"I need a signature from each of you," said Frodo casually. Merry sat, smoking, with his chair tilted back, his feet upon the table amid the detritus of their supper. Pippin was cleaning his pipe and did not look up as he spoke: "Don't tell me. You're moving in with Merry and me and selling Bag End at last."

Frodo grinned. "Oh no, I'm not doing your washing up every night." He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a sheaf of papers. "I'm just re-doing some paperwork, and Ponto says I have to get seven signatures, and--" he made a yapping motion with one hand and pushed plates and cups away to lay the papers on the table.

"So what is it?" asked Merry, crossing his feet.

Frodo ran one finger along the arch of Merry's foot and set off a chain reaction: laughter (Frodo and Pippin), shrieking (Merry), windmilling arms (Merry), feet in the air (Merry), a narrow recovery and crash to stability upon all four legs of the chair (Merry).

"Just some papers," giggled Frodo breathlessly.

Pippin stopped stamping on the carpet where Merry's pipe coal had landed and handed Merry his pipe back. "Well, what papers?" he asked.

Frodo sighed. "My will, if you must know." He raised his eyes to the ceiling at their suddenly alert expressions. "It is just paperwork. The old will left Bag End to the Sackville-Bagginses, and that's no use now...."

"Why, Frodo, you shouldn't have," said Merry coyly, ducking the biscuit that Frodo tossed at him.

"Don't be silly, Merry, Frodo has left Bag End to me--Tuckborough is much closer to Bywater."

"But Frodo likes the Brandybucks much more than he does the Tooks."

"Please! A load of boat-loving oddities the Brandybucks are."

"Odd compared to who, the tree-climbing crackpots who inhabit Great Smials?"

"I'm leaving Bag End to Sam." Frodo's voice cut effortlessly through their bickering, though he had not spoken more loudly than before.

Merry closed his mouth with a snap; Pippin left his open for a moment, then shut it and blinked. "Well then," he said. "Did you happen to bring some red ink with you?"

Berilac Brandybuck took the pen without hesitation. "I always did like Sam," he said. "Though he's a mean hand at roopie and I never have forgiven the Gamgee and Cotton brothers for beating my team four times in a row that summer...." His tongue appeared in the corner of his mouth as he signed with a flourish. "There." He looked up at Frodo. "Care for a celebratory drink?"

"Certainly," said Frodo. "But just a private one--keep this under your hat, will you? I don't want word out or there'll be a riot among the Bagginses."

Berilac snorted as he poured the ale. "As if any of them need a place like Bag End." He raised his glass to Frodo. "Here's to Sam, and my best wishes that he shan't inherit for many long years." Frodo nodded his thanks for the sentiment, and if his smile had a private edge, Berilac did not notice it.

Four

"To Sam, eh?" said Folco. He scratched his head. "What about your Baggins relations? With the Sackville-Bagginses gone they'll all be expecting something or other."

Frodo smiled. "None of them have need of a smial as large as Bag End, but Sam and Rosie shall, I think. But just in case, keep this quiet, would you? Legally I'm in the clear--Cousin Ponto is my barrister and he has no issue with it, so I've no real worries on that score."

Folco shrugged. "As you wish, then." He reached for the pen.

Five

"So shall I sign it 'Freddy,' or 'Fatty,' or would you prefer 'Fredegar' after all?" said Frodo's Bolger cousin. He was signing as he spoke, however, and after blowing over the ink to dry it, he carefully handed the document back to Frodo. "There you are. Now Sam just has to push you down the Hill on an icy day…" He grinned irreverently.

"And that's why I haven't left Bag End to you," replied Frodo, grinning back. "Such a thought wouldn't enter Sam's head in a thousand years. But really, now, don't say a word. Sam doesn't even know, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Of course, of course," said Freddy, waving his arms expansively. "Now for the really important news--my mother says that Merry has been over to the hole quite often lately. Do you think that rogue actually has the nerve to court my sister?"

Six and Seven

Rosie had brought the Gaffer his lunch and was sitting in the small, snug kitchen of the hole when they were both surprised by a knock at the front door. "That'll be Daddy Twofoot, come to borrow my hedge clippers again," the old hobbit grumbled. "Just come on in, you old imbecile!" he yelled, and then stood and turned red as a prize beet when Frodo appeared in the kitchen door. "So help me, Mr. Frodo, I thought sure it was that nincompoop neighbor of mine, I never would've spoke so to you...." His voice trailed away in agitation.

"I believe you, Master Hamfast," said Frodo fondly. "Not that the description might not fit." He smiled at Rosie and gestured to them both to sit.

Rosie waved this off, though the Gaffer sat down, still red and incoherant. "I'll just be going, back up the Hill," she said. "Elanor will be waking soon and Sam might need me there."

Frodo stopped her with a gentle hand. "No, please stay for a moment--the baby was sound asleep five minutes ago. I came down special while you were here." All three of them sat down around the shining wood table, and Frodo drew out his sheaf of papers again.

"I have been getting some things straight round Bag End--just figuratively," he assured Rosie, who kept the hole neater than a pin and had looked slightly alarmed. "I had to have some papers drawn up, and among them was my will. I need seven signatures in red ink," and here he pulled a small bottle and a quill from one pocket, "and I'd like for you two to be two of my signatories."

Rosie cocked her head at him. "Have you already asked Sam?" she said.

Frodo met her gaze, his eyes as deep and clear as the Water in autumn. "No, I haven't, and I don't intend to." He smiled, a small smile. "These papers leave Bag End and everything in it to Sam, and so to you, too, Rosie." Her mouth dropped open, and he went on, glancing at the Gaffer as he spoke. "I've no near relations who need or want Bag End--well, none who need it, in any case. And certainly no-one dearer to me and you and Sam. Master Hamfast, I want your blessing on it. And Rose, yours too, though--" he drew in a ragged breath-- "I am not ready to tell Sam yet, for he would worry if he knew." Her eyes did not leave his; she nodded slowly.

The Gaffer broke their silence. "Well, Mr. Frodo, Bag End is yours, to do with what you want though I don't know what my son could need with such a grand big place, and him and Rosie just starting out in life--how will they keep it up, I have to ask you?"

Frodo laughed merrily. "Master Hamfast, your son will not want for love nor respect nor money in all his life, but I think he and Rosie may want sorely for space someday, if their family is as large as I think it might be." Rosie blushed and he patted her hand. "Sam will have my income, which is quite comfortable," he assured the old hobbit, "and I do see great things in his future--he may have begun his life by calling me 'Mr. Frodo,' but his children will be the social equals of any family in the Shire."

The Gaffer hemmed and hawed at this, but shrugged and said again that as Bag End was Mr. Frodo's to give away as he pleased, there was no sense in him putting in his oar. Rosie signed the papers and then another snag was hit; the Gaffer, despite his statements to the contrary, seemed reluctant to sign. Frodo was privately taken aback by this, and then its meaning came to him.

He took the quill and placed it into the elderly hobbit's gnarled hand. "If you'll just put your mark here," he said, pointing to the exact spot; the Gaffer drew a shaky "G," the only letter he knew, and sighed in relief at having it over with. Frodo took the pen from him and wrote "Master Hamfast Gamgee" bold and clear beneath the mark, and the ordeal was over.