and me.’

Merry smiled at the memory. That had been one of Pippin’s rare serious moments, which had lasted a surprisingly long time. And as Merry thought about his younger cousin’s words, they made sense; he realized that it was possible for cousins to be all three. He, Frodo and Pippin had always considered each other more than just cousins, and though Sam was not related to them by blood, they also regarded him as more than just a friend. Their bond with Milo was not quite as strong, considering the distance in their ages, but Merry still thought of him as an older brother and mentor. And of course, Bilbo was much more than a second-cousin-twice- removed. He was like another parent, understanding and caring, and a teacher, always showing them new things, but most of all, he was a friend: one they could always talk to, who would always listen, always help. He could always cheer them up, or give them a helping hand when they needed it – or give them shelter when they needed a place to hide from the S.-B.’s.

Merry gently tucked the wooden robin back into his pack, careful to wrap it with a handkerchief. He had decided to give it to Pippin, the next time he saw him. He had meant at first to give it to Daisy, but now he had something else in mind for her. Something he hoped would be even more special.

"Well, here we are!" Milo announced the next afternoon. With a grateful sigh, Merry collapsed on the grass as he had done the day before. After walking the entire morning, he was exhausted—and dreadfully hungry. Unfortunately, there were no mushrooms nearby, so he had to make do with a few seed cakes.

For a few moments, they ate their small (by hobbit standards) meal in silence, each in their own thoughts. "I know what," Milo said suddenly, making them all jump. "Let’s go fishing. You three always enjoyed that—and I daresay fish will taste much better than these seed cakes." Everyone enthusiastically agreed. "You lads didn’t bring your fishing poles, though, did you?" Milo asked. At the dismayed shakes of their heads, he went on, "Oh well, no matter. I’ve brought mine, so we can share it."

The hobbits hastily set up their tents, put their packs inside and stacked some branches for firewood. Frodo was still slightly anxious about leaving their things behind, but he did not wish to spoil the fun for the others, so he said nothing. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but he felt uneasy about leaving their things unguarded. He brushed it off and followed the others into the woods toward the creek.

"I got one!" Merry cried happily, struggling to reel in the fish on the end of the hook. The fish was so strong that Merry began sliding into the water. Milo wrapped his arms around the lad’s waist and together, they managed to drag the fish to shore.

Milo put the fish in their basket along with the two others they had caught. "What do you three say we head back now?" he suggested. "Three fish should be enough for supper – especially with the size of Merry’s."

Everyone agreed, and they tramped through the trees back toward camp. Merry chatted happily the whole way, boasting about the size of the fish he had once caught in the Brandywine—which, according to him, had been at least as tall as he was; twice as large as the one he had just caught. He also told Milo (for the third time) about the fish he had caught in the river on their way to Bywater, which seemed to grow larger with each telling.

Milo listened with seemingly unending patience, and Sam and Frodo lagged behind to chat quietly between themselves. The creek was only a few minutes’ walk from the campsite, and they were soon there. Everything appeared fine, and Frodo again brushed off his fears and helped Sam light the campfire as Merry eagerly helped Milo in getting the fish ready for cooking.

By the time the sun went down, the campfire was crackling and Sam was serving everyone roasted fish, seed cakes and some berries they had found. They chatted merrily as they ate for a while, and then lapsed into comfortable silence. "Milo," Merry said suddenly, "would you teach me how to carve?"

Milo smiled and ruffled Merry’s curls. "Of course I will, lad," he said. "We can start tomorrow morning, if you like. Carving isn’t too difficult to learn, but it takes a lot of patience."

"I can be patient," Merry said determinedly. "I’ll practice every day—I will!"

Merry grinned. "I can’t tell you – it’s a surprise; something for Daisy. I’ll show you what I’m giving Pip, though—for his birthday." He jumped up and dashed into the tent. He knelt down in front of his pack and opened the pocket where he kept the robin. Reaching his hand inside, he felt around for it. It was not there! Swallowing his growing alarm, he opened the top of his pack and dug into it. It was not there, either. He frantically searched every pocket of his pack, and then the pockets of his breeches.

Surely it was here, somewhere. He had just misplaced it. He would find it, and his worry would prove needless. But no matter how hard he searched, he could not find it, or the handkerchief it had been wrapped in.

"Frodo! Milo! Sam!" he called frantically, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill out. The others rushed into the tent and crowded around him.

Merry looked up at him, his face white. "My robin is gone—the one Milo made for me," he said softly. "I was going to give it to Pippin since robins are his favorite birds and his birthday is coming up soon. But it’s gone!" He swallowed hard, determined not to lose control of his tears in front of his cousins.

"Are you sure you didn’t put it somewhere else?" Milo asked gently, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Merry shook his head. "I know I put it in my pack just last night—in the outer pocket. I’ve searched that, and the rest of my pack. It’s not there."

Sam was looking through Merry’s pack as they talked. He looked up and shook his head. "He’s right. It’s not there." Frodo helped Merry to his feet and they searched the other packs without success.

Milo looked out of the tent at the full moon, which was just beginning to rise. "I’m sorry, Merry," he said, turning to him. "But we can’t search any more tonight. It’s getting late. We can search first thing in the morning, I promise."

Merry nodded and sniffled. Truth be told, he did feel quite tired. Frodo gave him a quick hug of encouragement as they spread out their bedrolls and curled up in the blankets. Milo kissed them all softly on the forehead and bade them goodnight, before heading off into his own tent.

Merry settled down beside Frodo and sighed sadly. He was still determined not to lose control of his emotions in front of his cousin, but a solitary tear made its way down his cheek. He angrily reached up and brushed it away, hoping Frodo hadn’t noticed. If he had, his cousin gave no sign, save to nestle slightly closer to Merry.

For a few moments, there was complete silence, broken only by Sam’s soft snoring on the other side of Frodo and the crickets chirping outside. Although he was exhausted, Merry could not sleep. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. ‘What in the Shire could have happened to my robin?’ he wondered. ‘Surely no one could have stolen it—but if it wasn’t stolen, then what happened?’

These questions continued to bother him until he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He rolled over to see Frodo, half-asleep, holding his arms open. Merry smiled gratefully and snuggled up close to his cousin, resting his head under Frodo’s chin. He sighed contentedly as he felt Frodo wrap his arms tightly around him, pulling him into a comfortable embrace.

Again there was silence for several minutes. Merry rested happily in his cousin’s arms, listening to the sound of Frodo’s soft breathing. Finally, Merry ventured to speak. "Frodo?" he said quietly. There was no response. "Frodo?" he tried again.

"What if we don’t find my robin?" Merry whispered, growing more frightened with each word he spoke. "What will I give to Pip? I haven’t a single penny to buy anything with, and it would take Milo months to carve another one! Pippin’s birthday is only a month away! Oh, what am I going to do if we can’t find it?"

Frodo pulled away a bit from his cousin and held him at arm’s length. "Of course we shall find your bird, Merry. Don’t lose hope yet. We barely started to search today, and I’m sure it is not far. We will find it tomorrow. Don’t worry." He smiled. "You really should be resting if you want to start looking first thing in the morning."

Merry returned his smile. "I know," he said around a yawn, really too exhausted to stay so panicked. "I am tired." He curled up close to Frodo again, resting his head on his older cousin’s chest. Frodo again wrapped his arms around him. "Good night, Merry," he said softly. "Sleep well."

"Good night," came Merry’s whispered reply, muffled by Frodo’s shirt. The two young hobbits nestled down comfortably into the blankets. Merry felt Sam’s arm curl protectively over Frodo’s side and smiled as he nestled closer into his cousin’s arms. His eyes slowly closed as he was lulled to sleep by the soft, rhythmic beating of Frodo’s heart.

After breakfast the next morning, the hobbits split up to look for the bird—Sam and Frodo went west, towards the creek where they had fished the day before, and Milo and Merry went east, the way they had come. They walked for several hours, searching under every bush and rock they came upon, but without success. Merry had been slightly more cheerful when they had started, but as time went on, he became more and more depressed.

Finally, at around noon, Milo decided that they should head back to camp and find Frodo and Sam. Merry perked up a bit at the thought of food, and asked Milo again to teach him how to carve. "If we don’t find my bird," he said, "I can at least make him something else." Milo agreed, and they decided that Merry would have his first carving lesson that evening.

Once they got back to camp, Milo started making some luncheon, and Merry was dispatched to find Frodo and Sam. That did not take them long, for they had not gone far, and he found them refilling their water bottles in the stream.

They looked up. "Well, I’m not sure," Frodo said. "We found two pairs of footprints that are too fresh to be ours from yesterday, and too old to be Sam's and mine from today." He led Merry to a large sandbar in the middle of the creek, and there were indeed two pairs of footprints. They were hobbit sized, but too large for Frodo, Sam or Merry, and slightly too small to be Milo’s.

Merry knelt down and studied them, though he honestly had no idea of how to gain any information from them. "How did you find these?" he asked after a moment, looking curiously at Frodo.

His older cousin shrugged. "I didn’t. Sam did. Leave it to him to find something like this—I wouldn’t have thought to look here on this sandbar, but of course Sam knew better."

Sam came over to them after refilling all of their water bottles. "Shouldn’t we be headin’ back to camp?" he asked. "I think I smell lunch cooking." The other two nodded. "And we should tell Milo about the footprints," Frodo decided.

The three hobbits climbed up the bank, which was steep at this point, and headed back toward camp. There, Milo had luncheon ready for them. They ate quickly, for upon hearing of their discovery, Milo decided to follow the direction the footprints went after lunch.

"How much further are we going to go, Milo?" Merry moaned as he stumbled over a tree root. Frodo reached out to steady him and Milo answered over his shoulder. "Not much further." He squinted up at the sun. "We’ll head back to camp in a few minutes."

As they traveled, the trees gradually became thicker until the thick green leaves all but completely blocked out the sunlight. At last, they came to the edge of a clearing. Peering through the tall bushes that surrounded it, Merry gave a cry of joy. "We’re back!" he exclaimed. "We made it to camp!"

The hobbits entered the clearing and looked around. At first, it did look like their camp; there were two tents, and the remains of a meal near the fire. But something was amiss here. There were more trees surrounding the site, and the patch of mushrooms at the far side was absent.

As the older three walked around the campsite, Merry entered one of the tents. Like the rest of the camp, it was deserted, but just as he was leaving, he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. Curiously, he turned and looked more closely at the object. It was small, whitish-brown in color, and was wrapped partially in a handkerchief. Unwrapping it, Merry’s breath caught in amazement. It was several moments before he found his voice enough to cry, "My robin! I found my robin!"

Milo, Frodo and Sam rushed into the tent and knelt down beside Merry. "Why it is your bird!" Frodo exclaimed happily.

Merry was carefully examining his robin all over for any nicks or dents. He found none, and wrapping it back up in its handkerchief, he put it safely in his pocket. "I don’t know," he said at last. "But this certainly isn’t our camp. I wonder who’s it is?"

Milo shook his head. "Well, whoever’s it is, I don’t really fancy meeting them right now. Let’s head back to our camp."

Even after finding his robin, Merry was no less enthusiastic about a carving lesson, and Milo kept his promise of giving him one. As they ate supper, Milo gave Merry his pocketknife, picked up a good chunk of wood, and, placing his hand over his younger cousin’s, showed him the right position and strokes of the knife. Merry’s small, nimble fingers seemed made to carve; during that first lesson, he was able to make a small creature that somewhat resembled a dog, which he gave to Frodo.

That night, as Merry and Sam slept in the tent, Milo and Frodo sat around the campfire and talked for a while.

"Well, it isn’t fair to accuse someone when they aren’t here to defend themselves, but I think that it may have been Lotho and Ted."

"I could be wrong—I hope I am. But we met them in the Ivy Bush, and I’m afraid Merry said something that made them upset."

Frodo shrugged. "I’ve no idea. But it was wonderful craftsmanship, you know. Maybe they wanted to sell it."

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, just listening to the wind in the leaves, and the fire crackling. Presently, Milo patted Frodo’s shoulder. "Well, time for bed. It must be near midnight."

Milo smiled and ruffled his younger cousin’s dark curls before giving him a playful push toward the tent. "Sleep well."

"Hard to believe, isn’t it?" Frodo agreed, shouldering his pack and coming up beside him. He turned to Sam, who was still in the tent, packing. "Be sure not to take too much, Sam. My pack feels suspiciously light."

"Yes, Mr. Frodo," came the reply from inside, and Sam emerged, pack on. "Everything’s packed." Frodo smiled but secretly suspected that his faithful gardener had taken more than his fair share of the load, and he decided to look into it later.

Milo emerged from his tent, carrying his pack, which he set down by the remains of the campfire. "All packed, lads?" he asked. Frodo, Sam and Merry nodded, and Milo proceeded to take down the tents and roll them up so that he could tie them to his pack. When this was done, he shouldered his pack and they started off toward Bywater.

When they stopped for lunch (which consisted mainly of some mushrooms that Merry had found along the way), Frodo and Milo convinced Sam to give Frodo some of his load—though Frodo still felt that Sam had too much—and they continued on their way.

As they didn’t stop often, they made it to the clearing where they had stayed on their first day in only a few hours. From there, Bywater was about two hours away.

When they finally made it to the Burrows’ hole, they were staggering with exhaustion. Peony, her chestnut curls in two thick braids, and her dress and face spotted with flour, seemed like an angel to the weary boys as she led them into the living room. Nothing had ever felt so good as collapsing in the soft armchairs and sipping warm tea. The younger lads were so tired that Milo and Frodo told most of the story while they only occasionally gave supporting nods or shook their heads. Peony listened with interest as she put some ginger cookies in the oven and sat down beside Milo.

When they had finished the story, they were silent for a while, until Peony suddenly jumped up. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I forgot! Frodo, you have two letters from your Uncle Bilbo. Why don’t you read them aloud to us?" She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the letters. Frodo read them silently first, then the first one out loud:

'Glad to hear all is well there. So, you’re staying with the Burrowses, are you? Wonderful. Has Milo taken you camping yet? Be sure to ask him why he hasn’t answered any of my letters lately!

'Mrs. Gamgee helped me contact the Broadbelts, and I wrote to them about staying there with you lads. Mr. Broadbelt responded right away (it turns out he learned to read and write when he was a lad) and it looks as though I shall be staying with you lads, for a while, at least. I hope you won’t mind – I’m boring company, I know.

‘I would send you the letter, but I’d rather give it to you in person. I will say, however, that he had some very nice comments about you, Frodo, and the other lads. He really appreciated your help while you were there.’" Frodo faltered here and blushed. He glanced at Merry, who was grinning, and Sam, who was also blushing and concentrating on his cup of tea. Patting Sam’s shoulder, he continued:

‘Bilbo’"

Frodo finished the letter and fell silent. "Well?" Peony prompted. "Aren’t you going to read the other?" Frodo swallowed hard, and reluctantly opened the second letter.

‘Right after I finished writing my last letter to you, who else but Lobelia shows up at the door! She was furious, hardly waiting for me to open the door before storming in. She was nearly screaming, something about you having stolen something from her "poor, dear Lotho." She said that Lotho had made a wooden robin and was planning to sell it in Bywater, but that someone had stolen it. When I asked her what made her think that you would have taken it, she only shouted something about Brandybucks and their being notorious for thieving. I finally presuaded her to leave, but I’ve no doubt that she’ll be back. Do you know anything of what she’s talking about, Frodo?

‘I’m going to have a cup of tea to soothe the headache I’ve got. I’m eagerly awaiting your letter – no doubt that will boost my spirits.

Two days later, Frodo, Merry and Sam began packing for the trip back to the Broadbelts. The letter was on the back of everyone's mind; on Frodo's, especially. When he had finished reading it, there had been dead silence for several moments. Merry had been the first to break it, and that led to a long discussion about what they should do. It was decided that Frodo would discuss it with Bilbo at the Broadbelts, rather than in a letter. Bilbo would know how to handle it.

Now, as he put the last few items in his pack, Frodo glanced over at the other two. Merry looked upset - Frodo knew that he was furious about Lotho's falsehood - and he packed his clothes in with unnecessary force. Throughout his carving lessons with Milo, Merry had remained uncharacteristically quiet. He was secretly thinking of all the things he would do to Lotho when he got his hands on him (apparently forgetting that Lotho was over a foot taller than he was).

Sam looked rather thoughtful as he discreetly packed more than half the gear in his own pack. He was not thinking about what he would do to Lotho, but only what he hoped Lotho would not do, and promising himself to protect his master, no matter what.

For himself, Frodo was not sure how he felt about the whole thing. He knew it was not truly anything to worry about, but he hoped that Bilbo would know what to do. He was not surprised by Lotho's dishonesty, but he was saddened by it. He was not angered, either, except for Merry's sake, and he only hoped that his younger cousin would not get himself into trouble with his quick temper.

Frodo was jolted out of his thoughts by Peony entering the room. "Well lads," she said, "all packed?" They nodded. "Good. You'd best get started, if you want to reach the Broadbelts by tonight. It'll take all day as it is." She brushed back one of her auburn ringlets and smiled, somewhat sadly. The boys noticed with surprise that there were tears in her eyes. "I've got a knapsack with some food in it for you - including those ginger cookies I made."

Merry licked his lips at the thought of her delicious, crisp ginger cookies. "Maybe we should have one now?" he asked hopefully. "Wouldn't want to start on an empty stomach, you know..." Peony laughed and left the room without answering. Quickly shouldering his pack, Merry anxiously started after her. "Peony? You didn't answer! Wait!" Laughing, Frodo and Sam strapped on their packs and followed him.

"Now you lads be careful; who knows what that Lotho might do if he found you alone. Especially if Ted Sandyman's with him. And don't get lost. It's a long way to the Broadbelts'."

Merry sighed at Peony's over-protectiveness as she continued. She wasn't usually like this, but she had been acting rather strange the last few days. She finished her lecture, and enveloped Merry in a tight hug before he had a chance to escape. "You take care of yourself, Merry," she whispered. "And come back soon."

Merry nodded, and noticed that again her soft brown eyes were filled with tears. "Are you feeling well, Peony?" he asked softly, so as not to alarm the others.

Peony chuckled. "Of course I am, love. I'm right as rain. Now, go say good-by to Milo." She smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before moving away and ambushing Frodo with a hug. Merry shook his head in confusion. Peony wasn't usually so emotional. What was wrong with her?

He said good-bye to Milo and surprised him with a small whistle he had carved. Milo ruffled Merry's unruly curls and said that it was the finest whistle ever made, and presented him with his very own pocketknife. Its hilt was beautifully carved mahogany inlaid with silver. "This is beautiful!" he exclaimed, eyes glowing with pleasure.

Milo grinned. "I'm glad you like it. But you may only have it if you promise to keep practicing your carving."

After the sorrowful farewells were said, the hobbits went through Bywater (stopping for a quick visit to Mr. Sandybanks' home to check on Adamanta and wish her a happy birthday) and out onto the road. Again, the journey was uneventful until they entered the woods that evening, a few miles away from the Broadbelts' farm.

There was about an hour till sundown and the hobbits hurried through the forest. They came to a creek that they were forced to cross, much to Sam's dismay (though it was only about chest deep on Merry, and the current was slow), and afterwards they made a quick stop to take their cloaks out of their packs and wrap them tightly around them. The sun hardly penetrated the thick canopy of the forest and it was some time before they warmed up.

Merry was far ahead, with Frodo, and then Sam following. He couldn't wait to show Daisy the gift for her that he'd been working on for the last two days. He could imagine her face lighting up when he brought it out of his pack and said that it was hers. The angelic green eyes would shine and she'd throw her little arms around his neck and tell him that he was the best "big brother" ever...

He was jerked out of his imaginings by a sudden hiss in front of him. He stopped abruptly and looked around. There was nothing to be seen, and he could hear Sam and Frodo laughing and talking far behind him. He started to take another step forward, but suddenly caught sight of a movement in the undergrowth in front of him. He jumped back only just in time as a flash of white and black shot forward and snapped the air exactly where his foot had been only moments before. Merry took another step back and eyed the creature in alarm. Its dark brown-black scales were perfect camouflage and it was hard to distinguish from the underbrush. He could just make out a narrow, snake-like head, and a thick, legless body.

Merry cautiously took another step back, and the creature lunged forward, again missing him by a hair. At first, Merry had thought him a snake, but now he caught a fleeting glimpse of the black-slitted red eyes. Horrified, Merry realized that it was the creature from the creek that had attacked him on their first day out.

Chapter Twelve: Heroes

Merry stumbled back, trying to call, but his mouth was suddenly dry and he could not find his voice. His eyes remained locked on the serpent, which made no move, but watched him as well. He heard Sam and Frodo getting closer, and then to his relief, his older cousin calling out, "Merry? Where did you go?"

At last, Merry found his voice. "Over here, Frodo! Come quick!" He heard them running towards him, but his eyes did not leave the still, silent creature before him.

Finally, Frodo and Sam came up behind him and stopped abruptly as they caught sight of the snake. Frodo placed a hand on Merry’s shoulder. "It’s that creature from the creek!" he whispered. Merry nodded jerkily, not taking his eyes from it.

"Back up, very slowly," said Frodo softly. Merry gulped and obeyed, hearing Sam doing the same. He had not taken more than a few steps when the creature lunged again, barely missing Frodo, who jumped back a step. The three hobbits kept close together and attempted to inch their way backward again. Quicker than sight, the serpent darted around them and blocked their path. They whirled around and jumped back to avoid its strike.

Frodo slowly, surreptitiously reached for his pocketknife, and Merry did the same. Sam did not have one, but he had one of his frying pans ready. The creature watched them with its beady red eyes, but made no move. They backed up again, and it lunged forward and blocked their way once more. Though it was nearly six feet long, most of its body was concealed by underbrush. Its forked tongue, blood red, flicked out and its eyes glinted maliciously. It slowly raised itself up, like a cobra ready to strike, so that it was taller than Frodo.

The hobbits backed up once more and this time, the creature did not block their path, but suddenly lunged forward right in the middle of them, causing them to scatter. The serpent’s eyes flicked from one to the other as it again raised itself up to nearly full height. It coolly considered each one, noting with pleasure how they trembled under its glance. Frodo did his best to seem unafraid, if only for Merry and Sam’s sake, and gripped his knife tightly in his hand, prepared to defend his young companions whatever the cost. Sam also tried to look brave, remembering his secret promise to protect his master at all costs. Merry made no effort to hide his fear. He shook uncontrollably, and his knuckles were white from his tight grip on his knife, which now seemed pathetically small and useless. But despite his terror, he also was prepared to put up a fight for his friends.

The creature watched them in cruel amusement. They were all young, small and no match for it. It had only to decide between them who would be first. For it had not eaten in weeks, and could easily devour three young hobbit lads at once.

The seconds passed by, agonizingly slow, as the hobbits remained frozen under the serpent’s stare. Suddenly, the creature surged forward. Merry barely had time to stumble back into the underbrush. He fell, and scooted away as quickly as he could as the serpent slithered towards him. He still had his knife in his hand, which he held protectively in front of him. The creature’s head struck forward, but was suddenly jerked back. Frodo and Sam had grabbed hold of its tail and were yanking it back, away from Merry.

Quicker than sight, the serpent whipped its head around, causing Frodo and Sam to drop it. Merry scrambled to his feet and dashed to their side before the creature could strike again. It raised itself up to its full height, its eyes flashing. It suddenly struck out at Sam, who stumbled and fell on his back, but luckily brought his frying pan up just in time. The creature jerked its head up to strike him again, but Merry darted forward and slashed its side with his knife. With an angry hiss, the serpent whirled around and struck out at him.

Merry jumped back, and the creature’s fangs passed so close that they tore his shirt. It butted his hand with its head and his knife was flung out of his grasp. It raised itself up once more, its eyes glinting with cruel delight. Dark, reddish-black blood oozed out of the wound in its side, but the serpent paid no heed. Merry backed up a few steps, and just as the creature struck again, Frodo suddenly darted forward, placing himself in between it and Merry. He raised his knife, the steel ringing as it met the sharp fangs.

With an infuriated hiss, the creature pulled back its head and glared at Frodo, who returned the stare evenly. Enraged by the hobbit’s show of defiance, it narrowed its eyes and struck again. Frodo’s Elven-knife caught the serpent’s lower jaw, drawing more blood.

The creature hissed again with pain and anger, its eyes filled with hatred for the small creature before it; though he was inexperienced and frightened, there was steel inside this hobbit’s slender frame. The serpent was tired of playing with it now. Its forked tongue darted out and across its lips. Time to be rid of this spirited young nuisance.

It lunged, suddenly, and at the same time it whipped its long tail around Frodo’s legs, pulling him down to the ground. Frodo landed with a startled cry, but he managed to raise his knife once more.

A second too late. The serpent’s fangs sliced deeply across his wrist, and a fiery pain shot through his arm. Frodo gasped at the intensity of it, and even from his position on the ground, dizziness assailed him and it felt as though everything was whirling around and beneath him.

"Frodo!" Sam and Merry shouted simultaneously, rushing forward. Sam placed himself between the creature and his master, and with a resounding whack, he brought his pan down on its head with all his strength. This dazed the creature momentarily and Sam was able to pull Frodo to his feet and help him stumble a safe distance away. "Get my knife, Sam," Frodo whispered hoarsely, closing his eyes as he desperately tried to fight the dizziness and pain that were steadily building. "Help Merry." Sam nodded, knowing that now was not the time for argument, and with a quick squeeze of his master’s hand, he reluctantly left Frodo where he was.

Merry crept along the side of the stunned serpent, and raising his pocketknife, he drove it into its scaly hide. This startled the creature out of its daze, and with an angry hiss, it suddenly whipped its tail around Merry’s legs. Before the young hobbit could react, it threw another coil around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides. "Frodo! Sam!" cried Merry, struggling in vain to free himself from the iron grip.

Sam retrieved Frodo’s knife from where it lay gleaming on the ground and raced to the creature’s side. He slashed it deeply across the coil that held Merry’s arms. The serpent struck at him, but he darted out of reach and cut it again. The creature finally let go of Merry, who stumbled forward and stood beside Sam.

The wounded serpent glared hatefully at the two young hobbits, and in his loud, angry hisses, they could almost make out words: "Come not between Nárcarak and his prey!" His eyes glinted with fury, but also there was doubt and a tiny hint of fear. Never before had his prey put up such a struggle, and never before had anyone dared to wound him so. Now, he was faced with two fearless, angry hobbits, armed with sharp knives, one of them made by the Elves. Its silver blade caught the setting sun’s light and burned his eyes. He struck at Sam, but the young hobbit used his frying pan as a shield and Nárcarak only succeeded in bruising his nose on it. He turned on Merry, but was rewarded by a deep cut across his face.

Raising himself up, he studied the two hobbits before him. They showed no signs of giving up, and Merry lunged at him again, slicing across his soft underbelly. Suddenly a rock whistled through the air and hit the serpent sharply on the head. Another one followed, narrowly missing him this time. Soon a hail of them showered down upon him. Merry glanced back and saw Frodo, on his feet, hurling rocks at Nárcarak with his uninjured arm. The creature shrunk back, cowed at last, and with one last hiss, vanished into the underbrush.

For several moments, the hobbits simply stood there, panting and trying to slow their racing hearts. But suddenly Merry let out a triumphant whoop and clapped Sam—who was examining a dent in his faithful pan—enthusiastically on the back. Almost instantly, however, his high spirits died, as he looked behind and saw Frodo, swaying on his feet, his injured arm curled protectively against his chest. Merry could see him trembling, and rushed over to him, with Sam close behind. He helped Frodo to sink down into the grass while Sam anxiously got out their water bottles.

"Let me see," Merry ordered gently, pulling up Frodo’s sleeve to examine his wound. Two deep cuts ran nearly all the way around his wrist, bleeding heavily. Sam sucked in his breath sharply at the sight and tore some of his sleeve to serve as a bandage. "This looks horrible," exclaimed Merry softly, raising worry-filled eyes to meet his cousin’s. "Do you want Sam and I to carry you?"

Frodo shook his head. "No," he said through clenched teeth. "Just bind it up tight and I’ll be fine." Seeing Merry and Sam’s doubtful looks, he forced a small smile. "Don’t worry. It’s just a bite. I’ll be fine. Really."

TBC...

Note: Nácarack roughly translates to “fire-fang” in Sindarin. Emphasis on roughly…

Frodo’s arm was tightly bandaged and the hobbits slowly made their way towards the Broadbelts’ farm. Sam and Merry stayed on either side of Frodo, supporting him when he stumbled. The sun had nearly set now, and they were still about two miles away from the Broadbelts’.

Merry anxiously kept an eye on Frodo’s injured hand, which had developed a slight purple tint to it that troubled him. The bleeding had stopped, but that did not ease his concern. Frodo’s face was very pale, and his azure eyes were clouded and dull. His dark curls were plastered to his brow with sweat, though he continued to tremble as if with cold.

Frodo was in worse pain than he would let on. His right hand was numb, but it felt as though fire coursed through his veins everywhere else. He suspected that there might have been venom in the bite, but he did not wish to slow them down with unnecessary worry, so remained silent.

They continued slowly, and Frodo stumbled more and more often. Through the trees and bushes ahead, Merry thought he could see an opening. ‘Good!’ he thought with relief. ‘We can let Frodo have a quick rest there.’ Aloud, he said, "I think I see a clearing up ahead. Let’s make for it and we can rest there for a few minutes." Sam agreed, and Frodo merely nodded his head.

Upon reaching the small clearing, Merry ran a little ways ahead to see if the Broadbelts’ house was in sight yet. It was not. He turned around just in time to see Frodo suddenly begin to sway, and then collapse into Sam’s arms. "Frodo!" Merry cried, racing back toward the two. Sam gently eased Frodo down into the grass and Merry frantically felt for his cousin’s pulse. It was there, uneven and faint, but present.

"What’s wrong with him?" Merry asked anxiously, though he knew that Sam knew no more than he did.

Sam’s brown eyes were brimming with tears as he shook his head. "I don’t know, Mr. Merry! Let’s check that bite."

Merry gently took Frodo’s limp hand and undid the bandage. There was some dried blood around the gashes, but the wounds themselves seemed to have closed up already, leaving only scars that showed an astonishingly bright red against the pale skin. The purple color, too, had faded, and in its place were two broad, red streaks coming up from the scars. Sam hesitantly touched one of the cuts and quickly withdrew his hand. "It feels like fire!" he gasped. Merry felt Frodo’s forehead and recoiled as well. The skin was burning hot to his touch. He looked at Sam, wide-eyed. "I think that there was poison in that bite," said the gardener slowly. "He needs a doctor, and mighty quick too."

Merry nervously glanced around. The sun had now set, and they were still at least a mile from the Broadbelts. He looked back at Sam, who was pouring water on the bandage and placing it on Frodo’s forehead.

There was no choice. Merry swallowed hard and dropped his pack. He took out his canteen and slung the leather strap over his shoulder. "I’ll go fetch the Broadbelts," he said quietly.

Merry nodded. "I must. Frodo doesn’t weigh much, but if you and I carried him we’d take too long to get there."

Sam sighed and used the wet cloth to stroke Frodo’s burning face and throat. "If it’s the only way to help ’im, then I guess we don’t have no choice. All right then, you go fetch the Broadbelts and I’ll stay here with Mr. Frodo. Are you sure you can make it the whole way by yourself?"

"Yes. I’ll run just as quick as I can." Merry knelt down beside his cousin and quickly placed a kiss on Frodo’s damp forehead. "Be well, cousin," he whispered, and squeezing Frodo’s hot hand one last time, he waved good-bye to Sam and ran off through the trees.

"Good luck, Mr. Merry!" Sam called after him. "An’ come back quick," he added softly, with a sorrowful glance at his unconscious master.

Merry ran like he’d never run before. Like a small, grey shadow he flew through the forest, his furry feet hardly touching the ground. All the while, the deathly pale face of Frodo burned in his mind, giving him speed he had not even known he had. He stumbled over a tree root, regained his balance and put on another burst of speed.

He ran for a full fifteen minutes before pausing or slowing down, and even when he did, it was only for a quick gulp of water, a deep breath, and then he was off once more. He tripped again, and this time he fell, but he quickly scrambled to his feet and continued. As the ground began to rise, gently at first, and then more and more steeply, his pace slowed to a jog, and then a quick walk. A stitch had begun to form in his side, and he took another drink of water to ease it. The hill seemed to go on endlessly, but finally, he reached the top, and the most welcome sight he had ever seen greeted him: the Broadbelts’ farm.

The sight cheered him and gave new strength to his weary limbs. He raced down the hill, nearing the farmhouse with every stride. ‘Almost there!’ he thought joyfully. ‘Almost there!’ He climbed up another small hill and finally, reached the dirt path leading to the door. He dashed to the door, rang the bell, and with a gasp flung himself down on the step.

The round, yellow door was opened by Lila, still in her day clothes, but with her long, thick curls loose and cascading down her back nearly to her waist. At the sight of the young hobbit lad panting on her doorstep, she quickly set down her candle and picked him up. "Merry-lad!" she cried. "What are you doing here at this hour, and all alone? What has happened?" She set Merry down in an armchair and hurried into the kitchen to get him something to drink.

Merry did not even attempt to speak until he had taken several large gulps of the ice-cold water that was given to him. "Frodo," he gasped at length, "was bitten by a… by a snake, he… n-needs a doctor… badly." He paused to catch his breath. "He’s b-burning with… fever. I think there was poison in the bite."

Lila’s sky-blue eyes widened and her freckled face turned pale. "Where is he now?" she asked anxiously.

Merry took another drink of water and then answered, "Sam’s with him. In a glade about…a mile from here."

Merry nodded, and at that moment, Ferdirand came in. Merry and Lila quickly informed him of the situation, and he immediately decided to ride his old pony and fetch the doctor immediately. "Lila," he said as he hastened out the door, "Daisy’s still sleepin’ but she’s been getting a mite restless so you might want to see to her." With that, he vanished out into the night.

For several moments, there was silence, and then, all at once, Lila jumped to her feet. "I’m going to go tend to Frodo right now, and bring him here," she announced, grabbing her dark-blue shawl and draping it over her shoulders. "He’ll be better off waiting indoors for the doctor than out there in the wilderness." She seemed to be speaking to herself, but she suddenly turned to Merry. "Merry, dear," she said, "I know this is asking a lot, but do you think that you could stay here and watch Daisy? I’ll be as quick as I can."

Merry was silent a few moments before replying. He was torn between wanting to go get Frodo himself, and staying with dear little Daisy. Of course he had missed her and wished very much to see her, and he would feel better having Frodo inside rather than out in the wilderness, where he could take care of him… "Of course I’ll stay with Daisy, Mrs. Broadbelt. If it’ll help Frodo, I’ll do anything. But are you sure you can go all that way alone in the dark?"

Lila’s pretty face broke into a smile. "Thank you, Merry. And I’ll be fine by myself. With a lantern I’ll probably get there faster than you did. I’ll bring your cousin back, safe and sound, faster than you can say ‘Baggins!’" She laughed and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead before hurrying out the door.

Back in the clearing, Sam was still faithfully trying to cool Frodo’s skin with the wet cloth, and he did seem to be making a small improvement. His young master’s forehead was not quite so fiery hot as it had been before, and a little color had returned to the white face. Sam kept the wound unwrapped, hoping that the steadily dropping temperature would aid in its cooling.

About half an hour had passed and Sam was nearly dropping off to sleep when Frodo stirred and groaned softly. Instantly, Sam’s head jerked up and all drowsiness left him. "Mr. Frodo?" he said hopefully, smoothing back the damp curls from his master’s brow. Frodo gave a soft cry and his eyebrows furrowed. "Mr. Frodo?" Sam said again, more urgently this time. "Mr. Frodo, wake up!"

Frodo’s eyes slowly fluttered open, overly bright with fever. "S…Sam?" he said hoarsely.

Sam grinned with relief and dabbed Frodo’s forehead with the damp cloth again. "Yes, Mr. Frodo, I’m here," he said softly. "And I’m mighty glad you’re here, too."

Frodo smiled slightly. "Me…too…Sam," he whispered. Then he looked around in sudden confusion. "Where’s…Merry?"

Sam gently lifted his master’s head and pressed the rim of the water bottle to his cracked lips, carefully pouring a small amount of the water into Frodo’s mouth. Frodo swallowed slowly, and after another mouthful, Sam lowered his head back down into the grass and resumed the task of bathing his forehead. "He went to get help, Mr. Frodo," he said. "He’s gone to get the Broadbelts."

"Alone?" Frodo asked in alarm, making as if to rise, only to stop with a wince as the quick movement made his head spin again.

"Yes sir, beggin’ your pardon, sir," said Sam worriedly. "But when you fainted, there wasn’t nothin’ else to do. Someone had to stay ’ere and watch you, and someone had to go get help." He paused, and gently touched the wounds on Frodo’s wrist, quickly withdrawing his fingers as his master gave an involuntary gasp of pain. "I don’t mean to worry you, sir, but I think there might be a bit of poison in that bite."

Frodo nodded weakly. "I… thought so." He suddenly gasped again as a new wave of fiery pain shot through his body. Sam’s gentle fingers on his wounds suddenly felt like burning knives and he let out an involuntary yelp, jamming his teeth into his lip to stifle further cries.

Instantly, Sam withdrew his hand and gently caressed Frodo’s brow. "I’m terrible sorry, sir," he murmured. "I didn’t mean to hurt you." He saw tears coursing down Frodo’s pale cheeks and his own eyes watered. He guiltily hung his head. "I should’ve protected you, Mr. Frodo," he whispered, more to himself than his master. "I should’ve kept you safe." He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to keep from crying.

With an effort, Frodo raised his uninjured arm and grabbed Sam’s hand, pressing it weakly. "It’s not your fault, Sam," he said softly. "If anyone, it’s my own fault for jumping right into that… that creature’s path. But I’d rather it be me than you or Merry." He closed his eyes and fell silent, gritting his teeth as another wave of pain shot through him. Sam gratefully squeezed Frodo’s hand and gave him some more water.

The two hobbits sat like this for another half hour: Sam, sitting by his master’s side, pressing Frodo’s hand every so often and getting a weak squeeze in return, and continuing to bathe his face, hands and throat with the cloth. As time went on, Frodo’s hand presses became weaker and weaker, and finally, his hand went completely limp in Sam’s. "Mr. Frodo?" cried Sam in alarm. There was no response. "Frodo!" he called again, pressing the side of Frodo’s throat for a pulse. It was there, and his breathing, though somewhat shallow, was steady.

Sam surmised that Frodo had either gone to sleep or had lost consciousness again. Judging by the renewed fiery feel to his master’s skin, he felt that it was probably the latter.

Merry quietly walked down the hall of the Broadbelts’ home and softly opened the round, yellow door of Daisy’s room. He entered, and gently placing his candle on a small table, he knelt down at the bedside and watched the soundly sleeping hobbit lass. Her beautiful dark curls were tied in two braids and she had a thin white nightgown on. Even in sleep, she had a smile upon her face, and her cheeks were as rosy as ever. Merry smiled, and reaching out, he gently brushed back a stray curl from her face.

But at the touch, Daisy stirred and opened her eyes. She sleepily scanned the room and when her eyes fell on Merry, she squealed with delight and launched herself into his lap. "Mer back!" she cried joyfully, all sleep forgotten.

Merry hugged her tightly and grinned. "Yes, I’m back," he said. "And do you know what? I’ve a present for you."

Daisy’s green eyes lit up. "Present for me, Mer?" she asked excitedly. "Where? Where’s the present?"

Merry laughed and picking her up, he carried her into the sitting room where his pack lay beside the armchair. "It’s in there," he said, setting her down. "But it’s a surprise. You have to shut your eyes, and I’ll get it out."

Giggling, Daisy covered her eyes with her small hands, and Merry silently rummaged through his pack. He glanced back at her, and saw a tiny sliver of green between her chubby fingers. "No peeking!" he said in mock severity. With a shriek of pleasure, Daisy covered her eyes completely again. Merry pulled his treasure out of the pack, and holding it behind his back, he said, "You can open your eyes now."

Cautiously, Daisy peeked through her fingers, and then dropped both hands with an excited squeak as she saw what Merry pulled from behind his back. It was a small box of beautiful, white wood. On the sides, each corner was decorated with the carving of a small daisy, and on the lid, carved in a firm, flowing script—at that point Merry had given the secret away and asked Frodo to help him shape the letters—was Daisy’s name, in the center of a large, namesake flower.

The child gasped and her eyes widened as she looked up at Merry. "For me, Mer?" she asked softly. "For Daisy?"

Merry smiled and placed the box in her small hands. "Yes, Daisy, just for you," he said. "Do you want to put it in your room, so it will be safe?" Daisy nodded enthusiastically, and grabbing Merry’s hand, she pulled him down the hall and into her room.

Reverently, she placed it on the little table, beside a little rag doll. She stepped back, admiring it, and then turned to Merry and suddenly threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Mer!" she cried. "Very pretty box! Very pretty!" Merry returned her hug, thinking with delight, ‘Just as I imagined! At least there is something to be happy about now.’

Daisy abruptly pulled away, and suddenly her face was serious. "Where’s mama, Mer? And papa?"

Merry blinked at her sudden change of subject, and then, instead of answering, he sat down in a rocking chair and pulled her up into his lap. "Well, Daisy," he said slowly, his happiness fading as suddenly as it had appeared, "Frodo got very sick on our way here—"

"Fro?" Daisy repeated in dismay, her green eyes going wide as she twisted to look up at him. "Fro bad sick?"

Merry nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, and so I had to run here and get help. Your papa’s gone to get the doctor, and your mama’s gone to find Frodo. Sam’s with him. They’ll be back soon, don’t worry."

Daisy turned around in his lap so that she was facing him fully. She reached up one small hand to wipe away a tear that was sliding down Merry’s cheek. "Mer worried," she whispered. For a moment she looked frightened. Then, she patted Merry’s cheek and brightened. "Mama will find Fro an’ Sam," she said reassuringly. "An’ the doctor will make him all better." She smiled at him, her trusting, angelic smile. "Silly Mer, to worry! Daisy will take care of you!"

Merry grinned, wiping away his tears. "Thank you, Daisy," he said. "I’m glad you’re taking care of me. And you’re right, your mama will find Frodo and the doctor will make him better."

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam called, hoping to get some response from his unconscious master. "Frodo?" Still nothing. Frodo’s eyes remained firmly closed, his dark lashes in striking contrast with his pale skin. He had been like this for too long, in Sam’s opinion, and still he showed no signs of waking.

Sam still continued to stroke his master’s face with the wet cloth, but the burning heat would not relent. The wounds opened up again, and Sam tore another strip of his sleeve off and used it to staunch the bleeding.

Despite himself, Sam’s head began to nod tiredly, and he lay down on his back beside Frodo. He kept his master’s hand in his own, and caressed it gently with the damp cloth. His eyelids began to feel leaden, and slowly and involuntarily, they slid shut, and sleep overcame him.

Sam was jerked awake by a sudden change; of what, he could not tell at first. He sat up quickly and looked at Frodo. No change had come over his pale face, but something was different. Sam touched his master’s forehead and drew his hand back in surprise. "Why, he’s gone cold!" he exclaimed softly to himself. "That can’t be a good sign. I’ll wager that’s some work of that nasty poison; tryin’ to make it seem like he’s gettin’ better but all the while makin’ him worse." He shook his head. "He needs a doctor, real soon. I wonder how far I can carry…" he trailed off as he caught sight of a figure, carrying a lantern, slowly coming through the trees towards him. "Hoy!" he called, standing up and waving his arms. "Hoy! Over here! We need help!" The figure turned, and to Sam’s astonishment, he saw that it was a hobbit woman. She ran towards them, and as she neared, he recognized her as Lila Broadbelt.

"Right over here," said Sam, too relieved to voice his surprise. He knelt beside his master.

Lila set the lantern down and felt Frodo’s forehead. "He’s freezing," she said worriedly, and looked up at Sam. "Is he as light as he looks?"

Lila nodded. "Yes. I’ll need you to carry the lantern for me." With a mother’s tenderness, she lifted Frodo up, gently nestling his dark head against her shoulder. Sam grabbed his pack as well as Frodo’s along with the lantern and trotted along after her. "How did you know we were here?" he asked after a moment. "Did Mr. Merry get there?"

"Yes," said Lila without slackening her pace. "Ferdirand has gone to get the doctor, and Merry is staying home with Daisy." She turned to Sam and smiled. "Don’t worry. We’re not far, and Dr. Bolger is the best there is. He’ll be able to heal Frodo."

Daisy strung another blue bead on the string. "All done!" she said happily. "Now neck’ace is all ready for mama!"

Merry tied the ends together in a firm knot and handed it to her. "Good job, Daisy," he said. "Now, would you like to—" He was cut off by the sound of hurrying feet outside the door, which burst open to admit two hobbits. One was Ferdirand, and the other, Merry guessed, was the doctor.

Dr. Bolger was a kind looking hobbit, reminding Merry a little bit of Bilbo, with thick brown curls that were streaked with grey and a gentle face. He looked tired and worn, and there were deep lines beneath his eyes, but he still managed to give Merry and Daisy a friendly smile.

Catching sight of Merry, Ferdirand came over to him. "Where’s Lila?" he asked breathlessly.

"She went to find Frodo and Sam," Merry answered. "She should be back any minute now."

With perfect timing, the door burst open again and Lila entered, carrying a limp Frodo in her arms. Behind her trotted Sam, carrying the packs and the lantern.

Ferdirand quickly took the lantern and packs from Sam. The packs he placed on the floor in the sitting room, and the lantern he hung inside the barn where it belonged. Lila all but ran down the hall and into the guestroom, with Dr. Bolger following quickly behind. Ferdirand got Sam a cup of water and invited him to sit down, but the faithful young gardener adamantly refused, and went with Ferdirand down the hall. Merry and Daisy, forgotten for the moment, followed more slowly, and peeked around the doorway.

Dr. Bolger was examining Frodo’s wound while Lila was wrapping the covers snugly around him. Sam sat on a stool beside the bed, stroking his master’s uninjured hand and trying his best to stay out of the way. Merry cautiously crept in, Daisy tagging along at his heals, and watched the proceedings silently. Daisy too, sensing the seriousness of the situation, remained quiet, watching with round, curious eyes as the doctor examined his patient.

At length, Dr. Bolger straightened up and stepped back. "Well?" Sam prompted when he did not speak. "What’s wrong with Mr. Frodo? Is it poison?"

The doctor nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. "Yes, it is poison, Samwise," he said. "Poison from a Fire Snake’s bite." Seeing Sam’s distraught expression, he knelt down in front of the young hobbit and gently brushed away a tear from Sam’s cheek. "But do not worry, Sam," he said softly, with a reassuring smile. "I have seen this before, and I know how to treat it. In fact, Farmer Maggot’s son, down in Buckland, was bitten by a Fire Snake just last month, and he’s right as rain now." He took care not to mention that Farmer Maggot’s son had hardly received any venom from his bite.

Dr. Bolger examined Frodo’s wounds again. Without a word, he took out a small knife and carefully opened one of the cuts again. Frodo cried out and struggled to move his arm out of the doctor’s firm grip. "What’re you doing?" Sam demanded angrily, stroking Frodo’s brow. "You’re hurtin’ him!"

Dr. Bolger looked up at him, with eyes full of genuine sorrow. "I’m sorry, Samwise," he said gently. "But I must open those wounds again. It is the only way for me to heal him." With careful precision, he opened the other gash as well, again causing Frodo to cry out. Sam anxiously stroked Frodo’s forehead, whispering comforting words in his ear.

The doctor went through his bag and brought out a small jar filled with some dry, green powder. "May I have a glass of water, please?" he asked Lila. "These herbs need to be dissolved in it."

Lila hastened out, and Dr. Bolger turned his attention back to Frodo’s wounds, which were bleeding heavily. He dabbed his finger in the blood, looked at it closely, and evidently satisfied, dabbed the blood away and bound the wrist once more with a clean bandage. "For now, all we can do is keep him cool," he said when he had finished, finally answering Sam’s earlier question. "He may seem cold at the moment, but it’s only a trick of the poison. Outside, he may be cold as ice, but inside, he is still burning up. We must not let him get too warm." He gently pulled the covers back and Frodo immediately began to tremble.

"Does he have a nightshirt or something cool to wear in his pack?" Dr. Bolger asked, looking at Merry. The young hobbit, glad to be of use at last, jumped up and hurried out into the sitting room to fetch Frodo’s pack. Daisy followed close behind him, her green eyes filled with worry. "Fro be all right, Mer?" she asked softly.

Chapter Fourteen: Complications

Frodo seemed to be lost in a dark, misty forest, as he ran, ran, ran… from what? He did not know, only that some nameless terror pursued him. There was a strange weight on his neck, as though he was bearing a heavy burden. What was it? He reached inside his shirt and brought something out. It was a small gold ring strung on a fine silver chain…Bilbo’s ring? However did he come to carry that, and why was it so heavy?

As he ran through the writhing, twisting mists, he heard a high-pitched, wailing shriek—not a bird nor beast, and it froze his blood. Suddenly, out from the trees ahead, a tall, pale figure, a white crown upon his head, robes fluttering about him… and a cold, black knife in his hand. Frodo knew not what it was, but at once he felt that this creature was the one pursuing him, and he turned and ran. But his feet seemed like lead, and the burden around his neck was so great… the figure was catching up to him, not seeming to move but advancing all the same. His face looked like a skeleton, and his sunken eyes gleamed coldly. Eight other figures suddenly appeared out of the trees, also tall and pale, with crowns upon their heads and swords in their hands.

He was surrounded now, and he heard a harsh, hissing sound. It was those figures—those wraiths, laughing at him. "The Ring!" they hissed. "The Ring!" Frodo’s trembling fingers went inside his shirt as if to bring the Ring forth, but he suddenly felt that he could not part with it, and instead, his fingers closed tightly around it. Seeing that he would not relinquish the Ring, the wraiths shrieked again, and Frodo covered his ears. They seemed to grow tall and more menacing, and the leader stepped forward and raised his knife. "No!" Frodo shouted as he scrambled backwards. "No!" The wraith’s knife came crashing down upon his right wrist, and Frodo felt himself falling to the ground… no, past the ground. He was falling into a black oblivion, hearing the wraiths cold laughter above him…

"No!" Frodo cried as he opened his eyes. At first, everything seemed blurry and unfocused, but as the mists in his vision faded, he saw a familiar face, clouded with worry, bending over him.

"Mr. Frodo?" said Sam softly. "It’s all right, Mr. Frodo, it was just a nightmare. You’re safe."

Frodo shook his head to clear it and looked around the room. Pale yellow walls, white ceiling, rocking chair in the corner…"Where am I?" he asked hoarsely.

Sam placed a cool cloth on his forehead. "We’re at the Broadbelts’, Mr. Frodo," he said. "Mrs. Broadbelt carried you here last night."

Frodo began to say something, but suddenly a wave of pain shot through his body and he gasped. Sam anxiously stroked his forehead with the cloth, whispering, "Don’t worry, Mr. Frodo, the doctor’s just gone to have a bit of sleep. He’ll be back soon."

"He’s with little Daisy, sir," Sam answered. "He was ’ere just a minute ago to see you, but you were still asleep."

At that moment, Dr. Bolger came in. Seeing Frodo awake, he smiled. "Glad to see you, young Frodo," he said. "How are you feeling?" Frodo looked down at his wrist, moved it a little, and gasped at the pain that shot through him. The doctor came over and knelt beside the bed. "Not good, eh?" he said kindly. Frodo could only manage to shake his head. "Well, that’s to be expected." Dr. Bolger patted his good hand. "I could not give you anything for your pain while you were asleep, but now that you’re awake, I can." He stood up, ruffling Frodo’s sweat-dampened curls. "Half a moment."

He left the room, and again, Sam and Frodo were left alone. The only sound for several moments was Frodo’s harsh, raspy breathing. Then, Sam broke the silence. "How’re you feelin’, Mr. Frodo?" he asked softly.

Frodo smiled slightly. "Honestly? Not very good. I’ll be happy when the doctor gets back with the pain reliever. My wrist feels like fire…" Even as he said it, a searing pain formed in his wrist, and raced up his arm and through his entire body. He cried out, shutting his eyes tightly. Tears ran down his cheeks, and Sam gently dabbed the wound with the wet cloth. But even his gentle touch felt like a knife, and he could not stifle a sob. Opening his eyes, he saw Sam, brown eyes filled with tears, stroking his forehead with the cloth. "It’s all right, Mr. Frodo," he said. "I’m here, and the doctor’s comin’."

But the pain was unbearable, and a roaring filled Frodo’s ears, drowning out Sam’s voice. Stars formed in his vision, and the last thing he saw was Dr. Bolger entering the room, dropping the bag he was carrying and rushing over. Then, he was thrown into darkness.

"And then, the dragon spread his huge wings and flew up into the sky above the Prince. Princess Gwenllian ran forward toward the Prince, but suddenly…" Merry paused his reading dramatically.

"The dragon swooped down and picked her up! The Prince jumped up onto his horse, and—" He stopped abruptly as he saw the doctor rushing past the room, looking troubled. Taking Daisy off of his lap and setting her on the floor, Merry scrambled out of the rocking chair and ran to the doorway. "What is it, Dr. Bolger?" he called after the older hobbit who was racing down the hall.

"It’s Frodo," Dr. Bolger replied over his shoulder, without stopping or slackening his pace. "He’s gotten worse." With that, he disappeared around the corner, leaving Merry staring after him.

"What’s wrong, Mer?" Daisy asked, coming up beside him and slipping her hand into his.

Merry swallowed hard and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. "It’s Frodo," he said softly, more to himself than to the little hobbit lass beside him. "He’s gotten worse… I must go see him."

Merry looked down at her and smiled sadly. "No, Daisy, I don’t think you should come," he said gently. "I promise I’ll take you to visit Frodo when he feels better, all right?"

For a moment, it looked as though Daisy was going to protest, but instead, she nodded slowly. "All right, Mer," she sighed. "I goin’ find papa." She trotted off into the sitting room where her father sat, staring into the fireplace, and Merry dashed down the hall towards the guestroom.

Inside, he found Sam and Dr. Bolger huddled around the bed where Frodo lay, pale and sweaty, moaning in pain as the doctor put some salve on his wounds. Lila was stirring some herbs into a cup of water and soaking another cloth for Frodo’s forehead.

Dr. Bolger carefully looked his young patient over, frowning in concern. He gently took Frodo’s uninjured hand and felt his pulse, which was abnormally fast. Frodo’s skin had cooled down somewhat earlier, but now it was once again fiery hot to the touch, and damp with perspiration. He shook his head slightly as he gently rubbed some salve on the gashes. He secretly believed that Frodo had received a large amount of venom in the bite, and though he had treated mild cases of Fire Snake bites before, he was not entirely sure of how to treat a severe one.

Finishing his exam for the present, he looked up. "Mrs. Broadbelt," he said, "are the herbs dissolved yet?"

The doctor turned to Sam, who was still dutifully bathing his master’s forehead with the cloth. "I’ll need your help, Samwise."

"Sit down on the bed above Frodo’s head… gently now, careful not to jar him overmuch… there. Now lift him up—carefully—so that he’s sitting upright."

Sam obediently did as he was told, gently lifting Frodo’s shoulders so that the upper half of his body was in his lap, his head resting against Sam’s shoulder. Frodo groaned softly as he was moved, and Sam heard him whisper, "S… Sam? Where… are… you? Sam! Don’t leave me… don’t leave…"

Sam’s heart ached for his master, and he gently brushed the damp curls back from Frodo’s forehead. "It’s all right, Mr. Frodo," he murmured. "I’m here. Everything’s goin’ to be fine."

Dr. Bolger stirred the water in the cup he held one last time, and then pulled up his stool closer to the bed. "Now Sam," he said quietly. "This is only pain reliever. I’m going to put a little of it in Frodo’s mouth, and see if he’ll swallow. If he does, I’ll give him more, but if not… well, I’m hoping he will," he ended abruptly.

Sam watched him suspiciously. "But you told him that you couldn’t give him the pain reliever while he was sleepin’."

Dr. Bolger looked at him with eyes almost the exact same color as his own. "I prefer not to give my patients anything while they sleep, and I avoided this as long as possible," he said carefully. "But I must give it to him now, or his pain will redouble when he awakes."

The doctor placed the cup to Frodo’s lips and carefully poured a small amount of water into his mouth. At first, it did not seem that he would swallow, but after a moment, he did, to Sam’s relief. He wasn’t sure what exactly Dr. Bolger would had to have done if Frodo hadn’t swallowed, but as the doctor had not wished to speak of it, he knew that it couldn’t be pleasant.

"Very good, Sam," Dr. Bolger said, pouring a little more into Frodo’s mouth and watching carefully as he swallowed. "This is a good sign. I’m going to go out and speak with the Broadbelts for a moment; can you keep giving Frodo small sips of the water? He needs to drink the whole cup." Sam nodded, taking the offered cup but not keeping his eyes on his master’s pale face. Dr. Bolger smiled and patted him on the shoulder as he got up. "Tell me if he wakes or gets worse."

"Yes sir," Sam said absently, and Dr. Bolger shut the door behind him. Sam could tell that whatever it was the doctor wished to discuss with the Broadbelts, he didn’t want him to hear, and that was not a good sign. He sighed sadly, giving Frodo a small sip of the water.

Merry, forgotten, came over and timidly sat down on the stool beside the bedside. "Sam?" he said softly, jerking Sam out of his thoughts.

"What?” Sam blinked. “Oh, Mr. Merry, you startled me. Is there somethin’ you need?"

Merry shook his head, staring at his cousin’s face. "I just wondered if I could help," he murmured.

Sam looked up at him. He knew that Merry had been feeling useless and desperately wanted to help somehow—he loved Frodo as much as Sam did himself. "Well, Mr. Merry," he said, "you could help me give him this here pain reliever—it’s mighty hard to do by meself. I’ll keep his head up while you pour it in."

Merry smiled, eager to at last be helping his cousin. He took the cup from Sam and gently placing it to Frodo’s lips, he poured a small amount of the water into his mouth.

It was not long before the entire cup was drained, and then Sam and Merry gently laid Frodo back down onto the pillow. He moaned softly at the movement, but with both younger hobbits whispering comfortingly to him and stroking his hot face, he quieted and his breathing eased. "Please get well, Frodo," Merry murmured in his cousin’s ear. "What would we do without you? I can’t teach Pippin everything—and what about poor old Uncle Bilbo? You must get better, Frodo… you must."

Meanwhile, out in the Broadbelts’ sitting room, Dr. Bolger was having a serious discussion with them. "The lad’s condition is worsening, I fear," he said slowly. "And I must confess I do not know exactly how to treat a serious Fire Snake bite." Seeing Lila’s face pale, he went on, "But we must not give up hope. I have not lost a patient yet, and I do not intend to start now. We must send for his uncle Bilbo—he is well traveled; perhaps he will know of something that will help. And besides, Frodo needs him to be here. What is the swiftest way to reach him?"

"Well, I reckon a letter would take too long," said Ferdirand thoughtfully, shifting the sleeping Daisy on his lap. "But I could ride there. That would take me… well, several hours, if I took the Bywater Road."

Dr. Bolger nodded. "Then I’m afraid that that is what we must do. I do not like asking you to ride so late at night—"

Ferdirand stood up and carefully handed Daisy to her mother. "Very well then," he said. "I’ll ride fast as I can. Farewell!" Giving his wife a quick kiss on the cheek, he hurried out the door and ran to the barn.

Inside, the black and white pinto pony, Pie, looked up, munching on some hay. "We have a long way to go, Pie, old boy," muttered Ferdirand as he quickly tacked him up. "And mighty quick, too." Pie whinnied and grabbed one last mouthful of hay before Ferdirand led him out of the stall and jumped up on his back. "Come one, Pie," he said, digging his heels into the pony’s sides. With an exasperated snort, Pie swallowed his hay and broke into a fast canter.

Through the woods they raced, and then onto the road, looking silver in the moonlight. Pie sensed his master’s urgency and galloped faster than he had in years. Lately, he had been mostly used for plowing, sometimes pulling the wagon or for pleasure riding. He was short enough to carry Daisy, but strong enough to carry a full-grown hobbit as well, and he was spoiled shamelessly by the entire family.

Fortunately, the Bywater Road was straight and even, and at their pace, Ferdirand and Pie reached Hobbiton in little over three hours. Tying the panting, sweating pony to the garden fence outside of Bag End, Ferdirand raced up the steps and knocked on the round, green door. There was no answer, so he rang the bell. This time he heard, "I’m coming, I'm coming! Half a moment!", and seconds later the door was opened by Bilbo. His curly, grey-flecked brown hair was somewhat tousled, and his clothes looked like they’d been hurriedly thrown on, but his grey eyes were bright and alert. "Hullo," he said cheerfully. "May I help you?"

"Hullo, sir," said Ferdirand somewhat timidly (who hadn’t heard of the famous ‘Mad Baggins’?). "My name is Ferdirand Broadbelt..."

Recognition flashed across Bilbo’s face and he smiled. "Oh yes, Frodo’s told me about you in his letters," he said. "Have they arrived yet?"

Nervously twirling his green cap around in his fingers, Ferdirand replied, "Well, yes sir, they have. They—well, I better come right to the point. Young Frodo was bitten by some kind of snake on the way and he’s very ill. Dr. Bolger’s with him, and he says to come right away."

Bilbo’s face paled and his smile vanished. "Dear me…" he murmured, eyes wide. "Yes, yes, of course I’ll come. Just let me grab my cloak." He dashed inside and Ferdirand waited nervously on the doorstep.

Bilbo emerged a moment later with his deep green cloak on and a key in his hand. "I have to tell Hamfast—my gardener—that I’m leaving," he said hurriedly as he locked the door. He and Ferdirand dashed down the steps and out the gate. "Sam is all right, isn’t he?" Bilbo asked, climbing up behind Ferdirand on Pie. "He’s Hamfast’s son, you see, and I don’t want him to worry."

Ferdirand urged Pie into a canter and they headed down the road to Bagshot Row. "Yes, Sam’s fine," Ferdirand reassured him. "Apart from being worried sick over Frodo—never a more faithful lad have I ever seen."

As the pony stopped at #3, Bilbo jumped down. "That he is," he said over his shoulder, running toward the door of the Gamgee’s smial. "That he is."

As Ferdirand had raced towards Hobbiton, Sam and Merry sat by Frodo’s bedside. "When will he wake up?" Merry wondered aloud. "He will be all right, won’t he Sam?"

Sam sighed and tiredly ran his fingers through his sandy curls. "I hope so, Mr. Merry," he muttered, head drooping. Without intending to, his eyes closed and his head fell forward onto the bed. Merry smiled at the exhausted hobbit and decided to let him sleep. He wished that he could move him to a more comfortable position, but he was younger than Sam and didn’t think he’d be able to lift him.

Merry had had a quick nap with Daisy earlier, and so tired as he was, he was better off than Sam. He sighed and gently stroked Frodo’s burning forehead with the wet cloth. "Please get better, Frodo," he whispered, laying his head on his cousin’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, which was quick and erratic. Frodo stirred and moaned softly in his sleep, tossing his head back and forth, a look of pain on his face. Merry gently climbed up on the bed beside him – careful not to jar him too much, and lay down next to him. "It’s all right, Frodo," he whispered in his cousin’s ear. "I’m here. It’s me, Merry."

Frodo groaned again, and then Merry began to distinguish words. "Merry? Sam? Where… where are you?"

At the sound of his cries, Sam jerked awake. "Oh, bless me!" he exclaimed. "How long have I been asleep? Why didn’t you wake me, Mr. Merry?" Without waiting for an answer, he scooted his stool closer and stroked Frodo’s cheek. "There now, Mr. Frodo," he murmured, bending his head so that his lips were close to Frodo’s ear. "It’s all right. Your Sam’s here. You’re all right…" Merry, on Frodo’s other side, was still faithfully bathing his forehead with the cloth, every so often gently dabbing at the wounds.

Frodo eventually quieted, but tears ran down his cheeks and his face was pained. "Frodo?" Merry said softly. "Frodo, please wake up. It’s me, Merry. And Sam’s here too. Please, Frodo, please?" The only response was a slight furrowing of Frodo’s eyebrows, and Merry laid his head on his cousin’s chest as he had done earlier and closed his eyes, drifting into a light half-doze despite himself.

Merry’s eyes suddenly flew open as he heard Frodo moaning loudly. He jerked his head up and looked around. Sam was still sitting by the bed, dutifully stroking Frodo’s face with the cloth. Merry glanced at Frodo’s wrist and saw that the wounds were bleeding again through the bandages. "Sam," he said quietly, his voice quivering. Sam looked up, saw the blood and quickly used the damp cloth to staunch the bleeding. But at his touch, Frodo cried out and tried to jerk his arm away. Merry jumped—carefully—off the bed and grabbed a glass of water that sat on a table (really there for Dr. Bolger’s use) and placing it to Frodo’s lips, gently poured some in. For a moment, there was no reaction, but suddenly, Frodo began to choke and cough. Sam quickly climbed up on the bed and helped Merry raise Frodo up into a sitting position and rubbed his back.

Frodo coughed for a worrying long time, and at last, fell back, gasping against the pillows. Sam sighed with relief and got down to put the cup back on the table. "Sam!" Merry called suddenly. "Look!" Sam turned around and dashed back to the bed to see what Merry was staring at. There was something red spattered faintly on the sheets, and also at the corner of Frodo’s mouth. Blood.

Merry raised his eyes slowly to meet Sam’s, which were wide with fear. "We need the doctor," Merry whispered. "Quick!"

Frodo was wandering in a dark, dead land, filled with eerie, writhing mists and blackened trees. He ran through the trees, again feeling a strange weight around his neck. All at once, he was out in the open, and he could see large, black hills, smoke rising from their tops and swirling down to him. As he walked on toward them, the air got harder and harder to breathe. It seemed to writhe around him and close around his throat so that he choked.

Suddenly, he felt a prickling at the back of his neck, as though he were being watched. He spun around, and to his horror, he saw the pale wraith king, sword drawn, moving toward him. Frodo ran toward the hills, up a strange, narrow path that wound around the largest hill. He did not know where his feet were leading him, only that he had to get away from the wraith behind him. His breath came in painful gasps and his lungs felt like bursting for want of enough air, but somehow he forced himself on.

At the top of the hill, the air became clearer, and he was able to breathe again. He paused to fill his aching lungs and then looked up and around. The path led straight to an old, blackened round door. Running up to it, Frodo gasped. Bag End! But the beautiful green paint of the door had peeled off, and the front windows were broken. Frodo felt tears welling in his eyes at the sight, and he was reluctant to open the door, afraid of what he might see inside. Looking behind, he saw that the pale king was no longer behind him, and nowhere to be seen. He sighed with relief, and taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the door of Bag End.

Inside, everything bore the appearance of having been burned: the portraits above the mantle were destroyed, the tables and chairs no more than piles of ashes, and every window broken. Standing in the hallway looking around him in despair, Frodo suddenly heard footsteps and looking up, he sucked in his breath sharply. It was Bilbo! The old hobbit was running towards him, arms outstretched and a cheerful smile on his face. "Come here, Frodo my lad!" he said as he came. But as fast as he ran, he did not seem to be getting any nearer, and Frodo began to run toward him.

Looking behind Bilbo, Frodo saw a tall, white shape, holding aloft a pale sword. With a gasp, he tried to speed up, to pull Bilbo away from the wraith. But it seemed as though his feet were leaden, and stifling fumes blew toward him from down the hall, making it difficult to breathe again. It was starting to make him feel light-headed.

The wraith lifted up his skeletal hand, and all at once, all oxygen was completely cut off. Gasping, Frodo stumbled and fell to his knees, lungs pumping desperately for air, but to no avail. "Bilbo!" he managed to choke out. "Look out behind you!" But the old hobbit seemed completely unaffected by the sudden loss of air, and continued running towards him, heedless of the danger behind him. "Bilbo!" Frodo cried with the last of his air. "Behind you! Bilbo!"

At last, Bilbo turned, seemingly in slow motion, just as the wraith’s sword came whistling down…

"Keep him still!" Dr. Bolger ordered, and both Merry and Sam pinned Frodo’s arms to his sides as the unconscious hobbit continued to struggle. "Bilbo!" he called out in a choked voice. "Bilbo! Behind you! Look out… Bilbo!" His breaths came in short gasps, and his heartbeat was racing. He tossed his head from side to side, struggling to wrench his arms out of the firm grip that held them.

"What’s wrong with him?" Merry cried frantically, in tears. Dr. Bolger did not have an opportunity to answer, for at that moment, Frodo’s struggles suddenly ceased, and he went limp. Cautiously, Merry let go of Frodo’s arm, but there was no movement.

"He’s not breathing!" shouted Sam suddenly, and Merry saw to his horror that there was a faint bluish tinge to Frodo’s lips.

"Get off the bed, quick!" Dr. Bolger commanded, and both hobbit lads immediately obeyed. The doctor then tilted Frodo’s head back, checked for a pulse and finding it faint but present, he pressed his mouth to Frodo’s and blew three slow even breaths into it. Behind him, Merry was sobbing in the arms of Sam, who had tears running unchecked down his cheeks.

Dr. Bolger checked for breath, then repeated the process once more, and after what seemed an eternity, he gave a cry of joy. "He’s breathing again!" Panting and wiping sweat from his brow, he collapsed into his chair at the bedside while Sam and Merry thanked him repeatedly. "I haven’t lost a patient yet," he said, with a weak smile.

Merry jumped up on the bed, still careful not to touch the injured arm, and gently smoothed the sweat-dampened curls from Frodo’s forehead. Sam sat on the other side, stroking Frodo’s cheek and whispering in his ear. Merry was too relieved for words, and was content just to sit by his cousin’s side and bathe his forehead with the damp cloth.

About an hour later, Merry was startled out of a light doze by Frodo stirring. He sat up, looking around blearily. He saw the doctor bending over Frodo, checking his pulse and listening to his breathing, and Sam stirring some herbs into a cup of tea. Looking down at Frodo, he saw with relief that his cousin’s eyes were fluttering. "Frodo?" he said softly. "Please wake up, please!"

Dr. Bolger patted Merry’s hand. "Don’t worry," he said gently. "I believe that he will open his eyes soon."

The dark mists surrounding him faded away, and Frodo found with relief that he could breathe once more. A brilliant light shone around him, almost too bright to look upon.

"Am I dead?" he wondered aloud to himself, looking around. He could see nothing but that blinding white light.

Then suddenly, a face broke through it, kind and smiling, with soft brown eyes and curly hair of the same color, though streaked with grey. "Bilbo?" Frodo asked hopefully.

Frodo shook his head in confusion. "Bilbo?" he called again. The face before him did not fade, as the light around it swiftly did, but instead became more clear. "Bilbo?" Frodo cried as the white light faded away like a mist…

"Bilbo?" Frodo called as his eyes slowly fluttered open. At first, everything was unfocused and blurry, but gradually, he was able to focus on the face bending over him. "Bilbo?" he asked in confusion.

The face smiled. "No, I’m not Bilbo. But don’t worry, lad, we’ve sent for your uncle and he should be arriving here shortly."

Frodo looked around and saw Merry and Sam sitting next to him on the bed, tears shining in their eyes. "Merry…Sam?" he murmured hoarsely. "What’s wrong?"

Through his tears, Merry laughed. "Nothing, now, Frodo," he said, reaching out and grabbing Frodo’s uninjured hand.

Sam gently brushed back the dark curls from Frodo’s face. "Oh, Mr. Frodo!" he exclaimed. "How’re you feelin’?"

Frodo glanced down at his wrist. "Not… too badly, actually," he said slowly. "Better than before, at least. My head and my chest hurt, but besides that, I feel much better."

At that moment, the door of the room opened, and Bilbo entered, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Broadbelt and Daisy. "Bilbo!" Frodo exclaimed hoarsely, causing himself to cough.

Bilbo quickly hurried over and sitting down on the bedside, gently rubbed his back until the fit had passed. "Glad to see you awake, my dear boy," he exclaimed, giving Frodo a tight hug. "You gave me quite a fright," he added in a whisper.

Frodo looked up, his crystal blue eyes still slightly too fever bright. "I’m glad you’re here, Uncle," he murmured, resting his head against Bilbo’s chest.

Merry and Sam got off the bed to give Bilbo room, and while Sam sat down in his stool by the bedside, Merry sat down in a rocking chair in a corner with Daisy in his lap. Watching Bilbo and Frodo embrace, he smiled and Daisy sat up on her knees so that she was eye-level with him. "Fro better now, Mer?" she asked.

The little hobbit lass gave him a quick hug. "Good," she said. "Now Mer can go to sleep. Come with me! Mer can sleep in Daisy’s room!" She jumped down off the rocking chair and waited impatiently for Merry to follow her.

With a chuckle, Merry got up and let himself be pulled away, glancing at Frodo one last time before Daisy pulled him out of the room. He hadn’t even realized how tired he was until he caught sight of Daisy’s soft feather bed and fluffy pillows. "Mer sleep that side," Daisy instructed, picking up one of the pillows and carrying it over to the foot of the bed. "And Daisy sleep this side!" she finished with an angelic smile up at Merry. He climbed into the bed and helped Daisy under the covers on her side before snuggling up himself.

Bilbo stepped out of the guestroom and shut the door, quietly lest he wake Frodo, who was asleep inside, and came into the sitting room, where Dr. Bolger was staring into the fireplace and smoking his pipe. Mr. and Mrs. Broadbelt had retired to their rooms, and he had already checked on Merry, sound asleep in Daisy’s room.

Sitting down in a large armchair across from Dr. Bolger, Bilbo cleared his throat, startling the doctor out of his thoughts. "You wished to speak to me?"

Taking a puff of his pipe, Dr. Bolger nodded. "I expect that you would wish to know my thoughts on young Frodo’s illness."

Bilbo leaned forward. "Yes, of course," he said. "He told me that he was bitten by some kind of creature, called a Fire Snake, or something? And that there was poison in the bite. But that is all I know. So tell me, will the lad be all right?"

Dr. Bolger did not answer for a few moments, silently puffing his pipe. "Master Baggins, I believe that you would have me tell you plainly what I believe," he said at last, looking Bilbo in the eye. The other hobbit nodded slowly, afraid of what he might hear. "Well," Dr. Bolger continued, "young Frodo is correct, there was—and perhaps still is—poison in the bite. I have treated mild cases before, but never a severe one."

He paused, and Bilbo asked hesitantly, "And you believe that Frodo received a large amount of venom in the bite?"

Dr. Bolger sighed. Giving the patient’s family bad news was never easy. "Yes, I fear he might’ve," he said slowly. "His symptoms are far more severe than any I have seen, but—" Seeing Bilbo’s distraught expression, he reached out and squeezed the other hobbit’s hand. "—I believe that the worst is over. I suppose that young Samwise has told you about the fright we had earlier?" Bilbo nodded, cringing at the memory.

"I think that that was the height of it, and that now, he will gradually start to improve," Dr. Bolger went on, taking another draw of his pipe. "We hobbits, we’re hard to kill," he added with a chuckle.

Bilbo gave him a weak smile. His thoughts were still dwelling on Frodo’s illness. "What can be done?" he asked softly, staring into the fireplace.

"Not any more than we’re doing now," Dr. Bolger said. "We must keep him cool at all costs—no matter how cold his skin feels. At present, his temperature is fairly low, but it will swiftly rise again if he becomes too warm. I’ll continue to give him herbs to ease the pain, as well as apply some salve to his wounds daily. I’ve opened them once, and the blood seemed unaffected by the poison, which is a good sign. His cough worries me, though…" he trailed off, taking another contemplative puff of his pipe.

Bilbo began to ask a question, but at that moment, they were interrupted by Sam, coming down the hall from the guestroom. "Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Bilbo and Dr. Bolger," he said timidly. "But I was wonderin’ if I might get a bit of food, in case Mr. Frodo wakes up again. He’s bound to be mighty hungry--hasn’t eaten since early last night."

Bilbo looked at Dr. Bolger for approval, and he nodded. "Very well, Sam," Bilbo said. "It would be good for Frodo to have something in his belly—if you can coax him to eat it. Stubborn lad, he is, when he has a mind to be. And Sam," he added as the young gardener headed for the kitchen, "grab something for yourself as well. If I’m not mistaken, you haven’t eaten for quite some time, either."

Bilbo turned back to Dr. Bolger. "What was it you were saying about Frodo’s cough?"

Dr. Bolger turned to face him, taking his pipe out of his mouth. "Well, it bothers me," he said slowly. "It may be that the poison, though not affecting his blood, has affected his lungs, and I will tell you plainly, Master Baggins, that is not good."

Dr. Bolger replaced his pipe into his mouth and puffed slowly. "I have a few herbs that may help: trillus and bruinis, and I shall give him those daily."

As the adults talked, Samwise was in the kitchen, bustling about, getting food. Though Lila had already told him to help himself, he did not take much (Frodo probably wouldn’t eat most of it anyway, Sam figured): only four slices of bread, a small bunch of grapes and a few seedcakes. Originally, he’d had no intention of eating any of the food, but now at the sight of the juicy, purple grapes and the soft bread, his mouth watered and he took an extra seedcake for himself. Then, he left the kitchen and started down the hall, careful not to make any noise to interrupt Mr. Bilbo and Dr. Bolger’s conversation. He tried his best not to listen to what they were saying, but he couldn’t help himself. The guestroom was the first door on the right, and when he entered, he shut the door behind him and placed the plate of food on the table, glancing at Frodo as he did so.

After Merry had left, Frodo and Bilbo had talked together for a few minutes, though Frodo was understandably exhausted. Resting his head against Bilbo’s chest, the young hobbit had fallen into a deep, restful sleep. Bilbo had stayed there for a little while, letting Sam tell him about the scare they’d had earlier, while stroking Frodo’s dark curls. His face had gone white and he’d held Frodo against his chest just a little tighter as Sam got to the worst part of the tale, and as he’d left he’d paused by his nephew’s bedside and kissed him on the forehead. Then he’d stood there and just looked at him for a long moment, as though trying to memorize the features of his face. Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen Bilbo look so frightened.

Frodo was still deeply asleep; his breathing, though harsh and painful, was even, and the pain reliever seemed to be doing its job well. He was still chalk white, though, and his skin was still a tad too hot. Sam gave his master’s slender hand a gentle squeeze and then crept over to the door. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help but listen to Bilbo and Dr. Bolger’s conversation. It concerned his master and best friend, and he was anxious to know what the doctor thought about his illness. Pressing his ear to the door, he could hear the adults talking, only slightly muffled.

"Can you not somehow remove the poison?" It was Bilbo’s voice, sounding upset.

"No," came the doctor’s answer. "I fear not. As it is not in his bloodstream, there is nothing I can do to remove it. I will continue to give him herbs, which will help, but at present, all we can do is watch and wait. Believe me when I say this, I will do everything that is in my power to heal him."

A moment of silence. Then, "I believe you." A sigh. "What is Frodo’s chance of recovery?"

"If we can ease his breathing and keep him hydrated, I believe that he will recover completely."

"If we cannot… then I still hold out hope that he will recover. Much depends on the lad himself. He must fight the poison and so help us fight it as well."

A slight chuckle. "That boy is a fighter. I have seen him battle several illnesses and recover completely, even when the doctors gave up hope. He will fight the poison."

At this point, Sam stopped listening, unable to hear any more. He did not understand all that was said, but he knew by the doctor’s tone that the situation was serious—even more than he’d been aware. With a sorrowful sigh, he turned around to see Frodo watching him with a slight smile. "Eavesdropping, are you, Sam?" he asked rather hoarsely, stifling a cough.

Sam flushed and looked down. "W-well, Mr. Frodo," he stammered, "I couldn’t help but overhear as I was comin’ from the kitchen—which reminds me, I got some food for you."

Frodo glanced over at the plate that was on the bedside table and cringed slightly. "No thank you, Sam," he said, again suppressing a cough. "I’m not really very hungry."

Sam sighed, knowing that it would take a good deal of coaxing to get his master to eat. "Come now, Mr. Frodo," he said, trying to sound cheerful as he came over and sat down on his stool. "You haven’t eaten nothin’ since early last night, and now it’s nigh time for Second Breakfast. T’aint natural for a hobbit."

Frodo shook his head. "Really, I’m not hungry," he said. "But what about you, Sam? Have you eaten anything?"

Frodo sighed. "Sam, you can’t live on tea, and I’m not hungry. You eat the food."

Sam crossed his arms firmly over his chest. "I won’t take a single bite," he said stoutly. "Not until you have some."

Frodo sighed again, not feeling up to an argument. "Very well, Sam," he yielded. "I’ll eat a little—but only if you promise to have some yourself, as well."

Sam nodded, not bothering to hide his triumphant grin. He picked up the plate and scooted his stool closer. "Now which d’you want to have first, Mr. Frodo?" he asked. "I got some seedcakes, some grapes and a few slices o’ bread."

"A seedcake, I suppose, Sam," said Frodo softly, closing his eyes. Sam watched him closely as he handed him the seedcake. Frodo opened his eyes and sat up, propped against the pillows. Aware of Sam’s sharp gaze, he slowly took a small bite of the seedcake. Sam handed him a cup of water, which he gratefully took a sip of.

"Keep goin’, Mr. Frodo," Sam encouraged, and Frodo reluctantly took another bite.

Slowly, he finished the seedcake, and then lay back against the pillows. "All right, Sam," he said hoarsely. "I ate a bit, now it’s your turn, or you won’t get me to eat any more."

With a defeated sigh, Sam took a seedcake and ate it, then urged Frodo to eat some more. "Or I won’t take another bite," he declared firmly.

In this way, each eating only for the sake of the other, they finished the seedcakes and two slices of bread. At last, Sam was satisfied, and did not force Frodo to eat the rest. He was feeling much better now that he’d eaten. "Now, Mr. Frodo," he asked cheerfully, "how’re you feelin’?"

Frodo took a moment before replying. "Well," he said at last, "I’ll admit, Sam, I feel a little better now that I’ve eaten."

Sam nodded, again not bothering to hide a smile of satisfaction. "You want somethin’ to drink, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo nodded, closing his eyes. "Just water, if you please, Sam," he said tiredly. While his wrist was still mercifully numb, his head had been pounding ever since he’d awoken, and now his chest was beginning to ache terribly, as though each breath strained his lungs. It was getting more and more difficult to keep his breathing slow and steady, when each breath seemed to hitch painfully.

Sam got up and retrieved Frodo’s cup from the bedside table. Hardly had his fingers touched it when Frodo began coughing. Sam quickly replaced the cup on the table and hopped up on the bed. He helped Frodo sit up and rubbed his back, trying to ease his breathing.

Frodo’s coughing fit lasted for several minutes, and when Sam gently eased him, his breathing coming in half-sobbing gasps, down into the pillows, his temperature had risen and his wrist was beginning to burn again. Sam climbed down off the bed and got Frodo’s water cup, and placing it to his master’s cracked lips, he gently helped him sip a bit. When Frodo had finished, Sam began to put the cup back on the table when he noticed something around the rim. "Blood again," he muttered under his breath, so that Frodo wouldn’t hear. He glanced back at the bed, and to his dismay, he also saw a bit of blood spattered on the sheets.

Putting the cup down, Sam made sure that Frodo was comfortable again. "I’ll be right back, Mr. Frodo.”

Sam scanned his friend’s face worriedly, taking in the bruised circles beneath the tightly closed eyes, the tears beaded on his dark lashes but not quite allowed to fall, the grey tint to his face. He looked almost as ill as he had the day before, when they had had such a terrible scare… Giving his master’s hot hand a quick squeeze, Sam opened the door and rushed out, remembering just in time to quietly shut it behind him. He ran down the hall into the sitting room, where Dr. Bolger and Bilbo still sat, silent in their own thoughts. They both looked up as he entered. "What is it, Sam?" Bilbo asked in alarm, seeing the frightened expression on the boy’s face.

"It’s Mr. Frodo," Sam panted, breathless with fear. "He started coughin’ again, and there’s blood on the sheets and the rim of the cup I gave to him." Setting down his pipe, Dr. Bolger jumped to his feet and hurried down the hall, with Bilbo and Sam following closely. When they entered the guestroom, they found Frodo in an exhausted sleep.

Feeling his young patient’s forehead, Dr. Bolger shook his head in concern. "His fever is rising again," he said while checking Frodo’s pulse. "I will have to give him a stronger dose of the trillus herbs."

Bilbo sat by Frodo’s bedside, taking his nephew’s pale hand and cradling it gently in his own. "Will it harm him at all?" he asked anxiously.

Dr. Bolger listened to Frodo’s breathing. "It depends," he said. "If he is fighting the poison, it will help him greatly. But if he is not strong enough, there may be side effects."

"What type of side effects?" Bilbo asked in alarm. Dr. Bolger glanced at Sam, and then back at Bilbo, indicating that he did not wish to discuss them in the young hobbit’s presence. Bilbo nodded, and changed the subject. "I see you managed to coax Frodo into eating," he said to Sam, looking at the mostly empty plate. "How did you do it?"

Sam smiled slightly, not quite fooled by the change of subject. But he played along. "Well, sir, he wanted me to eat, but I told ’im that I wouldn’t take a single bite unless he ate some."

Hardly had the words left his mouth when Frodo began coughing again. Dr. Bolger propped him up against the pillows and rubbed his back to ease his breathing. He placed his hand before Frodo’s mouth, and when his young patient had finally ceased coughing, he gently laid him back down. Looking at his hand, he saw that it was spattered with blood. He wiped it off with a cloth soaked in water and checked Frodo’s temperature and breathing once more. He then motioned for Bilbo to follow him as he went over to the doorway, but did not leave the room. Keeping his voice low so that Sam, who was worriedly holding his master's hand and whispering in his ear, would not hear, he said, "It is a good sign that Frodo has kept down some food. It shows that the poison has not affected his stomach. When he awakens again, he should try to eat a little more; just simple things, like the seedcakes or bread, maybe a bit of fruit if he feels up to it. He also needs to be kept hydrated.

"His temperature has risen a little with his coughing, and his wrist is beginning to feel hotter as well. When he awakens, I will give him some pain reliever and a stronger dose of trillus herbs. That should bring the fever down and ease his breathing, and at the moment, those are my chief concerns."

Looking across the room at his young patient one last time, the doctor left to prepare the herbs. Bilbo turned back and resumed his place at Frodo’s bedside. Sam climbed up on the bed beside his master, careful not to jar him too much. Stroking Frodo’s burning hand, Bilbo looked closely at the wounds. They had both closed up again, and he could see the fine white line where the doctor had opened them, right down the middle of each. They were still an angry red color, an astonishing contrast to the grey-white skin around them.

Bilbo sighed sadly and gently kissed Frodo’s hand, hoping that his nephew would awaken soon. It frightened him to see Frodo so still and pale. He looked at Sam, who was quietly telling Frodo a story, not caring that his master was asleep and unable to hear him. Bilbo guessed (correctly) that it was about the Elves, and smiled slightly in spite of himself. He remembered the day, several years ago, when Sam had first shown an interest in Elves, and how Frodo had become such a patient teacher to him. Sam eagerly drank in everything that he learned, relishing in the exciting tales of Beren and Lúthien, Eärendil, Beleg Cúthalion, and countless others whose stories he and Frodo would sometimes act out for fun. Once, when Frodo had defended him from Ted Sandyman (and gotten several bruises and a split lip for it), Sam had made it into a heroic tale, which he told to boost Frodo’s spirits as Bilbo had tended to him. Frodo had laughed, hearing Sam’s horrifically exaggerated story, and in turn, told one about Sam once saving a young bird’s life after it fell out of its nest.

Now, Sam was telling Frodo the story of Celebrían, wife of Elrond, and how she was way-laid by orcs while traveling through the mountains, and received a poisonous wound. This tale Elrohir, Elrond’s son, had told to Bilbo, who had told it to Frodo, who in turn had told it to Sam.

Just as Sam got to the part where Elrond’s sons had found their mother, Frodo’s eyes fluttered open. They were still too bright with fever, but looking at Sam, he smiled slightly. "What story are you telling, Sam?" he asked hoarsely.

Bilbo scooted the chair closer and gently brushed back the dark, sweat dampened curls from Frodo’s forehead. "How do you feel, my dear boy?"

Frodo closed his eyes, and his smile faded as he hesitated for a moment, unsure of how truthful he should be. He saw the lines of worry on Bilbo’s face, and the dark circles around Sam’s eyes, and he was loth to add any further concern.

But sensing Frodo’s uncertainty, Bilbo gave his hand a little squeeze and added earnestly, “Please tell me the truth, Frodo-lad. It will help Dr. Bolger get you well again sooner, and Sam and I will only fret more if you’re feeling so poorly that you try not to tell us.”

Frodo’s smile returned, slightly, and he sighed, giving in. "My head doesn’t hurt so much," he said softly. "But my chest and my wrist feel like fire again."

Bilbo frowned for a moment, but then quickly attempted to sound cheerful as he replied, "Well, don’t worry, Frodo. The doctor is getting some pain reliever ready now, as well as some herbs that will help your cough."

Frodo opened his eyes again and his smile broadened. "Hopefully they won’t taste too bad," he said with a small cough. Bilbo chuckled and Frodo turned back to Sam. "Why don’t you continue the story?" he asked. "I heard a little bit of it. You were at the part where Celebrían is found by Elrohir and Elladan, weren’t you?"

Merry slept soundly in Daisy’s room for a little over two hours, and when he awoke, he felt very refreshed and rather hungry. He had eaten little since their arrival at the Broadbelts’, and his stomach loudly announced it. He quietly climbed out of bed so as not to disturb Daisy, who was still peacefully asleep, a smile on her rosy lips. He tiptoed to the door and silently went out. For a moment, he simply stood in the doorway, unsure of exactly where he planned to go. His heart wished to go tend to his ill cousin, but his stomach wished he would tend to it. In the end, his stomach won the battle, and he went into the kitchen.

There, he found Mrs. Broadbelt sipping some tea, staring into space, her blue eyes without their usual lively sparkle. Her pretty, round face was slightly pale with fatigue, and her chestnut curls were carelessly tied in a loose ponytail. Hearing him enter, she jerked out of her thoughts and greeted him with a faint, but warm smile. "Good morning, Merry," she said. "Come, sit down. Would you like some tea?"

Merry nodded. "Tea sounds wonderful, ma’am," he said politely. "But I’ll get it myself."

Lila’s smile grew, and her eyes expressed gratitude. Merry poured himself a small cup of tea and set it on the table before his chair, but did not sit down. "Would you mind if I got myself a bit of food? Just maybe an apple and a slice of bread and butter."

Lila nodded. "Of course, dear," she said. "Help yourself. I’m sorry, I should have offered you something sooner. You must be famished."

Merry made himself two slices of bread and butter, and also took an apple—under normal circumstances, not even remotely enough to satisfy his seemingly endless hunger, but his tenacious appetite had vanished almost completely since Frodo’s illness. He put the food onto a plate and sat down across from Lila. For a few moments, he ate and drank in silence, thinking about Frodo’s illness and wishing he could help somehow. Lila, as though sensing his thoughts, reached across the table and patted his hand. "I know you’re worried about your cousin," she said gently. "I am, too. We all are. But don’t worry, Dr. Bolger is the best doctor in the Four Farthings. If anyone can make Frodo well, it's him. But," she added with a fond smile, "I’ll wager your thoughts aren’t about Dr. Bolger’s healing abilities at the moment."

Merry looked up, beginning to protest, but with a soft laugh she stopped him. "I didn’t mean it that way," she said. "I know that you do not doubt that your cousin is in good hands. I meant that you're wishin' that you could help in some way."

Lila laughed again. "No, but I simply know how you must feel. I am not saying that you have not been a help—believe me, you've been a great help indeed, but I know that you must not feel that it is enough. You wish to help your cousin directly, or at least be with him and comfort him as Samwise and Bilbo are doing now." Merry’s jaw dropped at her extremely accurate guesses. "I had a similar experience when I was a tween," Lila explained, and a faraway look came into her eyes as she relived the memory.

Twenty-three year old Lila Forthright timidly peeked around the doorway of her older brother, Loridor’s room, where her mother, father, older sister, Laurel, and another hobbit lady, a stranger, were gathered around his bed. Laurel was gently bathing her brother’s face with a damp cloth, while the adults talked. The stranger was Dr. Bramblerose Proudfoot, a cousin of Dr. Bolger. Her sandy colored hair was tied up in a bun, and her face was red- cheeked and kind looking.

Curiously, Lila stepped inside and approached the adults. They did not notice her, so earnest was their discussion, and while she waited, Lila looked at her brother. The normally cheerful, smiling lad, just come of age, was now pale and sweat-soaked, and his sparkling sea-grey eyes were shut tight as though he was in great pain. At a second glance, Lila saw with alarm that tears were rolling down his cheeks. Tears! Lori never cried! He often comforted her, when she cried, but never in her life had she seen him shed a tear. Now even more frightened, she placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder to let her know of her presence.

The adults stopped talking as they noticed her for the first time. Their faces were lined with worry, and her mother’s eyes shone with tears. Swallowing her rising panic, Lila softly asked, "What is wrong with Lori?" Her voice trembled, and she had to blink rapidly to keep her tears back.

For a long moment, there was silence, and then Mrs. Forthright answered, her own voice soft and trembling as well. "Lila dear, your brother is very ill. He has…pneumonia."

As the words sunk in, Lila stumbled back, choking a cry, and raced to her brother’s bedside. Laurel looked up at her, her pretty face streaked with tears, and she hugged her younger sister tightly. "Why?" Lila whispered, wrapping her arms around Laurel and burying her face in her sister’s dress. "Why Lori?"

Laurel gently kissed the top of Lila’s head. "I don’t know, Lila," she said softly. "I don’t know."

For four days, Loridor battled the illness, burning with fever, his breathing rasping and uneven, and coughs wracking his rapidly thinning frame. Lila stood by, watching in agony as her brother struggled to hold on to life. She could tell by the sadness on Dr. Proudfoot’s face that she had given up hope. Still, the doctor tirelessly stayed by her patient’s side, making him as comfortable as possible and tending to his every need. Laurel also helped a great deal (for she had a gift for healing), as well as Mr. and Mrs. Forthright, but Lila felt useless. On the fifth day, she timidly watched from the doorway of her brother’s room as Dr. Proudfoot gently bathed Loridor’s face with a damp cloth. Her parents and elder sister had retired, exhausted, several hours ago.

Watching as her dear brother cried out in pain and gasped for breath, tears ran down Lila’s cheeks. Her brother began coughing violently, and when the fit finally passed, he was moaning and sweat poured down his face. Lila broke down and began to sob, sinking down against the round doorframe and drawing her knees up under her chin. Her face buried in her arms, she did not notice someone come quietly up to her until they laid a hand on her shoulder. "Lila," a gentle voice said. "What is it?"

Looking up, Lila could see the kindly face of Dr. Proudfoot bending over her. She sniffled, trying desperately to control her sobs as she answered, "My poor…dear Lori…is so ill…I feel so…useless…I…I wish…I could help him." Gently helping the weeping girl to her feet, Dr. Proudfoot kindly stroked Lila’s chestnut curls and let her cry until she could cry no more.

When the sobs had diminished to occasional sniffles, Dr. Proudfoot led Lila over to her brother’s bedside. "You would like to help, dear?" she asked kindly. "Of course you may. Forgive me if I have not noticed your distress before."

Lila wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "No, I'm sorry," she said softly. "I was being selfish."

With a fond pat of the girl's hand, Dr. Proudfoot handed her a jar of herbs. "Nonsense," she said. "You wish to help, and I am in need of all the help I can get. Would you please stir these herbs into that cup of water until they’re dissolved?"

For the rest of that day, Lila became Dr. Proudfoot’s assistant, bathing her brother’s face with the water-soaked cloth, or preparing herbs or helping Loridor to drink them. The rest of the family helped occasionally, but they realized that Lila had felt useless, and allowed her to take over most of the work that Dr. Proudfoot directed.

That evening, it seemed as though they would lose Loridor, and Lila felt as though this was her last chance to be with her brother. Stroking his pale, burning hand, she let her tears fall upon it, as she whispered, "Please don't leave us, Lori. What would I do without you? You must get well, Lori, you must…" She sorrowfully kissed his hand and bowed her head, letting it rest upon the bed. Without intending to, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

She awoke suddenly to find someone gently stroking her hair. Looking up in surprise, she saw with delighted disbelief that it was Lori! He was pale, thin and weary looking, but his sea-grey eyes held their familiar sparkle once more. "So you finally woke up, sleepyhead?" he said softly, in a voice only slightly hoarse. "’Tis about time."

"Lori!" Lila cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "My brother! You're well!" She wept for joy, and her cries roused the rest of the house, who rushed in and also began to weep with happiness. And so, Loridor survived, and slowly returned to his former health.

"Lori married Miss Bramblerose Proudfoot the next year, and they have two beautiful daughters: Lilac and Trilly (short for Trillium)," Lila ended her story, sighing at the memory.

Merry looked down and absently traced the outline of his empty plate. "Do you think I should go ask Dr. Bolger if I can help."

Lila smiled and fondly patted his hand. "It’s up to you, dear, but I think that it couldn’t hurt."

Merry got up and put his plate in the sink. "All right," he said. "I think it would be the best thing to do. Thank you for your help, Mrs. Broadbelt." The hobbit lady winked at him and smiled, and with a returning grin, Merry left the kitchen and headed toward the guestroom.

Opening the door, he found Sam, sitting on the bed, finishing the tale of Celebrían, Bilbo sitting at the bedside, holding Frodo’s hand, and Frodo drinking some water with pain reliever in it (which must’ve tasted awful, judging by his grimaces). Dr. Bolger had left the room to prepare the trillus herbs. Coming up to the bedside almost shyly, Merry sat down on Sam’s normal stool and listened as Sam ended the story.

"And so the Lady Celebrían sailed over the sea, where no-one but the Elves can go, never to return. There she found her healing, and she now waits for her husband and children to come over the sea, into the West, to join her."

Frodo smiled as the tale ended, but his contentedness faded as he looked down into his cup and saw that he still had half of it to drink. "Oh no," he muttered under his breath. "I can’t take much more of this wretched medicine." He looked up again and saw Merry for the first time. "Hullo, Merry," he said as he took a sip of the liquid. "Where – ugh – where have you been?"

Merry laughed at Frodo’s grimace, for a moment forgetting that his cousin was so ill. "Doesn’t taste good, does it, Frodo?" he asked teasingly.

Frodo shook his head as he bravely took another sip. "No," he replied. "It is my personal belief that doctors take some perverse delight in making their medicines taste as revolting as possible."

The others laughed at this statement, and secretly, each one of them agreed whole-heartedly. "Well of course you know that Dr. Bolger would never do you harm," Bilbo pointed out. "He’s the kindest doctor I’ve met. Surely you’d rather have him then…" he paused dramatically. "Dr. Bracegirdle?"

Frodo’s eyes widened and he choked slightly on his drink. "Dr. Bracegirdle?" Merry asked. "Who’s Dr. Bracegirdle?"

Seeing that this answer had not satisfied Merry’s curiosity, Frodo took pity on him. "Lorinda Bracegirdle," he said reluctantly. "She’s…Lobelia’s sister."

Merry gasped and began laughing at the genuine horror on Frodo’s face. "Ah," he teased. "This explains why you are always so reluctant to have a doctor fetched even when you need one! To think… Lobelia’s sister, a doctor? Why don’t you just send for Dr. Bolger, or Dr. Hornblower from Buckland?"

Frodo was drinking some more of the abominable liquid and could not answer at the moment, so Bilbo did. "Dr. Hornblower lives too far away, and although Dr. Bolger is not a very great distance from Hobbiton, Dr. Bracegirdle is more convenient – she lives only two miles away. But," he added with a sympathetic glance at Frodo, "I’ve stopped calling for her recently. For simple illnesses or injuries, I’ve found that the Gamgees are as good as any doctor; perhaps even better."

Frodo, Merry and Bilbo all looked at Sam, who was blushing furiously and refused to meet their eyes, much to their amusement. "We ain’t no real doctors, Mr. Bilbo, sir," he mumbled. "Me Gaffer and me mum just know a lot ’bout herbs and such, and me mum can make some medicines from some of ’em."

The other three chuckled at his modesty, and Frodo patted his hand. "Nonsense, Sam," he said, his eyes sparkling in amusement for the first time since he had been bitten. "Don’t you remember that time I broke my arm falling out of a tree, and you set it and made a sling for it? Dr. Bracegirdle" – he shuddered at the name – "Even said that she couldn’t have done a finer job of it herself."

Sam’s face grew, if possible, even more red, and he muttered, "Mr. Frodo, please…"

Frodo took pity on him and changed the subject. "Speaking of doctors," he said, taking the last sip of the pain reliever, "I wonder when Dr. Bolger is coming back?"

Right on cue, Dr. Bolger opened the door with a mug of tea in his hand. "Good morning, Master Frodo," he said, smiling. "I trust that you are feeling better?"

Frodo nodded. "Yes, thank you. My wrist is numb again, and my head feels much better."

Dr. Bolger noticed that he failed to mention how his chest felt, but he ignored it for the present. "Glad to hear it," he said, placing the mug on the bedside table and checking Frodo’s breathing, pulse and temperature. "The fever has gone down a bit," he commented. "I may not need to give you these herbs just yet." Frodo gave a sigh of relief. It was barely audible, but Dr. Bolger heard it and chuckled. "A bit relieved, eh?"

Frodo decided to be honest. "Well, yes," he admitted. "That pain reliever tasted awful, and judging by the fact that you mixed those other herbs in tea, instead of water, they must be much worse."

Dr. Bolger laughed. "It does taste rather bitter, doesn’t it? Since you are so near the mark, I’ll tell you honestly: the other herbs I’ve prepared are indeed worse."

Frodo grimaced. "But why did the pain reliever taste so bad?" Sam asked. "You gave ’im some earlier, and he didn’t even taste ’em."

Dr. Bolger fondly ruffled the young hobbit’s curly hair. "Trust you to ask about that," he chuckled. Sam grinned. "Well, the reason the pain reliever tasted so…unpleasant," Dr. Bolger continued. "Is because I’ve given you a slightly stronger dose of it this time."

He watched Frodo rather nervously, unsure of what his reaction would be. But he need not have feared, for Frodo simply said, "Oh," and changed the subject. He had suspected that it had been a more potent dose, but this did not worry him much. Of course, he knew that it meant that he was getting worse, and also that there was a risk of side effects, but he trusted Dr. Bolger completely. ‘Whatever he does must be for the best,’ he thought. ‘He would not do anything to harm me.’

Frodo was awake for several hours, and together, Bilbo and Sam managed to coax him into eating a bit more. His cough started up again, and he was obliged to drink the herbs mixed in with the tea. This made him drowsy, and it was not long before he was asleep again. "His fever is down," Dr. Bolger remarked, feeling his patient's forehead and wrist. "And his breathing is better. Those trillus herbs work well." He stifled a yawn. "If you feel comfortable enough, Mr. Baggins, I think that I shall take a short nap. I won't be of much use to Frodo if I fall asleep on my feet."

Bilbo smiled gratefully. "Of course," he said. "You must be exhausted. Sleep as long as you need."

Thanking him, Dr. Bolger left the room, and Bilbo turned back to Frodo, Merry and Sam. He saw in surprise that Sam had fallen asleep beside Frodo, his head nestled against Frodo's shoulder. Merry was sitting beside them, holding one of Sam's hands in one of his own, and Frodo's uninjured one in his other, staring into space.

Bilbo fondly stroked Sam's sandy curls. "Sleep well, Sam," he murmured. "You deserve the rest. Knowing you, you probably haven't slept once since Frodo was bitten." This thought brought him back to his nephew, and he watched Frodo's face, holding the injured hand in his own. His nephew's face was nearly alabaster white, and too thin, even for him. But his sleep was untroubled, and the lines of pain that had formed on his brow were smoothed away. Bilbo gently stroked his cheek, noting that it was not so fiery hot as before. At his uncle's touch, Frodo sighed and his lips curved into a slight smile.

Smiling himself, Bilbo looked at Merry. The young hobbit was still staring into space, evidently deep in thought. "What is it, Merry?" Bilbo asked softly. "What're you thinking about?"

Merry snapped out of his daydream and blinked. "Oh. Just things..." he trailed off. "May I go see Dr. Bolger, if he's not asleep?"

Bilbo nodded slowly. "All right, Merry," he said, studying the lad shrewdly. "But don't disturb him if he is asleep."

Merry grinned and carefully climbed off the bed. "I won't," he promised as he went out the door.

Bilbo shook his head. He knew that Merry was hiding something, but he also knew better than to press the matter. 'I suppose he'll tell me when he's ready,' the old hobbit thought. 'But I wonder what he is hiding?'

Merry sped down the hall and into the study, where Dr. Bolger was staying. The Broadbelts had offered to set up a small cot for him, but he had declined, saying that the sofa in the study was quite comfortable enough. The door was open, and peeking in, Merry saw the doctor, sitting on the sofa, smoking his pipe and staring at the wall, lost in his own thoughts.

Merry softly knocked on the round, chestnut-painted doorway. Dr. Bolger jerked out of his thoughts, and he looked up, smiling as he saw who it was. "Hullo, Merry," he said in a tired, but cheerful voice. "Do you need something? Frodo isn't worse, is he?"

Merry shook his head. "No sir," he said. "But I wanted to ask you a question, if you aren't too busy."

Laughing, Dr. Bolger patted the sofa. "Of course not," he said as Merry shyly sat down beside him. "Now, what is it you would like to ask me?"

There was a moment of silence before Merry answered, in a voice barely above a whisper. "It's Frodo," he began, feeling strangely nervous. "He's not getting worse or anything," he quickly added, seeing the doctor's brow furrow with worry. "It's just that...well, he's so ill, and I-I just wish I could help somehow."

Dr. Bolger grinned with relief and ruffled Merry's curls. "Is that what is troubling you?" he said, looking down with amusement at the hobbit lad who would not meet his eyes, as though he feared that he had done something wrong. "There's nothing selfish about that, if that is what you're thinking - quite the contrary. Of course you can help -- I need as much of that as I can get. How would you like to be the Official Doctor's Assistant?"

Merry looked up with surprise. "I would love it!" he exclaimed, then whispered to himself, "It's turned out just like Mrs. Broadbelt's story!"

Dr. Bolger laughed. "So Lila told you her story, did she? I remember my cousin telling me about young Loridor's illness: worse case of pneumonia she'd ever seen. She had not thought he would make it. But," he added with a draw of his pipe, "it's as I've said, we hobbits are tough to kill. It takes a lot to get us down." He chuckled. "That is an encouraging thought, is it not?"

Merry nodded with a grin. "Very," he agreed, now freed of the strange shyness that had fallen upon him earlier, and once again feeling a companionship with the doctor. "You know, Frodo had pneumonia a couple years ago, when he lived in Brandy Hall." His expression grew serious. "Dr. Hornblower didn't think that he would pull through. But he surprised everyone by waking up suddenly, just like Loridor did. Maybe they're related." His grin returned and he laughed at his own statement.

Dr. Bolger laughed as well, putting his arm around Merry's shoulders. "Maybe they are, lad," he said. "Maybe they are."

The hobbit lad, sitting on the window-seat of the guestroom, turned around as he heard his name called. "Peony! Milo!" he exclaimed happily, in a voice only slightly hoarse.

The two visitors hurried across the room and enveloped him in a warm hug. "We were beside ourselves with worry," Peony whispered, kissing him on the cheek. "Bilbo sent us a letter, and - oh, but let's not speak of that now." Her face lit up with a smile. "The important thing is that you're on the road to recovery!" Peony hugged him again, and as she pulled away, Frodo noticed that even though she was smiling, tears glistened in her eyes.

He did not have time to pursue this matter, however, for Milo patted him on the back and asked, "So, how're you feeling now, lad?"

Frodo smiled brightly, his whole face lighting up with happiness. "Much better, thank you - especially now that I have visitors, of course." Milo grinned and ruffled Frodo's dark curls. "Where has Merry gotten to? And what about Sam? I wouldn't expect him to be anywhere but by your side."

"Merry is outside, playing with Daisy and Sam has gone to have a bit of rest in the doctor's room. Bless him, he's hardly slept at all since we arrived."

There were a few moments of silence, and the hobbits could hear a bluebird singing cheerily outside the window. Presently, Milo patted Frodo's shoulder and stood up. "I wish I didn't have to cut our visit short, Frodo," he said. "But your Uncle Bilbo wished to talk to me for a moment." He ruffled Frodo's curls and left the room, leaving Peony and Frodo alone.

With a smile playing on his lips, Frodo propped his elbows up against the windowsill and watched Merry running away from Daisy outside. When she caught him, he let her tackle him to the ground. She then sat on his stomach and began tickling him mercilessly, seeming to sense where his most ticklish spots were. He yelled for help, laughing almost to the point of tears while trying to break free of her small, nimble fingers.

Frodo watched these proceedings with amused interest, until he suddenly realized that he himself was being watched. Peony was looking at him closely, her arms folded and her face thoughtful. "What?" Frodo asked in confusion; it was rather unnerving to fall under one of her shrewd stares. Peony did not answer, and continued to carefully study her nephew. He was still much too pale, but there was a very slight hint of rosy color to his cheeks now, and his intense blue eyes were no longer fever-bright. "What is it?" Frodo asked again, blowing a stray curl from his face.

This time, Peony smiled and shook her head. "Nothing, Frodo," she said. "It's just that you seem to be recovering well. I'm so very glad."

Frodo smiled back as she suddenly pulled him into another hug. Resting his head on her shoulder, he closed his eyes contentedly. "I'm fine now, Aunt Peony," he assured her, then blinked at what he said. He had never called her 'Aunt' before; she had always seemed like more of an older sister, as Milo was an older brother.

The two pulled apart, and stared at each other rather comically before laughing helplessly. "I don't know what's come over me," Peony gasped when she had downsized her laughter to small giggles. "Here I am, being sentimental while we have not had the chance to talk at all." Frodo chuckled and they moved to the sofa, which was more comfortable for two to sit on together.

"Well now," Peony said thoughtfully, taking Frodo's hands in her own. "What can I tell you about? Goodness, you've only been gone five days and it seems like five months! Let me see....oh, did I tell you about Addie Sandybanks' birthday? Quite a nice party it was, and Addie looked so pretty! You should have seen how her face glowed!" She sighed wistfully. "It was just like my 11th birthday party - only mine took place in Hobbiton; in the Party Field, actually. Oh, I can still remember the lights strung all through the Party Tree, shining so beautifully, and the dances, and the food..." She trailed off and sighed again.

Frodo laughed, causing her to stare at him in confusion. "Peony," he said teasingly, "there you go again! You sound just like Pearl Took -- only she daydreams about her coming-of-age party." He imitated a high, girlish voice. "I'm going to have a long satin gown -- oh no, not violet, silly; blue! And I'll wear my diamond necklace and I'll have that rose pin -- no, not the gold one, Pervinca, the silver one that Papa gave to Mama on her birthday..." He sighed, imitating Peony exactly.

Peony playfully threw a pillow at him. "I sounded nothing like that!" she said indignantly. "Besides," she added, "I wore a red velvet dress for my coming-of-age party."

Frodo smirked and began to make a remark about silly tweenage girls and dresses, but just then, the door opened, and Milo and Bilbo walked in. "Hullo," Bilbo said cheerfully, coming to sit down beside Frodo as Milo sat beside Peony. He brushed Frodo's dark curls from his forehead so that he could feel it for any signs of fever. "Still a bit warm," he muttered to himself, before smiling brightly and patting Frodo's shoulder. "What were you and Peony laughing about in here?"

The four talked for a little over an hour, but then Frodo began to tire, so Peony and Milo left. Sam awoke and came in just as Bilbo was helping Frodo to bed. "Hullo, Sam," Frodo said in a tired, hoarse voice, but he smiled.

Bilbo patted his hand. "Then I'll let you rest, my dear boy," he said. "I shall be in the sitting room, if you need me." Frodo nodded and Bilbo kissed his forehead before leaving.

For several minutes, there was silence in the room, broken only by Frodo's soft, slightly raspy breathing. "Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked hesitantly. Frodo did not open his eyes, but he turned his head toward him.

Sam paused. "I was just seein' if you were awake." Frodo's only response was a slight nod of his head.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Merry came in, with Daisy tagging along at his heels. Sam put a finger to his lips to signal them to be quiet, but Frodo opened his eyes and smiled slightly. "Hullo, Merry," he said softly, as his young cousin came over and sat in Bilbo's chair. Seeing Daisy follow him and climb up into his lap, Frodo's smile broadened. "And hullo, Miss Daisy."

Daisy grinned and climbed up on the bed. "H'lo, Fro," she said. "Daisy came to see you."

Frodo chuckled softly, covering up a small cough with his hand. "Did you indeed? Well, I'm very pleased to see you, as well."

"You don't look good," Daisy said solemnly, reaching out and touching Frodo's pale cheek. "You look sick."

Frodo fondly combed his fingers through her thick, soft curls. "I'm sure I do," he said with another cough.

"I'm much better, Merry," Frodo replied, closing his eyes. "I'm just a little tired, is all."

Sensing that it was time to go, Daisy climbed gently off the bed. "G'night, Fro," she whispered, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. Frodo smiled, and Daisy grabbed Merry's hand. "Come on, Mer," she said briskly, pulling him toward the door. "Time to go. Fro needs lotsa sleep so he can get all better."

Merry shrugged apologetically and let her pull him out of the room. "Sleep well, Frodo," he called from down the hall.

Sam scooted his stool closer and listened to Frodo's breathing. It was soft and even, with only the slightest rattle to it. Taking Frodo's hand he stroked it gently. "Sweet dreams, Mr. Frodo," he murmured. "And get well soon."

"Three doses a day of the trillus, and one teaspoon of the pain reliever as needed, correct?" Bilbo went over Dr. Bolger’s instructions again in the front doorway of the Broadbelts’ home.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, and if his wounds open up again, be sure to keep them bandaged and put some salve on them." Looking outside, the two hobbits watched as Merry held Frodo down on the grass while Daisy tickled him mercilessly. Sam knelt on the ground a short distance away, sorting through their packs.

"He seems to have recovered quite well," Bilbo commented, watching Frodo squirm free of Merry and Daisy’s grasp and run a safe distance away from them. His clear, joyful laugh floated down to them and Bilbo smiled.

"Yes, he seems to have recovered," Dr. Bolger mused, almost to himself. He turned to Bilbo. "But do not forget," he added, "it has only been little over a week since he has been out of bed. He must not overtax himself." Bilbo nodded, and turned again to watch his nephew, who was running around the large oak tree in the yard, trying to avoid Merry and Daisy. The two had split up, each taking one side of the tree, and Frodo was trapped.

Frodo spoke quickly with Merry and came over to where Bilbo and Dr. Bolger were standing. "Yes, Uncle?" he asked cheerfully, slightly out of breath.

"How are you feeling?" Bilbo asked. "The truth now, young hobbit," he added, a smile taking the sternness out of his words.

Frodo laughed. "I’m fine, Uncle," he said. "I feel perfectly fine." Seeing Bilbo’s doubtful look, he added seriously, "Honestly. I’m a bit tired, but I don’t feel ill at all."

Nevertheless, Bilbo felt his forehead for any signs of fever. It was slightly warm, but it could have simply been from his exertions. "All right, dear boy, I believe you," he said after a moment. "But I’d prefer it if you didn’t do any more running for a while."

Dr. Bolger studied his young patient carefully. He was still pale, but his cheeks were now a healthy rosy color, and his eyes were bright and sparkling. He seemed to have recovered almost completely, but to the doctor’s trained eye, he knew that Frodo was not much more than half-well yet. He smiled as he watched Frodo laugh at something Bilbo said; it always warmed his heart to see his patients happy and recovering.

Merry called to Frodo and before his nephew left, Bilbo gave him a last word of caution and kissed the top of his head before letting him go. Watching as Frodo, Sam and Merry began to help Daisy make some chains with the little girl’s name-flower, Bilbo sighed happily. It was so good to see Frodo healthy and smiling again. And a relief, as well. There had been times in the last two weeks when the old hobbit had despaired of Frodo ever recovering.

Just then, the door opened behind them and Milo came out, deep in a discussion with Ferdirand. Behind them, Lila and Peony followed, also talking cheerfully with each other. Over the past week since the Burrowses had come to see Frodo, Peony and Lila had formed a very strong bond of friendship. Peony was constantly helping Lila around the house, making the meals or doing the laundry, and so making more time for them to have some time alone to chat.

Milo and Ferdirand had become friends as well, and Milo was teaching Ferdirand the finer art of carving; in turn, Ferdirand was teaching him how to plant, harvest and plow. Both were quick learners and willing to be both teacher and student.

"Hullo, Bilbo," Milo greeted his cousin cheerfully. "We’re off to the fields. Ferdirand is going to teach me how to harvest properly."

With a wave, he and Ferdirand walked off toward the fields, stopping to greet the young hobbits making daisy chains. Lila and Peony were still chatting merrily, but Peony gave Bilbo a quick, bright smile of greeting. Bilbo smiled in return, and looking back at the young hobbits in the yard, he noticed with alarm that Frodo was coughing again.

Sam was patting his back, and the fit did not last long, but glancing at Dr. Bolger, Bilbo saw that he was concerned. "That cough is still lingering about," he commented. Bilbo nodded, but did not speak. He watched Frodo closely, but the lad seemed perfectly fine now, and was talking and laughing with the others. "The trillus will help," Dr. Bolger continued. "But it may take up to a month for the cough to leave completely."

Bilbo sighed. "The poor boy," he said sadly. "It seems that he never has the chance to be as happy as a lad his age should be."

Dr. Bolger looked at him questioningly and took this opportunity to learn a bit more about his patient. "How do you mean?"

Bilbo sighed again and turned to look at him. "It’s been 15 years since his parents died, but the pain of their deaths has stayed with him," he paused a moment. "Several years after their deaths, when he was about twenty, he fell into the Brandywine while he and Merry were catching frogs. He nearly drowned." Bilbo shuddered at the memory. "Not only did he catch a chill and then pneumonia, but it brought back memories of his poor parents and he was melancholy for months, poor boy." Dr. Bolger was very quick-witted, and he was beginning to piece together the puzzle. Frodo’s parents must have drowned in the Brandywine. He shuddered. That would be enough to make anyone depressed.

"Just a few years after that," Bilbo continued, not really talking to Dr. Bolger anymore; reliving the memories to himself. "The poor lad fell out of a tree—he loves to climb—and broke his arm. I thought he had finally been allowed to be at peace, as it has been three years since anything dire had happened to him. But now, the bite, the poison and the after-effects. Will the dear lad ever find peace?"

Dr. Bolger was silent a few moments, but then he spoke slowly and softly. "The boy has indeed had a hard life. But he has borne it well. To survive such a strong injection of Fire Snake venom alone speaks highly of his inner strength. Merry has told me of his illness in Brandy Hall, and it seems that he gave everyone a surprise by pulling through that as well. His will to live is very strong." He placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. "And you are one reason, I think. He loves you, Bilbo, as a father. And it is that love that gives him such strength."

Looking over at the object of their discussion, Dr. Bolger watched with a smile as Frodo gently helped Sam finish his daisy chain, and then showed Merry how to thread the flowers together. "He seems also to be very fond of young Samwise, and Merry, as well."

Bilbo nodded and smiled fondly at his nephew. "He’s like an older brother to them, as well as to little Pippin Took."

Dr. Bolger patted his shoulder. "He is a fine lad, Bilbo. You’ve raised him well." With another gentle smile, he turned and went back inside to pack, leaving Bilbo to think on his words. Tears shown in the old hobbit’s soft grey eyes, and he knew the truth of the doctor’s words. Frodo was a sweet, gentle, loving boy. A fine lad, indeed.

"Don’t worry, Daisy, I promise we’ll come to visit you soon." Merry brushed away a tear that was sliding down his cheek and gently wiped the tears off Daisy’s small face. The little lass was clinging to him, tears flowing in torrents down her cheeks and her small shoulders shaking with sobs. Merry’s heart clenched in sorrow and guilt. He was leaving her once more, after only little over two weeks with her, and he probably would not have the opportunity to visit her until he was in Hobbiton again.

He sighed, and let Daisy cry until she had not a tear left. Then, he pulled her into a tight hug, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. "I promise, I will see you as soon as I can," he whispered. "And if not me, then I’m sure Frodo will visit you."

With a sniffle, Daisy reached up with one small, chubby hand and scrubbed at her eyes. "You come visit for Daisy’s birthday?" she asked hopefully.

Daisy thought a moment, and then trotted over to her mother, who was saying farewell to Frodo, and waited patiently through their conversation.

"I do feel dreadful, though, leaving when I promised that I’d help you with the harvest," Frodo was saying apologetically. "Especially after all you’ve done."

Lila shook her head. "Don’t you be feeling guilty, Frodo dear," she said. "’Twasn’t anything you could have done about it. We’ll do just fine with the harvestin', I’ve no doubt." She gave him a maternal kiss on the forehead. "But I will miss you. You must come back soon and visit."

The child’s rosy-cheeked face was serious. "Mama? When’s Daisy’s birthday?"

Lila bent down so that she was eye-level with her daughter. "Daisy’s birthday is on the first day of Yule," she said, giving Daisy’s tiny button nose a quick tap. "She’s a special girl, isn’t she?"

"And so big," Frodo added, kneeling beside them. "How old will she be on her birthday?" he asked Lila with a teasing smile. "Surely not more than two."

Lila did not have the chance to reply, for Daisy folded her arms indignantly. "Daisy’s not gonna be two," she said. "Daisy’s gonna be—" She counted on her fingers, and then held up all ten of them. "This many!"

Frodo laughed. "That many?" he said, fondly ruffling her hair. "My, but you are big!"

Lila smiled lovingly at her daughter. "All right now, big girl," she said, "say good-bye to Frodo."

Daisy’s sunny face fell, and her lips trembled as she threw her arms around Frodo’s neck. Although Merry was her special ‘big brother’ and playmate, she had grown quite attached to both Frodo and Sam. "G’bye, Frodo," she whispered, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. "Daisy goin’ miss you."

Frodo smiled warmly at her. "I’m going to miss you, too," he said. "But I’ll come and visit soon."

Daisy’s smile returned, and she pulled away. "Daisy forgot!" she exclaimed. "'Bye, Frodo!" She ran off toward Merry without another word, and Lila exchanged a shrug with Frodo.

"Daisy’s birthday is first day of Yule!" The girl announced as she nearly bowled Merry over with a hug. "Mer can visit on Yule!"

Merry laughed. "Yes, I believe I can," he said. "I’ll be visiting Frodo for Yule, and I’ll have Pippin with me, so you can meet him!"

Daisy sat back on her heels, suddenly serious again. "Yule day is looooooong time ’way," she murmured disappointedly.

Merry gave her another hug. "Don’t worry, Daisy," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "The months will fly by. Before you know it, it’ll be winter, and I’ll be visiting again. Why, it’s already the last day of Wedmath!"

Her cheerfulness restored, Daisy gave him a kiss on the cheek, and with one last bright smile, she dashed off to say farewell to Sam.

"I cannot thank you enough," Bilbo told Dr. Bolger, strapping his pack on. "How much—?"

Dr. Bolger cut him off quickly. "Oh no, you don’t," he said. "You shan’t pay me a single penny, and I’ll not argue about it," he added, raising his hand to stop Bilbo’s protest. "My reward is simply seeing Frodo well again. That is more than enough."

Bilbo smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I shan’t forget your kindness."

Taking Bilbo’s offered hand and shaking it warmly, Dr. Bolger smiled and picked up his large bag. "Take care, Mr. Baggins," he said, "you and your lad. I hope to see you again—though hopefully under more pleasant circumstances." With another smile and quick wave, Dr. Bolger started toward the door, stopping for a moment to say farewell to Frodo and fondly ruffle his curls.

After sad farewells and promised visits, Bilbo, Frodo, Sam and Merry left the Broadbelts (as well as the Burrowses, who had decided to stay for a few days) and headed toward the Bywater road. Milo lent them his bay mare, Star, and at first, Bilbo tried to persuade Frodo to ride it. But his nephew had insisted that he could walk, and catching the look in his nephew’s eyes, Bilbo had realized that he simply did not wish to trouble anyone, and so gave in—for now, at least.

Sam led Star, laden with their packs, and the pony already seemed to have taken a liking to him. For himself, Sam also became quite fond of her—he was as skilled with animals as he was with plants—and he snuck her bits of apple as they went along.

Bilbo kept an anxious eye on Frodo, who walked beside him. Although it was not especially warm yet, his nephew’s face was soon soaked with sweat and he was breathing heavily. He would occasionally cover up a cough with his hand, and then square his shoulders and pick up his pace. Bilbo smiled fondly at him. The dear lad was stubbornly determined not to slow them down or succumb to his own physical weakness.

But that same stubbornness (most definitely a Tookish trait) also worried Bilbo. He knew that Frodo would probably not say anything if he was tired or feeling ill again, and would probably push himself too hard, if he was allowed to get away with it—and Bilbo was as stubbornly determined as his nephew notto let that happen.

Around noon, the hobbits stopped for a rest on the side of the wide, flat road. Sam tied Star to a small sapling tree and let the pony graze while they sat down on a blanket. Merry had been put in charge of the food, and he brought out several apples, four biscuits, some chicken (still warm) and for dessert, delicious raspberry tarts.

It was not long before Bilbo noticed that Frodo was only picking at his food, taking small bites of his biscuit whenever anyone looked at him. Leaning forward so that his words could be heard by Frodo alone, Bilbo whispered, "Please eat, my dear boy, if only for my sake. It worries me so to see you so thin—and I could not bear to see you ill again."

Looking up at Bilbo with his blue eyes wide at the thought of causing his dear Uncle pain, Frodo murmured, "I’m sorry, Uncle. I'm just not very hungry at the moment."

Bilbo wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "There’s nothing to be sorry for, my dear boy," he said softly. "But you must eat a little. We've a long way to go yet." With a rather weak smile, Frodo took a bite of his apple.

After lunch, the hobbits set out again, and Bilbo noticed with pleasure that Frodo seemed to be feeling better. But the mid-day sun was beating down upon them now, and all four took frequent gulps of their water. The heat was quickly draining Frodo’s renewed energy, and after about two hours of walking, he began to lag behind.

Merry had been strolling along behind the others, just listening to the sounds of the country, and so he was the first to notice that Frodo was slowing. He quickly caught up to him and took his cousin’s hand. "What’s wrong, Frodo?" he asked softly, so as not to alarm the others.

Frodo raised his head, and Merry saw with alarm his face had gone white and was soaked with sweat. But Frodo gave him a weak smile. "I’m all right, Merry," he panted. "Just a bit hot, that's all."

Merry stepped forward and blocked his way, placing his hands on his hips. "Oh no you’re not, Frodo Baggins," he said stubbornly. "You’re ill, I can see that well enough. I’m going to tell Uncle Bilbo, and we’ll stop and let you rest for a bit. Or you can ride Star."

Frodo was too tired to protest, and Merry helped him gently sink down in the grass beside the road. Quickly feeling his cousin’s forehead and noticing that it was much too hot, Merry ran forward to get Bilbo and Sam, who had stopped to remove a stone from Star’s hoof. "Uncle Bilbo!" he called, grabbing his arm. "Frodo’s not feeling well!" Bilbo turned around, his eyes widening, and ran to his nephew with Merry and Sam, leading Star, close behind.

Bilbo gently pulled Frodo into his lap, letting the lad’s head rest against his shoulder. "Oh, my dear boy," he whispered, stroking his nephew’s dark curls. "Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t well?" He looked up at Merry and Sam, who were nervously watching, unsure of what to do. "Merry," he directed, "please bring me my pack." The youngest hobbit quickly began to unstrap Bilbo’s pack from Star’s back. "And Sam," Bilbo continued, "you can tie up Star—I think we shall be here for a while." Sam nodded and led Star to a small patch of young trees.

Merry brought Bilbo his pack and sat down next to him in order to be close-by if he was needed. Bilbo quickly rummaged through his pack until he found the small jar of trillus herbs. Sam came over and sat down beside them, and Bilbo handed him the jar. "I need you to mix a teaspoon of these into a cup of water."

"Yes sir," said Sam softly, his brown eyes filling with tears as he looked at his barely conscious young master. He pulled out a small tin cup from his own pack and quickly poured water from his own bottle into it.

Bilbo turned to Merry, who was stroking Frodo’s left hand. "Merry," he said, "I need you to get the salve and bandages out of my pack, please. Frodo’s wrist is bleeding again." Merry glanced down at his cousin’s other hand and saw that indeed, the wounds had re-opened and were bleeding again. He quickly found the salve and bandages from Bilbo’s pack and handed it to him.

Bilbo gently laid Frodo down on the grass and put the salve beside him. "Merry," he said without looking up, "you must rub the salve on Frodo’s wrist while I help Sam get the herbs ready. Be careful not to hurt him, though." Merry nodded and dipped his fingers in the salve as Bilbo reluctantly got up and helped Sam.

Frodo’s eyes slowly opened as Merry gently massaged the salve into his wounds. "Merry?" he said hoarsely. "Where’s Uncle Bilbo?"

Merry smiled at him, glad to see his cousin awake and coherent. "Don’t worry, Frodo, he’s just helping Sam with the herbs. He’ll be right back." He looked down at Frodo’s wrist. The salve had stopped the bleeding almost immediately, and the skin, an angry red before, was slowly returning to its normal color. "How’s your wrist feeling?"

Frodo moved it a little. "Much better," he said with a small cough. He smiled wryly. "And I’m not just saying that to make you stop hovering over me."

Merry grinned with relief. "Good," he said, putting the lid on the salve jar and placing it back in Bilbo’s pack. "And we have good reason to hover, obviously," he added, shaking his head. "You—"

He was interrupted as Sam and Bilbo came over with the cup of trillus herbs. "Frodo!" Bilbo cried with relief. "You’re awake!"

Frodo smiled slightly. "I’m fine, Uncle," he said softly, stifling another cough. "Really. I’m much better now."

Bilbo knelt down and took his hand. "Nonetheless, my boy," he said, "you need to drink some of these trillus herbs. They’ll help your cough. Can you sit up?"

Frodo nodded with a grimace at the thought of drinking the bitter-tasting trillus. He raised himself up on his elbows and a little slowly, managed to sit fully upright. He swayed a little, and let Bilbo support him as Sam helped him drink the trillus.

After drinking the entire cup of the nasty liquid, Merry handed him and apple and he quickly took a bite, giving his cousin a grateful look, to which Merry responded by smiling sympathetically. "Here, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, handing him his water bottle.

The trillus herbs did not take full effect for several minutes, and Bilbo carefully bound his wrist, just to be on the safe side. When Frodo’s coughing had quieted, he fell into a sound sleep, and the others decided to stay and rest for awhile. "Come on, lads," Bilbo said quietly, after about a half an hour. "We should be going, if we want to reach Bag End by supper-time." The other two nodded, and while Sam went to get Star, he gently lifted Frodo up into his arms.

When Sam returned with Star, he and Merry removed all the baggage from the pony’s back, so that Frodo could ride her. Sam took Frodo’s as well as his own, for at the moment, Bilbo was too distracted to stop him. He gently placed Frodo on Star’s back, and held him there for a moment. "Merry," he said, "can you ride up there with Frodo to make sure he won’t fall off."

Merry nodded, eager to be of help. "Of course, uncle." Bilbo helped him mount up behind Frodo, and he wrapped his arms securely around his cousin’s waist. As Star began to move ahead at a steady walk, he pressed his cousin a little closer to him and whispered, "Don’t worry, Frodo, we’ll get you home."

"Home at last!" Bilbo cried, some three hours later. Beside him, faithfully leading Star, Sam was panting, and Merry, still sitting behind Frodo, was beginning to nod. "Here, Sam," said Bilbo, taking the reins from the tired young gardener. "I’ll take Star, and you can go unlock the door." He handed Sam the key, and the lad dashed up the garden steps to the round, green door of Bag End.

As Bilbo tied Star to the garden fence, he suddenly heard a shout: "Mr. Bilbo!" He looked up to see the Gaffer jogging towards him. "Glad I am to see you an’ the lads safe back," he said as he stopped beside the pony. He glanced up at Frodo doubtfully. "Or leastwise, back home. Where’s my lad, Sam?"

Sam came racing down the garden steps, through the gate and straight into his father’s arms. "I missed you, da," he murmured, his voice muffled by the Hamfast’s shirt.

"An’ I missed you, too, lad," said his father with a smile. Then he straightened up and became serious again. "Come on then. We’d best get ever’one inside." He looked up at the sky; thick, black clouds were building up, starting to cover the late afternoon sun.

Bilbo gently took Frodo off Star’s back. His nephew sighed softly, but did not wake, as Bilbo carried him inside. The Gaffer reached up and lifted Merry off the pony’s back as well, and carried the half-asleep lad in his strong arms up the steps to Bag End. Sam took Star around to the back garden, and tied her to a small apple tree. He removed her saddle blanket and picked a juicy, red apple for her. The pony seemed to be the least tired of all of them, and she nudged Sam playfully as he fed her the apple. Stroking her soft nose one last time, Sam left her to go see if he was needed inside.

There, he found that Frodo had been put in his own room, while Merry was laid in the guest bed, where he was sound asleep. Bilbo and the Gaffer were standing outside Frodo’s bedroom, talking quietly.

"Yer cousins, them Sackville-Bagginses, they been askin’ for ye," Hamfast was saying. "They’re sayin’ that young Master Frodo stole summat from ’em. Mistress Lobelia was mighty angry when I told her that you weren’t home."

Bilbo sighed. "I didn’t think they’d give up," he said. "But I can’t understand how Frodo could’ve gotten tangled up in this mess. He was only in Bywater for a few days, and he told me that he only saw Lotho once."

Hamfast shook his head. "Dunno," he said. "But surely Master Frodo couldn’t a’ stolen naught from them."

"Did he tell ye aught ’bout that wooden bird that Master Lotho’s sayin’ he stole?"

"Yes, he told me that Milo had carved it for Merry, but he didn’t get the chance to tell me more, and it’s slipped my mind to ask him further."

"Well, I don’t mean t’be speakin’ ill o’ people, sir, but I think that p’raps it was Master Lotho as stole it from them."

At this point, Sam came over to them and stood beside his father. "Beggin’ your pardon, sir," he said timidly, "but I couldn’t help but overhear what you been talkin’ about, an’ I think I might be able to tell you a bit more."

The Gaffer looked at him sharply, but said nothing. "Go on, Sam," Bilbo encouraged him.

"W-well, sir," Sam stammered, "me Gaffer’s right. Mr. Lotho did take the bird, when we were campin’ with Mr. Milo." He paused uncertainly, and Bilbo nodded for him to continue. "Mr. Merry lost his bird, and we were all lookin’ for it, an’ then we found a campsite. There weren’t no one there, an’ Mr. Merry went into one o’ the tents an’ found his bird. Then, when we got back to Mr. Milo and Miss Peony’s house, Mr. Frodo got that letter from you, an’ we knew it had t' 'ave been Mr. Lotho as took the bird, sir."

Bilbo was silent for several moments, mulling Sam’s story over. "Well, Sam," he said at last, "I suppose I shall have to try to explain this to Lobelia, though I doubt that she’ll listen. Thank you for telling me."

Sam grinned shyly, and stifled a yawn. Hamfast looked down at his son and caught it. "Beggin’ yer pardon, Mr. Bilbo," he said. "But I think it’s time me an’ Sam went home."

Bilbo smiled and ruffled Sam’s sandy curls. "Of course," he said. "Thank you both for your help." The Gaffer nodded, and Bilbo saw them to the door.

Outside, lightning was beginning to flash and thunder rumbled, but the storm was not yet overhead. "Hurry home!" Bilbo called after them. "Wouldn’t want you to get caught outside when this storm breaks!"

"Aye, sir," the Gaffer replied over his shoulder, hoisting the exhausted Sam up into his arms. "An’ you take care as well!" He disappeared down the hill just as the rain began to fall, softly at first, and then a pounding torrent. Bilbo stayed in the doorway, watching the rain for several minutes, before sighing and going back inside.

"Merry! Wake up, sleepyhead!" Frodo called, two days later. Merry groaned and burrowed his head deeper into his pillow. With a mischievous grin, Frodo added, "Breakfast’s ready, and if you don’t wake up, we won’t save you any." This got Merry’s attention. His eyes flew open, all sleep forgotten, and jumped out of bed. Frodo watched in satisfied amusement as he flung on his clothes and dashed out of the door, as usual forgetting to make his bed.

"I spoil you," muttered Frodo under his breath as he straightened his cousin’s disheveled blankets. He stepped back and admired his work for a moment, then headed down the hall for breakfast.

There he found Bilbo bustling around the kitchen, making some tea, and Merry already into his second helping of hotcakes and sausage. "Hullo Frodo," he greeted cheerfully, as his cousin entered the room. "It’s about time you’ve decided to join us."

Frodo smirked. "Well, perhaps I would have joined you sooner if I hadn’t had to make someone’s bed."

Merry grinned, taking a huge bite of his hotcake. "I don’t know what you mean," he said innocently, his mouth full.

"Mmm-hmm." Frodo went into the kitchen to help Bilbo. "Good morning, Uncle," he said cheerfully.

Bilbo smiled and ruffled his nephew’s hair. "Hullo, my boy," he said. "You go sit down, and I’ll have tea ready in half a moment."

"Oh no you don’t," Frodo said with a laugh. "I’ll finish the tea, and you go sit down! You haven’t eaten yet this morning, I’ve noticed."

Bilbo chuckled. "And neither have you, I might point out." Frodo pretended not to hear.

Laughing, Bilbo sat down at the table while Frodo finished making the tea. Frodo had just placed the teapot on the table, and was about go back into the kitchen, when there was a knock at the door. Frodo started to get it, but Bilbo got up and put a hand on his nephew’s arm. "I’ll get it," he said. "You go eat."

Frodo nodded, and Bilbo hurried to get the door as the bell rang. "Half a moment!" he called, unlocking the door and opening it. On the doorstep stood Lobelia, with Lotho beside her. Two Shirriffs were on either side of them, striving to look important but seeming uncomfortable nonetheless.

One of the Shirriffs stepped forward, nervously glancing at his companion. "Good morrow to you, Mr. Baggins," he said. "I’m afraid that I need you and your nephew to come with us, to see Mayor Whitfoot."

The Shirriff winced. "I’m sorry, sir, but Frodo Baggins is under arrest for suspicion of theft."

"What do you mean, Frodo is under arrest?" Bilbo demanded, his grey eyes wide in shock.

Lobelia folded her arms. "Don’t act as though you don’t know," she said smugly. "Frodo stole something of my son’s." Lotho smirked.

"Lobelia, did you truly need to go this far?" Bilbo asked reasonably. "This is ridiculous!"

Lobelia frowned. "That Brandybuck is a thief and a liar," she said icily, giving him a glare that would’ve frozen water in the Cracks of Doom. "Stealing, no matter how small it starts, cannot be tolerated." Bilbo stepped outside and shut the door behind him, not wishing Frodo and Merry to hear the imminent argument.

The two Shirriffs nervously stepped back a bit. They had no quarrel with Mister Baggins, whether he was ‘mad’ or not, and neither could truly believe that Frodo would steal anything. "Why’d we get picked to go bring ’em to the Mayor, Tuck?" one of them asked the other, taking off his cap and twirling it in his fingers.

The other shrugged, also taking off his cap to reveal his auburn curls. "I dunno, Pim," he whispered. "Toly woulda been better for the job. But, as we have, we must do our best."

The one called Pim combed his fingers through his russet-brown curls and watched as Bilbo and the Sackville-Bagginses argued.

Tuck (short for Tucker) nodded. "Aye, my da is plowin’, too," he said, his green-gold eyes not leaving Bilbo, Lobelia and Lotho. "But he’s got Tim," he added. "Just turned thirty-four last week – two years older than me, and prob’ly about twice as strong, too."

Pim turned to look at him. "I didn’t know Tim was older ’an you," he said. "I thought you was ’round the same age."

Tucker playfully nudged his companion and covered a chuckle behind his cap. "Aye, I know," he said. "He’s mighty young lookin’ for his age. Kinda like old Mr. Bilbo, there." Both pairs of eyes shifted to the hobbit, taking in his dark brown curls (without more than a small speckling of grey in the front), youthful energy, and face that didn’t look a day over fifty.

"Really, Lobelia," Bilbo argued. "We cannot go today! The poor lad’s not had even a fortnight to recover since he was bitten."

Lobelia sniffed. "And that is quite enough," she said haughtily. "Honestly, Bilbo, you should have more carefully considered your choice of an heir. He should have a stronger constitution – not to mention honesty… Like Lotho."

Bilbo sighed. "Lobelia," he said with strained patience, "as I’ve told you many times before, Frodo is my heir and that is final. He met all of my standards – exceeded them, even."

Lobelia narrowed her eyes. "And what standards would those be, pray?" she said. "They must not be anything too hard to meet if that Brandybuck has passed."

In the kitchen, Frodo was washing the dishes, restraining thoughts of running outside to see what was going on. Merry kept up a lively stream of chatter while finishing up his fourth helping of breakfast. "…So Berilac shoved the vegetables into Merimas’ hands – you should have seen the look on his face! – and he grabs Pip and me and runs through the field. We could hear Merimas behind us, shouting so loud it’s a wonder he didn’t lose his voice. And behind him, Farmer Maggot’s dogs were hot on the trail, barking and making so much noise I thought they’d rouse all of Brandy Hall. We made it to the fence, and Berilac…"

"All right," Merry said distractedly. "…And Berilac all but pitched Pip and me over it and then jumps over himself – just about landed on top of us." He stuffed the last bite of hotcakes into his mouth. "And behind us, Merimas is hollering and carrying on, wasting the breath he should’ve been using to run. Farmer Maggot’s dogs were right behind him now, so close I could see their colors: Grip is a kinda brindle color, and Fang’s grey, with yellow eyes. And Wolf, the biggest one, he looks like both their colors mixed together; he’s grey with black and brown flecks in his coat." He shuddered. "That dog is the meanest I’ve ever met in my whole life. Even worse than old Farmer Brown’s dog."

Frodo made a face. He needed no description of Farmer Maggot’s dogs; he knew them all too well. Wolf, especially, seemed to have some kind of grudge against him, and he was always the first to chase him when he went raiding mushrooms, which he seldom did now that he’d moved to Bag End.

He glanced behind him at Merry, who was suddenly quiet, and saw him stuffing the last of his own hotcakes into his mouth. "Merry!" Frodo scolded. "That was your last helping!"

Merry choked slightly on the hotcake. "Oh, sorry Frodo," he said with his mouth full. "I guess I forgot." Frodo strove to look stern but he had to quickly turn back to the dishes to hide his grin.

Merry put on the most innocent face he could muster, and meekly walked over with his empty plate, as well as Frodo’s. "Here, Frodo," he said angelically. "You forgot to clean up your plate."

With a defeated sigh, Frodo took the offered plates and scrubbed them. "That’s because I was going to finish my breakfast," he said, shooting a playful glare at Merry.

Merry widened his eyes innocently. "Well, I didn’t know," he said. "I’m afraid I can’t read your mind."

With a smirk, Frodo turned his attention back to the dishes – and suddenly got a handful of soapy water in his face. Quickly drying his face with a towel, Frodo glared at Merry, who was smiling teasingly. "Did I get you wet?" he asked. "Oh, dreadfully sorry about that."

Frodo started to scoop up a handful of water to splash his cousin’s face, but then he stopped. "No, we’ll make a mess," he said seriously. "We don’t want to get the floor all wet." Merry looked up at Frodo curiously, unsure if the older lad was joking or not. He certainly looked serious enough.

Just as he was about to turn away, Frodo suddenly flicked him with soapy water. Blinking his eyes rapidly to rid them of the water, Merry gasped, "Frodo!"

His cousin was trying in vain to keep a straight face, but finally laughed out loud at Merry’s astonished face. "Surely you didn’t think I’d let you get the better of me!" he said, when he had breath enough. Merry opened his mouth to retort, but something out the window caught his eye.

He ran over and looked out, his eyes widening at what he saw. "Frodo, look!" he cried, without taking his eyes off the scene outside. "It’s Lobelia and Lotho! With two Shirriffs!"

Frodo dried his hands on a towel and quickly came up behind Merry. He sucked in his breath sharply as he saw Bilbo arguing, trying to make peace by the looks of it, with Lobelia and Lotho. Two Shirriffs were standing a safe distance away, looking uncomfortable.

Merry clenched his hands into fists. "I know what’s up," he said furiously. "It’s about that silly little bird Milo made me. Lotho’s still saying that you’ve stolen it." Frodo nodded. "Well, come on, then! We can’t leave Uncle Bilbo to fend for himself against the S.-B.’s!" Merry declared, grabbing Frodo’s hand and dragging him toward the door.

"But try not to lose your temper;" warned Frodo as he allowed himself to be pulled along, "it won’t help matters."

When they stepped outside, Lobelia’s shrill shrieks made Merry cover his ears with his hands. No one noticed as they walked closer, until they were both standing beside Bilbo. As Lobelia’s furious glare came down upon the two lads, Merry involuntarily stepped back a bit and sat down on the bench nearby.

Meeting Lobelia’s glare unwaveringly, Frodo slid his hand into Bilbo’s and pressed it. "What is this all about?" he asked softly, tearing his eyes away from Lobelia’s and looking at his Uncle.

"Well, Frodo," said Bilbo unhappily, "it seems that—" He was cut off as the two Shirriffs stepped forward, their feathered caps replaced on their heads.

"Frodo Baggins," Tuck said, trying to look stern and important (certainly it was easier to be so when talking to a hobbit smaller and younger than himself). "You are under arrest for suspicion of theft. I’ll need you to come along with us to see Mayor Whitfoot." Frodo said nothing, only raised his eyebrows.

"Come now!" Bilbo pleaded. "Frodo is not wholly well yet. Give him a few more days to rest, and then we can speak to Mayor Whitfoot."

Tuck glanced at Pim and shook his head. "I’m sorry, Master Baggins," he said, "but we’re under orders. The lad must appear before the Mayor today."

Bilbo folded him arms stubbornly. "I’ll not allow it," he said firmly. "Why can you not explain to the Mayor that Frodo is ill? We can drive down to Michel Delving when he has fully recovered."

Lobelia cut in. "Bilbo," she said haughtily. "This case is most urgent, and it must be attended to at once. The boy has had quite enough time to recover. There is no reason to delay, unless—" She smiled smugly at Frodo "—unless you are hiding something. Is that it, Bilbo? You cannot protect him from justice, cousin. That boy is a liar, and a thief, and—"

Bilbo interrupted her angrily. "Lobelia, enough! I know well your opinion of the lad, and you needn’t waste your breath repeating it," he snapped. "But he cannot go today!"

Frodo, silent through all this, finally spoke. "It's all right, Uncle," he said quietly. "I’m much better. I can make the trip; its not too far."

Tuck stepped closer and took Frodo’s arm. "I’m sorry, Master Baggins," he said again, looking out of the corner of his eye at Pim, who was twirling his feathered cap nervously in his fingers. "But I’m afraid there’s no choice. The lad must appear before Mayor Whitfoot today, and if you like, you may ask the Mayor himself for more time. But young Frodo must come with us – whether you are willing or no."

Bilbo looked at Frodo, who almost imperceptibly nodded his head, and sighed. "All right, all right," he said at last. "We’ll come along. But what about Merry? He must come with us as well. I’ll not leave the lad by himself."

Tuck gave a short nod. Pim walked over and grinned boyishly at Merry, holding out his hand to the young hobbit. Merry suddenly recognized him as the older brother of one of his friends from Buckland, Hob, and took the offered hand. "The lad may come," Tuck said, still striving to be serious. "But he’ll not be allowed to enter Mayor Whitfoot’s study." Bilbo nodded, and the company set off toward the eastern outskirts of Hobbiton, where the Mayor was visiting his cousin.

Frodo was silent, and as he walked beside Bilbo, Lotho continuously poked him in the back, so hard that it nearly caused him to fall. Frodo refused to even look behind him at the troublemaker, and remained focused on the road ahead. Lotho’s game was soon spoiled, for Bilbo stepped behind Frodo, blocking him from Lotho, who sulkily stuffed his hands in his pockets and stayed close beside his mother. Lobelia muttered something to Bilbo, who sighed (knowing that it was simply a waste of energy to be angry with her) and put his arm around Frodo’s shoulders.

Mayor Whitfoot’s cousin, Dorimbras Boffin, lived in a very large smial, a mansion by Hobbit standards, on the very edge of Hobbiton. As the hobbits rounded the corner, they could see the round, yellow door of Mr. Boffin’s smial.

Merry and Pim were walking alongside of each other, hand in hand, chatting softly. Pim had only met Merry once before, but they both liked the other immediately. Merry retold the story about Berilac and Merimas (which he’d not been able to finish telling Frodo), and it turned out that Pim was also a frequent visitor to Farmer Maggot's fields. Retelling their stories helped take away some of the tenseness of the situation and made Merry feel more hopeful.

The sun was beating down on the hobbits as they walked up the long path toward Mr. Boffin’s smial. The combination of heat and apprehension made Frodo feel dizzy, and he stumbled several times. Bilbo kept his arm around his nephew’s shoulder to steady him.

At last they made it to the front door and were invited in by Mrs. Boffin, a cheerful, red-cheeked lady who thought Merry was the most "adorable little thing she’d ever laid eyes on," and ushered him in the kitchen before he had the chance to protest. Before he disappeared around the corner, he managed to give Frodo a reassuring grin, which his cousin weakly returned.

Mr. Boffin himself came down the hall and led them to the study, where Mayor Whitfoot was waiting. Tuck grabbed Frodo’s shoulders and kept him in front, so as to look more important before the Mayor. Pim came along behind the group, looking uncomfortable and nervous. Lobelia had a smug smile on her face, and Lotho continually shot satisfied looks at Frodo, who calmly ignored him, much to his dismay.

The large, round door of the study was opened by another Shirriff, Toly, who ushered them in and shut the door behind them. He and Pim stood on either side of the doorway, schooling their faces to be impassive.

Keeping a firm grip on Frodo’s shoulders, Tuck led him up to the Mayor’s desk. Mayor Whitfoot was a very large, middle-aged hobbit in his fifties, and generally as even-tempered and peaceable a hobbit as you could wish to meet.

He looked up slowly from his papers, which were strewn all over the desk, and his kindly face looked tired and bored. "Yes?"

Tuck straightened. "Frodo Baggins, sir," he said. "Here with his Uncle, Mister Bilbo Baggins, and Lobelia and Lotho Sackville-Baggins, sir." Mayor Whitfoot nodded and slowly scanned the hobbits in front of him.

Lobelia and Lotho looked very smug and haughty, and the Mayor was not looking forward to dealing with them. Bilbo looked rather upset, fingering something in his pocket and not taking his eyes off his nephew. Frodo, however, appeared very calm and unfraid, although his face was pale, and he was trembling slightly. But he was after all just getting over a rather serious illness, from what Mayor Whitfoot had heard, so that was to be expected.

Mayor Whitfoot nodded his head politely to them all, and Pim and Toly pushed four chairs in front of his desk. "Good afternoon," Mayor Whitfoot said, standing up. "Please, have a seat." Tuck made sure that Frodo and Lotho sat in the two front chairs, with Bilbo and Lobelia behind them.

Everyone was put under oath to tell the truth, and Frodo couldn’t help but wonder how the Sackville-Bagginses could swear, without hesitation, to do so, when their entire case was a lie. He glanced at Lotho out of the corner of his eye and saw the older lad sitting at perfect attention, hands folded neatly in his lap. He may be a terror to those younger than him, when alone, but he knew how to act innocent as could be when he needed to.

Frodo turned his attention back to Mayor Whitfoot, who was now going over the Sackville-Bagginses’ claim (merely for the sake of formality, for everyone in the room was well aware of the situation). Even for Frodo, who was normally especially good at staying focused and attentive, found it exceedingly dull, and his gaze traveled the room.

Tuck was standing behind the Mayor’s desk, looking bored. Pim was leaning against the left side of the doorway, stifling a yawn and absently playing with the feather in his cap. On the right side of the doorway, Toly stood, looking stern, almost grim, and most definitely not bored. Frodo’s eyes rested on him for a long while, studying him. The Shirriff was certainly older than the other two, with a broad, sun-tanned face and brown curly hair sticking out from under his cap. Frodo could tell that he was not as friendly as the other two were, and indeed, he seemed almost cross, as he studied everyone in the room. His gaze came to rest on Frodo, and his eyes narrowed, making him look gruffer than ever.

Frodo realized he was staring and quickly averted his eyes, getting the feeling that Toly was still watching him. He shook the feeling off, dismissing it as his nerves, but he still felt Toly’s hard stare on him. He had no time to dwell on it, however, for Mayor Whitfoot had finished reading the claim. The trial was beginning.

Merry was being served fresh, warm cinnamon rolls by Mrs. Boffin, who kept up a lively stream of chatter as she bustled about the kitchen. Merry was not paying any attention at all, and he ate in silence. "What are they doing in there?" he asked when there was a pause in Mrs. Boffin’s prattle.

Mrs. Boffin shook her head. "No," she said. "Mayor Whitfoot says that a real trial in a courtroom would be too much work, and as we have a large study he can use, he didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t have the trial right here."

There was another silence, broken only by the various noises of other hobbits moving about in the smial. "Don’t they need witnesses?" Merry asked at last.

Mrs. Boffin was now washing the dishes. "Of course, dear," she said. "They’ll likely call for them later, after they’ve read the claim and all that formality. My husband says that this trial may take days, Master Lotho and Mistress Lobelia the way they are. Where has he got to, anyhow, I wonder? That’s the trouble, you see -- he gets so busy, being the chief postman and all. He’ll go off for days at a time…" She continued on, but Merry’s attention wavered again. He was making a mental list of witnesses: Sam, Milo and Peony of course, and also the Broadbelts, for he’d shown Daisy the bird, and before they’d left for Bywater, he’d told her that Milo had made it for him.

Just then, the sound of someone coming down the hallway jerked him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see Shirriff Toly entering the kitchen. "Hullo, dear," said Mrs. Boffin cheerfully, giving him an affectionate hug.

Merry thought it odd that he used such familiarity when speaking with someone so wealthy and important, but Toly did not give him time to dwell on it. "Boy," he said, taking Merry’s arm, "you’re the one who claims to own that wooden bird."

It was not a question. "Yes," said Merry firmly. "But I don’t claim to own the bird – I do own the bird. And my name isn't 'boy'. It's Meriadoc Brandybuck." Perhaps that was a bit impudent, but the infamous Brandybuck temper had been sparked, and had Toly known more about Brandybucks, he might’ve been more careful.

Toly leaned down so that he was eye-level with the younger hobbit. "Listen, Master Meriadoc," he said quietly. "Don’t make this any harder for me than it already is. This Frodo Baggins – he is your cousin, correct?"

"Well, if you want anyone to believe his story, you need to round up some witnesses – yourself included."

Merry did not take his eyes from Toly’s. "Of course I can get some witnesses: Sam Gamgee is one, and he lives right down the hill from Bag End..."

Toly would not let him say more. "Fine, fine," he said briskly, grabbing Merry’s hand and pulling him out of the kitchen, pausing to tip his hat again to Mrs. Boffin. "You can list ’em on the way."

Toly took Merry outside and round the back of the smial to the stables. Mr. Boffin owned some of the fastest ponies in the West Farthing, which the Shirriffs often used when they needed to. A stable-hand had just finished tacking up a small, dappled grey horse and led him over to Toly. "’Ere you are, sir," he said, respectfully knuckling his forehead. "You asked for the fastest, and ’ere he be. Name’s Brandywine, sir. He’s a horse, sir, come from Bree, sold to Master Boffin by one o’ the Big People."

Toly grabbed the reins from the stable-hand. "He’ll be fine," he said shortly. He hoisted Merry up into the saddle before mounting behind him. He dug his heels hard into the horse’s sides and with a startled whinny, Brandywine broke into a gallop.

Merry clung tight to the smoky-grey mane that whipped in his face and watched in awe as the land sped past. He had never gone this fast before, especially on such an enormous creature, and it felt like flying. Brandywine’s hooves beat on the dirt road in a steady rhythm, and Merry could feel his sides heave with every breath he took, perfectly synchronized with his galloping legs. ‘A horse is a wondrous creature,’ Merry decided. ‘I wonder why I didn’t notice before?’ His father owned several ponies, some stocky and strong for the plowing, some gentle and quiet for the younger ones to ride, and some more spirited for the adults to ride.

Merry had hardly paid attention to them before. He had simply not given them much thought; to him, they were just there. Sometimes they did prove useful to hide behind when being hunted down by older cousins or other family members after doing something he shouldn’t have – such as raiding the pantry. But he’d never actually thought about them before as living, breathing things. He realized now that he could not even name most of the ponies from his own father’s stable.

Now, as he sat atop what seemed to him the fastest, strongest, most amazing horse in all of Middle-Earth (though in later years he would learn otherwise), he felt as though he were riding on the back of an eagle, soaring through the wide open sky. He could feel the muscles in Brandywine’s powerful neck as he tossed his head proudly, he could see the horse’s ears pricked forward and alert, he could hear the loud whinny sound through the summer air, sounding like a challenge to anyone who would dare try to keep up with them.

Far too soon for him, the ride was over, and they stopped at #3 Bagshot Row. Sam was in the garden of Bag End, and the Gaffer opened the door. Toly gruffly explained his business, and Hamfast called his son over. When Sam caught sight of the Shirriff, his eyes widened, and Merry gave him a quick, reassuring smile.

Toly stooped down so that he was eye-level with Sam, as he had done with Merry. "Samwise Gamgee, correct?" he said, giving the younger hobbit a shrewd stare.

"Y-yes, sir," Sam stammered nervously. The Gaffer discreetly put an arm around his son’s shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze of support.

Toly smiled, which somehow was slightly unnerving to see. "You are Frodo Baggins’ servant, are you not?"

Sam tensed. No one had actually called him that before (save of course Lotho and Ted, but no one truly heeded their opinions), although he had always thought it to be true. "Yes sir," he answered steadily, determined not to give this Shirriff the satisfaction of showing his nervousness.

Toly’s grin faded slightly. "And do you know anything about this wooden bird that was allegedly stolen from Mr. Lotho Sackville-Baggins?"

Sam frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don’t know naught about no bird o’ Mr. Lotho’s, but if you’re meanin’ the bird that Mr. Milo gave to Mr. Merry, then yes sir, I do," he said, meeting Toly’s glare evenly.

Toly’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t need none of your lip, boy," he muttered. "Very well, then," he said more loudly, standing up and looking at the Gaffer. "I’ll need your son to come with me to Mr. Dorimbras Boffin’s smial to stand as a witness before Mayor Whitfoot, Mr. Gamgee." He emphasized the ‘Mr.’ with mock-respect.

The Gaffer glared at him, nodding his head slowly. He knew better than to waste time and energy being angry with the likes of Toly. "Go inside an’ wash up, lad," he said without taking his eyes from the Shirrriff’s. "An’ change yer clothes." Sam obediently dashed inside, quickly washed his hands and face, and explained the situation to his mother as he ran into the room he shared with his older brothers to change. Throwing on clean clothes, he raced back down the hall, giving little Marigold a kiss, getting a quick hug and kiss from his mother and older sister, Daisy, and then hurrying outside.

There, he found Toly seated in Brandywine’s saddle, waiting impatiently for him. The Gaffer had gone to fetch the pony, Star, from the back garden of Bag End, and was just returning. As the Gaffer hoisted Sam up into the saddle, he whispered in his son’s ear, "Watch yerself, lad. That Shirriff’s not 'ta be trusted." Sam nodded, and his father gave him a pat on the back. Sam and Merry exchanged small smiles, and Toly dug his heels into Brandywine’s sides, urging the horse into a gallop. Sam did the same more gently to Star, and the faithful bay mare leapt forward to obey him, having only a slight amount of difficulty keeping up with Brandywine’s long strides.

"How’re we going to get to Bywater in time?" Merry asked, almost having to shout over the whistling wind.

"I know a shortcut," Toly yelled back, urging Brandywine even faster. The proud creature, quite small by horse standards, sensed that short Star could not keep up, and slowed his pace to match hers. No amount of kicking, shouting or curses from Toly would convince him to go any faster, and eventually, the Shirriff gave up, and they went towards Bywater at a canter.

For a while, they followed the Road, but then Toly suddenly turned off it into the sparse forest, which soon opened up to open pasture. They raced across the countryside, past the rolling hillsides and into more forests. Then out again, and suddenly before them were Farmer Broadbelt’s fields, nearly ready to be harvested. They brought the horse and pony to a stop beneath the big oak tree, and Toly jumped off, handing the reins to Merry.

Sam glanced at the sun and scratched his head in confusion. "How’d we get here so fast?" he asked Merry. "It’s only been a little more’n an hour, an’ it took us four hours by Road!"

Merry shook his head, watching as Toly explained the situation to Milo, Peony and the Broadbelts. "Well, we stopped several times on the way then, and of course, Frodo was ill," he reminded the gardener. "But I don’t know how we made it so fast this time." He fell silent as he saw Milo and Mr. Broadbelt go around the back of the house to the barn to fetch another pony. Peony and Mrs. Broadbelt, carrying Daisy, came outside and walked down the path towards the boys. Toly was not nearly so gruff with them, but both ignored him completely.

"Hullo, Merry," Peony called cheerfully. "And Sam," she added with a bright smile. "I’ve some news for you!" She picked up her skirts and ran toward them, with Mrs. Broadbelt following more slowly. She patted Brandywine’s neck and produced a sugar cube for Star from her apron pocket. Merry and Sam eagerly awaited her news, but with a mischievous smile, she simply said, "But you shall have to wait until after the trial to hear it. I wouldn’t want Frodo and Bilbo to miss out!" Merry groaned audibly and she laughed.

Lila leaned up and gave both boys a quick kiss on the cheek, and Daisy also gave Merry a tight hug. "We always seem to meet again sooner than we thought, don’t we Daisy?" Merry laughed.

No one was given the opportunity to answer, for just then, Ferdirand and Milo came out, driving Pie, hitched up to the small family wagon. "Sorry, Mer," Daisy said as her mother put her in the back of the wagon. "Daisy has to ride in the wagon with papa."

Merry grinned. "I know, Daisy," he said, then turned to Mr. Broadbelt. "Could I ride with her in the wagon, please?"

Ferdirand smiled. "O' course, lad," he said, hopping off the driver's seat of the wagon and helping him slide off Brandywine’s broad back. "I’m sure she’ll be glad of your company." Daisy was indeed overjoyed; riding in the wagon (which was always fun), and with Merry along: a double treat! Peony also climbed into the back with them, and Toly mounted Brandywine. The horse again matched his pace with the two short ponies, and they proceeded down the lane at a slow canter.

Ferdirand Broadbelt also knew another shortcut, through his fields, and again, they made record time: only about an hour and a half had passed when they entered Hobbiton. Merry kept a lively chatter with Daisy, but Sam was troubled. He knew that the S.-B.’s would not give up an argument easily, and he was worried about what might happen to Frodo if they lost the debate. Would he be arrested? He shook his head slightly and sighed. He wouldn’t let that happen. He had failed Frodo once, and he was determined not to do it again.

Back at the trial, Lotho was standing up, smugly giving them his story. "I was planning on selling the bird so that I could buy a gift for my dear mother—" He gestured lovingly at Lobelia "—but it was stolen from me only two days after I’d carved it. I did not wish to suspect anyone without convincing evidence, of course, but as I was just about to leave Bywater, I saw Frodo, with Milo Burrows, Meriadoc Brandybuck and his servant, Samwise Gamgee." He paused for a moment, watching in satisfaction as Frodo’s cheeks turned red when Sam was called his 'servant’. "They were heading toward the forests on the outskirts of Bywater.

"Frodo was holding something in his hands, but I could not see clearly what it was," Lotho continued. "I followed them, being naturally curious, and as I neared, I saw that it was a small, wooden robin he held. And none other than my very own bird, which I carved with my own hands!" He glared accusingly at Frodo. "I left Bywater that very evening, with my friend, Ted Sandyman, and notified my mother immediately. She confronted Bilbo the following day, but he denied any knowledge of the bird. Of course, he may very well have been unaware of Frodo’s actions, but my mother pressed him to ask his nephew about it. He sent Frodo a letter, which was never replied to. And then he suddenly vanished without explanation, and his gardener gave us the unlikely story that ‘poor’ Frodo was ill somewhere near Bywater and Bilbo had been forced to leave immediately."

Lotho did not bother to hide his scorn as he glared at Frodo, who did not even look up at him, making him angrier than ever. "He did not return for over a week, and when he did, he still kept up the story that Frodo was too ill to come here. My mother and I (my father, regrettably, has been away in Stock) decided that more forceful measures should be taken to insure that justice would be dealt out, and so we came here yesterday, as you know, sir. But it was not until the Shirriffs showed their good judgement and threatened to use force, that Bilbo and cooperate." He ended, and looked innocently at the Mayor, expecting some sort of praise or sympathy. He found neither.

Lotho huffily sat down next to Frodo again, giving the younger lad a sharp elbow in the ribs when he thought no one was looking.

"Right, then," Mayor Whitfoot said, "Frodo, ’tis your turn." Frodo swallowed hard and glanced at Bilbo as he stood up. His uncle smiled reassuringly and nodded his head. Frodo was encouraged somewhat, and he kept his eyes on Bilbo as he gave his testimony, striving to remember every detail possible.

When Frodo at last sat down again, Bilbo squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Frodo smiled weakly at his Uncle, hoping that he had remembered everything important.

Mayor Whitfoot was silent a long while, looking over some of his papers and muttering to himself under his breath. Finally, he looked up. "I will make no decision yet," he said slowly. "We will take a short recess and resume when the witnesses have arrived." He stood up and everyone in the room followed suit. Pim opened the door and they filed out.

Mr. Boffin was coming up the hall to meet them. "You may all go into the dining room," he said as he entered the study. "My wife will be serving some elevenses shortly." He shut the door behind him.

As Bilbo had expected, Frodo did not have much of an appetite. Mrs. Boffin served some delicious pastries, as well as fresh strawberries and blackberries, but Frodo barely touched them. Lotho, on the other hand, eagerly ate everything that was given to him, apparently without any worries whatsoever.

After finishing elevenses, the hobbits sat in silence as Mrs. Boffin bustled about the kitchen. Mr. Boffin emerged from the study, and they saw him briefly as he all but ran down the hallway and out the front door. Frodo stared down at his hands, lying in his lap, and Bilbo put a reassuring arm around his nephew’s slim shoulders. "Don’t worry, my lad," he whispered. "Everything will turn out fine, you’ll see. Once all the witnesses arrive, we’ll sort everything out. I promise."

Frodo smiled. "Thank you, Uncle," he said softly. He opened his mouth to say something more, but Lobelia cut him off.

"Bilbo," she said conversationally. "Your birthday is coming up shortly, is it not?" Bilbo nodded, preparing himself for whatever Lobelia had in store. "Otho and I are quite looking forward to it – I trust it will be as grand as all your others?" She glanced at Frodo as she said this, remembering all too clearly the birthday party, nearly seven years ago, when Frodo had been named Bilbo’s heir and the hopes of the Sackville-Bagginses were crushed. Well, not completely. They still held out the hope that Bilbo might change his mind – there were, after all, a little more than five years before Frodo legally came of age, and into his inheritance, as well. To have his dear little nephew accused of theft was the perfect way to help Bilbo change his mind – if it worked.

"Lotho here especially enjoys your parties – ’tis such fun for him to meet other lads his age and spend time with his relatives as well." She smiled sweetly but her eyes were cold as she looked at Frodo again.

Bilbo tightened his arm around his nephew’s shoulders. "Yes," he said with practiced patience, all the while wondering where this conversation was heading. "I’m sure all the young ones enjoy parties." He did not feel it necessary to give a more lengthy reply.

Lobelia took another sip of her tea. "’Tis so hard for poor Lotho to find friends in Hobbiton" – ‘I wonder why?’ Bilbo thought sardonically – "There’s such a shortage of well-behaved lads, with good…morals. Who know the difference between right and wrong." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm and she wrapped an arm around ‘poor Lotho’s’ (rather broad) shoulders.

‘Ah, now I see where you’re headed, Lobelia. Well, two can play at this game.’ Bilbo decided he’d had enough of wasting time trying to be meek and polite, and smiled just as pleasantly as Lobelia. "Ted Sandyman seems to enjoy Lotho’s company," he said lightly.

Lobelia choked slightly on her tea, but composed herself quickly. "Yes, the miller’s son is… quite intelligent, at the very least, but Otho and I feel that he is a bad influence on our darling Lotho, so we’re keeping them apart for a while."

"But of course young Ted is better than some," Lobelia continued, her smile fading slightly. There was silence for a moment, and then Lobelia broke it, discarding all forms of civility or politeness. "That Brandybuck," she said in a strained voice, "is a liar and a thief! I can’t tell you enough, Bilbo – when will you see that to be true? If you must spend time with a tween, spend time with family. Lotho is an honest, caring boy, unlike that thieving--"

Bilbo and Frodo didn’t even bother getting angry, although the former was sorely tried. They simply stopped listening as Lobelia prattled on. Or at least, Bilbo did. Frodo tried not to be hurt by her cruel comments, reminding himself that her opinions – or those of her equally mean husband and son – did not mean a thing. They shouldn’t bother him.

Frodo leaned closer to Bilbo as Lobelia all but shrieked her thoughts of Frodo and ‘Bucklanders’ in general. Bilbo tightened his arm around Frodo’s shoulders again, pulling him closer. "Don’t let her get to you, my lad," he whispered in Frodo’s ear. His nephew nodded, but Bilbo could still feel him, tense as a bowstring, beginning to involuntarily let Lobelia do just that.

As Lobelia began to head in the direction of her opinions on Brandybucks and water, Bilbo decided she’d gone far enough. He cleared his throat, and in the most polite voice he could manage, said, "Lobelia, I think we all know what your opinion is of our relatives from Buckland, and I don’t see the need of repeating them now."

Lobelia looked shocked. Bilbo went on, cutting off her astonished sputtering. "And besides that, I believe that our witnesses are here." This effectively quieted her, and everyone looked up to see that Bilbo was correct: the witnesses were here.

Ted Sandyman, brought in by Pim, came in and sat next to Lotho, while the Broadbelts, and Peony and Milo went straight toward Bilbo and Frodo. Merry was bouncing along beside them, with Sam following more slowly and shyly. Milo clapped Frodo on the back reassuringly, and Peony hugged him, whispering words of comfort. The Broadbelts, too, were full of encouragement, and Daisy climbed up on Frodo’s lap, seeming to sense that he needed the support.

Mayor Whitfoot entered the room and smiled at the new guests. "Welcome," he said. "Now that our witnesses have arrived, ’tis time to go back into the study and continue the trial."

Bilbo looked up from his large red book at the sound of Frodo and Merry’s voices. "I’m in the study!" he called, and heard them come running into the room.

Merry was nearly bouncing with excitement as he stopped in front of Bilbo’s desk. "Uncle Bilbo!" he said enthusiastically. "Can me and Frodo go to the market today? Please?"

Frodo caught his uncle’s questioning look and smiled. "Merry’s earned a few pennies from that walking stick he carved for Fatty Bolger, and he just can’t wait to spend them."

Merry nodded eagerly. "I’m going to buy presents for you, and Frodo and Pippin."

Bilbo laughed and ruffled Merry’s unruly curls. "I hope that they’re nothing too big," he said. "And that your pennies will cover the cost. But if they don’t –" He reached down and brought out a small pouch, jingling loudly as he laid it on the desk. He pulled out two large coppers and dropped them into Merry’s hand. "—This should help."

As Merry gasped and reverently put the money in his pocket, Bilbo looked at Frodo. "And what about you, my lad? Aren’t you going to buy anything at the marketplace?"

Frodo nodded. "I was planning on getting a surprise for someone," he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he looked at Bilbo. "And I think that I have enough money to pay for it."

Bilbo chuckled and shook his head. "Well, you never know, so take an extra copper, just in case. Buy yourself something special."

"Please take it. If you don’t buy something for yourself, then at least save it for next time."

Frodo sighed and took the offered copper. Bilbo smiled triumphantly. "Well, then, off you go, lads. And when you get back, what do you say to a short hike in the woods by the Water?"

"Of course!" Both exclaimed simultaneously, and laughing, Bilbo shooed them out of the room.

Frodo and Merry strolled leisurely through the marketplace, which was alive with hobbits buying selling, or simply looking and passing through. It was always a busy place, especially in the late afternoons, when all had had at least three meals (which usually put them – the womenfolk especially – into a good shopping mood) and the sun was not too hot. Hobbits enjoy shopping very much, as they are very sociable, and so get to see nearly everyone else in town, but also because it gives them a good appetite for the next meal.

"Can we buy some sweets first?" Merry asked eagerly, licking his lips as he saw two hobbit lasses go skipping by, munching several delicious-looking truffles.

Frodo laughed and shook his head. "First we’ll buy our gifts," he said. "I don’t want you spending all our money on sweets!" Merry offered nothing but a few innocent blinks of his eyes and they continued on through the marketplace.

Merry deliberated seriously for several moments. Then, he said, "Let’s go into the book shop."

Frodo looked down at him in surprise. "Whatever for? You’re not one to read much."

Merry smirked. "You’ll see," he said evasively, and taking Frodo by the hand, he walked briskly into the book shop.

"All right, Merry, where shall we go now?" Frodo asked about two hours later, shifting his bundle of things into a more comfortable position in his arms. After visiting the book shop (where Merry had secretly bought Frodo a book), they had gone to the toy shop (where Frodo had secretly bought Merry a new slingshot). Then to Miss Primrose Proudfoot, the seamstress (where Frodo picked up a new traveling cloak for Bilbo that he had ordered some weeks before), and then at last, to the sweet vendor’s cart. Merry had bought a small bag of treats: truffles, gum drops, and a stick of licorice.

Merry now grinned slyly up at his cousin. "It’s a surprise," he said quietly, leaning close to his cousin as though afraid that someone would overhear. "You’ll have to follow me." He grabbed Frodo’s hand and quickly pulled him through the marketplace and out into the countryside again. The smoking chimneys of hobbit holes dotted the rolling green hills, and Merry led Frodo quickly to a small little homestead near the Water.

"The Brownlows?" Frodo asked in surprise, looking down at his cousin curiously. Merry said nothing, merely raised his eyebrows cryptically. Still keeping a firm grip on Frodo’s hand, he went up to the round brown door and knocked loudly.

Mistress Tigerlily Brownlow answered it. She looked tired and rather out of sorts, but she gave the lads a fond smile. "Hullo, Master Frodo, Master Merry," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. "What can I do for you?"

Merry smiled brightly. "Hullo, Mistress Brownlow," he said. "I’ve come to see about those kittens that Tim told me you were giving away, if you please. I’d like to give one to my cousin, Pippin." Frodo stared down in astonishment at the young Brandybuck, who paid no heed.

"O' course! Come in, come in. The kittens are in Tim and Jack’s room. You know where that is." She opened the door wider and ushered them inside. A loud crash sounded from the kitchen, and Mistress Brownlow hurried out of the room, calling, "Excuse me for a moment!" as she disappeared.

Merry led Frodo down the narrow hall and to the last room. The grey door was shut, and Merry knocked politely on it. When he received no answer, he shrugged and opened the door. He and Frodo stepped inside, to be greeted by five mewing kittens. "Close the door, so they won’t escape," Merry cautioned his older cousin as he sat down.

Frodo did so and sat down beside Merry, stroking the little black kitten that had instantly claimed his lap for its bed. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to get Pippin a kitten?"

Merry shrugged and let a playful tabby kitten swat at his finger. "It was a secret," he said. "Me and Uncle Bilbo agreed on it a couple days ago, when I met Tim by the Mill and he told me about the kittens. Uncle Bilbo thought it was a splendid idea – and of course he wrote to Pippin’s papa asking if it was all right. Do you know what Mr. Took said?" Frodo sighed and shook his head.

"He said that Pippin’s never had a pet of his own, and that he needed one to teach him responsi…sti-vi-ty," he stumbled over the hard word and tried again. "Responsitilery?"

Frodo chuckled despite himself. "Responsibility," he corrected, painfully disentangling a kitten’s claws from his hair.

"Right," Merry nodded. "So he said that Pip could have a kitten. But since I’ve been here, I missed his birthday – and his party! - yesterday. So it’ll be a late birthday present. I’m giving it to him when he comes to visit tomorrow." He picked up a feisty little calico. "Which one d’you think he’d like best?"

Frodo blinked a few times, but did not comment on the oddity of Merry giving Pippin a present for his birthday. He looked the kittens over. "What about that one," he said, pointing to the large orange and white tabby kitten that was surveying them with cool dignity.

"I dunno," Merry said doubtfully. "He looks kind of…boring." He pried the calico kitten from his waistcoat. "What about this one? He’s more fun."

Frodo took the little kitten gently from Merry and looked at it closely. It was wildly splotched orange and black, but it had a small white diamond on above its nose. It stared back at Frodo with eyes bright yellow, unblinking and full of mischief. "Yes," Frodo said at length, handing the kitten back to Merry. "I think this is the one. It has that same impish glint in its eyes that Pippin has." He shook his head. "I shudder to think what those two will be like together."

Merry pulled the other kittens off of him and held the calico tightly to his chest, so that it wouldn’t run away. "Well, if that’s settled," he said. "Then let' go. We want to be home before supper, don’t we?"

Frodo rose and held out his hand to help Merry up as well. "Yes," he said. "But I have one question first: why didn’t you tell me that Pippin was getting a kitten?" Merry grinned mischievously. "It made it more fun," he said simply, and making sure the kittens stayed back, he opened the door.

They shut it behind them and as they walked down the hallway, they ran into Tim, a young lad of 11. "Hullo, Merry!" he said brightly. "Taking home a kitten? Which one?" Merry showed the boy the calico kitten, careful not to let it jump down. "Ooohh, little Goblin," he giggled. "The meanest one of the lot."

Merry looked down at ‘Goblin.’ "Well, he likes me," he said, in slightly offended tones. "He can’t be that bad."

Tim just shook his head and went chuckling past them down the hall. "Good luck with ’im," he called over his shoulder.

Frodo eyed Goblin suspiciously, only the kitten's head and ears visible from between Merry’s hands. "Of course," he sighed. "We have to go pick the meanest kitten of them all."

Merry shrugged. "He can’t be that bad," he repeated. "He doesn’t seem mean. Just…playful." He winced slightly as Goblin bit his finger with sharp little kitten teeth.

Frodo shook his head, and as they reached the door, Mistress Brownlow came hurrying out of the kitchen. "Picked your kitten already?"

Merry opened his hands to show her the calico and she took a step back. "Oh no, not Goblin," she said. "Are you sure there wasn’t another one you wanted? A gentler one?"

Merry smiled down at the kitten and shook his head. "No thank you, Mistress Brownlow," he said. "He’s just fine."

Mistress Brownlow sighed resignedly. "Very well, Mr. Merry," she said. "But I warn you: that kitten is trouble. Be careful with him."

Mistress Brownlow opened the door for them. "Good-bye, lads," she said. "Come again soon!"

Merry stopped suddenly and turned around. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said, digging into his trouser pocket. "Here." He held out his two coppers, the last of his money.

Mistress Brownlow’s eyes widened. "Oh, no, Master Merry," she protested. "I couldn’t! The kittens are free!"

Mistress Brownlow hesitated a moment more, and then reluctantly accepted the coins. "Thank you, Master Merry," she said sincerely, kissing him on the forehead. "I shan’t forget your kindness." Frodo watched this with admiration and approval for his cousin. He smiled as Merry turned and they headed down the lane. Mistress Brownlow stood in the doorway, waving gratefully.

Merry and Frodo waved back. "Good-bye, Mistress Brownlow," they returned, and continued down the walkway and out onto the dirt lane leading back to Bag End.

"That was very kind of you, Merry," said Frodo, putting an arm around his cousin’s shoulders as they went through Hobbiton. "To give the Brownlows your coppers."

Merry smiled. "They needed them," he said simply. They were nearly through the marketplace, but suddenly Frodo stopped. "What is it?" Merry asked curiously.

"That little girl over there by the sweet seller," said Frodo, and Merry followed his gaze to see a small little hobbit lass, probably in her sixth summer, staring wistfully up at the cart full of candy.

As she glanced behind her, Merry and Frodo recognized her as little Priscilla Goodchild, the daughter of one of the poorer widows of Hobbiton. She obviously did not have enough money to buy herself any candy, and simply stood there staring at it longingly.

Frodo glanced down at Merry and an unspoken agreement passed between them. They walked over to her. "Hullo, 'Cilla," Frodo said, kneeling down to her height. "What’s wrong?"

Frodo smiled kindly at her. "I know what it is. You would like some candy. What kind would you like?"

Her round blue eyes widened. "I’d like a stick of licorice and four truffles," she said wistfully, and then remembering who she was speaking to, she blushed and looked down.

"It’s all right, Cilla," Frodo assured her, standing up. "Wait just a moment." He walked over to the sweet seller. "How much would one stick of licorice and a handful of truffles cost, sir?"

Frodo reached into his trouser pocket and brought out his copper. "Here, then," he said, handing it to him. "Keep the change."

Frodo wasn’t listening, however, for he had gone back to little Cilla. "Come here," he said, offering his hand. They walked closer to the cart, and Frodo lifted her up so that she could see. "Which licorice stick do you want?"

The sweet seller took out a small bag and handed her one the red licorice sticks. "Now pick out your truffles," Frodo said. Cilla looked at him curiously. "Just grab a handful."

Cilla eagerly dipped her small hands into the box of truffles and pulled out a large handful of them. She dumped them into the bag and the sweet seller handed it to her, giving her a fond pat on the head. Frodo set her down, and she stared at him with wide eyes. "Are they really for me?" she asked incredulously.

Frodo nodded with a smile. "Yes, just for you," he said. "Now go on and find someplace to eat them. But not too fast – you don’t want to give yourself a tummyache!" Cilla stood on tip-toes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before skipping off, already sucking on the licorice stick.

Frodo and Merry watched her go with a smile, until the younger lad touched Frodo’s arm. "Come on," he said. "We’d best get back before Uncle Bilbo worries." They left the marketplace, both feeling satisfied and blessed to have been able to bless someone else.

As they started up the Hill, they heard the sound of hoof-beats behind them, slow and plodding. They turned around, and to their utmost horror, they saw that it was Lobelia and Otho, driving a pony-trap towards them. Lotho walked behind it, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, looking sulky. "Quick, hide!" Merry squeaked, diving into the tall grass on the side of the road. Frodo hesitated a moment, and then threw himself down next to Merry, just in time.

The pony-trap slowly moved towards them, and they could hear Lobelia bickering with Otho. "…And I can’t believe that Lotho would lie to me! It must be the influence of that Ted Sandyman – and old Bilbo’s nephew." Detest was obvious in her voice.

"But surely you don’t believe a Brandybuck over your own son?" said Otho, glancing down at the object of their discussion, who still walked sullenly beside the carriage. Lobelia did her best haughty sniff. "Of course not," she said. "I don’t trust that Frodo at all, or that gardener of old Bilbo’s. And I don’t think that the bird really was that cousin’s of his – what was his name? Meriadoc, that’s right. Never trust a Brandybuck, I always say! But Lotho has told me himself that he lied about the bird being his."

Otho looked down at his son. "Why would you lie to your mother?" he asked sternly. Lotho mumbled something inaudible, and his parents unwisely did not press him to answer. Lobelia went on rambling about Brandybucks yet again, with Otho adding a word of agreement here and there.

Then, as the pony-trap passed right in front of Frodo and Merry, Lotho happened to glance down. His eyes widened as he saw them, and a grin slowly spread across his face. "Half a minute!" he called to his parents. "Don’t wait for me." They did not even stop their conversation, but continued on.

Frodo and Merry slowly stood up, and the latter tucked little Goblin into his deep trouser pocket. "Well, well," Lotho said in a feigned pleasant tone. "Frodo the Bucklander and his friend. I haven’t seen you since the trial." Neither one said anything, but Merry’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Do you know who got blamed for that?" Lotho went on, pacing in front of them. "Me! When it’s all your fault!" He directed this accusation at Frodo.

Lotho whirled around to face him. "Forget?" he repeated. "Forget? Of course I can’t forget! Mother hardly even speaks to me now, and now father’s home and hearing all about it…" For a moment, he seemed so miserable that Frodo actually pitied him.

Frodo took a small involuntary step back as the larger boy furiously advanced. "How am I to blame?" he asked logically. "What did I do?"

"You--" Lotho suddenly stopped and stooped to pick something up. A small calico kitten.

Lotho smirked and held the kitten up. "So this little rodent is yours, eh?" he laughed. "Ugly little thing." Merry jumped up, trying to reach Goblin, but Lotho held it just above his reach.

"Lotho, give him back his kitten," said Frodo firmly, reaching up and putting his hand over Lotho’s which held Goblin. Not wanting to hurt the kitten, he could do nothing but try to convince the bully to let him go without harming him.

"Oh no, Bucklander," Lotho said. "I want to see your friend’s little cat." With his free hand, he reached out and firmly grabbed Frodo’s wrist, prying his hand from the kitten. He kept a painfully tight hold on the younger lad’s wrist while – ignoring Frodo and Merry’s protests – he brought little Goblin up close to his face.

"Hullo, little mouse," he sneered. "Want to play?" Goblin hissed and flattened his small ears against his skull. Lotho laughed at the tiny creature’s display of anger, but his laughter quickly turned to howls of pain as Goblin suddenly squirmed free of his grasp and launched himself onto the bully’s face. He continued to hiss as he tore at Lotho’s face with his claws, his yellow eyes flashing.

Lotho dropped Frodo’s wrist and tried to pry Goblin off his face, but only succeeded in scratching himself more. Seeing the former bully shrieking with pain, a furious kitten attached to his face, was quite comical. Merry was doubled up with laughter, and even Frodo had difficulty in keeping back a chuckle as he tried to calm Lotho and remove Goblin’s claws from his face.

It took quite a while, but finally, Frodo managed to gently but firmly detach the kitten from Lotho’s face, and he handed him back to Merry. Lotho sniffled pitifully, and without a word, quickly ran up to catch up with his parents; his face scratched and bleeding.

Frodo and Merry stood in the road, watching until Lotho disappeared down the other side, before Merry giggled. "Well, what’re we standing here for?" he said, keeping a firm grip on Goblin as he trotted towards Bag End. "We’ve got to tell Uncle Bilbo!"

Frodo followed him more slowly, rubbing his sore wrist, which had red marks from Lotho’s fingers all the way around it, over the thin white scars of his Fire Snake bite. He hoped that Lotho would leave them alone for a while; especially as Pippin was coming for a short visit tomorrow, and he did not want the little Took to get himself into trouble with Lotho.

The next morning, Merry was up with the sun (quite early for hobbits – and Merry especially!). As he was sleeping in Frodo’s room, he also woke his older cousin up early, much to Frodo’s annoyance. "Merry," he groaned, burying his face in the pillow, "can’t you let me sleep for a few more hours? It isn’t even seven o’clock yet."

Merry grinned mischievously and stripped the covers off Frodo, and then proceeded to straddle the older lad’s back and pull the pillow off his head. "Rise and shine, cousin!" he crowed cheerfully. "Pippin’s coming today!"

Frodo mumbled something that was muffled in the bedsheets, and turned his face to the side so that he could see Merry out of the corner of his eye. "You do realize that Pippin won’t be here until supper-time, don’t you?"

Merry’s grin faded slightly at the thought of having to wait so long, but it quickly returned as an idea came to mind. "Then we have plenty of time to get ready!" He hopped off Frodo’s bed and pulled back the curtains, allowing the sunlight to stream into the room. Frodo groaned, and retrieving his pillow, he again buried his face beneath it.

Merry watched his cousin silently for a while, and Frodo was nearly asleep again when he spoke. "Well, Frodo," he said softly, in a voice that sounded meek and innocent, "if you don’t want to wake up and help me, I suppose I’ll just have to do it all by myself." He sniffled, and saw with satisfaction that Frodo’s eyes opened halfway beneath the pillow. His cousin had a soft heart and easily felt guilty, which Merry knew quite well and often used against him.

Frodo had grown up with Merry constantly playing tricks on him (and vice versa), and had come to recognize a trick when he heard it – most of the time. "Yes, Merry," he said. "I’m afraid you shall have to do it alone. I’m simply too tired to get up right now."

He kept his face mostly under the pillow as he spoke to hide his grin. He heard a whispered, "Blast." And knew that he had won this match.

Merry sighed and tried again, from a different angle. "All right then, cousin Frodo," he said, folding his arms across his chest and giving Frodo a smug smile. "If you won’t help me, then I will do it all by myself. I’ll cook the food, and wash the dishes… but I should probably bring something to read for when I’m waiting for the food to cook." He went over to a small chest in the corner of the room, and opening it, he pulled out a thin, leather-bound book. He closed the chest and turned around, watching with pleasure as Frodo’s eyes flew fully open and he sat up.

"You wouldn’t!" Frodo gasped. Merry raised his eyebrows. "Wouldn’t I? I don’t see why not. You read my journal."

Frodo’s eyes widened and he jumped out of bed. "I didn't! It fell, and I just picked it up!" Merry laughed and dodged around his cousin, keeping the book just out of reach. Frodo yelped as he began to flip through the pages, and quickly gave chase.

As he ran and dodged, Merry pretended to read from the journal. He would never truly do it, although he was sorely tempted. He laughed at the fright he was giving Frodo, effectively sounding as though he was laughing at something written in the journal.

At last, Frodo caught him, and tackled him to the floor. Although both were laughing by now, as Frodo grabbed the book from Merry, the younger boy could detect a hint of genuine fear in his eyes. He was enjoying every minute of it. "I wonder what Pippin will think when I tell him what you wrote," he said mischievously.

Frodo firmly held him in place on the floor. "Don’t tell anyone, Merry," he said earnestly. He truly sounded - and looked – nearly panicked, and Merry almost began to feel remorseful.

Frodo stood up and went over to his chest, opening it and slipping the book carefully inside. He grabbed a key from a shelf above it, and locked the chest closed. When he turned around, Merry was shocked to see that his bright blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Please, don’t say a word about what you’ve read," Frodo pleaded, sitting down on the floor and burying his face in his hands.

Merry picked himself up off the floor and came over to his distraught cousin, slipping a comforting arm around his shoulders. "It’s all right, Frodo," he said softly. "I didn’t truly read anything -- and even if I had, I wouldn’t tell anyone. Please don’t cry." He didn’t catch the mischievous gleam in Frodo’s eye, hidden behind his hands, until it was too late.

Frodo suddenly grabbed Merry and pinned him to the floor. He sat on his cousin’s stomach, careful not to put his full weight on him, and began to tickle him viscously. Merry could not believe the sudden change in Frodo’s attitude, and while he laughed and screamed for mercy, he realized that he had been tricked. Frodo hadn’t been sad at all!

Now he fought back with playful fury, managing to wiggle free of Frodo’s grasp and launching himself at his cousin, knocking them both to the floor. Now it was Frodo’s turn to beg for mercy. Merry’s small nimble fingers were merciless, picking out Frodo’s most ticklish spots and tickling them unceasingly.

Their game was suddenly interrupted by Bilbo coming into the room. "What’s all the noise about?" he asked curiously, taking in his two nephews on the floor.

Frodo, with difficulty, managed to raise his head off the floor and look at his uncle. "Merry couldn’t sleep – he’s too excited about Pippin. And he woke me up as well."

Still sitting on Frodo’s stomach, Merry turned around with a grin. "He was just being lazy."

Bilbo shrugged at the antics of the two lads. "All right then," he said. "I’m going to go make breakfast." He left, and Merry and Frodo resumed their tickling match.

When they finally stopped, breathless but still laughing, Frodo stood up and dusted himself off. "We’d best get dressed," he advised, "Uncle Bilbo will have breakfast ready soon." Merry nodded with a reluctant sigh, and grabbed his trousers from where they were crumpled carelessly on the floor. He slipped them on under his nightshirt, and then went over to his pack to find his shirt and waistcoat for the day.

When they finally trooped down the hall into the kitchen, Bilbo was just finishing breakfast. "Hullo, lads," he said, much more awake and cheerful. "’Tis about time. Hungry?"

Merry licked his lips and sat down at the table, while Frodo went to help Bilbo. "I’m starving!" the youngest hobbit announced. "What’re we having?"

Frodo carried a plate over and set it down in front of Merry. "Scrambled eggs, sausages and hotcakes," he said. Merry did not even wait for him to finish, but eagerly dove into the food. Frodo laughed and shook his head, heading back to get a plate of his own.

After breakfast, Frodo and Merry spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon in and around Hobbiton, doing nothing in particular. Sam had too much work to do in the garden to play, much to his secret disappointment. Towards teatime, large clouds began to build up from the west. Frodo and Merry were playing down by (and in) the Water, the stream the flowed on the outskirts of Hobbiton, when it began to rain.

"Oh no," Merry groaned, wading through the water and up onto the bank where Frodo was. "It can’t rain! What about the party tomorrow?" Bilbo’s 106th and Frodo’s 28th birthday were tomorrow, and Bilbo’s parties were always grand, with lots of presents for all.

Frodo chuckled and helped Merry climb up the steep bank. "Don’t worry, Merry," he reassured his younger cousin. "Uncle Bilbo has probably already set up the tents around the Party Tree. We’ll still be able to have the party." They walked back through Hobbiton, and the rain began to pour down on them. They met Sam, heading for home with his gardening tools over his shoulder. "Hullo, Sam," Frodo called over the roar of the rain. "Too wet for gardening!"

"Yes sir," Sam called back. "But shouldn’t you be goin’ inside? Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold."

Frodo laughed at the over-protectiveness of the younger boy. "Of course, Sam," he said. "We’re heading in now. But you should get inside, too. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold!"

Sam grinned. "I’m fine, Mr. Frodo," he said. "Only been sick once in me whole life." The rain increased, now coming down in torrents. "But I’d best go. Good-bye, Mr. Frodo, Mr. Merry!" He waved as he passed them and was soon out of sight in the thick mists that slowly covered the Hill.

Frodo and Merry continued quickly up the Hill, barely able to see for the blinding rain and mists, which grew thicker by the minute. Their hands met and clasped, so that they would not get separated. They finally reached the top, but because of the mists, they could not see Bag End. They stood for a moment, not wishing to run straight into the garden gate, but also not wishing to go the wrong way and get lost in the thick fog.

But their decision was made for them when a light suddenly appeared through the mists directly in front of them. It was Bilbo, holding aloft a lantern, standing on the front step. When he saw the lads, he sighed with relief. "Thank goodness!" he said, coming down and opening the gate. "Come on, hurry inside. You’re both drenched."

Frodo and Merry followed Bilbo inside, and stood dripping in the hall while he went to fetch some towels. When they had dried off somewhat, he sent them into Frodo’s room for some dry clothes. They dressed quickly, relieved to be out of their soaking things, and when they came down the hall, they found Bilbo in the sitting room, pouring some hot tea into three cups.

"Here, sit down, lads," he said as they entered. "I’ll not risk you two catching colds."

Frodo and Merry exchanged glances and obediently sat down in the sofa. Bilbo tucked a large, thick quilt around them and handed them each their tea, before sitting down in the sofa beside them. "I hope this rain doesn’t make Pippin late," Merry commented, taking a sip of his tea.

The rain lessened after about a half-hour of steady downpour, and by suppertime, it was nothing but soft drizzle. Merry could not sit still. He went form one window to the other, waiting impatiently for Pippin to arrive. But it wasn’t only Pippin and his family who were coming; with them Merry’s parents, old Rorimac Brandybuck, and several of his cousins were also coming. Merry had kept Goblin inside the washroom all day, and the young Brandybuck couldn’t wait to show him to Pippin.

At last, after what seemed hours to Merry, he spied two large wagons coming up the Hill, each bearing lanterns in front. "They’re here!" he shouted ecstatically. "They’re here!" He dashed outside while Frodo and Bilbo followed more slowly, laughing at his excitement.

The Tooks and Brandybucks made a sizeable party when they were all gathered inside, and it was a good thing that Bag End was so large. There were hugs and kisses (much to Merry’s dismay), not to mention lots of talk. Everyone was first shown to the guest rooms, and then into the dining room for supper.

Merry made sure that he sat in between Frodo and seven year-old Pippin. The little Took had his father’s sandy curls and his mother’s green eyes – but while Mrs. Took’s eyes were soft and gentle, Pippin’s eyes were sparkling with mischief.

The meal was a very noisy affair, and Frodo, Merry and Pippin were glad to slip away when it was finished, leaving the adults to talk. "Well, Pip," Merry said excitedly as they sat in Frodo’s room, "have you guessed what your present is yet?"

"Ith it a thlingshot?" Pippin asked. The ‘s’ in each word was lisped, as he had recently lost both his front teeth.

Merry and Frodo laughed and shook their heads. "I’m afraid it’s not that big," Frodo said. "But you’re close."

Merry giggled at Pippin’s puzzled look. "Close your eyes," he instructed. "And no peeking. I’ll get your present."

Pippin obediently did as he was told, and Frodo put his hands over Pippin’s to make doubly sure he didn’t see. He nodded to Merry, who slipped out to go fetch Goblin.

"All right now, Pip," he said when he returned. "Open your eyes on the count of three. One…two…three!"

Pippin opened his eyes and gasped at the little kitten squirming in Merry’s hands. "Oh, Merry! Ith he for me?" he breathed in astonishment.

Merry handed Pippin the little kitten. "Here," he said. "Hold him tight – but not too tight – so he doesn’t get away." Pippin did so, and Goblin settled down in his lap, purring contentedly.

"What’th hith name?" Pippin asked, staring down at the little furry creature in his lap.

Pippin interrupted him. "I like Goblin," he said, not taking his eyes from the kitten. "That’th what I’ll call him." Frodo and Merry raised their eyebrows, but didn’t argue.

"Let’s show him to your papa," Frodo suggested. Pippin agreed, and they left Frodo’s room and went out into the midst of the still-talking adults.

Goblin did not endear himself to the Thain right away. When Pippin’s father held him up, Goblin apparently thought that his thumb was a mouse, and bit it, rather hard. He couldn’t understand why Paladin gave an undignified yelp and handed him quickly back to Pippin. Some of the cousins around Merry’s age came over to see little Goblin, and also received playful bites and scratches, which they did not appreciate.

Eventually, Pippin, Frodo and Merry retreated back into Frodo’s room with Goblin. They played with him for about two hours, until Bilbo came in and announced that it was time for dinner. After that, there was dessert, and they did not get an opportunity to play with Goblin again that night. But as Pippin insisted on sleeping in Frodo’s room with Merry (it was a good thing that Frodo’s bed was large, for there were no more guest beds left to spare), he brought Goblin along with him.

The little kitten had been fairly well behaved, and he seemed to like Pippin more than anyone else. When all three lads crowded into Frodo’s bed, Goblin curled up on Pippin’s chest and went to sleep. Frodo dropped off to sleep first, and Merry and Pippin stayed up late, talking.

Then at last, Merry drifted off, and Pippin lay alone for awhile, until the sounds of Frodo and Merry’s soft breathing, and Goblin’s purring lulled him into a contented sleep, nestled between his two closest friends.

"Pippin! Isn’t this marvelous?" Merry ran over to his younger cousin, holding a cup of apple cider in his hand, his face flushed with excitement and dancing. Pip nodded and grinned, shoveling a large bite of cake into his mouth. Merry suddenly looked around the pavilion. "Where’s Frodo? Have you seen him?" Pip looked around as well, and then finally spotted their cousin’s dark head amid the enormous crowd of hobbits. He pointed him out, and Merry ran off to see him, while Pippin concentrated on eating – the best part of parties, in his opinion; besides presents, of course.

The band was playing a lively tune, and most of the hobbits, young and old, were dancing. Frodo stood on the side, watching them all with a smile. "All we need are some fireworks!" saidMerry as he ran up.

Frodo nodded, watching as young Samwise shyly made his way through the crowd towards them. "Yes, that would be just the thing to top it all off," he agreed. "Well Sam, not going to dance? I see your sisters and brothers are."

Sam stopped in front of Frodo, his brown eyes shining with excitement. "No sir, Mr. Frodo," he said, somewhat shyly. "I’m not much good at dancin’, sir, if you follow me."

Frodo laughed. "Of course you are! I taught you myself, didn’t I?" Sam blushed and looked down, and Frodo patted his shoulder. "Don’t worry, Sam. You’re a fine dancer. Look," he pointed to a young hobbit lass, around Sam’s age, sitting alone in the far corner. "Rosie Cotton’s got no one to dance with; why don’t you go ask her?"

Sam’s face paled and he looked so appalled at the very idea of asking Rosie Cotton to dance that it was all Frodo could do not to burst out laughing. Poor Sam was always nervous and tongue-tied around lasses; although to be fair, he did considerably better around Rosie as he had grown up with her and she was a good friend to both his sisters. But still, to ask her to dance? That was little too far for Sam Gamgee.

"Oh, n-n-no, Mr. Frodo," he gasped, eyes wide as he stared at the fair-haired hobbit maid. "S-she wouldn’t…I-I mean, what if she doesn’t want to?"

Frodo gave Sam a gentle push towards the far side of the pavilion. "You’ll never know until you try," he said softly, giving Sam a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, Sam shyly walked over to where young Rosie sat alone. He glanced back at Frodo and Merry, who were watching expectantly. Frodo was smiling encouragingly, while Merry looked rather amused. Sam turned back around – and nearly collided with the girl he was gathering the courage to talk to.

"Oh, I-I’m sorry, Rosie," he stammered, turning red to the tips of his ears. "Wasn’t watchin’ where I was goin’, silly thing that I am."

Rosie laughed. "No, Sam," she said, "'twere my fault. I was comin’ over to see what you were comin’ over to do. You looked as though you were goin’ into a dragon’s den, Sam Gamgee!"

Sam, if possibler, blushed even further and managed a weak chuckle. "So, what were you comin’ over here for?" Rosie asked curiously, her brown eyes sparkling in the lights that hung in the pavilion.

Sam hesitated a moment, and then he forced himself to look up. "I was comin’ to ask you if…if maybe you’d like to dance," he said timidly. "B-but I understand if you don’t want to…"

Rosie blinked a few times in surprise, and then laughed merrily. "Why Sam, you silly hobbit," she said. "Of course I’ll dance with you – I was wonderin’ when you’d ask. Your sisters said you didn’t have a dance partner." Without giving the startled Samwise a chance to reply, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out into the middle of the dance.

Frodo and Merry watched, smiling as Sam and Rosie danced. "All right, Frodo," Merry said at length, "when are you going to join the dance?"

Frodo looked down at his cousin with a smile. "As soon as you do," he replied jokingly.

Merry laughed, taking a large gulp of his apple cider. "I was thinking about asking Melilot, or maybe Estella," he said, looking at the two hobbit girls as he named them. He suddenly spotted another hobbit lass coming towards him, and his face paled. "But I’m afraid I can’t choose just now," he said hurriedly, pushing his cup into Frodo’s hands. "I have to keep away from Pervinca – she’s been chasing me all evening!" Frodo laughed as Merry dashed back into the thick crowd of hobbits, and after hesitating a moment, Pervincia followed him.

Once again, Frodo was alone. He didn’t feel lonely, exactly, but he had enjoyed Sam and Merry’s company. He spotted Pippin, dancing with Miss Celandine Brandybuck, one of his best friends. Although a lass, and as such forced to wear the irritating thick skirts and uncomfortable dresses, Celandine was as mischievous and troublesome as any Took lad, which explained why she and Pippin were good friends.

Just then, Bilbo came over, startling Frodo out of his thoughts. He was wearing a sparkling new jade shirt with a golden waistcoat, to match with Frodo’s cerulean shirt and silver waistcoat. "Not dancing, lad?" he asked with a teasing smile.

Frodo shook his head. "Just watching everyone else for the moment. Merry’s still trying to elude Pervinca."

Bilbo followed his gaze and laughed as he saw Merry crawling under tables to escape the stubborn hobbit lass. "You know, she only wants to apologize for the trick she played on him the last time they saw each other," he commented.

Frodo raised his eyebrows. "Is that all? By the look on Merry’s face, you’d think she was trying to come through on all her threats and skin him alive."

Bilbo’s gaze scanned the pavilion, taking in all the guests. "Miss Emmaretta Took seems to need a dance partner," he gestured to the young lass, standing apart from the others, sipping some apple cider. Emmaretta was the younger sister of Reginard, who was a good friend of Frodo’s, and two years his junior. She was quite pretty, with thick, golden-brown curls and sparkling blue eyes; and she had stolen more than a few lads’ hearts with her dazzling smile.

But more important, at least in Frodo’s mind, was that she had a kind heart. Despite being from a very wealthy family, she preferred to wear simple clothes, with no extra makeup on her face, and she was well loved by many of the poorer families of Tookland.

Frodo liked Emmaretta as a friend, but the thought of anything further had not entered his mind, although he was fast approaching the marriageable age. He was actually thinking to become a bachelor, like his uncle. Then he’d be free to adventure beyond the borders of the Shire without having to worry for the safety of a wife and children at home.

"I suppose I could go ask her," he said, watching the object of their discussion speaking with her youngest sibling, Everard. The young Took presently trotted away, evidently encouraged by whatever she had said, and Emmaretta was left alone again, watching her sisters, Rosemary and Enna, as they danced.

"Now’s your chance, my boy," Bilbo whispered in Frodo’s ear. "You’d best hurry, before you miss the dance entirely."

Frodo gave Bilbo Merry’s cup and threaded his way through the thick crowd of hobbits to stand beside Emmaretta. "Hullo," he said politely, not nearly as tongue-tied as Sam when speaking with girls. "Enjoying the party?"

"Indeed," she returned with a smile, "And I hope you’re enjoying yourself as well."

Frodo smiled back and nodded. "I am, but I should like to join the dance, I think. Would you join me?"

Emmaretta set her cup of cider on the table. "I would be delighted to," she said, a teasing (Tookish) twinkle in her eye. "If you would ask me correctly, Master Baggins."

Emmaretta laughed and curtsied deeply. "You may," she said with the air of a queen, and the two went out to join the ever-increasing group of other dancers.

Both Frodo and Emmaretta were quite talented dancers, and made a handsome pair, though they were unaware of it. Bilbo watched with satisfaction, pleased that Frodo finally had a lass to dance with. He had hoped that his nephew would not want to follow his lonely bachelor’s ways, and settle down. He knew that Frodo had stolen many a maid’s hearts in Hobbiton, not to mention Tookland and Buckland, but the dear boy simply did not show an interest in romance.

Bilbo was not about to force him into anything he did not wish to do, but he did hope that Frodo would marry. Being a bachelor, while it allowed freedom, was quite lonely at times. Bilbo was beginning to think more and more about leaving the Shire to go on one more adventure before he grew too old to travel, but he did not like the thought of leaving dear Frodo alone. He sighed rather sadly and forced his thoughts away from the wandering path they were taking. He could not leave just yet.

He continued to watch Frodo and Emmaretta for several minutes more, before going to speak with some other guests. He was nearly bowled over by Pippin, who was being chased by a furious Celandine. She was shouting all manner of threats about what she would do when she caught him, and chuckling, Bilbo wondered what Pippin could have possibly done to anger her so. But he was not given time to dwell on it, for just then Paladin and Saradoc came over to wish him a happy birthday.

As the lively song ended at last, a laughing Frodo and Emmaretta sat down on a table, their cheeks flushed from dancing. "You are not a bad dancer, Miss Emma," Frodo commented as they sipped some apple cider.

Emmaretta arched her eyebrows. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment," she said with a smile. "You’re not too poor a dancer yourself, Master Frodo."

Frodo dipped his head, the smaller, sitting-down equivalent of a bow. "You’re ever so gracious," he said teasingly. They were silent awhile, catching their breath and listening to the next song that began to play. "Have you finished that book I loaned you last spring?" Frodo asked at length. "The one about that knight, Eorl."

Emmaretta took a sip of her cider. "I did," she said. "I’m sorry, I keep forgetting to return it."

Emmaretta’s eyes widened. "Really?" Frodo nodded, more than ready to share all his knowledge regarding his favorite subject: tales. He launched into the story behind Eorl the Young, first King of the Mark of Rohan. Emmaretta was fascinated with the tale, and listened intently.

When it was finished, she smiled. "I should like to read more about places like that: Rohan, and Gondor, and all. Eorl was very brave!"

Frodo nodded with a smile of his own, and they lapsed into silence again. When another lively tune began to play, Emmaretta jumped to her feet. "Care to dance again, milord?" she asked with a laugh.

After several dances, Frodo and Emmaretta went their own ways, promising to meet back after dinner to talk some more of tales and the like. Frodo was delighted to have found such a rapt listener, and his eyes were shining as he met up with Merry and Pippin. Merry grinned mischievously. "Emmaretta’s nice, isn’t she, Frodo?"

Merry and Pippin laughed, and Bilbo came over to join them. "Enjoyed dancing with Miss Took, my lad?"

Frodo smiled and took a sip of his cider. "Very much," he said. "She’s a good dancer, and she also likes to hear stories of Elves and the like."

Bilbo beamed, quite pleased to hear it, but changed the subject. "Come now!" he said. "Time for dinner!"

Dinner was grand and loud, like the rest of the party, and also lasted a long time (hobbits get quite hungry after dancing for extended periods of time, of course). When it was over, Frodo, after finding Sam sitting with Rosie Cotton and her brothers, went to find Emmaretta. He saw her, engaged in an animated conversation with Pearl Took and her older sister, Rosemary. He decided not to interrupt, but went outside for a breath of fresh air.

The storm had blown out early that morning, and the stars glimmered in the sky, looking like tiny silver seeds strewn about the dark heavens. The poem that Sam had made up and recited by the light of their campfire, seeming so long ago, came to mind, and he whispered it softly to himself.

He smiled as he spoke the words, feeling the sense of peace and security that always fell upon him when gazing at the stars.

A rough voice shattered the stillness of the moment. "What’re you doing, Bucklander? Shouldn’t you be inside with your Brandybuck cousins?"

Frodo turned around to face Lotho, seeing with surprise that he was not alone. Ted Sandyman was behind him, as well as the Shirriff, Toly, who had been so unfriendly during the trial. Frodo had forgotten to be alert for Lotho; the bully would like nothing better than to spoil his birthday.

"I might ask you the same, Lotho," said Frodo, meeting Lotho’s glare evenly. "I don't believe you were sent an invitation to this party, nor your friends." He could hear laughter and shouting from inside the pavilion and guessed that another dance tune was playing.

Lotho, Ted and Toly walked closer, but Frodo did not move. "Since when does a family member need an invitation, cousin?" Lotho sneered. "It’s a good thing for you my parents aren’t here – or they’d have quite a bit to say about the way you hurt me yesterday afternoon." He gestured to the scabbed up scratches all over his face.

"He and that Brandybuck, Merry, attacked me yesterday, and I was doing nought! Do you see these scratches? They made their cat jump on my face and scratch me!"

"A huge brute with the longest claws and teeth you’ve ever seen! He jumped on me when they told him to, and wouldn’t stop until I’d fought him off."

Ted’s eyes were wide, completely fooled by Lotho’s dramatic fib (he was by no means the brightest of hobbits). "You fought him off?"

Lotho nodded proudly, shooting a smug look at Frodo. "All by myself, and that brute must’ve been at least the size of Farmer Brown’s dog – maybe bigger!" Ted’s eyes, if possible, grew even wider, and Toly sucked in his breath sharply. Farmer Brown’s dog, Bear, was a well-known terror to trespassers that ventured too far onto the Farmer’s land. He was an enormous, wolf-like dog, almost as big as Farmer Maggot’s Wolf.

Frodo listened silently as Lotho rambled on, just waiting for him to stop. He couldn’t slip away without their noticing; for Lotho kept on eye on Frodo all the while he talked. And Frodo was not going to let them spoil the party.

When at last Lotho had run out of words, Frodo said coolly, "Well, now if you are quite finished telling tales to impress your friends, I think I shall head back inside."

He started to leave, but Lotho grabbed his arm. "Not just yet, Bucklander," he said. "I wasn’t finished with you. I expect an apology from you for what your cat did to me." Ted and Toly looked expectantly at Frodo, ready to help Lotho if need be.

"If there was something to apologize for, I would gladly do it," said Frodo calmly. "But as there is not, I will thank you to let me go back inside."

Lotho tightened his grip on Frodo’s arm. "Not 'til I have an apology from you," he said roughly.

Frodo glared at him, his patience beginning to wear thin. "Leave me alone, Lotho. There is nothing to apologize for: Goblin was acting in self-defense -- had you not provoked him, he would not have harmed you!"

"Oh, is the Bucklander angry?" Lotho sneered, and Frodo remembered again why it never paid to lose one's temper with the Sackville-Bagginses. He grabbed Frodo’s other arm and twisted them both painfully behind his back, using his larger size (though Frodo was nearly as tall as he, Lotho was easily twice as thick as his slimmer cousin) to subdue the younger boy's struggles.

Frodo was determined not to give Lotho the satisfaction of seeing how much it hurt him, and did not make a sound. This (as usual) angered Lotho all the more, and he gestured for Toly to come over. Toly did not need much direction, for he was already a well-known bully in his hometown of Stock. He grabbed Frodo’s chin and jerked it up, forcing Frodo to look into his eyes.

Frodo glared defiantly at him, setting his mouth in a thin, stubborn line. "Well, Bucklander?" Toly growled. "We’re all waiting for an apology."

Frodo made no answer, and Lotho tightened his grip on his arms, jerking them up painfully. Frodo had to bite his lip to keep from crying out, and he kicked back at his tormenter, his heel making a satisfying crack as it connected with Lotho's shin.

Lotho fairly howled with pain, and loosened his grip just enough for Frodo to squirm free. He turned for the pavillion, but Ted and Toly were on him before he had taken three steps. They wrestled him roughly to the ground, and used their combined weight to keep him still.

Frodo was winded and half-crushed beneath them, but a spark was in his eyes as he glared up at Lotho who limped in front of him, a black scowl on his face that meant trouble.

"You'll pay for that kick, cousin," Lotho snarled. "Pull him up on his knees, lads. We'll get an apology from this little Bucklander."

Bilbo heard none of the argument going on outside with all of the noise in the pavilion, and he didn’t even realize that Frodo was gone for quite a while. He spotted Emmaretta and walked over to her. "Have you seen Frodo?" he asked. "I can’t find him."

Emmaretta shook her head. "I’m afraid not, Uncle," she said. "He was supposed to me again by the tables, but I haven’t seen him since dinner. Perhaps he’s just talking with one of the guests." Bilbo scanned the crowd, but could not see his nephew anywhere. Merry and Pippin were strolling towards him, talking and laughing about Pip’s narrow escape from the wrathful Celandine.

They looked around, then shrugged and shook their heads. "No," Merry said. "But it’s hard to see anyone in this crowd."

Bilbo managed a smile at the lads, although he was beginning to worry. "I’ll go check outside," he said, more to himself than Merry and Pippin. "Perhaps he’s gone out for a breath of fresh air." He hurried out of the pavilion, and at first could not see his nephew anywhere. He went around to the back, where the empty ale kegs had been piled, and there he found Frodo.

Frodo was sitting on a barrel, his head bowed in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "Frodo, my dear boy, what’s wrong?" Bilbo cried as he rushed over to the lad. Frodo raised his head, trying in vain to stop the torrent of tears, and pulling a sleeve across his eyes.

"What’s wrong, Frodo?" Bilbo asked again, taking Frodo’s hands in his and finding that his nephew was trembling violently.

Frodo desperately bit back another sob and stood up. But he swayed slightly, as though he was going to faint, and Bilbo quickly wrapped an arm around his slim shoulders to steady him.

"I think..." Frodo said softly, his voice tight and slightly hoarse. "I think I need to lie down for a bit. Can we go inside?"

Bilbo nodded, his concern growing. "Of course, my dear boy," he said, trying to sound as cheerful as he could. "We’ll go inside and you can rest a while."

By the time they reached Bag End, Frodo had calmed himself somewhat, but he still felt faint, and Bilbo helped him sink down into his soft bed. "Now then, what is wrong?" Bilbo asked, sitting down beside his nephew. "Did someone hurt you?"

Frodo took a moment before replying, then he silently nodded his head. "Who? Who hurt you?" Bilbo demanded, his cheeks flushing red with anger as he noticed for the first time the bruises around Frodo’s wrists.

"Lotho," Frodo whispered, "and some friends. He…" He stopped, choking back a sob, and shuddered. Bilbo comfortingly stroked his nephew’s hair, waiting patiently for him to gain control and continue.

Frodo sat up and opened his eyes, a vivid sapphire in the silver moonlight. "He said that…that my parents… that they went out boating, that night..." He paused, then continued hesitantly. "...to get away from me, because I was so much trouble. I-I've heard it before, but this time Lotho and his friends held me down and just repeated it, over and over..." He shuddered again, violently. "...until I... until I half-believed it myself!" He stopped, unable to continue as the sobs he’d been keeping back forced themselves out.

Bilbo gathered his nephew into his arms, shocked silent by Lotho's cruelty and already vowing vengeance. He let Frodo cry into his shoulder for several minutes, until the sobs had diminished to small gasping breaths.

"Frodo," Bilbo said at length. He felt him shift slightly against his shoulder. "Let me tell you something. Your parents loved you. I used to watch your papa’s shoulders straighten every time he saw you, and your mama’s eyes would glow when you were near. I will admit that you were slightly reckless at times," he chuckled slightly at the memories, "and a bit of a penchant for mischief, but no more than Drogo was at your age – and even as an adult. He went with you once, raiding the Brandy Hall pantries, didn’t he?"

Frodo raised his head and ran a sleeve across his eyes. "Yes. He showed me how."

Bilbo smiled. "Well then, why on earth would your parents want to get away from you? Both of them were quite mischievous when they were youngsters, and Drogo often talked with me about how wonderful it was to relive his childhood with his son." He pulled out of Frodo’s embrace and held him at arm’s length. Frodo’s face was still streaked with tears, but he was beginning to smile slightly.

"You were their pride and joy," Bilbo continued. "Their greatest treasure." His eyes watered with pride of his own as he looked at his nephew and heir. "As you are mine, now."

Frodo smiled through his tears as his uncle pulled him into a loving embrace. "Thank you, Uncle," he whispered. Bilbo smiled and they sat together for several moments, taking solace in the other's company.

Then at last, Bilbo sat up. "I must go speak with Lotho," he said, feeling his earlier fury return. "Who was with him?"

Frodo also sat up, color returning to his face. "Ted Sandyman and that Shirriff we met at Mr. Boffin's house, Toly, were with him." Bilbo reluctantly stood up. "Well, I’ll see to it that they leave the party at once." He pressed a quick kiss to Frodo's forehead before striding briskly out of the room.

Frodo sat on his bed for a long time after Bilbo left, mulling over what his uncle had said. He should’ve known better than to believe Lotho in the first place -- but Lotho had never used that particular tactic before, and Frodo hadn't been prepared for how ruthlessly effective it would be. He sighed, hoping that this wouldn’t spoil the rest of the party.

He was just pouring himself a cup of tea when the door opened, and Merry and Pippin came in. "There you are, Frodo!" the older of the two exclaimed. "We’ve been looking everywhere for you."

Pippin looked closely at his cousin. "Are you alright, Frodo?" he asked. "You look like you been cryin’."

Frodo smiled and ruffled the young Took’s unruly curls. "I’m fine, Pip," he reassured him. "I just felt a bit tired, that was all. Too much dancing, I suppose."

A mischievous grin spread over Merry’s face. "Speaking of which, Miss Emmaretta’s looking for you," he teased. "She seemed quite anxious to hear more of your stories."

Frodo chuckled and took a gulp of his tea, feeling much better. "Is she? Good! I was thinking that I’d bring out a book for her to look at."

Merry snickered and nudged Pippin conspiratorially. Frodo started to comment, but just then, Bilbo came in, looking quite satisfied with himself. "Ah, I see you’re feeling better?" he inquired with a questioning look at Frodo, who nodded, unable to speak as he was in the middle of swallowing another mouthful of tea.

"Well, I don’t think they’ll trouble you any more for quite a while," Bilbo said with a chuckle. He glanced down and Merry and Pippin, who were watching this exchange curiously. "And what are you two scamps doing? Shouldn’t you be at the party – or has Miss Celandine chased you away?"

Pippin laughed. "Nope, she couldn’t catch me," he said proudly. "Don’t know why she’s so upset – I only said that I liked Poppy Bolger’s dress better, and it's true -- Celandine's dress is too red, and Poppy's is a nice green." Everyone laughed heartily, and Frodo felt his earlier grief melt away.

"Come now," Bilbo said presently. "Our guests are no doubt wondering where we’ve got to."

Frodo nodded and set his empty cup down on the table. "Half a minute," he said. "I wanted to bring a book out to show Emma." While he dashed off to his room, Merry, Pippin and Bilbo exchanged glances.

"What was wrong with Frodo earlier?" asked Merry softly after a moment as they listened to the sounds of Frodo rummaging through his many books to find the one he was looking for. "He said that he was only tired, but it looked like he’d been crying."

Bilbo sighed. "Lotho said something very cruel to him," he said quietly, and glanced sorrowfully down the hall where Frodo’s room was located. "Listen, could you lads do me a favor?" he asked after a moment, bending down to their level. Both nodded and leaned closer. "Try to cheer him up a bit – he’s liable to go back to melancholy thoughts if he’s left alone. Try to get him to dance again; he and Emmaretta made quite a handsome pair out there. She would no doubt lighten his heart a good deal."

Merry and Pippin nodded solemnly again. "What about presents?" the younger of the two asked. "Presents will cheer him up!"

Bilbo chuckled and ruffled Pippin’s unruly curls. "Don’t worry, you scamp. The presents will come soon enough. The party is almost over – it must be near ten o’clock now."

Frodo finally emerged from his room, smiling, with a thick hardcover book. "The Lost Road," Pippin read slowly, quite pleased with his skills.

"Excellent choice," Bilbo said as they walked towards the door. "Emmaretta is sure to like that."

When they returned to the party, they found that some guests were indeed looking for them, although most hadn’t even realized that they were gone. Bilbo was almost immediately pulled into a conversation with several Bolgers and Boffins, and Merry was dragged into the middle of the dance by Pervinca, who’d finally been able to tell him her purpose and apologize, when she’d cornered him in hiding between two kegs of ale. Pippin took Frodo by the hand and led him to the refreshment table. "Want some cake, Frodo?" he asked as he gave himself a rather large slice.

Frodo laughed and shook his head. "I couldn't hold another bite," he said. "I’ve already had four slices as it is – though I’ll wager you’ve had at least twice that many!"

Pippin looked indignant. "Of course not! This is only my fifth piece." Frodo laughed again while Pippin shoveled the cake into his mouth as though he was afraid it would disappear.

Just then, Emmaretta came over and sat down beside them. "There you are, Frodo!" she exclaimed. "Where did you get to?"

Pippin choked slightly on his cake and raised his eyebrows at Frodo, who ignored him. "I’m sorry. I felt a bit tired and went inside for a moment."

Emmaretta accepted his apology and changed the subject. "What book is that you’ve got there?"

Frodo handed it to her. "It’s called the Lost Road," he said as she leafed through the pages. "It’s about the destruction of Númenor during the Second Age." Emmaretta flipped through full-page pen and ink drawings of warriors, orcs, dragons, Elves and even more. "You can borrow it, if you like," Frodo offered. "I’ve read it at least four times already."

The two talked eagerly about various books and tales they had heard or read, while Pippin watched in amusement. Wouldn’t Merry be interested to hear about this! At last, Emmaretta asked, "Are you up for another dance?"

Frodo set the book down on the table. "Of course," he replied with a smile, and the two got up and joined the still thick crowd of other dancers.

Merry came running over to the table where Pippin sat and plunked down beside him. "Well?" he asked. "Where is he?" With a grin, Pippin pointed to Frodo and Emmaretta, dancing a vigorous reel with the other dancers. Merry giggled and the two watched in amusement.

It was quite a sight to see, and hard to keep track of just one pair of dancers. When the ladies twirled, their skirts fanned out like butterflies’ wings, making a whirling bouquet of colors. Their long curling hair, mostly allowed to stream loosely out behind them, the colorful ribbons tied into the locks fluttering like small banners.

The hobbit men and boys were not much easier to distinguish from one another, and their brilliantly colored shirts and waistcoats sparkled in the light of the lanterns. Some couples had bells or tambourines in their hands.

As another, even livelier song began to play, everyone switched from a reel to the Springle-Ring, a very pretty, if vigorous, dance. Pippin and Merry had a hard time keeping track of Frodo and Emmaretta in the whirling mass of colorful skirts, ribbons and shirts. They tried to keep their eyes focused on Emma’s deep sapphire skirt, the same color as Frodo’s shirt, but the pair kept being swallowed up in the rest of the crowd, and eventually, Merry and Pippin gave up.

"Well, he certainly seems happy now," Merry commented as he got himself a slice of cake (his fourth).

"Yep," Pippin agreed starting on his sixth piece. "He sure seems to like Emmaretta, doesn’t he?"

"Mmm-hmm." Merry could not give a clearer reply, as he had a large bite of cake in his mouth. They were silent for a while, each concentrating on their food.

Suddenly, Pippin gasped and choked slightly on his cake. "Look!" he exclaimed. "Uncle Bilbo is" – cough – "dancing!" Merry incredulously turned to look where Pippin pointed, and sure enough, there was Bilbo, dancing with Miss Rosa Proudfoot!

Merry and Pippin exchanged wide-eyed glances as their 106 year-old uncle twirled and spun as agilely as any other dancer. They caught a glimpse of Frodo, also turning to look in surprise at Bilbo as they danced alongside each other.

A few minutes later, the dance ended, and a slower tune began to play. Frodo and Emmaretta came back to the table and sat down, breathing hard from the dance. "Was—was it just me," Frodo panted. "Or was Uncle Bilbo dancing?"

"I didn’t know he was such a good dancer," Emmaretta commented. "But I for one am done with dancing for the night. Would you like to join me outside, Frodo? It’s rather stifling in here." Frodo agreed, and they took the book with them as they went outside to join some of the other relations their age, who were playing some sort of game. Pippin opened his mouth to remark, but just then, a very exhilarated Bilbo came over and collapsed at the table.

Bilbo nodded with a grin, too winded to speak at the moment. Merry quickly rose and got him a cup of cold cider. "Thank you, Merry," Bilbo said, taking a large gulp of the thirst quenching liquid. "Miss Proudfoot’s not a bad dancer, is she?"

They looked at the hobbit woman Bilbo had danced with, talking with some relatives. She was middle-aged, looking about as old as Bilbo, and had chosen not to marry. Instead, she was devoting her life to the study of herblore, and had already earned a reputation for herself as the best herb mistress in Michel Delving, where she lived.

Bilbo pretended to be indignant. "I may be old, Meriadoc Brandybuck, but I’m still in fine shape, I'll have you know!" Merry did not reply, but merely took a large gulp of his cider.

"He’s outside with Emmaretta," Pippin answered readily. "I think they’re reading, or playing a game with some other cousins."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Good! That’ll keep his mind off what Lotho said to him." His eyes grew wide as he saw Pippin get yet another slice of cake. "Peregrin Took, how many pieces of cake have you had?!"

"Oh, they won’t mind – they said that I could eat as much cake as I wanted."

"I don’t think they would have said that if they’d known you would eat the entire thing!"

Meanwhile, outside, Frodo and Emmaretta were sitting beneath a small beech tree, along with a few other cousins, while Frodo read tales from the Lost Road. He had a good voice for such things, and he enjoyed sharing stories with others.

"A tall figure appeared, as if descending an unseen stair towards him. For a moment it flashed through his thought that the face, dimly seen, reminded him of his father.

"‘I am with you. I was of Númenor, the father of many fathers before you. I am Elendil, that is in Eressëan "Elf-friend," and many have been called so since. You may have your desire.’

"‘It is against the rule. Laws are commands upon the will and are binding. Rules are conditions; they may have exceptions.’"

"I’ll tell that to Fosco, next time he tries to convince me not to raid the pantries!" remarked Folco Boffin, a good friend of Frodo’s and quite a troublemaker, when he felt like it. Fosco was his younger, and more sensible, brother. This comment got a laugh from everyone gathered around, and just as they had quieted, and Frodo was about to resume the story, one of the younger cousins, Merimas, came dashing out, his eyes shining with excitement.

As one, everyone leapt to their feet and raced inside, but Frodo and Emmaretta followed more slowly. "I wish we had gotten to finish the story," she said. "I do believe that it’s my favorite so far."

"Is it?" Frodo said with a laugh. "I think mine is probably the story of Beren and the Silmaril. Have you read that one?"

"No, I’m afraid not. But perhaps after the party, I can show it to you. Uncle Bilbo translated the full tale from Elvish. There’s more to it than just Beren and the quest for the Silmaril – the full story is called the Tale of Beren and Lúthien."

"Could you give me a sample of it? I’ve heard that it’s a beautiful language, but I’ve never heard anyone speak it, myself."

"All right." Frodo was silent for a moment as he thought of what he should say. "Elen síla lúmenn omentilmo."

"A star shines on the hour of our meeting. It’s the way Elves greet each other."

They joined the thick mass of hobbits in the pavilion, and found that for one thing, Merimas had come rather late (he’d already received his present when he made the announcement), and for another, Bilbo was nearly finished. When they finally made their way to Bilbo, he smiled broadly. "Ah, there you two are! I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come." He pulled out a small package and handed it to Emmaretta. "There you go, my dear. Open it!" Emmaretta set it down on the nearest table, and slowly tore off the paper wrapping, while Frodo and Bilbo watched.

Inside, was a small, ornately designed wooden music box. On the lid, it had a beautiful carving of a slender young woman, looking just come-of-age in hobbit years, dancing in a glade. But she was no hobbit. She was tall, and slender. Her hair, painted raven-black, streamed out behind her, and she was clothed in a shimmering sapphire dress. The night sky above her was sparkling with tiny silver stars, and her skin was pale, her eyes grey. A soft glow was about her, gentle like a star.

On one side of the box, a small portrait of the face of a young man, with dark hair and a fair, noble face, peering through some bushes. His eyes held a mingled wonder and enchantment in them.

On the other side was painted an oval-shaped white stone, glowing like the maiden, but even brighter.

Emmaretta opened the lid, and a sweet tune began to play. It was soft and beautiful, and she closed her eyes in delight as she listened. "It’s the melody to the Lay of Beren and Lúthien," Bilbo said as the song played. "And that’s what is depicted on the box. The woman on the front is the Elf princess, Lúthien, and the man on the side is Beren, her lover. The stone is the Silmaril, which Beren sought long and through much peril to retrieve."

"Thank you, Uncle Bilbo!" Emmaretta breathed. "How – how did you buy it? It must have been terribly expensive."

"Milo Burrows carved it for me, going off some of the illustrations in one of my books, and his wife, Peony painted it."

Emmaretta threw her arms around Bilbo’s neck. "You dear!" she cried. "I must go show my sisters!"

With a bright smile, she ran off to find Rosemary and Enna. "Now, what about your present, Frodo?" Bilbo said after a moment, turning to look at his nephew. Reaching behind the platform he’d stood on, he brought out another package. When the paper wrapping was torn off, Frodo gasped in delight. It was a beautiful hardcover book, its covers made of the finest dark leather. On the front were imprinted, in brilliant gold, the words:

"Uncle Bilbo!" Frodo exclaimed. "Thank you! This is wonderful!" He reverently leafed through the ivory pages.

Frodo’s eyes shone as he gently closed the book. "Oh, I forgot your present!" he said. "I’ve had it with me all this time." He pulled from his breeches-pocket a paper-wrapped package, and handed it to his uncle.

Bilbo tore off the wrapping and pulled out the green, woolen cloak inside. "Oh, Frodo!" Bilbo cried. "It’s beautiful! I needed a new cloak!"

Bilbo carefully unfolded the cloak, and inside, he found thin, leather-bound book. On the first page were the words: THE QUEST FOR LOTHLÓRIEN. "I wrote it myself," Frodo explained. "But Sam came up with the idea for the story. It’s about a hobbit who goes on adventures outside the Shire and meets Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lotholórien."

Bilbo pulled his nephew into a grateful hug. "Thank you, Frodo. I’ll cherish this forever."

After the gift-giving, the party was nearly finished. The guests departed, in groups, until there were only a few left. Frodo told Emmaretta to keep the book he’d loaned her, and also gave Merry the slingshot. The young Brandybuck was prohibited from shooting it until he returned home, having nearly knocked over most of the lanterns in the pavilion. Pippin received a new pouch of marbles from Frodo and Bilbo, and somehow managed to lose several of them before the night was over. To Sam, Frodo gave a book full of tales about Elves – and it even included an illustrated part listing Elvish plants and herbs.

Frodo, Merry and Pippin again slept in Frodo’s bed together that night, after playing with Goblin for a while. Surprisingly, the little kitten had behaved himself all day, although he had torn one of Paladin’s shirts to shreds.

Frodo stayed up late reading the book that Merry had given him, which was wholly new. He planned to read the Silmarillion tomorrow, saving it for last. Goblin again slept on Pippin’s chest, and apart from unknowingly digging his claws into his young master’s skin, he was very well behaved.

"You know," Pippin commented as they turned out the light and snuggled under the covers, "I think this is the best birthday party I’ve ever been to."

The months passed uneventfully in the Shire. Merry and Pippin returned home the day after the party, already making plans for their next visit, for Yuletide – one of the best times of year for young hobbits. Yuletide lasted a full six days (the last three and the first three days of every year), in which there was feasting, games, festivals, and best of all: presents! The Yuletide Festival in Hobbiton was the largest celebration, and hobbits flocked from neighboring towns and farms to come.

Several days before the beginning of Yule, the cold December wind blew down upon young Frodo Baggins as he made his way through the newly fallen snow to Bag End. "I’m back!" he announced, stepping inside and beginning to remove his wet scarf, coat and mittens. "And with three letters," he added as Bilbo came into the room.

"Splendid!" siad his uncle, helping him to remove his wet things. He had not been outdoors long, and fortunately, his clothes were still dry beneath his thick coat.

"Come into the sitting room and have a bit of tea," Bilbo said, after he’d returned from putting the wet clothes in the washroom. "We’ll read the letters as we drink."

The two sat, comfortably bundled up in thick quilts, with a fire crackling in the hearth, sipping some warm tea. "Well now," Bilbo said presently. "About those letters."

Frodo handed them to him, and his uncle read the addresses of each silently to himself. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed as he came to the last one. "It’s from Peony! She hasn’t written in quite a while."

Frodo leaned in eagerly; ever since Peony had announced that she was pregnant*, two months before, they’d been receiving – and returning – weekly letters. But she’d skipped a week, and now they were anxious to read what she had to say.

"‘I’m dreadfully sorry that I have not written for a while. I’ve been visiting Lila for the past few days, and she was delighted to hear my news. And you would never believe it, but she is expecting, too! Now dear little Daisy will have a younger brother or sister to spoil (and order about!). She doesn’t quite understand all the commotion yet, but she will soon.

‘Milo has been very busy carving lately. His shoppe is almost always filled with customers now, asking for all kinds of things for Yule. The poor fellow hasn’t had a moment’s peace. He seems still to be slightly overwhelmed by the fact that we are going to have a child. Oh, it will be so marvelous! I am certain that the baby is a girl, but Milo is adamant that ’tis a boy. Oh well. We shan’t find out who is right until sometime after midsummer, according to Dr. Bolger – not the Dr. Bolger who tended to Frodo, but his sister, Lilac. And what a dear she is! Always going out of her way to check up on me, and so kind; just like her brother.

‘Porto and Ponto** are coming for a visit, for Yule. They are both astonished to hear the news as well, and Ponto’s beautiful little daughter, Angelica, is coming up with names already. She stands with me in the belief that the baby will be a girl, and she tells me that I should name her ‘Pansy’ or ‘Poppy’ – something similar to my name. But no, Milo and I have already decided that we will name the child – boy or girl – something beginning with ‘M.’

‘I have made a small list of my own names. For girls, my favorites are: Myrtle, Mimosa (as you know, my great-grandmother’s name), or perhaps Maylie? For boys, my favorites are: Mosco, Minto or Moro (needless to say, Milo has helped me a good deal with the boy names!).

‘Well, I shan’t bore you any longer with names and such. We are all doing well here, and we hope that you both are, as well. I can’t wait for the Yuletide Festival – Milo and I will be sure to attend!

His uncle chuckled. "And what do you think they should name him, if indeed it is a boy?"

Frodo took a sip of his tea and smiled. "Well, from Peony’s list, I like Mosco best, I think."

There was a comfortable silence for several moments, as they were each lost in their own thoughts. At last, Frodo drained the last of his tea and sat back against the soft downy sofa pillows. "Who were those other two letters from, Uncle?"

"Oh yes! Dear me, I’d forgotten them. Well, one is from old Rory," he laid that one aside to read later. "Ah, and here’s one from Lindir! ’Tis about time – though I imagine elves have more important things to do than write to hobbits," he chuckled as he opened the letter and read it quietly to himself.

Suddenly, Frodo gave a cry and jumped to his feet. "Oh, stars, I forgot!" Bilbo set the letter down and stared curiously at his nephew.

Frodo groaned and sat back down. "On our second night out on that trip Merry and Sam and I took to Bywater, Sam recited a poem for Merry and me. It was beautiful, about Elbereth, and the stars… I promised I’d tell it to you, so you could send it to Lindir!" He shook his head mournfully. "But after everything that happened, it slipped my mind and I haven't thought of it all these months – poor Sam!"

As Bilbo continued to stare at his nephew, whose face was filled with guilt, he began to chuckle. As Frodo raised his head in confusion, Bilbo’s chuckles increased to a full-on laugh, and he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. Frodo’s puzzled look only added to the comedy of the situation, and caused Bilbo to laugh all the harder.

When he had a small measure of control over his laughter, he gasped, "I’m – I’m sorry, Frodo. But you should see the expression on your face! Your eyes are as big as saucers!" Frodo smiled slightly, despite himself.

"But about that poem," Bilbo went on, able to speak now. "It's no great problem. Lindir has been out in the Wilds with Elrohir and Elladan anyhow – he wouldn’t have gotten the letter until just recently. We can send the poem with my next letter. Do you know it off the top of your head?"

Frodo shook his head. "I don’t think I can recite all of it. You should hear Sam do it – can I go get him now?"

Bilbo chuckled again at the eagerness of his nephew, and waved a hand in resignation. "Very well," he said. "I can see that you shan’t be able to sit still until you’ve brought him in and I’ve sent the letter. But remember to bundle up!" he added as Frodo jumped up and dashed to the door.

"Thank you, Uncle Bilbo!" the old hobbit heard as the door shut behind his nephew. He smiled to himself, and then went back to reading his letter.

Frodo raced to #3 Bagshot Row like his life depended on it. When he finally reached the door, he was completely out of breath. He knocked quickly, and it seemed like hours before the door was opened by a very surprised Hamfast Gamgee.

"Master Frodo!" he exclaimed. "What’re ’ee doin’ here, sir, in such cold?" Without giving Frodo a chance to reply, he ushered the lad inside and shut the door behind him. "Oh, here, sir, let me take yer coat an’ scarf." Frodo knew better than to argue, and handed his wet things to the gardener.

"Now, what can I do fer you, young master?" Hamfast asked when he’d finished hanging the wet coat and scarf over the hearth to dry.

"Nothing at all," said Frodo with a smile. "I just wanted to see if Sam could come over for a quick visit, sir." He resisted the urge to chuckle when Hamfast’s eyebrows rose slightly when he was addressed as ‘sir.’

"I’m sure Sam would love ta come, Mr. Frodo," the gardener said. "But ’e can’t stay long, I’m afraid. I’m goin’ ta take a trip down ta Bywater fer some things, an’ I’ll need him with me, seein’ as Halfred and Hamson are helpin’ their Uncle Andy. Now, you come over ’ere and warm yerself by the fire, Mr. Frodo, while I go an’ get Sam." He hastened down the narrow hall, leaving Frodo by the hearth.

Frodo stood close to the fireplace, holding his hands out in front of him to absorb the wonderful heat. He loved being at the Gamgees’, although they could be a bit overprotective at times. But he knew they were only acting as they had been brought up, and allowed them to address him as ‘Master’ or ‘Mr. Frodo’ (knowing from repeated fruitless attempts with Sam that it was useless to try to get them to simply call him Frodo). But he always made sure to treat them with respect in return, calling Hamfast and Bell ‘Mr.’ and ‘Mistress’ Gamgee.

Suddenly, Frodo heard a soft noise from behind him. He turned around to see a pair of round eyes peering from around the doorway of the kitchen. He recognized them as belonging to Marigold, the youngest of the Gamgee girls.

"Hullo," he said cheerfully. "What is it that you’re watching that could possibly be so interesting?"

The eyes widened, and Frodo heard a small gasp as they disappeared. "Come now, Goldie," he said, getting down on his knees so that he was closer to her height. "I won’t bite. Won’t you come out?" Shyly, the eyes peered around again, and then the rest of the girl’s body followed, slowly.

Marigold Gamgee had just seen her twelfth summer, and was growing into quite a comely young lady. She was stocky and strongly built like both her parents, and brothers, but she had slender, long-fingered hands that were quite skilled with helping her mother care for the ill, when called upon. Her curls, tied up in a messy bun, were the same color as Sam’s, as were her eyes. In fact, she looked very much like Sam, but in feminine form. And like her older brother, she adored tales about Elves.

Now, she shyly made her way over to Frodo. She liked him, and Mr. Bilbo very much, no matter what her friends said about them. She didn’t have an ear for gossip, and didn’t believe a word of what was said about her masters.

Frodo held out his arms to her, and after hesitating a moment, she smiled and threw her arms around his neck. The first time her parents had seen her hug Mr. Frodo, they’d been quite shocked that one of their children would act with such familiarity to their Master’s heir. But as neither Mr. Bilbo, nor Mr. Frodo seemed to mind, they had let it be.

"I haven’t seen you in quite a while," Frodo said as Marigold pulled out of his hug, smiling brightly. "You must’ve grown two inches!"

Marigold giggled. "Will you tell me a story, Mr. Frodo?" she asked eagerly, with a twinkle in her brown eyes that reminded Frodo very much of Sam.

"I’m afraid I don’t have time today, Goldie," said Frodo reluctantly. "I’ve just come to see if Sam can come over for a quick visit." He looked down at her, a playful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Would you like to come along? I’m sure that Uncle Bilbo could tell you a story while Sam and I visit." Marigold’s eyes widened and her smile broadened. She loved being inside Bag End, although she had not been there often.

She began to reply, but just then, the Gaffer returned with Samwise beside him. "Hullo, Mr. Frodo!" the young gardener said happily. "Sorry I took so long; I was out back."

Frodo stood up and the Gaffer retrieved his things from over the hearth. "Well, they’re still a mite wet, I’m afraid," he said as he helped Frodo into the thick coat and wrapped the scarf snugly around him. "But Bag End ain’t far, an’ the snow’s not deep."

"Thank you, Mr. Gamgee," Frodo said with a smile. "I’m sure I’ll be fine. And I was wondering, could little Marigold come along as well? We shan’t be long, and I’m sure she would enjoy the trip."

The Gaffer looked from his young master’s questioning blue eyes to his daughter’s beseeching brown ones, and back again. "Very well, Mr. Frodo," he said at last. "She can come, if you’re sure it’s all right."

"Well then," Hamfast said. "We’d best get you bundled up, Goldie-lass." He took Marigold by the hand and the two disappeared into the room the girls shared.

"Why’d you want us to come over, Mr. Frodo?" Sam whispered while they waited. "You’ve got that look in your eye, sir, beggin’ your pardon, like you’re planning somethin’."

Frodo chuckled. "I am indeed, Sam. But I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait and see."

When the three made it inside Bag End, Bilbo was waiting to greet them at the door. "Hullo!" he said cheerfully. "Marigold, I wasn’t expecting you! What a pleasant surprise!" Marigold blushed with pleasure beneath all her layers of clothing. Once their scarves, mittens and coat had been removed and placed beside the hearth to dry, Bilbo led them into his study.

"Now, Sam my lad," he said as he walked around his desk and sat in the chair. "Frodo tells me that you wrote a poem that you’d like me to send to the Elves of Rivendell?"

Sam’s eyes widened and he blushed right up to the tips of his pointed ears. "Y-yes, sir," he stammered, risking a glance at Frodo, who was grinning in amusement. "It ain’t proper poetry, sir; just somethin’ I made up."

Bilbo smiled warmly at the lad and showed him the paper that was before him on the desk. Written in Bilbo’s thin, rather spidery hand, was his latest letter to Lindir. There was a large blank space beneath the words, "And here it is:"

"Do you want me to write the poem, or do you want to write it yourself?" Bilbo asked, exchanging an amused wink with Frodo.

"I-I think you should write it, Mr. Bilbo," said Sam, eyes still wide. "I’m not too good with my letters yet. Leastways, not like you or Mr. Frodo."

Bilbo patted his hand and turned the paper back around. He picked up the pen that was beside the paper, and dipped it in the inkpot. "As you wish," he said. "Would you be so kind as to recite it to me?" Sam’s face went, if possible, even more red, and Bilbo tactfully gestured to Frodo.

Frodo took Marigold by the hand and they both left the study, shutting the door behind them, so as to make sure Sam didn’t feel pressured. He probably would have been more at ease had it been Frodo he was reciting the poem to, but it could not be helped.

"Would you like something to eat, Goldie?" Frodo asked, leading the girl into the kitchen. "I just made some blackberry tarts." Marigold’s eyes widened as she sat down at the table. While her brothers and her father could cook – quite well in fact – she had not thought that an ‘upper-class’ lad like Frodo would know how to cook!

"You made them yourself, Mr. Frodo?" she blurted, before she could stop herself.

Frodo laughed and brought over plate of the tarts. "I suppose it does seem rather odd, doesn’t it, that I’d be able to cook anything?" he said good-naturedly.

"Oh, n-no, sir, I didn’t mean—" Frodo cut off Marigold’s protests with a laugh.

"It’s quite all right, Goldie. But Uncle Bilbo taught me. He cooks quite well, you know."

Marigold blushed as she took a bite of the offered blackberry tart. It was indeed very good, nearly as good as her mother’s tarts. "This is delicious, Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo smiled, swallowing a bite of his own tart. "Thank you," he said. "I’m glad you like it. Have as many as you like."

"Don’t worry, Goldie, I made more than enough for Bilbo and I. We’ll never be able to finish them all ourselves. Eat up."

It was several minutes before Sam emerged from the study. His face bore an expression of mingled astonishment, pleasure, and excitement. "Oh, Mr. Frodo!" he cried. "Thank you so very much! Mr. Bilbo said he’d send it to the Elves right away – one of my poems is goin’ to be read by Elves!"

Frodo beckoned Sam over to the seat next to him and as he sat down, Marigold watched in amazement. "Really, Sam? Elves?"

Sam looked at his sister with a grin reaching from ear to ear. "Aye," he said excitedly. "An’ Mr. Bilbo says that when he gets a letter back, I can keep it!"

Marigold’s eyes went as round as saucers, and she stared at her brother in growing awe. "Here, Sam, have a tart," Frodo said, offering the plate to the gardener. "I baked them myself. They’re blackberry."

"Thank you, Mr. Frodo!" Sam said again, no less sincerely, taking one of the tarts. "Your tarts are wonderful!"

Shortly afterward, Bilbo emerged after finishing his letter, and Marigold got her story. It was unfortunately interrupted when the Gaffer arrived to pick up Sam and Marigold. His very excited children hurriedly told him of Sam’s poem, and how it was going to be read by Elves. Elves! They were both quite disappointed to leave, but each was given a copper from Bilbo to spend on what they wanted in Bywater.

The next day, Merry and Pippin (whose front teeth had grown in at last) arrived. Their parents were going to the smaller, much less interesting Yuletide festivities in Buckland. The two young troublemakers were practically bouncing off the walls in excitement, and it was not long before they, along with Frodo, were banished outside to work off some of their energy.

Outside, they quickly began a snowball fight, and were soon joined by a few neighboring lads. Folco Boffin and his younger brother Fosco were among them, as well as Nick Headstrong, the son of the toy maker, and Tim and Jack Brownlow. Within about twenty minutes, what had started as a small snowball fight quickly became a full-blown snowball war. Frodo, Folco, Nick and Tim were on one team, and Merry, Pippin, Fosco and Jack were on the other.

"Never!" A snowball whizzing through the air emphasized the point as it hit its intended target square in the face.

"Very well, we shall be forced to use… er, force!" Pippin’s threat earned hearty laughter from all around. Narrowing his eyes, the young Took grabbed a nearby stick that lay on the ground, and held it up challengingly. "CHARGE!" he shouted, and Merry, Fosco and Jack each grabbed sticks of their own and with a fierce battle cry, raced towards the enemy.

"Come on, lads!" Frodo cried, grabbing his own stick. "To arms!" His team quickly found suitable sticks and rushed onward with a war cry of their own to meet their foe.

The armies of Captain Frodo and Captain Pippin clashed in the middle of the Party Field where they were playing, and it was a sight to behold. Their battle-cries echoed through the still December air, and after a few moments of tussling, in which no one could tell who they were fighting against, it was clear that it was every man for himself.

Each team member picked – or was picked by – a member of the opposing army and engaged in fierce single combat. Frodo was against Jack, Tim was against Pippin, Folco was against Merry and Nick was against Fosco.

For several moments, none could have told the outcome of the battle, but suddenly, with a dramatic cry, Pippin collapsed in the snow, Tim’s stick between his arm and chest. "Our Captain has fallen!" Merry cried. "Retreat! Retreat!" Now the air was filled with yelps from the defeated team, and the cries of triumph from the victors.

But then, as hope seemed lost for Merry’s team, the courageous young Brandybuck stopped. "Wait!" he shouted. His army halted in their tracks. "Attack!"

Now the attackers became the attacked, and Frodo’s team began to give way. "Rally!" Frodo called. "Stay together!" His men formed a circle, all back to back, against the attacking foes.

Within ten minutes, in which a fierce battle ensued, most of Frodo’s army had fallen. Now it was only he, and stouthearted Nick. They still held their back-to-back formation, stubbornly refusing to give up. A dramatic cry went up as Fosco fell beneath Nick’s ‘sword’. Merry and Jack renewed their attack with even more fury, and finally, doughty Nick fell.

Captain Frodo stood alone between Merry and Jack. "Surrender now!" Merry cried. "Your army is destroyed!"

Frodo’s eyes were filled with stubborn determination. "Not while I still stand!" And even as he cried his defiance, his stick-sword stabbed forward, and Captain Merry fell with a loud wail.

Now it was just Frodo against Jack. The two fought fiercely, parrying blows right and left, both with hard resolve in their eyes. Only one would be the victor. Suddenly, Frodo’s sword was wrenched from his hand and flicked across the field. Jack pushed him down into the snow and leveled his sword at him. "Surrender or die!" he shouted. The ‘dead’ soldiers raised their heads to see what the outcome would be.

Jack raised his sword. Frodo closed his eyes, ready to ‘die’ with honor. "Then—"

Young Peregrin’s voice interrupted the climatic final battle. "Pippin!" they complained collectively.

Pippin grinned and stood up, brushing snow off his coat and scarf. "I’m sorry, but I’m starving!"

Tim shook snow out of his brown curls. "Jack an’ me can’t come back," he said disappointedly. "We have chores to do."

There was a collective groan from the other lads. "All right," Frodo said. "The we’ll resume our battle tomorrow."

"You won’t get off so easily next time, Captain Frodo," the larger lad said playfully. "I’ll make sure of that."

The armies met again the following day, as planned, and they started their battle over. By the dramatic end, it was Frodo’s team that conquered, though the valiant captain fell in the deed.

But more important to Merry was that Daisy Broadbelt was arriving that day! The little lass was coming for a visit for the Yuletide festivities, while her parents went to a smaller family gathering in Bywater.

Merry paced impatiently for most of the afternoon, and nearly forgot even to eat lunch. When at last the long-expected guest arrived, he was beside himself with excitement. For her part, Daisy seemed rather bewildered about being in such a large smial – in an even larger town – and her green eyes were round as she gazed around the wide hallway.

"Come on, Daisy," Merry said excitedly, taking her by the hand. "I want you to meet my cousin, Pippin."

Pippin was in the midst of eating the last of the blackberry tarts. "Hullo," he said cheerfully, stuffing a large bite in his mouth. Frodo shot a half-hearted look of annoyance at him for his lack of manners, and bent down for his greeting hug from Daisy.

After showing her around the smial, Merry and Frodo proposed that they go out into the gardens. Sam was there, planting tulip bulbs for the spring. He and Daisy greeted each other happily, and the little girl was eager to meet his sisters (especially her namesake Daisy). As it happened, the Gamgee girls were walking up the lane at that moment, and Daisy was given the opportunity to meet them.

Daisy Gamgee, the eldest, especially liked the little lass, and the two chatted for a while, much to the lads’ dismay. When the girls had finally ceased their chattering and continued up the lane, Daisy was brought back inside with Merry and Frodo, and they played with her in her room for over an hour. She eagerly showed them the dress she was going to wear for Yule, carefully and lovingly made by her mother.

Beneath the bodice and skirt of the dress was a long, thick blouse, reaching as long as the skirts. The bodice and skirt was a deep, pine tree green, made of soft velvet. And of course, beneath that, she was forced to wear several layers of petticoats to keep her warm. She also had a cloak, lined with white fur (which must have been terribly expensive for her parents), of the same color as her dress, and a white fur muff. All in all, a very pretty and costly outfit.

There is not much to tell about the remainder of that day. They did not do much else, and Merry had a hard time sleeping because of excitement. Frodo, however, did not seem to have any trouble whatsoever, and went to sleep almost the instant his head hit the pillows.

Merry lay awake for a long while, listening to the sound of Frodo’s soft breathing and the mournful howl of a dog outside. But at last, he fell asleep, his last thought being of the Yuletide Festival, and Daisy in her beautiful new dress.

Pippin slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles as he and Merry cautiously made their way towards Frodo’s bed, where their older cousin slept, blissfully unaware of his impending danger.

Step by step, the two troublemakers stealthily crept closer to the bed. Suddenly, Pippin kicked the leg of the bedside table, causing the book that had been placed on top of it to fall to the floor, with a crash that sounded sickeningly loud to Merry and Pippin’s ears.

Both lads froze. For a moment, there was no sound except for Frodo’s soft, even breathing and the frantic beating of their own hearts in their ears. At last, Merry sighed with relief.

Pippin nodded solemnly, taking great care, as he took the last few steps, to use his hobbit-stealth to the fullest. He stood at the foot of the bed, while Merry took position at the head. Frodo made no sign, except to sigh softly and burrow deeper under the blankets.

"Are you ready?" asked Merry in a whisper. Pippin nodded, eyes fixed on Frodo’s still face, ready to make a run for it, if he should wake. Merry shot him a quick grin and opened his hands, revealing something cold and wet in his palms, which was rapidly melting. A snowball. He took one step closer, paused for a moment, staring at Frodo’s face, then shrugged and bent down.

Merry froze as Frodo turned in his sleep, rolling over onto his side and curling up tighter against the cold winter air. Biting his lip – hard – to keep from laughing, Merry ever so slowly moved the snowball into one hand and with the other, gently peeled the thick coverlets down to Frodo’s waist.

"Better be outside the door, Pip," he cautioned his younger cousin. Pippin wisely obeyed, keeping his hands over his mouth until he was safely outside the room, where he promptly had to lean against the wall for support as he rocked with quiet laughter.

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Merry glanced down at the snowball in his hand, to find it melting quickly. With his other hand, he carefully pulled back the wide neckline of Frodo’s nightshirt, and holding his breath, he dropped the snowball down his peacefully sleeping cousin’s back and raced to the door, where he and Pippin held each other in silent laughter.

Scarcely had Merry reached the door when Frodo’s eyes flew open. He sat up with a half-gasp, half-cry, and jumped out of bed. "Ah, cold! Ah!" The snowball, now only the size of a marble, promptly dropped to the floor. Frodo picked it up. His eyes narrowed and he slowly turned toward the doorway.

The two troublemakers wisely took to their heels and ran for their lives, squealing and laughing out loud, followed by a long line of threats from their infuriated cousin. It took a lot to anger Frodo, and they had gotten it down to a science.

Bilbo, still half-asleep, came trudging down the hall, a candle in his hand. He headed for Frodo’s room and there found his nephew hopping on one foot, trying to quickly yank his breeches on under his nightshirt, muttering angrily under his breath.

"Frodo?" Bilbo said around a yawn. "What’s going on? And why is your back all wet?"

Frodo finally pulled on his breeches and grabbed his warm brown jacket, slung over a chair. "Merry and Pippin," he said simply and hurriedly. A fire was smouldering in his bright blue eyes that would have made an orc pause for thought. The sound of the front door opening and closing reached their ears, and Frodo raced down the hall, quickly slipping his arms into his jacket-sleeves as he followed the two troublemakers.

Bilbo watched as the door shut behind his nephews, shaking his head. He wasn’t awake enough to question what was going on, and with a shrug, decided to go back to bed. It wasn’t even five o’clock in the morning yet. Much too early for any self-respecting hobbit to be up. Yawning, he sleepily shuffled back down the hall, pausing to check on Daisy before heading to his room.

The little lass was sound asleep, curled up in a warm little ball with a smile on her face. Smiling himself, Bilbo continued to his room, where he blew out his candle and climbed into his welcoming warm bed, leaving Merry and Pippin to Frodo’s mercy.

Although Merry and Pippin had a large headstart, Frodo caught them up as they attempted to hide among the hedges in the front garden. They a simultaneous shriek of dismay when they saw him, and quickly crawled through the bushes. Fortunately for them, they were smaller and able to move quicker through the thick branches.

The two young rogues scrambled out of the hedges and went racing up the hill towards the Party Field. Frodo, with difficulty, disentangled himself from the bushes and followed them, threatening "death by tickling" if he caught them. He was only partially angry now, and taking great pleasure in giving the two mischief-makers a good scare.

Merry and Pippin raced at top speed past the Party Field and down the Hill, going into a small forest. It was less than a quarter of a mile wide, and perhaps only two miles long, but perfectly sized for make-believe battles and games. Merry and Pippin knew it well, as did Frodo, and they wove through the trees with amazing speed, startling several squirrels, a rabbit, and even a deer, which bounded away with its flag-like tail straight in the air as a warning.

Frodo had just caught up with the two, and was in the process of holding them down while shoveling snow down their shirts, when the sound of silvery laughter floated down to them. All three lads stopped, and looked around, listening intently.

There it was again: a clear, musical laugh, soft and gentle as a spring breeze. There was no stir in the snow-covered trees, and the three hobbits held their breaths, straining their senses to the utmost, trying to find the mysterious intruder.

Again the light laughter sounded, slightly louder this time, and followed by soft voices speaking and singing a song in a strange tongue. Now Frodo’s guess was proved, and his eyes widened, lighting up in astonishment and joy. Merry and Pippin looked up at him curiously as recognition dawned on his face.

There was silence for several moments, as Merry and Pippin got to their feet and stood beside Frodo, half-afraid. "Elves?" Merry whispered, more to himself than the others. He hadn’t thought that Elves even came near the Shire, much less in the heart of it.

Then, a slim figure, amazingly tall to the young hobbits, stepped out soundlessly from behind a tree. His long hair was dark as night, and his bright eyes were grey as the sea. His face was fair beyond measure; both young and old, joyful and sorrowful. But at the moment, he was smiling, and his eyes were dancing with mirth.

"Hail, Elvellon," he said in a voice light and musical, like his laughter. "How is it that you speak the Elf-tongue?"

Instinctively, all three lads bowed, and Frodo answered, eyes wide, "My Uncle Bilbo taught me…sir," he added, a little shyly. He had met Elves before, but he never ceased to be awed by them.

The Elf’s smile was warm and kind, beyond the caring that most Elves normally have for Mortals. He bowed, much to the surprise of the hobbit lads before him.

"Mae govannen – well met indeed, small ones," he said kindly. "I am Maethor, of the house of Elrond Half-Elven."

Frodo smiled, and glancing down at Merry and Pippin beside him, saw that they were still staring in utter astonishment at the tall Elf. "I’m Frodo Baggins," he said, and gesturing to the other two, "And these are Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took, my cousins." The two young hobbits managed to mumble a polite greeting, and the Elf laughed.

"Well met, I say again," he smiled at the younger two, and immediately they relaxed, and smiled back. Then he turned his bright gaze upon Frodo. "But you are a kinsman of Bilbo?" he asked curiously. "The hobbit who was a visitor at Imladris, and still keeps exchange with our kindred there?"

"Well, actually, all three of us are," Frodo explained. "We’re cousins, but we call him ‘Uncle.’ You know him?"

"I do indeed; quite a special hobbit, from what I hear of your folk. Courageous, as well."

Frodo was silent but smiling with pleasure at hearing an Elf speak so highly of his dear uncle. There was not a sound for a moment, but then Pippin unexpectedly broke it.

"Excuse me for asking, Mr…" he looked the tall being up and down. "Mr. Elf, sir, but what are you doing in the Shire?"

Merry stared, appalled, at his cousin, whispering a reproachful, "Pippin!" under his breath, while Frodo raised his eyebrows as he watched Maethor, wondering what his response would be.

Maethor laughed softly and lightly. "Lord Elrond has repeatedly said that hobbits amaze him, and now I have seen it proved." Pippin beamed, and the other two couldn’t help but smile, as well. "To answer your question," the Elf continued, "I shall introduce you to my companions. We are traveling to the Sea, but the call of it is not as strong in us as it is in some of our kindred, and we have stopped for a while in this fair country." He turned, and called softly in the Elvish language, which Merry and Pippin did not understand a word of.

A moment later, little more than half a dozen Elves stepped serenely out from the trees. There were four maidens among them, and while most of the company were dark-haired, there were three of them with shining golden hair.

"These are Frodo Baggins, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took," Maethor explained to the Elves in their own tongue, as a few of them cast doubtful looks upon the young hobbits. "They are kinsmen of Bilbo and one of them is an Elf-friend." Then, turning back to the hobbits, he smiled. "These are some of my kindred from Imladris – Rivendell, as you would call it, although two here hail from Mirkwood."

And thereupon, he introduced them each by name: Luinel, Melui, and Brethil were the she-Elves of Rivendell, and Celebros was another, from Mirkwood. The others were Magnor, Faron, Tathar and Ithildin. The middle two, with golden hair, hailed from Mirkwood, and were sons of Thranduil, the King.

The Elves, doubtful at first, were now smiling kindly at the hobbits, although none looked quite as eager and youthful as Maethor. It was impossible for most mortals to tell the age of an Elf, but the leader of their company certainly seemed younger than the others.

Suddenly a soft song whispered on the early morning breeze caught their attention and they all stood still, listening. It was faint, but hauntingly beautiful, like some distant siren song that enchanted all who heard it.

Never in all his life had Frodo heard anything so beautiful, and he closed his eyes to listen. He could not make out the words, but that did not lessen the beauty of it. Beside him, Merry and Pippin were still and silent as well, just as enthralled with the song as he.

But just as suddenly as it had begun, the melody stopped, and nothing was to be heard save the gentle whisper of the breeze.

Maethor abruptly focused his keen grey eyes on the young hobbits. "Forgive us, but we cannot linger," he said with a gentle, apologetic smile. "You heard, did you not? Ah, rare indeed do mortals hear it – treasure the memory of that song forever. For like as not, you shall not hear it again." His eyes grew slightly distant, and he spoke more softly, as to himself. "Already the sea calls us, and we can resist her call no longer." He again returned to the hobbits. "We must bid you farewell now, for we can linger no longer in this land."

The other Elves were already departing, some with smiling glances at the hobbits, and others without looking back. Maethor stepped forward and touched the tops of the young hobbits’ heads, each in turn. "May the stars shine upon your faces," he whispered, bowing low. "Namárië."

Silvery laughter and song floated back to them, and then died away, and the wood was silent once more.

Pippin’s excited, high-pitched voice broke through the stillness of the early morning, and startled Bilbo reluctantly from sleep. He groaned, and buried his head under the pillow. He could hear Merry and Frodo shushing their youngest cousin, and the sound of swiftly moving feet coming towards his room. The door was opened quietly, and the three lads stepped in, Merry with his hand firmly covering Pippin’s mouth, just in case.

"Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo whispered, going over to the bedside and touching his uncle’s shoulder. "Are you awake?"

Bilbo sighed and removed his head from beneath the pillow, opening his eyes. "I am now," he mumbled. Frodo’s face broke into a smile and the other two appeared next to him.

"We have something to tell you, Uncle Bilbo," Pippin said, pulling Merry’s hand from his mouth. He kept his voice (fairly) low, but he was all but bouncing with excitement and his green eyes glowed.

Waking up a bit more, Bilbo sat up, and noticed that there was the same excited sparkle in Frodo and Merry’s eyes, and all three lads were breathless, their cheeks flushed. "What is it?" he asked, resigning himself to the fact that he would get no more sleep that morning.

Pippin grinned, with the look of one sharing a great secret. "We – Merry and Frodo and me – saw Elves!" Merry nodded empathetically, his golden curls bouncing.

"What do you mean, you saw Elves?" asked Bilbo, now fully awake. "I didn’t think they visited this part of the Shire." He looked to Frodo for confirmation.

"We did meet Elves, Uncle," Frodo said. "We were in the woods behind the Party Field, and we heard singing and laughter. We called, but there was no answer, so I tried in Elvish. Then an Elf suddenly appeared. He said his name was Maethor –"

He was interrupted as Pippin said eagerly, "And he was from Rivendell! And then a lot more Elves came out, but they weren’t as friendly as he was…"

Pippin, in turn, was interrupted by Merry. "Two of them were sons of Thranduil – didn’t you meet him on your journey?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "And they all introduced themselves to us, after Frodo told them who we were, and…what were their names, Frodo?"

Frodo thought for a moment. "I know that the two sons of Thranduil were called Faron and Tathar, but I’m not sure I remember the others…Celebros, and Melui, I think, and Brethil…"

"And Magnor, Luinel and Ithildin," Pippin finished triumphantly, grinning at the looks of surprise from the older hobbits. "I was listening."

Bilbo laughed. "So it seems," he said, ruffling Pippin’s curly hair. "Now why don’t you listen so well when I try to teach you Elvish?"

"Maethor said that he knew you, Uncle," Frodo interrupted. "He said you were very brave."

Bilbo smiled, obviously pleased and almost embarrassed at the compliment. "Well, I’m afraid I don’t remember meeting him," he said. "But I did meet a few of the others. Ithildin is Lindir’s brother, you know. And I believe that Melui, Luinel and Brethil I met, or at least, saw while I was in Rivendell. But I don’t recognize the others." He sighed, then abruptly changed the subject. "But what did they say to you lads?"

"Not much," Frodo admitted. "He said that he and the others were traveling to the Sea and had stopped here for a while. Have you ever heard the song?"

"We did. It was very faint, but it was so beautiful…" Frodo closed his eyes, almost able to hear the haunting song in his mind. "I think there were words in it, but I couldn’t catch them."

"And everyone stopped to listen," Merry added. "The Elves looked…I don’t know…" he unsuccessfully searched for the right word.

Bilbo smiled and shook his head, amazed at his nephews’ extraordinary encounter. "Well, I wish that I had been there," he said. "Although I still say it’s too early."

It was not long before the subject turned toward more immediately important things -- like the upcoming Festival. When Bilbo announced that they would be leaving right after breakfast, Merry was immediately flying into Daisy's room to wake her, followed only slightly more slowly by Pippin. Frodo went into his room to dress, while Bilbo did the same.

As Daisy’s eyes began to open, Merry gently brushed back the dark curls from her face. "Daisy?" he said softly. "Wake up!" The little lass mumbled something unintelligible, and turned over onto her side. Merry looked crestfallen for a moment, and then an impish grin spread over his face.

"Oh, blast," he said, sitting at the edge of the bed. "If Daisy won’t wake up, we can’t go to the festival."

"We’ll miss all the food, and games," Pippin added eagerly, catching on to Merry’s game. "And presents and…food…"

One of Daisy’s eyes opened. Then, slowly, the other. She turned over onto her back, but Merry and Pippin paid no heed to her, and continued to describe the wonderful things at the Yuletide Festival.

"…and there’s Mrs. Cotton’s peach cobbler," Merry said dreamily. "And Mrs. Gamgee’s raspberry tarts…"

"And don’t forget about Miss Proudfoot’s strawberry custard!" Pippin licked his lips at the thought.

Merry sighed and rested his head on Pippin’s shoulder. "I can almost taste it now."

Pippin pushed him off. "But what about the pie-eating contest? We can’t eat anything until we do that."

Merry grinned. "All right, after I beat all of you at the pie-eating contest. Then we’ll eat the custard…and the tarts…"

Daisy sat up, her green eyes sparkling as the rising sun’s light filtered in through the window. "Mer," she said, tugging on his sleeve. "Daisy wan’ go to festible too!"

Merry turned to look down at the girl, acting surprised. "Oh, hullo, Daisy," he said. "I didn’t know you were awake!"

Daisy’s eyes were serious. "Daisy wan’ go to the festible an’ eat pie!" she repeated.

"Well, of course," Merry assured her. "Now that you’re awake, we can go get ready! Come on, let’s go have breakfast!"

Pippin whooped enthusiastically and went out the door in a blur of color. Merry let Daisy climb onto his back, and they followed his cousin into the kitchen, breakfast now the most important thing on their minds.

After what seemed like an eternity to the eager young hobbits, noon actually came, and with it, the Festival! Daisy was dressed in her beautiful new dress, and Mrs. Gamgee had kindly offered to do her hair. Merry was in his best yellow waistcoat and, under strict orders from his parents, forced to wear thick leather gloves and his new woolen scarf, which itched his neck terribly.

Pippin was also in his best green waistcoat, along with his scarf and gloves, all of which he found most uncomfortable. Frodo wore a deep sapphire colored waistcoat, similar to the one he’d worn at the birthday party, and the same winter gear as the younger two. Bilbo wore an ornately embroidered cranberry waistcoat, thick dark leather gloves, and a warm winter coat.

Once they had gotten all of this troublesome clothing on, they at last left Bag End and walked (well, in Merry, Pippin and Daisy’s case, ran) down the Hill towards the marketplace, where the sounds of the Festival floated up to them.

They met the Gamgees along the way, also dressed in their best, and Frodo quickened his pace to keep up with Sam and his brothers, leaving the adults coming much more slowly behind.

"Did you hear ’bout the pie-eatin’ contest, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam’s oldest brother, Hamson excitedly. "I plan on winnin’."

Frodo laughed. "Well, you’ll be up against Merry and Pippin," he pointed out. "And while Gamgees may be able to eat a lot, and quickly, I don’t know that they could beat a Brandybuck or a Took!"

Frodo smiled. "I don’t think so, Sam. I’m afraid a Baggins doesn’t stand a chance against Gamgees, Brandybucks and Tooks."

"Not to mention Bolgers!" Halfred, the second-oldest Gamgee lad put in. "I hear Fatty hasn’t eaten for three days!" He shook his head. "I can’t even imagine missin’ one meal, let alone all of ’em three days straight!"

"Well, then Merry and Pippin will be hard-pressed to win," said Frodo. "I just hope for their sakes that they don’t ruin their appetite for your mother’s raspberry tarts!"

All four lads licked their lips in delight at the very thought and sped up as the wonderful aroma of food drifted up to them. They turned around and waved farewell to the slow adults, and then eagerly raced the remaining distance to the marketplace.

The Festival was already in full swing when they reached it, and Merry, Pippin and Daisy were nowhere to be seen. Hamson and Halfred headed off immediately to get ready for the pie-eating contest, which was always one of the first events of the day. Sam and Frodo strolled leisurely past the various booths, looking at the beads, ribbons, rugs, jewelry and other items for sale.

Finding nothing that they wanted – at least, not yet – they decided to head for the pie-eating contest. Neither of them were entering, but Frodo thought it best if he came to keep an eye on Daisy, as well as to give support to Merry and Pippin.

It took a long while to make their way through the crowd, and when they finally got to the wooden platform where the tables were being set up, both were hot and uncomfortable in their warm winter clothes. They spotted Merry and Pippin sitting on the steps that led up to the platform, and went over to them.

Following his gaze, Frodo saw Emmaretta Took and Rosie Cotton, weaving ribbons into little Daisy’s hair. Pippin smirked. "Miss Emmaretta was asking about you, Frodo," he said teasingly. "She wants to talk to you." Giving his younger cousin a playful swat on the shoulder, Frodo and Sam approached the giggling, chattering girls.

"Happy Yule to you both!" Emmaretta returned, as Daisy ran into Frodo’s open arms. "Where have you been?"

Frodo picked Daisy up and set her on his shoulders, much to the little girl’s delight. "Around," he said with a smile. "But how did you two end up with this one?"

Right on cue, Daisy reached down and covered his eyes with her small hands. "Guess who?" she said with a sly smile at the other two girls, who covered chuckles behind their hands.

Frodo picked Daisy off his shoulders and held her in front of him. "It is Daisy!" he laughed.

The lass giggled. "How you know?" Frodo set her down and tickled her round belly. "I just know," he said mysteriously.

"Oh yes," Emmaretta laughed. "That’s Frodo Baggins all over! Wisest hobbit in the Shire!"

Frodo narrowed his eyes at her. "If I didn't know you better, Miss Took, I'd say that there was a bit of sarcasm in that statement of yours."

Emmaretta widened her eyes. "Me?" she asked incredulously. "Sarcastic? Never!"

Sam, who had been silent through this good-natured banter, now spoke up. "Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Frodo," he said. "But the pie-eatin’ contest is startin’ now."

All heads turned back to the platform, where the contestants were sitting down at their tables. "Come on, Daisy," said Frodo, putting the girl up on his shoulders again. "We have to go watch Merry and Pippin beat Fatty Bolger."

"You think they’ll beat him?" Emmaretta asked, as all five of them made their way towards the platform. "I don’t think even a Took could beat a Bolger who’s starved himself for three days."

Rosie shrugged. "Well, just look at 'im! He looks like he’s ready to devour the table and chairs if those pies don’t come soon." Sam looked up at his older brother and grinned. It was true; Hamson did look quite eager.

"I still say Fatty Bolger will win," said Emmaretta. "But that other one, Johnny Proudfoot, I think his name is. He looks like he might have a chance."

Frodo looked at the contestants one at a time. "I'm to bet on Pippin," he said. "Tooks have the largest appetites of all, especially that one. He could clean out every pantry in Tuckborough!"

As they finally reached the platform, Mayor Whitfoot gave the signal, and the first pies were placed in front of the six contestants. Their hands tied behind their backs, they each dove headfirst into the blueberry pies in front of them.

Pippin was the first to finish as much of the pie as he could scrape out of the tin, and another one was quickly set before him. Fatty was only a split-second behind him, followed closely by Merry, Hamson, Halfred, and Johnny Proudfoot.

This time, Fatty was the first to finish his second pie, followed by Pippin, Merry, Halfred, Johnny, and Hamson. Again, the contestants dove face-first into their pies, and Fatty won again. He won the next two rounds, while Halfred and Johnny dropped out, unable to eat any more.

On the sixth pie, Hamson dropped out, and Merry took the lead. Pippin couldn’t bring himself to finish the last bite, and he dropped out as well. Emmaretta shot a smug glance at Frodo, who merely shrugged and continued to watch.

It was down to the last pie, and both remaining contestants were nearly finished. Both were chewing slowly now, no doubt feeling quite sick, but they were nearly tied. Then, suddenly, Fatty groaned and pushed the pie away, as Merry took the last bite.

The crowd went wild with applause and cheers, and Daisy bounced on Frodo’s shoulders. A blue ribbon was pinned to Merry’s coat, and after wiping off their pie-covered faces, he and Pippin stumbled down the steps of the platform.

Frodo and the others congratulated them, but both went slightly green and dashed off towards the nearest bushes. When they emerged, still looking pale and sick, Frodo offered to carry Merry, who looked by far the worst. His young cousin was feeling far too ill to protest, and after giving Daisy to Emmaretta, Frodo hoisted him up onto his back and they made their way through the crowd, trying to find Bilbo. Pippin walked between Rosie and Sam, not as sick as Merry, but certainly not his usual bouncy self.

The group took a detour past the booths, where the girls bought a few necklaces and ribbons, and then finally spotted Bilbo on the outskirts of the marketplace. He was holding a plate full of assorted cookies, tarts, and a few slices of pie. "Hullo, lads," he said cheerfully, then seeing Emmaretta and Rosie, "And lasses. Enjoying yourselves?" Everyone nodded enthusiastically, except Merry and Pippin, who groaned.

Bilbo chuckled as he noticed their pale faces. "I heard that Merry won the pie-eating contest," he said. "Well, I hope you two aren’t too full to have some of these treats I’ve got. Cookies, and raspberry tarts, and…"

Merry and Pippin’s eyes widened and the older one slid off of Frodo’s back with a groan.

The others laughed as Merry and Pippin raced to the bushes at the edge of the marketplace.

Chapter Twenty-Five: A Letter Long Awaited

Sam Gamgee wearily set down his hoe and wiped the sweat from his brow. The warm Spring sun beat down upon him, and he was exhausted – but there was nowhere in Middle-Earth he’d rather be. Here, in the garden of Bag End, he was happiest. Every flower, herb, vegetable and tree was tended to with the greatest care and joy. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else so enjoyable.

Although, even Sam had to admit, it was getting rather warm.

"Just take a little break," he muttered to himself, sitting down in the grass beneath a small oak tree. He looked over at the freshly tilled plot of soil where he was going to plant this year’s vegetable garden. The seed packets were lying beside the shovel, ready to be planted. Tomatoes and greenbeans, carrots and peas… It made his mouth water just thinking about the delicious, homegrown vegetables.

"Sam!"

A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Frodo coming out of Bag End, a pitcher of lemonade and two cups in his hands. He smiled as he saw Sam, and coming over, sat down beside him in the shade of the tree.

"I thought you might be getting hot out here," said Frodo as he set down the cups and poured the lemonade, ignoring Sam’s offers to do it. "And it seems that I was right. Here." He handed Sam the cup, and the young gardener took it gratefully.

"Thank you, Mr. Frodo." He took a long gulp of the lemonade, savoring the tangy-sweetness of its flavor. "Have you heard back from the Elves yet, sir?"

Frodo laughed and took a gulp of his own lemonade. "Sam, you ask me that every day," he pointed out teasingly. "No, we haven’t heard back yet. Uncle Bilbo did say that it may take a while – Lindir’s been out in the wilds lately." He patted his friend’s shoulder. "But don’t worry, Sam. I promise, the instant we get the letter back, I’ll tell you."

Sam finished his lemonade and smiled gratefully at his friend. "Thank you, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo poured him some more, and took another sip of his own. "Uncle Bilbo was thinking about taking us fishing later today. He’s going to go ask the Gaffer if you can come."

Sam’s eyes widened excitedly. "I hope he’ll say yes!" Then suddenly he sobered and his cheeks turned red. "Oh, but Mr. Frodo, I’m not very good at fishin’. Remember the campin’ trip we took with Mr. Milo? I didn’t catch aught but a stick."

Frodo laughed. "Don’t worry, Sam. You just need practice. You’ll get better."

Another familiar voice interrupted their pleasant conversation.

"So, the rich Baggins lad spends his time with a gardener’s son, does he?"

Both Frodo and Sam jumped to their feet to see Ted Sandyman leaning idly against the garden fence. Frodo rolled his eyes. "Go find someone else to bother, Ted," he said.

Ted chortled and stayed where he was. "Are ya that desperate?" he said with a sneer. "You and that Uncle o’ yours are so queer, I’ll bet Sam’s the only one who’ll have ya."

Frodo clenched his fists. Insults to himself he could take in good grace, but insults to Sam and their friendship he could not bear. He walked over to the fence and firmly crossed his arms across his chest. "What business is it of yours who my friends are?" he demanded, giving Ted a fierce glare that should have warned him to stop.

But Ted ignored it, and gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Rather prickly today, aren’t 'ee? Can’t I even comment without getting in trouble?"

"If you ever simply commented. Haven’t you anything better to do? Shouldn’t you be working with your father at the mill?"

Ted grinned and lazily shook his head. "Nope. Today’s me day off."

"What do you want, Sandyman?" Sam spoke up, coming over to stand a step behind Frodo.

"Oh, the lofty Samwise deigns to speak with me?" Ted exclaimed in mock-reverence. "I’m honored!" He smirked and looked Sam over. "Well, you think you’re mighty fine, don’tcha, Sam? Runnin’ with rich lads who ain’t got nothin’ better ta do."

Frodo stepped in front of Sam. "Leave him alone, Sandyman," he said firmly, with a look that clearly dared Ted to push his luck. He did.

"An’ now you got ta be protected by your master, eh, Sam?" he sneered. "Can’t stand up for yerself, can ya?"

Sam swallowed and stepped forward beside Frodo. "Of course he can, Sandyman," Frodo answered. "He’s not afraid of you. But he knows better than to waste energy on an idle fool who has nothing better to do than torment those smaller than him." Sam looked up in surprise at his master; he’d never seen him speak so forcefully to anyone before.

Ted was surprised as well, and it took him a moment to think up a response. "A fool, am I?" he finally said. "You’re one to talk of fools. At least I don’t spend my time with my head up in the clouds, dreaming about Elves and dragons and nonsense; the only time you live in the real world is when you need help. At least I do a hard day’s work." He smiled as he found this new approach. "You’ve never done a lick of work in yer life, have you?"

Frodo opened his mouth to reply, but instead it was Sam who angrily retorted, "Of course Mr. Frodo works! He’s helped me in the garden, an’ he can cook, an’ he helps Mr. Bilbo translatin’ Elvish near every day." Frodo squeezed Sam’s hand gratefully, but Ted snorted.

"Cookin’ an’ writin’ ain’t work. I mean real work. Work that makes ya sweat."

Sam again began to reply, but Ted cut him off. "Now it’s the servant protectin’ the master, eh? What’s the matter, Baggins? Cat got your tongue?"

"You’re right, Sandyman," Frodo replied after a moment. "I haven’t worked hard. I don’t know what it’s like." Ted smirked, but Frodo went on. "But you’re wrong when you say that I don’t live in the real world. I watched my parents die before my eyes. You do not think that is reality?" Sam looked up and saw that Frodo’s eyes sparked with the intensity of his words, although tears shone in their sapphire depths. "You don’t know the full meaning of reality."

Ted was taken aback once more, and Frodo continued. "I am aware enough to know who my friends are, and to know the difference between someone who is cowardly, and someone who is brave – something you know nothing about, Sandyman."

At last Ted was able to reply, with a punch that landed on Frodo’s jaw and sent him stumbling back a few steps. "So I’m a spineless coward, am I?" he snarled. "I’m braver than you, Baggins. Come on, let me see how brave you are!"

Frodo pressed a hand against his throbbing jaw and glared at Ted. "And how would you have me prove that?" he asked through clenched teeth. "By getting drawn into a fight? Not likely, Ted. I'd no better than you if I did."

Sam, who was shocked speechless for a moment, now jumped over the fence and landed a punch that sent Ted sprawling. "Come on, Sandyman," he growled. "Come and show me how brave you are."

Ted pressed his sleeve against his bleeding nose and stood up, glaring fiercely at Sam and Frodo. He stood there for a moment, and then took to his heels and ran, stumbling, down the Hill and out of sight.

Sam stared down at his own clenched fists in astonishment. His shock rooted him to the spot for a moment, and then a soft moan from Frodo brought him quickly back to reality. He hopped back over the fence and rushed to his master’s side, as Frodo was sitting down in the grass, rubbing his sore jaw.

"That’ll leave a nasty bruise," Frodo remarked. "Goodness, he’s got hard fists."

Sam gently pried Frodo’s fingers from his chin and lightly touched the rapidly forming bruise, stopping when he caught his master’s slight wince. "We’d best put some ice on it," he said. "It’s startin’ to swell."

"Thank you, Sam," Frodo said softly as the gardener helped him to his feet.

"Just doin’ my job, sir," Sam mumbled, blushing.

Frodo shook his head as the two gathered the lemonade pitcher and cups. "It was more than that and you know it."

"Well, ’twas nothin’ you wouldn’t ’a done for me," Sam insisted stubbornly.

Frodo smiled and did not argue, and they headed inside. As they opened the door, they nearly collided with Bilbo who was on his way out. "Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, catching sight of Frodo’s bruised and swelling jaw. "What’s happened?"

Without waiting for a reply, he ushered them into the kitchen to get some ice. While he wrapped the ice in a towel and gently pressed it against Frodo’s chin, Sam told him what had happened, faltering a bit when he came to his own actions, which Frodo made sure to tell.

Bilbo shook his head, leading them into the sitting room and forcing Frodo down onto the sofa. "Will that Ted Sandyman ever learn?" he said as he examined Frodo’s chin. "Sit still, lad, this will only take a moment. Goodness, he hit you hard, didn’t he?"

Frodo nodded, cringing as Bilbo pressed on his bruises. "But Sam hit him back even harder."

Sam blushed and looked down. "I didn’t mean to, Mr. Bilbo, sir," he stammered. "But when he hurt Mr. Frodo –"

Bilbo cut him off. "I know, Sam, it’s all right. You two didn’t start the fight, and you were only defending yourselves. Hopefully you’ve given him something to think about, and he won’t bother you for a while."

***

Later that afternoon, Bilbo, Frodo and Sam headed out toward the Water with their fishing poles over their shoulders, merrily singing one of Bilbo’s favorite walking songs together. The swelling of Frodo’s jaw had gone down, leaving nothing but a large and rather colorful bruise, which did nothing to dampen his high-spirits. They tramped through the woods that surrounded the river, taking the round-about way, and then Bilbo took his time choosing just the right spot to fish.

"My father was an expert fisherman, you know," he said as they walked along the bank. "He took me out fishing all the time when I was a lad. Ah! Here we are!" He stopped beneath a large old willow tree, which bent over the water, creating a veil around them.

"It’s beautiful!" Frodo breathed as he ran his hand along the smooth grey bark of the old tree and looking up at its trailing branches. The soft green leaves formed a thick canopy above them, whispering softly in the cool Spring breeze. The weeping branches hung down into the water, swaying gently.

"It is, isn’t it?" Bilbo agreed as he readied their fishing gear. "My father picked this place out years ago, and my mother liked to read here. Their initials are carved on the other side."

Frodo and Sam walked around to the other side of the trunk, and there indeed were the letters ‘B. B. & B. T,’ and beneath them, ‘1285’. As Frodo read the carvings aloud, Bilbo explained, "1285 was the year they became engaged." There were a few moments of silence, broken only by the whispering of the breeze and the soft song of a water bird, and then Bilbo broke it. "Well, are you lads going to help me set up our fishing poles or not?"

Frodo and Sam were snapped out of their dreamlike state, and with exchanged smiles, they went over to the water’s edge to help Bilbo.

Once their lines had been cast, there was nothing to do but wait. And wait. And wait…

Bilbo was beginning to drop off to sleep when a surprised cry from Sam startled him back to the present. He blinked and saw Frodo and Sam, knee-deep in the water, struggling to reel in what must be a large fish. "Uncle Bilbo, help!" Frodo laughed, holding tightly to Sam’s middle to keep the younger hobbit from being pulled further out into the water.

Laughing, Bilbo splashed out into the water with them and keeping his arms securely around Frodo’s waist, he planted his feet in the mud and helped them pull back. It took all of their combined efforts, but with difficulty, they managed to drag the fish to shore. It was huge, probably bigger than the fish Merry had caught on the camping trip and in the stream, and it barely fit in one of the buckets they’d brought along.

"Good catch, Sam!" Frodo congratulated him as they sat down, laughing and panting, on the bank. "And I thought you said you didn’t fish very well!"

Sam looked down at the fish in the pail. "I guess I was just fishin’ in the wrong spots."

Bilbo nodded, taking a gulp of water from his canteen. "This is the best place in the Shire," he agreed. "The big fish like to come here in the shade of the willow tree, and hardly anyone ever comes to bother them."

"Well, this one will make a tasty meal," Frodo said with a smile. "I don’t know if we shall even need to catch any more!"

"Oh come now," Bilbo snorted, helping Sam cast his fishing line again. "We’ll need more than one if we want enough for the Gamgees and you and I, Frodo."

Within about a half an hour, they had caught two more fish, each about half the size of Sam’s, and then they decided to head back. Sam triumphantly swinging the bucket full of fish, they sang cheerfully again, this time "Upon the Hearth," another favorite of Bilbo’s.

Reaching Bagshot Row, Sam went home with his fish, while Frodo and Bilbo continued on to Bag End. As they put away their fishing poles, Frodo had a sudden thought. "Uncle Bilbo? Can I go to the post office and see if the letter from Lindir has arrived yet? Sam’s about to go mad with impatience."

Bilbo chuckled and shut the closet door behind them. "Of course," he said. "But hurry back. I’m going to start cooking these fish! You wouldn’t want to miss out."

Frodo grinned and licked his lips at the thought. "I’ll be as quick as I can," he promised, and then ran out the door. He hurried down the Hill and cut across the marketplace; the post office was located at the edge of it. A little bell hanging on the door-handle jingled as he entered, and the postmaster, Tobias Banks, looked up. He was only just come-of-age, and had taken over the duties of postmaster from his father, who had just retired, much to Tobias’ dismay.

"Hullo, Toby," Frodo greeted him cheerfully, coming up to the counter.

Tobias went back to sorting envelopes. "Hullo," he replied shortly. He did not much like the "cracked" Bagginses of Bag End (a dislike he had inherited from his father), and he was not in the mood to even pretend to be polite today.

Frodo was used to Tobias’ rudeness, and had learned to ignore it. "Have you any letters for Uncle Bilbo and I today?" he asked with a bright smile. Tobias did not return it, but muttered something unintelligible under his breath and slowly walked to the back room to check for letters.

Just then, the little bell on the door rang again, and the blacksmith, Ned Hornblower, entered. Instantly, Tobias hurried back out, all cheerful smiles and eagerness to help. "What can I do for you today, Mr. Hornblower?"

Ned glanced at Frodo. "Weren’t ’ee helpin’ Mr. Frodo? I don’t want ta interrupt. I can wait."

Frodo smiled and shook his head. "No, Mr. Hornblower, it’s all right. Go ahead."

Ned tipped his cap gratefully. "Thank’ee kindly, Mr. Frodo." He placed a large parcel, which he’d been carrying in his arms, on the counter. "How much would it cost ta send this o’er to me relatives up in Quarry?"

Frodo waited patiently as Ned and Tobias discussed the postage price, tapping his fingers softly against the counter. His eyes traveled the small room and eventually came to rest on a jar full of fine quill pens, and beside them, a large group of inkpots, neatly placed upon a low shelf. He walked over and picked up a quill pen, running his fingers lightly over the edges of the feather. Putting it back in the jar, he looked at the inkpots. Both he and Bilbo were constantly running out of ink and good pens, with all their writing.

He picked out two fine quill pens and a large inkpot and returned to the counter, where Ned was handing Tobias the money. "Thank you, Mr. Hornblower," the postmaster said brightly. "Have a nice day."

Ned tipped his cap. "Thank you as well, Mr. Banks, and a good day to you." He looked at Frodo with a grin, and tipped his cap to him as well. "An’ a good day ta you, too, Mr. Frodo."

"Good day, Mr. Hornblower," Frodo returned as Ned left the shop. Then he turned to Tobias. "Right, then. I believe you were checking to see if Uncle Bilbo and I have any letters." Tobias’ cheerful smile vanished, and sighing, he returned to the back room.

A moment later, he returned, carrying several letters in his hands, which he laid down on the counter. Frodo looked them over and his face lit up with a smile as he came to a smooth, silky white envelope, unlike the ones hobbits used, with beautiful flowing script addressed to Bilbo. He set it on top of the others. "Thank you, Toby. And I’d also like to buy this inkpot and pens. How much are they?"

Tobias looked down at the pens and inkpot placed on the counter. "Very well," he said. "That’ll be six shillings, if you please." Frodo reached into his breeches-pocket and brought out the desired amount of money, and then gathered the letters, pens and inkpot and left the post office.

‘Goodness, Toby was in a worse mood than usual,’ he thought as he headed up the Hill. Reaching Bag End, he shifted the letters, pens and inkpot onto one arm and opened the door.

"I’m back, Uncle," he called, shutting the door behind him and coming into sitting room. He placed the quill pens and inkpot on the table, and went in the kitchen to find Bilbo hard at work preparing the fish.

"Ah, hullo Frodo," Bilbo said, looking up as his nephew entered. "It took you long enough."

Frodo smiled. "I had to wait. But I bought some new pens and an inkpot."

"Good, I just used the last of the ink."

Frodo held up the letters. "And Lindir has finally written back," he said excitedly. "I suppose you’d like to read it before I give it to Sam?"

Bilbo wiped his hands on a towel and hurried over. Frodo handed him the letter, while opening one of his own, from Merry. Bilbo sat down on the sitting room sofa to read his, while Frodo remained leaning on the doorway of the kitchen.

After a few minutes of silence, Bilbo got up. "Well, Lindir’s going out into the Wilds again; he didn’t really have much to say to me. But I imagine Sam will enjoy the part of the letter addressed to him."

Frodo set his own letter down and took the one Bilbo handed him. "Lindir wrote to him? Good, he’ll be thrilled! I promised him I’d give it to him right away."

Bilbo returned to the fish. "Well, then you’d best go now."

Frodo was already heading for the door. "Don’t worry, Uncle," he called. "I’ll be back in time for supper!"

Frodo raced down toward #3 Bagshot Row and nearly collided with Sam, who was coming up the Hill.

"Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo," he apologized. "Wasn’t watchin’ where I was goin’. I left one of me shovels up at Bag End, an’ I was just goin’ to fetch it."

"But Sam, Lindir’s letter has arrived!" Frodo was breathless and bright-eyed with excitement.

Sam’s eyes widened. "The letter’s here? From the Elves?" he asked, as though unable to believe that the letter he’d waited months for had finally arrived.

"Yes!" Frodo grabbed his hand and pulled him over to sit down in the shade of a large tree. "Here, read it."

Sam reverently ran his fingers over the silken paper, tracing the elegant flowing script. Tears of joy filled his eyes and his hands shook as he held the letter. But suddenly he swallowed hard and gave the letter back to Frodo. "No, Mr. Frodo," he said softly. "You read it – I can’t."

Frodo was about to protest, but catching the pleading look in Sam’s eyes, decided against it. "All right, Sam, if you insist," he said instead. The two settled down comfortably in the long soft grass against the smooth bole of the tree. Sam rested his head on his master’s shoulder in indescribable bliss, and Frodo slipped an arm around him and hugged him tight, grinning with happiness for his friend. Then, skipping down the page to the part addressed to Sam, he began to read:

"‘Greetings, Samwise, Elf-friend,

‘Bilbo has sent me your poem and told me about your desire to see Elves. Rest assured that your work is being sung throughout the halls of Imladris, Rivendell, as you call it. Seldom have I heard of mortals with such a gift with verse.

‘As I have heard that you enjoy learning songs and verses, I am sending along one of our own songs, translated into the Common Tongue.

‘’Tis merry in greenwood – thus runs the old lay, –

In the gladsome month of lively May,

When the wild birds’ song on stem and spray

Invites to forest bower;

Then rears the ash his airy crest,

And the beech in glistening leaves is drest,

And dark between shows the oak’s proud breast,

Like a chieftain’s frowning tower;

Though a thousand branches join their screen,

Yet the broken sunbeams glance between,

And tip the leaves with lighter green,

With brighter tints the flowers;

Dull is the heart that loves not then

The deep recess of the wildwood glen,

When roe and red-deer find sheltering den,

When the sun is in her power.*’

‘That song was written long ago by a young Elf to pass the time as he hunted in Greenwood the Great, now called Mirkwood. It has been passed down many generations and is now a favorite among Elf children here in Rivendell, although I find it pleasant, myself.

‘I believe that you will get your wish, Samwise, and see Elves someday soon. You are a most unusual hobbit, much like dear Bilbo, and I admire your talent with words. I hope that our paths may cross someday, that I may have the honor of meeting an Elf-friend.

‘May the stars shine upon your face.

~ Lindir’

**** The End ****

*Lindir's song is not my own creation; it is a poem called "'Tis Merry in Greenwood," by Walter Scott. I merely borrowed it, and no copyright infringement is intended (I only changed one tiny thing, from "the sun is in HIS power" to "the sun is in HER power", as the Elves – correct me if I’m wrong – referred to the sun as ‘she.’).

Thanks for reading -- I hope to have the sequel, "Always a Silver Lining" up soon. Please review and let me know what you think! :)

What Could Possibly Happen? by Tathar