What to do when the writing's going slow? Post an "oldie-but-goodie", I suppose.

From the original "Author's Notes":

This is one of my first fanfics; I think I wrote it when I got bored in the middle of "Jewels" and needed a change of pace. I find if I work on at least two stories at a time I don't get writer's block, odd, eh?

Anyhow, this is different from what I usually write in that it is AU. (Jewels is unintentionally AU, in that I mis-read Estella's birthdate and made her the same age as Diamond and don't feel up to the challenge of fixing all the parts in Jewels I'd have to fix to make her the proper age-- so she gets to live every? mature woman's dream, and is ten years younger than she ought to be.)

The premise, to get back to my point before it eludes me forever due to chocolate overdose, is that Hobbits are not invited to sail with the Elves. Uh-uh, sorry, so long, it's been good to know you, I've got to be moving along. (Paraphrase of Elrond's last goodbye, didn't know he listened to Country Western music, did you? Neither do I, usually. Come to think of it, I'm not sure that *is* CW music, but it could be. Or perhaps it is folk music, the great love of my life. But let us not diverge...)

It does not help that a peevish Alsatian (German shepherd) weighing 120 lbs keeps trying to climb into my lap because the children are playing outside and she was not invited.

Anyhow, Frodo and Bilbo stay in Middle-earth, without the option the Ring-bearers had in Professor Tolkien's work. Oh, and there's another little plot twist, but I wouldn't want to give it away too soon.

Much of the text in Chapter 1 comes from the original work, probably from "Scouring of the Shire" but there may also be some from "The Grey Havens", I put the book down earlier and cannot find it at the moment. The plot twist is my own little invention. At least I think it is. At least I think I think. Chocolate can be so muddling. Bear with me.

From the original summary: AU story: Premise: Frodo does not sail West with the elves, and there's a little plot twist in the bargain... but the characters are still as true to Tolkien as I could make them.

Chapter 1. Home Again

'And that's the end of that,' said Sam. 'A nasty end, and I wish I needn't have seen it; but it's a good riddance.'

'And the very last end of the War, I hope,' said Merry.

'I hope so,' Frodo said, and sighed. 'The very last stroke.'

And, but for the mess, it seemed as if all there was left to do was the clearing up. To be true, there was an awful lot of clearing up to be done, but hobbits can work like bees if they've a mind to, and with many willing hands the Shire came to look more like itself as the winter passed into spring.

Though Frodo agreed to act as Deputy Mayor until Old Will Whitfoot could recover from his stay at the Lockholes, the only thing he did was to reduce the Shirriffs to their proper numbers and functions. Otherwise, he spent much of his time seeing to the planning of and setting to the labours of repair to Bag End and seeing to the construction of the New Row. He stayed at the Cottons, where he was well cared for, until Bag End was quite restored to its old comfort.

Samwise married his Rose in the Spring of 1420, and at the urging of Mr Frodo, the two moved in with him at Bag End. Wise he was at that, for there was not a hobbit in the Shire who was looked after with more care than they took of Mr Frodo.

That mid-summer, Frodo was happy to resign the office of Deputy Mayor and relinquish the duties to old Will; he was glad to have time again to spend writing and going through his notes. Though his cousins Merry and Pippin still rode like knights of old about the Shire, Frodo had quickly gone back to ordinary attire, and quietly dropped out of all the doings of the Shire.

'I have quite enough to keep me busy here, Sam,' he'd say whenever Sam tried to get him to come down to the Dragon for a pint, or go to a festive event, or even to the Cottons for Sunday dinner.

'Don't press him, Sam,' wise Rose would say. 'He's making up for lost time, being without his home for so many months and all.' It soon seemed natural to Sam to go off about his business and leave Frodo puttering about the study and other rooms at Bag End. Rosie had been quite shy, at first, but now she treated Frodo as a member of the family, something like her bachelor uncle who still lived at the Cotton farm, and sometimes Sam would come in to find them chatting companionably over a cup of tea in the kitchen.

Summer of 1420 slipped by into autumn, one golden day following another; all things now went well, with hope always of becoming still better, when a shadow of the old troubles appeared. One evening Sam came into the study and found his master looking very strange, pale, with eyes that seemed to look into a far distance.

A vague anxiety that had haunted Sam now came to active life. 'What's the matter, Mr Frodo?' he asked.

'I am wounded,' his master answered, 'wounded; it will never really heal.'

But then he got up, shook his head as if to clear it, saying, 'I'm sorry, Samwise, I was half in a dream when you came in just now.' He was quite himself the next day. Later, Sam recalled that the date was October the Sixth, two years after the attack at Weathertop.

Mr Frodo was quieter after that, and seemed thoughtful, but he did not choose to share his thoughts with Sam, and Sam did not presume to ask.

Rosie brought up the subject one night after they had retired to their room. 'What's the matter with Mr Frodo?' she asked.

'What makes you say that?' Sam replied, but the vague anxiety that was always in the back of his brain stirred to brighter life.

'He's so thoughtful, these days, as if something's troubling him,' Rose said. 'But he always says he's fine when I ask.'

'I don't know, Rose. Maybe it's the grey weather we're having of late.'

'Aye, that's probably it,' Rose said, but Sam could see doubts in her eyes, as if she harboured the same kind of elusive worry that haunted Sam. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something... different about Mr Frodo these days.

Then one day, he came into the kitchen, wiping mud from his feet and hanging his soggy cloak by the fire. He was glad to take the cup of tea Rose had ready for him, and sat down at the table with them where dinner was already on the plates. They had started without him, for he was late in coming home, but he fell to with a will and was soon halfway through his portion as Frodo and Rose were finishing theirs.

'No drought this year, I'm glad to see. Looks like it'll be a wet winter, straight through.'

'Do you think we'll have snow?' Rose asked. 'It's been so mild of late.'

'I wouldn't rule it out,' Sam started to say. 'It's always poss...' his voice trailed off.

Frodo followed Sam's stare... he could clearly see the outline of the teacup through his hand. What was happening to him?

'Rose,' he said slowly, 'I think I'd better have a second helping of your meat and mushroom pie. I seem to be disappearing from hunger.'

Chapter 2. Old Ring-bearers Never Die...

'What do you think it is, Mr Frodo?' Sam asked, troubled.

'I don't know, Sam. I think it started on the Sixth, that day when everything seemed to be fading away around me. I thought I saw a hint of transparency about the remaining fingers on my right hand, but I dismissed it as a wild fancy, brought on by the dark thoughts I'd been thinking.' He sighed, and held up his hand. Though Sam could see the hand, he could also see the outline of Mr Frodo's face behind it.

'Is it going to get worse?'

Frodo sighed. 'I only wish I knew, Sam,' he admitted honestly. He gestured around the study, and Sam could see that many books had been pulled down from the shelves, lying atop one another, all opened, in untidy piles. 'I haven't been able to find anything about this sort of thing in any of the books Bilbo left.'

'Does it... does it feel... different?'

'No, that's the funny thing. My hand doesn't look as if it's all there, but it feels as solid as anything. Go ahead,' Frodo urged, holding out his hand to Sam. 'Go on,' he said, 'give it a shake.'

Sam reached out to touch the nebulous hand. It felt solid enough. When he closed his eyes, he'd swear it was a hand like any other. He grasped it tightly, and Frodo squeezed back firmly. Sam opened his eyes to look, and could see right through Frodo's hand to his own fingers. He let go again hastily.

'It's just the same hand, Sam,' Frodo said urgently. 'It only looks different.' He met Sam's frightened eyes. 'Sam,' he soothed. 'I'm still the same Frodo.' Guessing the other's fear, he smiled. 'I'm not turning into a wraith, Sam. I'd know. I remember what it felt like, cold somehow, but I'm perfectly warm. Go ahead, feel my hand.'

Sam reached out again. Frodo's right hand was warm, living flesh, unlike the left hand all those fearful nights and days in Rivendell, after Weathertop. Samwise drew back, puzzlement showing in his face. 'What do you make of it, Mr Frodo?'

Frodo shook his head. 'I'm sure I don't know. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.'

As the days passed, Frodo took to wearing a glove on his right hand. It made it easier for Sam and Rose to put the fading hand out of mind. As the rest of him continued quite substantial, they soon grew used to the gloved hand and paid it no mind. As for Frodo, he stayed even closer to home after that, except for when Merry and Pippin visited, and were able to pry him from the house for a ride or walk in the woods, a rare enough occasion given the rainy weather.

One day dawned cold but clear, and Pippin coaxed his older cousins into a ride over the fields and through the woods. 'Come on!' he urged. 'We've been cooped up in Bag End until I have the name of every book in the study memorized.'

'You're joking,' Frodo said, his eyes wandering the shelves. 'Nobody could do that.'

'Watch,' Merry said with a smile. Pippin threw his arm over his eyes and began to recite, and to Frodo's astonishment he named every book on a middle shelf.

'We've got to get you out of here,' Frodo said in a worried tone.

'Great!' Pippin exclaimed, jumping up from his chair. 'I'll go get the ponies ready.'

Once they were well away, Merry and Frodo rode knee to knee while Pippin ranged ahead, singing to the sky.

'He memorized the books on that one shelf to pry me loose, didn't he?' Frodo asked.

Merry looked surprised. 'I wouldn't know,' he confessed. 'It's possible, but it's just as likely he knows them all. You never know what is going to come out of him next.'

'I hear he's cutting quite a swath through the lasses in the area.'

Merry chuckled. 'Yes. If I stick close to him I manage to get quite a few free dinners. He's taking advantage of it while he can. Knowing the Thain, he'll probably be married as soon as he comes of age, in order to secure an heir for the Great Smials, poor lad.'

Frodo eyed him. 'And how about you? Are your parents throwing lasses in your face, hoping for an heir to the Hall?'

Merry was silent, reaching down to stroke his pony's sleek neck.

'I'm sorry, Merry, I didn't mean to hit a sore spot.'

Merry looked up. 'O, it's not that,' he said, then seemed to be searching for the right words. 'My parents and I get along fine. They're so glad to see me come back from the dead, I could do practically anything I wanted and they wouldn't say "Boo". It's just...' Frodo remained silent, but he nodded encouragingly. Merry raised haunted eyes to his. 'What lass in her right mind would want to marry someone touched by Shadow?'

Frodo was stunned. The bright and gay spirit the King had spoken of when healing Merry was hardly evident. 'What do you mean?'

Merry said, 'The War is over, indeed, but the dreams have yet to stop.' Frodo nodded. He had dreams of his own, and sometimes, in the night, he would hear Samwise call out in the next room, and Rosie's soothing voice.

He understood now, why of all his relations, Merry never pressed him about marrying.

'I think...' Frodo said, choosing his words carefully, 'I think that you've got to give it some time. Healing takes time, you know. Even a little cut takes a few days to close, a broken bone takes a few weeks to set. A brush with Shadow might take a bit longer.'

Merry stared at him in astonishment, then broke into laughter. Frodo didn't know what he'd said that was so funny, but he chuckled, Merry's laugh was so contagious, and they rode along comfortably the rest of the way back to Bag End.

***

Author's Notes to original reviewers:

Shirebound: It is good to hear from you! You are one of my all-time favourite fanfic authors, you know!

Xena: Pippin frequently astonishes me, as well. I think he must be the most intelligent hobbit in the Shire... one of those quirky geniuses that pops up in a family... though he has not let it turn his head. ...o, and have you figured out the plot twist yet?

Me: Glad you peeked around the corner. Come on in, the water's fine. Most of my fic is definitely NOT movie based. I know there are avid movie-fans out there, but my first love was the books, I've been reading them for more years than some of my readers have been around. I think I must re-read them once a year, at the least, and I find something new each time. The only story posted on this site that reflects the films is "There and Back", and even there I have tried to stay true to the books, ignoring where the movies diverge.

Dana: It is fun to go back and re-visit the hobbits in their youth. It can be kind of disorienting at first, if you're used to the more mature hobbits in 'Down and Out' and 'Rope'. You have to remember that in this story, Pippin is only... what? 29 or so? I knew at the time I wrote it but I don't feel like figuring it out again right now. Anyhow, he's still very young, and has a bit more growing up to do, Knight of Gondor that he is...

3. Seeing Out the Old Year

At Year's End Samwise put his foot down.

'You can't sit here in Bag End all alone, while everyone else in the Shire is celebrating!'

'Whyever not?' Frodo asked reasonably. 'It's my own way of celebrating, to be tucked up at home, surrounded by comforts.'

'But it's all that you do!'

'Life is a celebration for me, then,' Frodo said quietly. 'Why should that grieve you?'

Samwise shook his head in frustration, shouldering his cloak. 'I'm going to go check on the gaffer and hitch the ponies to the waggon,' he said to Rose. 'I won't be long.'

Rose started to get up to pour more tea, but Frodo waved her back to her seat. 'No, let me.'

She obediently sank down, but shook her head with a smile. 'Samwise treats me as if I'd break at any moment; now don't you start, Mr Frodo.'

'Ah, you'll only be expecting your first once in your lifetime,' Frodo said gently. 'Let yourself be pampered. Once Sam gets used to the idea, it'll be back to the salt mines for you...'

'Go on with you, now, Mr Frodo, you're a terrible tease!' She thanked him as he topped off her cup, and when he'd put the pot back and sat down again, she stared at him over her lifted cup, blowing gently across the top to cool the brew enough to drink.

'What is it, Rose?'

'I wish you'd come with us,' she said softly. 'It means so much to Sam. I don't think he'll feel much like celebrating, knowing you're here alone, and my parents did invite you particularly, you know.'

'I know,' Frodo answered, then looked up with a smile. 'I'm a selfish beast, Rosie, tucked in my lair amongst my treasures. Sam has been so good to me, and he asks so little...'

'Oh, Mr Frodo, don't speak like that--' but he put up a hand to stop her. They sipped their tea in silence until Sam came back to announce that ponies and waggon were ready.

Frodo put down his cup and arose. 'Samwise, if that offer is still open, I've changed my mind. I'd like to come along, if I may.' At the delight in Sam's eyes, Frodo inwardly cursed his own selfishness, and determined to have a fine time at the Cottons' Yuletide celebration, if it killed him to do so.

They piled into the waggon, laughing and joking, then drove the short way to Number Three and waited for Sam to escort the gaffer down the icy path to the waggon. Frodo shouted greetings, and the gaffer grumbled back quite cheerfully, for him.

The celebration at the Cottons' was cheerful, not too noisy, and "just family" as Rosie had said in an earlier attempt to persuade Frodo to come with them. No one pressed Frodo to dance, or to eat, or to play games, or even to make conversation, and he found himself relaxing and even being drawn into the fun.

They saw the Old Year out and the New Year in with much laughter and warmth, ending the party with a hearty breakfast to welcome the dawn. All too soon it was time to get back into the waggon and head back to Bag End. Once again they stopped at Number Three and Sam carefully walked the gaffer back to his door, the latter grumbling all the way. Sam bid his father a cheerful farewell and returned to the waggon.

'I could walk the rest of the way,' Frodo said.

'Might as well ride while you can,' Sam answered equably. 'It's pretty slippery out, and I mean to drive Rosie as near the door as I can.'

They pulled up in front of Bag End and Frodo stepped down from the waggon as Sam went to help Rose down. His foot skidded on a patch of ice, and he missed his hold on the waggon, to fall heavily on the path. Dazed, he heard Sam's exclamation, but he'd had the wind knocked out of him and couldn't speak at first.

'Mr Frodo!' Sam was beside him. 'Mr Frodo, are you hurt?' He felt Sam loosening his shirt to give him more air, and tried to put up his hands to stop him, but it was too late. He could see the dawning horror on Sam's face to see the empty space in the place of Frodo's right shoulder.

Pushing Sam away, he scrambled to his feet, muttering, 'I'm all right,' and went on into Bag End. Sam escorted Rose to the kitchen, where Frodo was hanging up his cloak, then planted himself in front of Frodo with a thunderous face.

'Sam, I--' he tried to say.

'When were you going to tell me, then?' Samwise demanded, in a tone as close to anger as Rose had ever heard him use towards his beloved master. 'Or were you going to wait until you couldn't conceal it no more, and then sneak off somewheres to hide the fact from me?'

'Sam,' Frodo said, his voice grieved, and Rose could see that her husband's words had truly wounded him, 'would you really think that of me? The last time I heard you using that word was talking about...' he didn't have to say the name. Gollum. It hung in the air between them.

Sam fell to his knees in front of Frodo, weeping in distress. 'No, Mr Frodo,' he gulped, 'I never meant...' He covered his face with his hands. 'O Mr Frodo, forgive me, I didn't mean...'

Frodo gently reached down to lift Sam to his feet, drawing him into a long hug. 'There's nothing to forgive,' he whispered. When he felt Sam regain control of himself, he stepped back.

'I was going to tell you,' he said gently. 'I kept putting it off. There never seemed to be a right time.' He paused. 'Well, at least it's out in the open now.' He looked from Sam to Rose and back again. 'Whatever happens, Sam, wherever this thing takes me, I know that we can see it through together.'

At Rose's wince, he chuckled in spite of himself. 'Well, all right, perhaps that was a poor choice of words.' Rose began to giggle, Sam looked at her in astonishment and then found himself guffawing. They laughed together until the tears ran down their faces; the laughter released the tension, and they spoke no more about the matter that day.

Chapter 4. Sleight of Hand

Life continued quietly at Bag End. Winter snow and rain gave way to lovely spring, and Sam found much solace from his troubled thoughts, working in his garden again. When Frodo took to wearing gloves on both hands, Rose and Sam made no comment, but Merry, arriving on a visit, took him to task.

'Now, Frodo,' he said exasperated, 'When you were wearing one glove, I just thought it was affected...' or that you were trying to hide the missing finger, he didn't say, but Frodo could see it in his eyes, '...and I didn't want to say anything, but gloves in the house? What is the matter with you?'

'Would you believe I'm trying to stop biting my nails?' Frodo asked mildly.

Merry snorted.

'All, right, then, I didn't want to worry you, but I have trouble keeping warm these days.' He met Merry's eyes calmly. 'Don't worry so, cousin. I'm fine. Really.' Merry looked unconvinced, but let the matter drop.

Pippin breezed in. 'Hullo, Frodo!' he said cheerily. 'Say, you've forgotten to take your gloves off!'

'He's trying to stop biting his nails,' Merry muttered. 'Come on, Pip, let's see what kind of goodies Rose has baked up. There's a delicious smell coming from the kitchen.' Arm across Pippin's shoulders, Merry guided him from the study.

***

When Frodo came out to the kitchen, drawn by that same delicious smell, he found Merry and Pippin at the table enjoying freshly baked scones, dripping with butter and honey.

'Mmmm, that smells good,' Frodo said, and Rose set a place for him at the table.

'Sit you down, Mr Frodo, and have a spot of tea to go with the scones. I was just fixing a tray to take to the study.'

'Well, I'll save you some steps, then,' Frodo chuckled, and sat down. He saw Merry raise his eyebrows when he kept his gloves on to eat, but his cousin didn't comment.

Pippin looked up suddenly. 'When did you start wearing boots, Frodo?' he asked curiously. 'Are you trying to stop biting your toenails, too?'

Frodo bit into a melting scone as his cousins' laughter washed around him.

***

One day Frodo was slicing up an apple in the kitchen. Gloves made the task too awkward, so he'd laid them aside for the moment. Rose watched in fascination as the knife and apple apparently hovered mid-air, neat slices falling off onto the plate.

Frodo caught her gaze and smiled. 'Look, Mum, no hands!' he said gaily, but suddenly gave a sharp exclamation and knife and apple fell to the table.

Rose stared in fascination as red drops began to appear mysteriously on the table top, then looking at Frodo's face, she realized what had happened. 'You've cut yourself!' she gasped, jumping to her feet as quickly as her condition would allow.

'So it appears,' Frodo said grimly.

From the rapidly growing amount of blood on the table, it was a bad cut. 'That's going to need stitches,' Rose said.

'And how are we to manage that?' Frodo said quietly.

'I don't know, but we've got to get pressure on that.' Grabbing the dishtowel, she suited action to words, but grabbing at Frodo's hands she missed. She solved that problem by holding out the towel. 'Put your hand in there,' she ordered. The blood that stained the cloth gave her a clue where to apply pressure, and the cloth outlined the hand, which was a help.

At Sam's step, both looked up, for all the world like guilty lovers inconveniently interrupted, Rose with Frodo's hand between her own.

Frodo met Sam's quizzical gaze, then smiled down at Rose. 'We're going to have to stop meeting like this, my dear,' he said. 'Your husband is beginning to suspect something.'

Chapter 5. Going, going, gone...

'It's going to need stitches,' Rose repeated. 'When I let go the cloth, it starts to bleed again.'

'So how are we to manage that?' Sam asked quietly, unconsciously repeating Frodo's question.

Rose gave a sudden exclamation, motioning with her head to her husband. 'Here,' she said, 'take hold of this for a moment.' She got out her sewing basket, then went to the pantry to bring out a crock of honey. 'All right, then, leave hold,' she said, taking a generous handful of honey from the crock. 'Give me your hand, Mr Frodo.'

Samwise watched in fascination as Frodo's hand took shape, outlined by the smeared honey. The gash became apparent, and Rose seized the needle and thread and quickly closed the gap with neat stitches.

'Good thinking, Rose,' Sam said when he could find his voice.

'We don't have to worry about the honey getting in the wound,' Rose said absently as she stitched. 'If we can spread it on burns, it oughtn't do any harm to a cut. Mayhap it might even help in the healing.'

'You've a good head on your shoulders, Mistress Rose,' Frodo said.

'There,' Rose said, finishing the last knot and snipping the thread. 'Now let's wash this off, put a bandage on, and then I want you to drink a big cup of sweet tea, two if you can manage. You're looking pale.'

Sam guided Frodo to a comfortable chair and Rose tendered the tea, then deftly cleaned up the bloody table.

***

Frodo was ill again that 13th of March, but he concealed it with difficulty, not wanting to distress Samwise. Rose's time of confinement was drawing near, and Sam stayed close to home and took over many of the domestic tasks, insisting that his wife sit as comfortably as may be, and keep her feet up. When she protested, Frodo would catch her eye with a meaningful look, and she would subside and allow her husband to fuss over her.

Near the end of the month, Rose was too restless to stay in a chair, but bustled about the house after taking the precaution of shooing Sam out to his garden. When Frodo raised an eyebrow, she said, 'I don't know what's the matter with me, I just can't seem to sit still to save my life!' Frodo chuckled. When they heard Sam's step at the door, she whisked back to her chair, saying, 'Now don't tell Sam!'

'Keeping secrets, then?' Sam asked as he wiped his feet on the mat.

'You're not supposed to know,' Frodo said. 'It's a surprise.' He winked at Rose, and she smiled back at him. The next day, baby Elanor entered the world. Now Frodo really did feel like a bachelor uncle.

He took on some of the domestic tasks, over Sam's protest, saying, 'I live here, too. You must let me do this as a gift for Rose, since you won't accept anything else.'

Rose was up and about again after the customary period, singing about the house, mixing lullabies with the lively tunes she'd always sung. It was nice to have a little one about the house, like a breath of fresh air, and Frodo took to sitting in the rocking chair in the kitchen with the baby while Rose bustled about preparing meals. He found great comfort in rocking and cuddling Elanor, and Bag End became even more of a refuge than it had been, a cosy place to heal his hurts and put the past behind him.

***

One evening Frodo was more weary than usual, and his head ached. He pushed his supper plate away, and Rose looked at him with concern. 'You're looking a little peaked this evening, Mr Frodo,' she said gently.

'I'm tired,' he admitted. 'I think I'll turn in early.'

'You do that,' Rose said. 'If you're still feeling poorly in the morning I'll bring you your breakfast on a tray.' He nodded and took himself off to bed.

The next morning he did not appear in the kitchen for breakfast, but Rose stopped Sam from going to wake him. 'He was a bit "off" last night,' she reminded him. 'Let's let him sleep in awhile longer. He might be fighting off a cold.'

Samwise blew his nose in his handkerchief. 'Well, it's been going around,' he agreed. 'The lilies of the valley are thicker than I've seen them, would you like me to cut you a bouquet this morning?'

'That would be lovely,' Rose smiled. Sam drained the last of his tea from the cup and stood. With a hug for Rose and a kiss for baby Elanor, he went out the door.

Rose nursed Elanor, then put the sleeping baby in the cradle and bustled about the kitchen to make up a tray for Mr Frodo. What should she make to tempt his appetite? She settled for thickly buttered slices of fresh-baked bread, coddled eggs, and cherry preserves. The plate made a lovely picture, and she hoped he would be moved to eat even if a cold had him feeling down.

She tucked a cosy over the little teapot, cast a glance over the sleeping baby, and took up the tray, humming a little tune as she walked down to Mr Frodo's door. She knocked briefly, but there was no answer, so balancing the tray she deftly turned the knob and pushed the door open.

She dropped the tray, heedless of smashed crockery, and screamed. Sam came running in the house, hands full of flowers. 'What is it, Rosie?' he gasped.

The figure in the bed sat up slowly, and Frodo's sleepy voice said in a confused murmur, 'What's happening? What is the matter?'

No head could be seen atop the pajama-clad shoulders.

Chapter 6. Cover Up

Rose was still gulping and apologizing, and Frodo said, 'Sam, come here a moment.'

Sam came over. He found if he looked down it was easier. He felt Frodo's hand grasp his arm. 'She's in shock, Sam. Take her to the kitchen, get her a cup of tea with lots of honey.'

'Yes, Mr Frodo,' Sam said, not looking up, and heard his master sigh. He gathered his courage and forced himself to focus on where Frodo's eyes ought to be. The invisible hand tightened on his arm, then released him. He escorted Rose to the kitchen and followed the instructions he'd been given. For a miracle the babe had not been roused by the commotion, but still slept peacefully in the cradle.

Samwise sat with Rose until she'd gotten a whole cup down and her breathing had steadied. 'I'm sorry,' she said again, 'I didn't mean to, I was just so startled.'

'Rose,' he soothed.

'No,' she said, still upset. 'What must Mr Frodo think of me? How could I have been so thoughtless and cruel?' He saw that she was blaming herself for her unthinking fear, and he gently squeezed her hand.

'Mr Frodo understands,' he said, but she shook her head, raising haunted eyes to his.

'O Sam, what if he thinks he has to go away? What if he thinks that he mustn't stay around, that he has to go off alone for fear of distressing people?'

Thunderstruck, Samwise stared at his wife. He hadn't thought of that. He patted Rose's hand and got up from the table.

'I'll be right back, love,' he said.

Going back to the bedroom, he found the broken crockery had been cleared away, the floor wiped up. Frodo was dressed, to gloves and boots. His master's apologetic tone greeted him. 'I'm afraid I can't do much about the rest of me.'

'O Mr Frodo,' he breathed, at a loss for words.

'That tears it, Sam. I'll have to become a hermit, hide away here at Bag End for the rest of my life, saying "not at home" to all relatives and callers. I only hope it's not too much to inflict my condition on you and Rose.'

'Surely there's something to be done!' Sam protested.

He could hear Frodo's sad smile in his voice. 'I'm open to suggestions.'

Rose spoke from the doorway behind Sam. 'I have an idea, Mr Frodo,' she said softly.

'Yes, Rose,' Frodo asked gently, as if afraid of startling her into flight.

She stepped forward, a basket hanging from her arm. 'Sit you down on the bed, Mr Frodo, I'd like to try something.'

She moved to his side, took a bandage roll from the basket, began to gently wrap it around Frodo's neck where the shirt ended, working her way up and over his face. She wrapped a double layer of material over his entire face, excepting the eyes, where she left only a thin layer of fabric. 'Can you see through it?' she asked.

'Yes,' Frodo's voice came. 'It's a bit like looking through a fog.'

'Perhaps if we can get some fabric that's more loosely woven,' Rose mused. She fastened off the bandage and stepped back. 'Well, Mr Frodo, you have a head again. You look as if you're terribly accident prone, but it's a whole lot better than no head at all.' For a wonder, Frodo laughed at her joke, lame as it was.

Rose dug in her basket again, taking out a shapeless felt hat. 'Here, put this on; let's see what it looks like.' Frodo clapped the hat on his head. Rose surveyed the effect critically, then said, 'You know, in the winter, with that hat and muffled up in a scarf, one would hardly know the difference.'

Frodo took her hands in his gloved ones. 'Rose,' he said seriously. 'You're a miracle worker. You've given me hope.'

Sam added his affirmation, and Rose blushed. 'You're welcome, Mr Frodo,' she said. 'I only wish it could be more.'

She stepped back again to get a better look at her handiwork. 'You'll have to take it off to eat, I think,' she mused, 'but at least you can get out of the house if you wish, and you can receive visitors.'

'What'll we tell them?' Sam asked.

'Tell them I'm pursuing the beautification of the Shire, and this is my first step.'

'Covering your face?' Rose gasped, and then began giggling. Sam had to chuckle, and Frodo's laughter sounded from behind the bandages.

When the laughter died down, Sam said, 'I can think of a few more faces needing covering,' and they were off again.

***

Frodo was concentrating on a map he was re-drawing after the first had not satisfied him, and so when the knocking came at the door, he ignored it. Rose had gone to the Cotton farm with baby Elanor, and Sam was out on forestry business. If no one answered the door, the visitor would assume no one to be home. Frodo certainly wasn't going to answer the door. Sam had put the word around Hobbiton that Frodo had gone off somewhere on a visit to relatives. It was easier that way.

The sound of Merry's voice behind him startled Frodo into marring the careful line he was drawing. 'So, cousin, it's not enough to wear gloves in the house, but now you've taken to wearing a hat, too?'

Merry stopped short in shock as his cousin turned around. Frodo's face was completely covered in bandages. What horrifying thing had happened? He hadn't heard of any catastrophic fires lately. Surely any accident so terrible would have carried news, even all the way to Buckland.

'It's all right, Merry,' Frodo said kindly, putting down his pen and getting up from the desk. He walked over to Merry, took him by the arm and guided him to a chair. Merry allowed himself to be seated, mind reeling.

'I suppose it had to come out sooner or later,' Frodo added.

Merry opened his mouth to ask what, but no words came.

'I'm all right, Merry,' Frodo said reassuringly.

Merry found his voice. 'You don't look all right!' he said.

'You don't know the half of it,' Frodo replied.

Chapter 7. Revisiting Some Old Haunts

Frodo was grieved by the fear he saw in Merry's eyes. 'I have not turned into a wraith, Merry,' he repeated patiently, tugging the glove back onto his unseen hand. He had steered the shaken Merry to a chair and then proceeded to try to convince his cousin that nothing had changed. Well, not much, anyhow.

'But you're... you're...' Merry stuttered.

'I don't know exactly what's happened to me, but I am still just the same as I always was,' Frodo said. 'I just look a little different.'

'A little!' Merry exploded. 'You don't "look" at all!' he said. 'How can you take this so calmly?'

'I suppose I've had more time to get used to it than you have,' Frodo sighed, his bandaged face falling. He shook his head, then raised it again. Merry had the feeling that Frodo's eyes were boring into his. 'What would you suggest I do?'

'You think this has something to do with the Morgul blade...' Merry fumbled. Frodo nodded, and he continued. 'But that wound was to your left shoulder! You say this started with the fingers of your right hand?'

Frodo nodded again, and spoke slowly, as if thinking aloud. 'I think, somehow, my claiming the Ring had something to do with it as well,' he said. 'Ah, how I curse my weakness! But it seems I am fit and truly punished for that lapse.'

'Lapse!' Merry said, catching his breath in a sob. 'O Frodo,' he said brokenly, marshalling once more all the arguments he'd brought to bear in Minas Tirith, to try to persuade his beloved older cousin that he had not failed in the Quest.

Frodo held up a gloved hand. 'Don't,' he said quietly. 'It's all over and done, anyhow, and there's no changing it.'

Merry took a deep breath and fought for control. He took Frodo's hands in his and gave a squeeze, which his cousin returned firmly. He thought furiously, his eyes on Frodo's hands. When he was sure his voice would be steady he said at last, 'Well, what about Strider? Could you send a message to him? "The hands of the King..." '

Frodo shook his head. 'Somehow I don't think this is the kind of thing that a little athelas will cure,' he said. 'And the Morgul blade was beyond Strider's power to heal, he said so himself. You remember how he deferred to Elrond.'

Merry's shoulders sagged. Elrond was gone from Middle Earth, passed over the Western sea in a white ship, never to return.

'Is there nothing to be done? What about his sons--they remain in Rivendell, don't they?'

Frodo was silent a moment, then said, 'I always got the impression they were more warriors than healers. I have sent a message to Strider; I thought that would be a good place to start. Minas Tirith has been dealing with the Shadow for a long time, and perhaps there is something about this in that ancient library there.'

'How long ago did you send it?' A message to Gondor would be a long time on the road.

'If he replies quickly, I'd expect an answer, if he has one, by mid-August. If Strider cannot help, I suppose Rivendell would be a last resort.'

Merry nodded. And if Rivendell could not help... He brought his hands down upon his knees with a slap. 'Well,' he said, 'I was forgetting why I came.'

'Why did you come?'

'Pippin's been called home to dance attendance on his father the Thain, and I was looking for a travelling companion.'

'Where are you going?' Frodo asked.

'I had a wish to see Tom Bombadil again; I thought you might like to come with me.'

Frodo surprised him by saying, 'You know, I've been cooped up here some weeks. It would be nice to get out of the house. Let me leave a note for Sam and Rose... would you mind if we leave well before the Sun arises?'

'No problem at all,' Merry answered. 'I often ride under the stars, myself.' He understood Frodo's reasons all too well.

***

The journey was quite pleasant, once they got out of settled parts. Merry became accustomed to his cousin's bandaged face, remembering only when he saw a look of pity cross the face of anyone they might meet on the road.

After one of these encounters, hearing Frodo sigh, he said, 'You know, cousin, with a tin cup you could make quite a lot of money as a beggar...'

'When I come to the end of my money, you mean?'

Merry chuckled. 'Right! It would save you all the trouble of selling Bag End again.'

Frodo laughed and said, 'Thank you, cousin. I'll keep it in mind.'

They stayed that night at Crickhollow. Sitting in front of the fire, sipping brandy, Merry said, 'The fastest way would be to go through the Old Forest.'

'Well, of course,' Frodo answered.

'You have no qualms about it?'

'Why should I? You weren't planning on any naps this time, or prolonged visits to Old Man Willow?' Merry shuddered, and Frodo apologized.

'That's all right,' Merry said. 'I just get this awful pain in my middle whenever I think of him... it... whatever.' He took a gulp of his brandy, spun the glass between his hands, then laughed suddenly. 'Too bad old Treebeard couldn't spare a few tree herders to keep the Old Forest in line,' he said. 'You don't suppose, if we spread a rumour about Entwives being seen near there...'

Frodo laughed. 'I wouldn't want to get an Ent angry with me.'

Merry sighed, looking into his glass. 'I suppose you're right.'

Despite any misgivings, the trip through the Old Forest was uneventful. Indeed, the trees seemed sleepier, Frodo was happy to note. Before teatime they were leaving the forest on the path that passed the waterfall and climbing the hill to Tom's house. The ponies raised their heads and whinnied, and they heard an answering voice.

Ho, Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo,
Blue is his coat and his boots are yellow.
Now come Brandybuck and the Ring-bearer
Riding their ponies to come ever nearer!
Goldberry, set out bread, be sure that there is plenty
We would not want to set our guests at table that was empty!

'Tom!' Frodo shouted joyfully as the singer came into sight.

'Frodo, my lad!' Tom answered. 'So you bypassed Old Man Willow this trip?'

'Yes, we thought it better to let him sleep,' Merry answered. Tom laughed long and heartily.

'Come along, then,' he cried, 'Supper's on the table! We've been expecting you, come soon as you are able!' Going before them, they heard him begin to sing,

Hey! Come merry dain! Sunny is the weather!
Hey! Come derry dain! Let us sing together!
Hobbits! Ponies twain! Hop along, my hearties!
Now let the fun begin! We are fond of parties!

He was answered by Goldberry's clear voice, flowing silver to meet them, and they found themselves raising their own voices in song to greet her. Frodo felt all the tightness of the past months ease, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad he'd come.

When they sat at the table, Tom fixed Frodo with a bright eye. 'Hey, there!' he said, 'Frodo, there! Why cover you your face? Let us see eye to eye, eating in this fair place...'

Frodo said uncomfortably, 'Well, you see, Tom, I...'

'Take off the bandages, lad,' Tom said softly. 'For how can you eat with them?' Frodo slowly unwound the bandages. Merry gasped as his cousin became, to all appearances, headless, but Tom smiled and his shining blue eyes seemed to Frodo to stare straight into his own.

'You can see me, Tom?' he gasped, and his host laughed.

'Morgul spell can't fool these eyes, though you be clear as water,
We see you clear as can be seen, Tom and the River-daughter.'

Frodo looked to Goldberry, who nodded and smiled. He shook his head in wonder. 'You don't know what a relief it is... ' he said. 'I was beginning to doubt my own existence.'

Tom and Goldberry laughed gaily, and Merry, determined not to dampen his cousin's spirits, dove into the food, laughing and singing with the rest.

***

On the way back to Hobbiton, Merry spoke suddenly. 'Why do you suppose he could see you?'

'I don't know,' Frodo answered. 'But I remember that he could see me even when I was wearing the Ring. I just wish he'd know a way to make it so that other people can see me.'

'Oh, well,' Merry said, and stopped.

'What?' Frodo demanded.

'I was just thinking... whenever you get to feeling insubstantial, all you have to do is go visit Tom and Goldberry again.' A mischievous smile lit the corners of his mouth. 'You might think to ask me to come along,' he added. 'They set an awfully fine table!'

***

Author's Note from original posting:
I approach Tom Bombadil with fear and trepidation. Honestly, I was tempted to take a short cut (not to mushrooms, either) and have them going on their way, and then a break and them coming back, without ever portraying Tom and the River-daughter, but I "screwed myself up quick" as Samwise might say, so here's the result...

Chapter 8. Letter from Gondor

Arriving at Bag End, Merry jumped down from his pony and put up a hand to help Frodo.

'I'm not as feeble as all that, cousin,' Frodo chided him.

'No, but if I can hurry you into the house, you can have tea on by the time I get back from putting the ponies away,' Merry chuckled. 'I don't know about you, but I'm starving!'

Frodo laughed and got down. 'Perhaps Rose has made some of her meat and mushroom pie,' he teased.

'I'm counting on it!' Merry said agreeably. 'And if she hasn't yet, I'm hoping she will soon!' He led the ponies away to their own dinner and bed.

Entering the kitchen, Frodo found Pippin at the table, elbow deep in bread dough. 'Hullo, cousin,' he greeted Frodo cheerily. 'How goes the beautification of the Shire?' Rose and Sam had obviously filled him in.

'What are you about?' Frodo asked.

Rose entered, wiping her hands on a cloth. 'He pestered me until I'd let him put his hand in,' she said.

'Oh, aye,' Pippin laughed. 'They never let me near the bread dough at home!'

'I wonder why?' Frodo met Pippin's eye, at least he felt as if he did, from the direct gaze Pippin gave him, and he burst out laughing.

Rosie put on a stern look, 'Well, he knows he's not to be playing any tricks with our supper!'

'O no, Mistress Rose,' Pippin said meekly. 'You'll make me eat it...'

'That I will,' Rose said severely. The effect was rather marred by her laugh at Pippin's expression, and she pushed him aside. 'That'll do, lad; let's shape it and put it to rise now.'

***

When Pippin bounced into the study later, he was a little disconcerted to find Frodo faceless, for though he retained the hat he had taken off the bandages to give himself a breather. Pippin stared in fascination at the pipe that hung in mid-air.

'Did you want something, cousin?' Frodo asked mildly.

'Mistress Rose wants to know if she should set a place for you in the dining room, with Merry and me, or if you'd like a tray.'

Frodo sighed. 'I suppose I'll take dinner here,' he said quietly.

Pippin fixed him with a curious look. 'Why?' he demanded. Frodo shook his head; Pippin excelled at asking awkward questions.

Frodo's irrepressible cousin went on, 'If you're thinking to spare our feelings, think again! Nobody's going to be looking at you, with Mistress Rose's fine cooking to keep their attention. And don't forget my bread!' Pippin paused as Frodo blew some smoke out. 'How do you do that?'

'Do what?'

'Smoke? It comes out of nowhere! Neat trick.'

'It's no trick, Pippin, I'm just smoking the same as always.'

'Ah,' Pippin said wisely, 'But it doesn't look the same.' He gave a sudden grin and rubbed his hands together. 'But I don't have time to stand here chatting, Mistress Rose has said I may roll out the crust for the meat and mushroom pie!'

'Don't tell me: they never let you near pie crust at home, either.'

Pippin shook his head solemnly. 'They never even let me in the kitchen door.' A mischievous grin lit up his face, and he turned on his heel and went back to the kitchen, singing.

***

That night in their room, Sam asked Rose, 'Did Mr Pippin really make the bread today?'

Rose laughed, 'Yes, it was quite good, wasn't it?'

Sam shook his head in wonder. 'I believe he could do anything he turned his hand to...'

Rose said soberly, 'If his father will let him.'

'What do you mean, Rose?'

She blushed and said, 'I'm sorry, Sam, it's not my place to speak of our betters that way.'

But her husband pressed. 'I've walked halfway around Middle-earth with him, you know. I'd really like to know what you were going to say.'

Rose was quiet, then said hesitantly, 'It's just one of my pictures. You know how you always laugh...'

'I won't laugh, Rose,' Sam promised.

She looked off into the shadows. 'Mr Pippin is like bread dough... you can stretch him and pound him and he always comes back, you can push him down and he'll rise again, but if you leave him to rise too long he'll creep out of the pan and all over and make a terrible mess...'

Sam had a very difficult time keeping his promise, but somehow he managed.

'But what his father, the Thain wants, is a lump of pie dough, as cold and hard as himself. You can pound it down with the rolling pin and roll it out flat and it keeps the shape you give it.' Something of sorrow in Rose's voice stifled all desire to laugh in Sam.

She turned her eyes back to him. 'Don't you see?' she said softly. 'If you try to make a pie with bread dough, you ruin the pie, and the dough...' she sighed. 'But...'

'What is it, Rosie?' Sam asked gently.

'I really believe it is as you said, that he could do almost anything he turned his mind to,' Rose mused. 'It's too bad he doesn't turn his mind to helping Mr Frodo.'

'Oh, but I think he does,' Sam contradicted.

'What?'

'Have you not noticed how relaxed Mr Frodo is around him? He's the only one of us who is free and easy, who doesn't tiptoe around Mr Frodo's condition.'

'You're right,' Rose breathed. '...and here I thought I was teaching the lad a thing or two, this day. Turns out I'm the one who learned the biggest lesson.'

***

The rest of the summer passed uneventfully. In mid-August, Merry and Pippin turned up again at Bag End. Frodo was glad to see them, for in truth he was lonely, having kept much to himself. It was one thing to lock yourself up in your study and not go among other hobbits because you didn't feel sociable. It was quite another to feel as if you had no choice in the matter.

'How long are you staying this time?' Frodo asked them.

'A few days,' Merry said, off-handedly. 'Had any messages from Gondor?'

So that was it.

'Yes, a letter came just yesterday,' Frodo admitted.

'Ah,' Merry answered, then turned to Pippin. 'It's your turn to put the ponies away.'

'Right!' Pippin answered cheerfully. 'You go off and have a deep discussion with Frodo, I won't interfere. I'm going to go pester Mistress Rose in the kitchen, it's much more fun.'

Frodo stared after him. 'That was easy,' he said.

Merry sighed. 'He knows he can get all the details out of me later. It's a long ride back to Crickhollow.'

'Come on back to the study,' Frodo said. 'Rose will undoubtedly bring us some ale there, and we wouldn't want to keep her waiting.'

Sure enough, only a moment after they had sat down a knock came at the door and Rose entered with a tray. 'I thought you might like some refreshment, Mr Frodo,' she said. 'Dinner's about an hour away.' The tray contained cheese and homemade crispbread, cut up apples, and two glasses of ale.

'Rose, you are a comfort to me,' Frodo said. 'I don't know what I would do without you.'

'Probably move in with those two scurrilous cousins of yours,' she said easily, 'and ruin your reputation.'

'Probably,' Frodo agreed with a smile. 'What's left of it, anyway.'

Rose smiled and put the tray down. 'Just let me know if there's anything else you need.'

'You haven't left Pippin alone in the kitchen, have you?' Merry asked suddenly.

Rose laughed. 'He's holding the baby!' she said. 'We're very fussy today, cutting a tooth, and he seems to know just how to keep our mind off it.'

After she had closed the door, Merry shook his head and muttered, 'I'm sure he's had plenty of practice with the Thain.' Frodo laughed, but Merry got back to business. 'What did Strider say?'

'Read it for yourself.' While Merry read, Frodo unwound the bandages to free his mouth.

Merry looked up. 'Why don't you undo it all the way? It can't be comfortable to go about muffled up all the time.' Without waiting for an answer, he went back to reading, and Frodo gratefully complied. Munching on a piece of cheese, he stared out the window and waited for his cousin to finish.

With a sigh, Merry laid down the closely written sheets. 'He says a lot, never knew him to be so wordy before.'

'A lot, and nothing,' Frodo answered. Despair washed over him. 'O Merry. What am I going to do?'

Merry got up from his chair to come to where Frodo stood, putting a comforting hand on Frodo's shoulder. 'What about the elves? He suggested asking them.'

'You must have noticed that he held out little hope,' Frodo said softly. 'I'm almost afraid to go to Rivendell to find out...' He didn't tell Merry about the other letter, in his pocket, containing Celeborn's answer to his query.

'You, afraid?' Merry asked in amazement.

Frodo turned. 'Yes,' he admitted. 'I can't imagine living the rest of my life this way.'

Merry threw his arms about his cousin. 'Frodo!' he said, shocked. 'Don't give up!'

Frodo stood rigid in his cousin's embrace, then relaxed and returned the hug. 'I'm not giving up,' he said softly. 'I've kept on without hope before, you know.'

'I know,' Merry said simply. Closing his eyes, he could feel Frodo's wet cheek against his own, and in his mind's eye he could see his cousin's face. He was distracted by the tickle of curly hair where one hand rested at the back of Frodo's neck.

Stepping away, he said, 'You're badly in need of a haircut, cousin. You're about as shaggy as a pony.'

'I hadn't noticed,' Frodo said absently.

'Doesn't your hair get in your eyes?'

'Not that I can see,' Frodo answered, and suddenly it struck both of them so funny that they howled with laughter.

Samwise, coming in the door, listened with a smile. It had been a long time since he'd heard his master laugh.

Chapter 9. Cutting It Close

The next day, Pippin knocked and entered at the study door when he heard his cousin's abstracted, "Come!"

Frodo sat at the desk, head bent forward, carefully adding a line to a map with his gloved hand.

Pippin waited until the line had been drawn, then stepped up to the desk, eyes sparkling with mischief. 'Cousin! I just had the most marvelous idea!'

Frodo turned. Pippin was not disconcerted, for Frodo had remembered the bandages this day and his pipe did not hang in midair as it had the last time Pippin had visited.

'What is it?' Frodo asked indulgently. His writing had been going well and he was in an expansive mood.

'The mushrooms at Maggot's are perfect right now! If you'd just give me a little help...' he was interrupted by Frodo's chuckle.

'You seem to have forgotten his dogs,' Frodo said.

'But if they can't see you...'

Frodo placed a big-brotherly hand on Pippin's shoulder. 'Dogs have a sense of smell, you know,' he reminded Pippin. He clapped Pippin on the shoulder and added kindly, 'You just keep thinking, Pip. You can use the practice.'

***

Later in the day, Merry was lounging on a comfortable chair in the study, feet up on the desk, paring his nails with his knife.

Frodo leaned back in his own chair and said contemplatively, 'You know, I never thought nail-biting would come in handy, but now that I have no way to see the nails to clip them...'

'I can see your point,' Merry nodded, sipping at his own ale. 'But what are you going to do about haircuts?'

Rose, entering with a tea tray, said, 'Were you needing a haircut, Mr Frodo? I could help you out there, I do Sam's hair and he's never complained.'

Frodo answered, 'I think I'll take you up on that, Rose, and thanks. My hair's been getting in my eyes lately.'

'How could you tell?' Merry asked, and they laughed.

'Come on in the kitchen when you're ready,' Rose said, and went back to her tasks.

***

Samwise came in later, to find Rose waving scissors and comb in the air about a headless Frodo. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but she was laughing and talking animatedly. Pippin was gazing in fascination at the curls and wisps of hair that appeared midair, to float gently to the floor.

'There, finished, and a fair job, I'd say,' Rose pronounced, opening her eyes.

'How does it do that?' Pippin asked.

'Do what?' Frodo answered him with a question of his own.

'Your hair... as long as it's attached to your body, you can't see it, but the minute it's cut loose, it appears.'

'You're right,' Frodo said slowly. 'I'd never thought of that. It was the same way when I cut myself: the blood appeared when it was no longer part of me.'

Pippin nodded, unusually solemn. 'I've been thinking about it. It's like there's some kind of... invisible cream rubbed over your skin. I half expected to see food and drink go in; as a matter of fact I was looking forward to watching you digest a meal...' he didn't seem offended at the others' surprised laughter. '...but the food just disappears once it's in your mouth. Unless you chew with your mouth open, that is.'

'Pippin,' Merry said, annoyance plain in his tone.

Unquenched, Pippin jumped to his feet, rubbing his hands together. 'Well,' he said, 'Can't sit around here all day. I'm going for a ride, anyone want to join me?'

'No, you go ahead,' Merry answered.

'Supper's in an hour, remember!' Rose warned.

'Right! I'll be here with bells on!'

'That wouldn't surprise me,' Rose rejoined.

Pippin laughed and left the kitchen with a cheery wave. After he'd left, Merry shook his head. 'He never ceases to amaze me. I'd never even thought about the fact that you're invisible, but you're not transparent.'

'What difference does it make?' Frodo asked wearily. 'It's all the same in the end.' Merry had no answer.

***

That evening when Merry came into the study, he stopped in amazement to see a glass of ale tilt itself and some of the contents disappear.

"Frodo!" he said sharply. "I wish you wouldn't DO that!"

A low chuckle answered him. 'It fascinates even me, sometimes,' Frodo admitted. 'If I ever come to the end of my money, I can always hire myself out to do parlour tricks. Watch this!'

He picked up several items from the desk; from Merry's viewpoint the items began to float in the air, then were tossed up one by one... only to fall to the floor.

'Oops,' came Frodo's voice. 'I forgot, in order to juggle, I need to be able to see my hands, at least to get started!'

'You'd best put your gloves on, then,' Merry suggested. 'It'll still look like a neat trick, if you keep your shirt off.'

'Well, it's nice to know I've got prospects for the future,' Frodo said.

***

Notes to original reviewers:

OjosVerdes: Pranks. Hmmmm. Pranks. Wonder if Pippin has something up his sleeve? Cannot remember, it's been so long since I wrote this...

katakanadian: Good to hear from you! I always try to stay true to character, just love Tolkien's characters. Then once I have fleshed out a minor character, I try to stay true to my own characterization as well. Sometimes I manage, sometimes... they change. (Dynamic. Good word.)

endymion: Well, the invisibility might *not* be caused by the Morgul blade, it might stem from Frodo putting the Ring on his finger at Mt Doom and claiming it. (was that the right hand?) OTOH, it might stem from the fact that I'm somewhat dyslexic and cannot tell my right from my left without intense concentration.

Xena: If Tom could see Frodo wearing the Ring, why not have him able to see Frodo in his faded condition?

Dana: I love it when you giggle like a loon.

shirebound: Thanks for the review! Was glad to share Merry's memory of Old Man Willow with you. Gives me rather a pain in the middle, too, to think of him.

TxQueen: Yes, this pony is definitely on a different path. The story would have ended already if Tom and Goldberry had a solution for Frodo, now, wouldn't it? As it is you get 12 chapters! I hope that is good news.

katakanadian: You noticed the movie canon. I will occasionally throw something like that in, only if it does not contradict the books... (books first, movie second, me last--especially my inadvertent mistakes. Still cannot believe I made Estella 10 years too young)

Did I miss anybody? Sorry. Review again, will try to catch you next time. *grin* Love the reviews.

Several people commented on... Celeborn's letter... well, let's not give away any spoilers here. Tom and Goldberry's portrayal... thanks. It was the hardest thing I've ever written, next to elves. and dwarves.

Thanks for the kind words about my putting words in Tom Bombadil's mouth. Whew, it was a tough bit of work and Prof. Tolkien deserves most of the credit since it was his poetry I was cribbing.

10. Trip to Rivendell

Little Elanor was nearly six months old, and 1421 was passing to its autumn, when Frodo called Sam into the study.

'It will be Bilbo's Birthday in a few weeks, Sam,' he said. 'And he will pass the Old Took. He will be a hundred and thirty-one!'

'So he will!' said Sam. 'He's a marvel!'

'Well, Sam,' said Frodo, 'I want you to see Rose and find out if she can spare you, so that you and I can go off together. You can't go far or for a long time now, of course,' he said a little wistfully.

'Well, not very well, Mr Frodo.'

'Of course not. But never mind. We don't need to spend a long time at Rivendell, just go there and back again. It ought to be a quick trip, this time, now that we can take the Road. Tell Rose you won't be away as long as the last time, six weeks or so, certainly not above two months, and you'll come back quite safe.'

'We're going to Rivendell, Sir? I thought all the elves had left!'

Frodo smiled. 'No, not quite all. Celeborn did not go with Galadriel, and the sons of Elrond are still there. You didn't think they'd all gone off and left Bilbo to fend for himself, now, did you?'

'No, I suppose not,' Sam said.

Frodo was smiling, Sam could tell from his voice. 'Right, then! Let's get packing!'

***

This journey to Rivendell was much different from the last, and Sam enjoyed the clopping of the ponies' hoofs, the golden autumn sunshine, the bright leaves, clear days and crisp nights. Frodo's bandages were less obvious, muffled behind a scarf, and sometimes Sam could forget the sad fact that he would never again see his master's smile.

Part of the time they camped, for Frodo could be free and easy alone with Sam. When they stayed at an inn Frodo kept to their room, and Sam brought up dinner and drink, so that his master could unwind the bandages to eat in comfort. Even in Bree, he did not seek out Barliman Butterbur to talk over old times. The innkeeper, seeing the bandages, did not press his attentions upon Frodo, but added a good many comforts onto the dinner and breakfast trays.

As their ponies trotted or walked, they enjoyed long conversations, and equally long companionable silences. The miles slipped by, and soon they were crossing the Last Bridge, and not long after, the Ford. Frodo pulled up his pony after they forded the Bruinen, turning to look back at the opposite shore.

'No Black Riders to worry about this time,' Sam said, guessing his master's thoughts. The bandaged face turned towards him, and he heard Frodo's smile as he spoke.

'That's right, Sam. No need to disturb the river's sleep on this day.' He turned his pony again towards Rivendell, and Sam followed.

***

Sam was surprised, on reaching Rivendell, that Frodo did not immediately seek out Bilbo, though he asked after the old hobbit, almost the first thing after dismounting.

They were greeted warmly by the elves, but Sam fancied he saw a shadow of sorrow cross more than one face when they saw the bandages, and a knowing look passed between the sons of Elrond.

'Elrohir, it is good to see you. And Elladan.'

The two bowed, saying together, 'Ring-bearer. It is an honour to receive you.'

'I have come to see Bilbo,' Frodo said. 'I thought it a good time to congratulate him on passing the Old Took.'

'He is still with us, though he dreams more than he sings, these days. I can take you to him now,' one of the sons of Elrond said, smiling.

Frodo hesitated, and Sam looked to him in surprise. 'No,' he said quietly. 'Take me to Celeborn. I have some business I must discuss with him, first.'

'As you wish,' the son of Elrond bowed again, and led them into the Last Homely House.

Chapter 11. Seeing is Believing

'It grieves me to see you this way, Ring-bearer,' Celeborn said.

'Not to see me, you mean,' Frodo said quietly.

Celeborn nodded. 'Mithrandir said that this might happen, as an effect of the Morgul wound and your...' he looked compassionately at the hobbit, 'your claiming of the Ruling Ring in the end.'

Frodo nodded sadly. 'I have been well punished for that moment of weakness.'

Celeborn continued, 'Even without that failure, it might have happened. It has happened to Elves who did not become wraiths because their wounds were probed and Morgul slivers removed in time to save them.' His look grew faraway, as he added, '...like a glass filled with a clear light for eyes to see that can.'

'Do you mean to tell me there are invisible Elves running about Middle-earth?' Frodo asked. 'It sounds like a fairy story to me.'

Celeborn smiled faintly. 'No, Frodo, there are no invisible Elves, "running about" as you so quaintly put it.'

'You said in your letter that there is something the Elves know about, some way of reversing the process!' Frodo pressed.

Samwise started. He hadn't known about a letter from Rivendell.

Celeborn hesitated, then admitted, 'There is a potion...' He added gravely, 'You must understand, as I told you in my letter, this is a very risky venture. You may regain your appearance, but you have just as good a chance of dying in the attempt.'

'Are you trying to say you think half a life is better than none?' Frodo asked him.

Celeborn answered, 'I cannot tell you what to do; I can only offer you the choice and tell you what might happen.'

Frodo chuckled and shook his head. ' "Never ask an Elf for advice, for he'll tell you 'yea' and 'nay' in the same breath." '

Celeborn smiled faintly. 'Very amusing,' he said. 'That's the same thing my wife said when I asked her if I ought to leave or stay.'

'Mr Frodo?' Sam said anxiously. Was his master desperate enough to do this dangerous thing?

'Sam,' Frodo said gently. 'Do you really think I have a choice?'

'But...'

'I could cut myself tomorrow and bleed to death before anyone could find the wound to staunch it,' Frodo said bluntly. 'Or perhaps I should leave the Shire and go to live with Tom Bombadil. He seems to be the only one who can see me!' He turned to Celeborn, 'Except, perhaps, for some of the Firstborn when they stand upon the other side.

'So, shall I leave the Shire and live with Bombadil, or among the Elves, as long as Elves remain in Middle-earth? Either way I'd have to leave. Dying's just a little quicker, is all, and it's not a sure thing in this case.' He gripped Sam's arms, hard. 'If there's even a small chance at life, I have to take it. Don't you see?'

'No,' Sam said. 'No, I don't see.' He sighed. 'And I suppose that's the problem.' He looked at what he could see of his master, the outer shell of clothing and bandages. 'But I'll stick with you, whatever you decide. Haven't I always?'

Frodo's hands squeezed once more, and then released him.

'When do you want to try?' asked Celeborn.

'Now's as good a time as any,' Frodo answered. He began to unwind the bandages from his face, to free his mouth for drinking.

Celeborn indicated a sofa. 'At the least you'll be dizzy,' he said. He didn't have to say what the worst would be.

Frodo sat down. His gloved hands reached for Samwise, and Sam took them in his own. From the sound of his voice, Sam knew his master was looking at him earnestly. 'Samwise,' he said, 'If this doesn't work out...'

'I know,' Sam said. And he did know. He was to give Frodo's love to all who loved him. He knew, also, that Frodo was saying that friendship endured even when the friends themselves were gone.

Frodo's voice was directed back at Celeborn. 'Right, then,' he said. 'Let us see what we shall see.'

I hope so, thought Sam. I surely hope so.

Celeborn took a glass phial from a cubby in the ornate desk, of exquisite elvish workmanship. Sam could see nothing within, at first; he was expecting liquid, some sort of elixir or something like miruvor. Looking more closely, he could see clear fumes rising and curling within the glass.

'Put it to your mouth as soon as you remove the stopper,' Celeborn instructed. 'You do not want to lose any of the vapour.'

'Right,' Frodo answered. He took the phial Celeborn offered, held it between his gloved hands, took a long breath. 'I'm ready,' he said.

Sam had a terrible impulse to jump forward, shout, knock the phial from his master's hands, but before he could move Frodo had pulled the stopper and the phial tilted; the vapours swirled from the phial and were gone.

Frodo gave a great shudder and fell back on the couch, dropping the phial to smash upon the stones. Sam started forward, falling to his knees by the sofa. 'Mr Frodo!' he called. There was no answer.

Sam looked up at Celeborn, but the Elf was watching Frodo intently.

Celeborn said softly, 'He will become visible soon, whether in life, or in death.'

Sam remembered the hair clippings that appeared out of nowhere when separated from Frodo's living body.

He looked back to Frodo and gasped. It seemed as though he could see the outlines of Frodo's face, as if he were looking at a glass filled with a nearly clear liquid. As he watched, the outlines became clearer, the color stronger, until suddenly, he could see the beloved face that had been hidden from him these past months. But the face was pale, the eyes closed, no breath seemed to stir the ashen lips.

Sam felt Celeborn's hand on his shoulder. 'Frodo?' he said softly.

Celeborn's hand tightened. 'Mr Frodo?' he repeated. With every breath he took he willed Frodo to breathe, but his hope was fading. 'Don't leave me now, Mr Frodo,' he pleaded.

'Come away, Master Samwise,' Celeborn said gently. 'He's been set free of the spell, as he wanted.'

'No,' Sam choked. He reached for one of the gloved hands, taking it between his own two strong hands. 'Mr Frodo?'

The eyelids fluttered, and then Frodo was looking at him, colour slowly coming into his face. 'Why, Sam,' he said smiling. 'What a dream I've been having... It's good to see you!'

'It's good to see you, too, Mr Frodo,' Sam replied simply, though he felt like leaping and shouting for joy, or at the very least enveloping his beloved master in a great hug. 'It is good to see you,' was all he said, as the joy shone from his eyes. 

And it was.

Note to Readers: Yes, this is *The End*. "Epilogue" means something tacked on to the end of a story to tie up loose ends, does it not? Would go look it up in the dictionary but do not want to leave my lovely warm cup of morning tea to do so.

Thank you for all the wonderful comments. I cordially invite you to visit my other stories and leave a calling card on the hall table. We can take tea together and talk over old times. Tea is at four o'clock, I think Bilbo said, tho' sometimes we cannot wait and have ours at three.

I always wanted to give Frodo a happy ending, so here is my AU version which allows him to live as they do at the end of all those fairy tales (and no, I'm not talking about the grim original versions that ought to scare the daylights out of any little ones at bedtime readaloud time).

Anyhow, in my mind's eye, Frodo is still out there... happily pursuing his vocation... can you toast with tea? I know you can eat toast with tea. Ah, well, raising my cup in a toast anyhow. And now... to our story...

***

12. Epilogue

They were nearly back to Hobbiton when Sam gave a sudden exclamation, pulling up his pony.

'What is it, Sam?' Frodo asked, stopping his own mount.

'I just recalled the date; Mr Frodo, do you know what day this is?'

'I hadn't thought about it,' Frodo admitted.

'Well, I had--when you proposed your journey and all, I worried about this day.'

'You worried?' Frodo asked.

'I was wondering what I'd do if you fell ill on the journey.' Sam met his eyes. 'It's the Sixth of October, Mr Frodo.'

'So it is,' Frodo said wonderingly. 'Well, it appears that the potion cured more than we thought.'

'How are you feeling?' Sam asked.

'Fine,' Frodo answered. 'Couldn't be better, except...' he saw the concern creep back into Sam's face and laughed to put him at ease. 'I'm awfully hungry,' he said. 'What do you suppose Rose will fix for dinner?'

They rode on in silence for awhile, which Sam broke. 'Mr Frodo?'

'Yes, Sam?'

Sam looked puzzled. 'If that there... e-lix-ir,' he said, having trouble fitting his mouth around the unfamiliar word, 'could cure all your ills, then why didn't they give it to you in the first place, the last time we were at Rivendell?'

Frodo did not answer, riding along as if in deep thought with his eyes down.

'Mr Frodo?'

Frodo looked up. 'The potion was much more dangerous than you knew,' he said slowly. 'There was very little chance that I'd survive the dose.'

Sam was dumbfounded. Frodo nodded and went on, 'Celeborn didn't want to tell you, he told me later. He didn't think you'd ever let me take such a risk if you knew how little chance there was.'

'He was probably right,' Sam admitted.

'Sam,' Frodo said suddenly, but when Sam looked up, he rode for awhile in silence, as if searching for words. 'I'm afraid I've used you very ill, old friend,' Frodo confessed at last.

'What do you mean, Mr Frodo?' Sam asked. He couldn't imagine his master using anyone ill.

'I brought you along to break the news to Bilbo, if things didn't turn out right. I didn't want him to see me... or not to see me, rather.' He sighed. 'I'm sorry, Sam. I shouldn't have.'

'There's nothing to forgive, Mr Frodo,' Sam said. 'It would have grieved Mr Bilbo no end to see you the way you were. I think it would have been less shock for him to believe you just died, somehow.'

'Yes, Sam, I think you're right,' Frodo answered.

He was silent for a quarter of a mile or so, then stretched in the saddle. 'But now I'm healed, well and whole again,' he marvelled. 'I've my whole life ahead of me; I hardly know what to do with myself!'

'Maybe you could run for Mayor,' Sam suggested.

Frodo chuckled and shook his head. 'No,' he said, 'I would hate to be tied to one place for so long, but I think you'd be perfect at the job.'

He gazed into the far distance. 'I think I'd like to become a mapmaker,' he mused. 'Travel far distances, see the lay of the land, bring it to life on paper. This line a road, another a river...'

At Sam's questioning look he sighed. 'Don't worry, Samwise, I'll always come back to Bag End. As long as you don't rent out my room, that is.'

'We'll manage somehow,' Sam answered.

Frodo nodded. 'You always do, Sam. That you do.'

***

'You know,' Pippin said reflectively over his cup of morning tea, looking at Frodo's pillow-creased face and sleep-tousled hair, 'Being invisible had its good points...'

When we got to talking about birthday mathoms, Dinossiel asked me for a long list of fics or finishes to existing WIPs, but this one rose to the top and so here it is, my birthday mathom.

The idea comes from A Healer's Tale, where Healer Woodruff is musing on what might have been. Since this is an AU with respect to JRRT's story, it can just as easily be an AU with respect to the stories I've written, and no harm done. It is sort of nice to contemplate Frodo living happily ever after.

But I'll let Healer Woodruff take over now...

...I think back, to the Frodo I once knew.

A wild youth, a Baggins being raised in the wilds of Buckland, and quite wild in his own right, by reputation. There were scandalised whispers the first time he visited Whittacres after his adoption by old Bilbo Baggins, and Miss Pearl rode out with him on picnics. Though the two were only tweens, no, not even that! Frodo was barely into his tween years, and Pearl was still a teen, yet how the talk did fly! Grandmother Banks put a stop to it as soon as it came to her ears, that was for certain, and a good thing, too, before Pearl's reputation was forever ruined.

I do believe that is why they sent Pearl to serve Mistress Lalia, in truth. The local lads of Whitwell still looked at her with a certain speculation, and it was not likely that she'd win a fine husband with the little dowry her father could afford. Likely her parents hoped she'd catch the eye of one of the Great Smials Tooks, and far enough from home that besmirching rumour was not to hurt the lass.

I did have a fond wish that she might marry Mr. Frodo Baggins, heir of the richest hobbit in the Shire, and then richest in his own right when peculiar Mr. Bilbo took himself off, and so she could have laughed in the face of the gossips of Whitwell. They were so lovely together, him so tall and fair, and herself, round and rosy, and the two of them always laughing gaily together, as if they shared a delightful secret as they walked through the marketplace, surrounded by cousins to keep them proper, though the damage had already been done years earlier.

But of course it could never be. She returned to the farm in disgrace, in the middle of family troubles--Paladin had offended Mistress Lalia, and the Mistress punished him for it, and while Pearl was attending her, Lalia's chair bumped over the threshold of the Great Door and tipped her down the stairs to her death, and it was whispered...

I take myself firmly in hand. Such is the Talk amongst the Tooks. Years ago it was, and years ago Pearl was safely married off to Isumbold, a fine and upright hobbit, well thought of for nearly giving his life to save Thain Ferumbras, and a hero of the Troubles as well, fighting to keep the ruffians out of Tookland though he barely had a leg to stand on.

I think sometimes that young Mr. Frodo took himself off, in the end, for reason of a broken heart, though of course the gossips would whisper and hint at darker reasons. He and Miss Pearl did look so fine, walking together...

Epilogue 2: What Happened After

Merry looked up from the work of his pen as Pippin danced lightly into the room, brandishing a double fistful of paper. 'Mail here already?' he said. 'My, my, my, seems as if Mayor Will is making up for lost time...'

'Indeed!' Pippin said breezily. 'The quantity of mail seems to be increasing as word of the fine parties at Crickhollow spreads throughout the lands...'

'O?' said Merry, his eye going back to the branch-and-leaves sticking up from the water-filled cream jug. He compared his emerging illustration with the original, nodded to himself, and set pen to paper once more, bottom lip between his teeth as he concentrated. He released his lip once more to ask, 'Were we planning another party? So soon?'

'Dinner invitation,' Pippin said, tossing the first opened missive on the desk, careful to avoid Merry's workspace, but close enough that Merry could take up the paper if he wished. 'Dinner invitation,' he repeated, laying another upon the first, and tearing open a third, said almost immediately, 'Dinner invitation.'

'Ah,' Merry said, not quite paying attention. 'I suppose it will have to be soon, another splendid party, I mean, what with all these obligations hanging over our heads.'

'We could always plead exhaustion or something and stay at home,' Pippin said, tilting his head to one side as if seriously considering the matter.

'Never!' Merry said. 'What with you, a growing tween, it's difficult enough to keep food in the pantry!' (Never mind the depredations of party guests... that was another matter entirely, and considering the lively and splendid parties Crickhollow knew, a much more pleasant one.) He lifted his pen from the paper, to give himself more freedom to shake his head with vigour. 'No,' he said, most decidedly. 'No, we must be sure you get enough to eat, to grow on,' he lowered his chin to glower at Pippin from under his eyebrows, 'lest you wither away altogether!'

Pippin shrugged (for he showed no sign of withering, at least, not at the moment) and opened a fourth envelope. 'Dinner invitation,' he said almost absently, tossing this on top of the growing pile.

Two or three more dinner invitations followed, and then Merry became aware of a sudden and growing silence. With a sigh, he laid his pen aside and looked up, to see Pippin's eyes riveted to a closely written page, though it was tilted so that Merry could not see the handwriting and guess at the writer. 'Yes, Pip?' he said with exaggerated patience. 'Dinner invitation? From the Bracegirdles, I expect? And you hate to break the news to me?'

'Wedding,' Pippin said, and fell silent once again.

'Ah,' Merry said, and waited.

Pippin said nothing, simply perused the page as if it contained the answer to the mysteries of life.

'Ah?' Merry said once more. And when Pippin did not respond, he said it again, drawing the word out encouragingly. 'A-a-a-ah?'

'Are you sickening with something, Merry?' Pippin said, though his eye did not leave the page. He read it again and shook his head as if he could not quite believe his eyes. 'Perhaps I ought to decline all these dinner invitations after all, at least for your part.'

Merry cleared his throat, and Pippin nodded wisely. 'Pity,' the younger cousin said. 'Cousin Miranda is certainly famous for her apple tart, and...'

Merry harrumphed, but Pippin only shook his head and muttered about tonics and medicinal herbs.

'Pip!' Merry said sharply.

Pippin blinked most earnestly, finally looking up from the page. 'Merry?' he said. 'You were wanting something?'

'Who,' Merry said, with space between the words to show how patient he was endeavouring to be, 'is – getting – married?'

'Wouldn't it be “whom”?' Pippin asked, as if he really wondered about the matter. 'Y'know, that's one of those words that really trips me up sometimes, “who” or “whom” or “whomever”... It can be most excruciating...'

'PIPPIN!' Merry shouted, in spite of himself.

Pippin smiled a mild, small, inquiring smile, raising an eyebrow. 'Merry,' he said, at his most patient and benevolent. 'If you have something to say, then say it! I'm all ears!' And he took one hand from the letters he held (though tilting the open page away so that Merry still could not see the handwriting) to cup it behind his ear.

'Wedding,' Merry said. 'Wedding – what?'

Pippin blinked again and tilted his head to the other side. 'Now that's what I always say,' he responded, most conversationally. 'What, indeed?'

'Pippin,' Merry said through his teeth. 'You were the one to bring up the word “wedding”. Is it, perhaps, that you've chosen this... um... inauspicious method of telling me that you're getting married?'

Pippin mystified him by throwing his head back and laughing uproariously, and Merry sighed again and sat back, reconciling himself to the fact that he'd have to wait until Pippin regained himself, before he'd find out anything more.

At last the laughter subsided to chuckles, and Pippin wiped at his eyes while waving the letters incoherently at Merry's face (still, somehow, managing to conceal the handwriting on the open page).

'Now, Merry,' he said at last. He cleared his throat, pressed the hand holding the letters to his heart, and struck a dramatic pose.

Merry nodded, not trusting himself to speak, especially when he might set Pippin off again on who-knew-what-sort-of-nonsense and never find out just what wedding was happening when and where to who... or to whom... or whoever.

'You've always said you were as close to Frodo as a brother,' Pippin said.

Merry was confused, but he tried to keep a smile on his face and an expression of polite interest. 'Yes, Pip?' he said. They were off the topic of the wedding, but perhaps if he let Pippin run out the line, so to speak, he could reel him in again. Eventually.

'Well,' Pippin said. He pulled the letters away from his chest to glance over the open page, nodded, and clapped the papers to his heart once more. 'Well, it seems I'm going to be closer, as I always said I would be, someday, only you never believed me.'

'Don't tell me, let's guess,' Merry said. 'You're going to marry Frodo.'

As a joke, it came off incredibly well. Pippin laughed so hard he nearly fell over, bending in half, crumpling the letters he held in one hand and clutching the other to his stomach. He howled with laughter, as a matter of fact, and laughed and guffawed and snorted and otherwise made disgustingly cheerful noises until he was gasping for breath.

Merry waited. 'It wasn't that funny,' he said at last, rather lamely, but then, what else was there to say?

'You're right,' Pippin gasped, and Merry goggled at him. What in the world...?

'...Frodo's getting married,' Pippin added, at last.

Not to you, I hope, Merry wanted to say, but didn't for fear of setting Pippin off again. The joke had gone far enough, and really, he did want to know the name of the blushing bride. (Who or whom rang in the back of his mind, but he pushed it firmly down again.)

'Frodo's getting married,' Pippin said, 'and I for one say, finally! and I'm glad he's at last getting round to doing what he ought to have done just years ago, and...'

Merry waited, nodded, refrained somehow from tapping one foot. Though he was sorely tempted.

'Well,' Pippin said, growing suddenly diffident. 'I suppose I ought to let you read it for yourself, after all. The letter's written to you, and...'

'Give me that!' Merry said, leaping from the chair and snatching the letters from Pippin's hand, tearing the paper a bit in the process.

He dropped the rest of the papers on the floor, smoothing the important page upon the desk (though he retained enough presence of mind – barely – to avoid the partly completed drawing, recumbent pen, and inkwell).

He read, and looked up at Pippin's beatific face. Pippin had his eyes fixed upon the ceiling, his thumbs were in his braces, and he was rocking back and forth on his heels. 'I'm going to have a brother,' he announced softly, with great glee. 'What a lovely...'

'Not just any brother,' Merry said, an answering smile blooming. He'd always thought that Pearl was the perfect match for Frodo, and yet his all-too-upright cousin had shown himself as remarkably slow as Samwise in matters of the heart, perhaps even slower.

Samwise had, after all, had reason to delay his courting, what with travelling all over the Shire with his replanting program. Frodo, after resigning the Mayorship, had done a considerable amount of wandering, “gathering information for the maps, you know,” but had shown signs of settling down after the birth of his namesake, Frodo-lad Gamgee. Between Frodo-lad and Elanor, he was content to stay at home at Bag End.

Merry had no doubt that he'd make a good father.

'I only hope,' he began, and stopped.

'Hope what?' Pippin said at last, his curiosity stirred.

'I only hope that Frodo knows what he's getting himself into,' he said.

'Getting himself into?' Pippin said, puffing himself up a bit as he began to perceive some insult or other towards his beloved elder sister Pearl. 'Getting himself into?' he repeated.

'Marrying into such a family,' Merry said, smug, and then he grabbed Pippin's head, pulled it down despite Pippin's best struggles, and gave the unruly curls a good, hard rubbing with his knuckles. 'Acquiring such a brother!'

And well satisfied, he released his younger cousin, and stepped back as Pippin spluttered. He stretched, and said, 'Well. Where are we going to dine tonight?'