"Making A Difference"

When we were going through the long dark of Moria, I once over-heard Gandalf tell Frodo that there are "forces" at work besides the will of evil. Perhaps things that seem insignificant in the moment have greater meaning than we can readily see. Maybe some of those "forces" were at work the morning I brought Frodo his breakfast and we both learned something about each other - and about ourselves.

Sam was off having his feet seen to that morning. Finally, Strider had said the last of the stitches could come out. I knew Sam would be glad to be rid of them as well as the 'socks' he'd been made to wear. Strider said they needed to be able to 'breathe' but still be covered...so a pair of socks seemed ideal. After he was feeling a bit stronger, I'll admit, I took my share of snickers behind his back, as he tottered about in those socks. They just don't look right on a hobbit. Strider kept telling him those feet would heal a lot faster if he'd stay off of them more. But you know Sam. He claimed he was feeling better, and I suppose he was, but from where he was coming, 'better' wasn't necessarily 'well'. Merry and I had quite the job on our hands just trying to keep Frodo tended to Sam's satisfaction - or else he'd be up 'picking up our slack'. We didn't mind, though. Tending to either of them is no chore.

The Black Land is a long and horrible trek for anyone, but especially so for creatures without shoes. Hobbit feet are tough and durable, to be sure, but it seems the rocks of that place were designed especially for biting. And bite they did - deep and often. Sam and Frodo both had come back from that place sliced up like a Yuletide ham, and seared besides - from the heat of the flames.

Frodo's stitches had come out already. I suppose it's a poor payment for him that his feet healed faster than Sam's - but only because he wasn't strong enough to get out of bed. Strider had no problem keeping him off his feet. Frodo didn't have quite as many cuts as Sam had to begin with, spared as his feet had been that last terrible leg of their journey, for he was carried then, of course. Upon Sam's faithful back he had ridden. Sam had become everything to him in that land - I know that now. He was so much more than his servant by then - friend, brother, father, mother, healer, comforter - whatever Frodo needed, that's what he was. In that moment when he was finally too weak and sick to carry himself a step further, Sam had become his legs as well. Sam assures me that he was no burden and it isn't difficult for me to believe from the looks of him. Even weeks after, he's still so thin and frail looking, I can see how he must have felt, as Sam described, "like a hobbit child upon his back for a pig-a-back ride in a romp across the Shire". If only it had been that.

Mercy! There I go, rattling on again, like an empty wagon on Hobbiton's worst road after a rainstorm! Anyway, Sam was having his stitches removed that morning so it was me who brought Frodo's breakfast to him. I had promised Sam I would personally see to it that Frodo ate an amount that would keep his body and soul together. He was still asleep when I carried his tray in. The morning sun had just begun to spill her rays into the room, filtered as she was through the wafting leaves outside, she danced and played in his hair as I came in and sat the tray on the empty corner of the bed. Frodo was still drowned deep in sleep, his head burrowed down in the softness of his pillow. One ear was exposed and I lightly ran a finger along it's curving edge in a way I knew would tickle him awake.

"Frooo-do...time to wake up, you sleepy-head." I teased in sing-song.

I watched as he stirred and lifted those lashes that seemed to be of a monstrous weight as he slowly came to awareness. He blinked several good times, trying to bring me into focus, I suppose.

"Mmmmph. Pip." He groaned, peeping up at me with one bleary eye. His voice was full of his usual morning growl, but the sleepy smile that teased at his lips in spite of himself warmed me through. Blinking some more and looking around, he stretched and yawned as he tried to come to full wakefulness.

"And a fine good-morning to you too, tossel-head. Ready for some breakfast?" I asked, with intentions of not taking no for an answer.

"That depends." He answered with a bit of cheek as he fixed me with a sideways glance of those blue eyes of his, finally in focus. "Are you going to stand there calling me names or help me sit up, you silly Took?"

"If I go to the trouble of helping you up, you're gonna eat, right?" I only half joked as I began arranging his pillows against the head of the bed.

"One way to find out." Was his reply, delivered as it was with a grin that told me I was in for an interesting morning.

I tried to look challenging as I returned his grin and began helping him rise up. I quelled my urge to simply take him under the arms and slide him up against the pillows. Frodo was obviously in rare Baggins form this morning and I wasn't about to undermine his dignity (again!) and risk feeling the rough side of his tongue by doing for him something he could "bloody well do himself, thank you very much, Pippin". I offered him my hand instead and was rewarded by a thankful smile as he took it in his own. I tried to be subtle as I helped him pull himself up, slow and shaking all the way. His eyes closed and he clung to my hand for dear life when he was fully upright and dizziness assailed him for a moment. Though it was hard not to, I didn't say anything but just waited for it to pass. Finally, it did pass and he was able to lean back against the pillows and catch his breath. That's exactly what he was doing, too. He panted as though he'd just run across the Shire and a fine sheen of sweat beaded on his upper lip. I refrained from mentioning out loud how frighteningly white he was, knowing it would only bring on a verbal assault Frodo clearly didn't have the energy to spare to deliver to me.

So that I wouldn't appear to be hovering over him, I busied myself with washing my hands in the basin across the room as I waited for him to recover enough to eat. Watching him carefully from the mirror over the basin, I noted when he seemed to be breathing more normally and the tiniest hint of color had returned to his cheeks. Why in the world did he have to be so stubborn? Didn't he know he worried us to death with it? Or, perhaps that was part of the charm of it for him.

At any rate, I gave him a few moments and then went back to the tray. It's silver cover was still warm to the touch as I lifted it by the handle, releasing a waft of delicious smelling steam as I did.

"Mmmm! Frodo you are in for a treat, cousin." I enthused. "Looks like they couldn't make a decision on the breakfast meats this morning - so they gave you bacon, sausage and ham. Oh and look - they've made those fine hashed potatoes you like so much and - "

"Pippin?" Frodo stopped me mid-sentence, a serious look on his face.

"What is it, cousin? Are you sick? What's wrong?" I asked, unable to keep the worry out of my voice.

"No. No, I just...I need to use the privy before I eat." He said.

"Oh!" I said, relived and knelt to retrieve the chamber pot from beneath his bed.

"No, Pip. Not the chamber pot. I want to use the privy. The real privy. Help me up?" He asked pointedly.

Was he insane? He'd nearly passed out just trying to get himself upright - and now he wanted to try to walk to the privy? Rare form or not, I had to protest this one.

"Frodo..." I began, trying to keep my voice even. "Do you really think that's such a good idea? I mean, you have to admit, it took a lot just for you to be able to sit up. I don't think you're strong enough yet to be getting out of bed." I finished rather lamely as I watched the fire start in the depths of his blue eyes.

"And I never will be strong enough if you all keep insisting on keeping me an invalid. The only way I'm going to get stronger is to do some work." Frodo's voice rose in irritated frustration.

I knew Frodo was right. The longer he laid there, the weaker his body became - I knew this from experience. Still...this just seemed like too much at once. He'd sat up on his own already. That was enough for one day.

"Frodo, perhaps tomorrow would be better. You've already worn yourself-" I started to ply him with my logic, but was cut off mid-stream by Frodo's carefully controlled voice.

"Pippin. You can either help me or not. But with or without your help, I am getting up. So, if you aren't going to help me, kindly move aside and give me a wide berth to get started in." Frodo wasn't looking at me as he spoke, but strait ahead. His chin was raised determinedly and his jaw was set.

I stared at him in indignation and disbelief for a moment. He glanced up at me, then seeing I made no move to help, began disentangling himself from the sheets and blankets. I let him get as far as being completely uncovered before I broke down and reached to help him.

"For Eru's sake, Frodo! You're going to be the death of me with your stubborn bullheaded ways." I groused as I stalked over to steady him.

Despite my aggravated tone, Frodo smiled up at me as he grabbed onto my arm to pull himself over to the edge of the bed. There was true gratitude in his eyes and he gave my arm a light squeeze. "Thank you, Pip." He whispered.

"Come on, you stubborn Baggins. Let's get this over with." Was my reply as I gently helped him slide over to the edge of the bed.

Slowly he swung his legs to dangle over the side then sat for long moments with his eyes closed, waiting for the room to stop spinning before attempting more. He swayed a bit, clutching the mattress to stay upright - but he needn't have...my hands were hovering at either side of him, ready to catch if he should fall. For a moment, I thought he might actually pass out or at the very least, be sick, but the spell finally passed and he opened his eyes to see me still standing close before him.

"All right." He managed to say, finally. "Let's go."

I sat down beside him on the bed and gently placed his right arm over my shoulder (I chose the right because I know the left still pains him sometimes when he raises his arm), then with my arm tight about his waist, helped him rise. His breath caught and he moaned softly as his feet touched the floor for the first time.

"Cousin! What is it? Are you all right?" I asked alarmed.

"S'cold!" He breathed with a small, sick smile on his now paper white face. "No wonder...all those Gon--...Gondorians...wear socks on...on their feet." His voice was slow and halting with exertion already, but he laughed softly at himself.

"Sam may not be so happy to get rid of his socks once he sees how cold these stone floors are!" I laughed with him, watching his face carefully to make sure he was still determined to do this. He was, of course.

Slowly, as one body, we moved forward. It couldn't have been more than fifteen steps from Frodo's bed to the adjacent privy door, but it took us a full five minutes to move that distance. We stopped often to let Frodo catch his breath. I suppose it was a good thing he weighed no more than he did for during our stops (and truthfully, for most of the duration of the trip), nearly his full weight was on me. During our rest stops, Frodo would alternate clenching his head to stop the spinning with clenching on to me to keep himself upright. I urged him back to bed, but he would have none of it, waving me off and insisting that he could make it.

By the time we reached the privy, Frodo was shaking so badly from fatigue I feared I'd not be able to keep my hold on him. For a long time we just stood there, Frodo leaning against me, as I held tight to his waist and he clutched at my shirt. After a time, he raised his head, gesturing toward the privy facilities. I said nothing, but simply moved my grip to his chest as he stood before the privy and shifted his garments to do what he had to do. Under my hands, I could feel his heart pounding and his panting breath wheezing in and out of his lungs as I held his trembling body upright. I tried not to count his ribs beneath my hands as I held him there, but they were so prominent I almost couldn't help myself. When he had finished, I helped him turn about and began leading him back toward his bed.

You would think that the thousand times he nearly passed out on the journey there would have been enough evidence to convince him that he was not yet well enough to be up walking about - even if I was supporting most of his slight weight. But, of course, we're talking about Frodo. On the way back, as I gently tried to guide him back toward the bed, he gestured for me to stop. Then, as he was too winded by this point to talk, he pointed toward the basin and pitcher. That crazy Baggins wanted a wash before going back to bed!

"No, Frodo. You've done enough for one day. Come on, now. Back to bed with you." I set my jaw this time and began practically dragging him back toward his bed.

Irritation has always had a way of rousing Frodo the way almost nothing else could. My determination to put him back to bed was apparently all the fuel his determination not to be put back to bed needed. It was burning full blaze as he fought to pull away from me slightly and scowled at me with those infinitely expressive brows drawn together.

"No." He said determinedly. "Gotta wash...my hands before...before breakfast." He panted, then added, "You coming?"

I didn't seem to have a real choice as Frodo was obviously determined to go through with this bit of foolishness. I made my protest known however with a loud, disgruntled sigh of irritation. That didn't keep Frodo from knowing he had won though, and we began making our way toward the water basin.

Though it seemed to take forever and a day, the shaking, halting steps finally got us to our destination. It was tricky, but when we got there I managed to hold Frodo up with one arm as I poured fresh water from the pitcher with the other. Once more my arms encircled my cousin as he concentrated all of his attention and energy into doing a simple thing most people took for granted - washing himself. I tried not to let the pity show in my eyes as I watched him fumbling awkwardly with the soap, his hands shaking so that he could barely get a grip on it. But I said nothing. I just stood there holding him while he did what he could for himself. When he had finished, I handed him the towel and waited as he dried himself. He was nearly as clumsy with the towel as he had been with the soap and at one point, I felt him stop moving and looked up to see if he was finished. He was standing stock still, simply staring at himself in the mirror over the basin.

"What is it, Frodo? What's the matter?" I queried softly.

"Oh, Pip! No wonder! No wonder you all..." He started then trailed off as words failed him. He just continued staring.

"No wonder we what?" I asked, watching his face in the mirror. His shaking hand was slowly raised to his face, pale and thin. Tentatively he touched his hair, wild and curling in all directions. He looked...startled.

"Is it really...me?" He asked finally in a tiny voice, gesturing to the pale and fragile image staring back at him from the glass.

I could think of nothing to say, so I simply wrapped him more securely in my embrace and gently stroked his shoulder. It hadn't occurred to me that Frodo hadn't seen him self in a mirror before now...at least, not since Rivendell. As changed as he had been after Weathertop, that change was nothing compared to the one that had come over him since then. He studied himself as one looking at the face of someone who is familiar yet unknown to them. The eyes that stared back at him from the glass were very large and almost fever bright, and haunted. His skin, ever fair even in the best of health was pale to the point of being ashen. There were no roses to liven the gauntness of his cheeks and the lips, which gaped and trembled, were as white as the skin around them. Frodo's hands tugged lightly at his nightshirt, which in all honesty, swallowed him whole. He pulled it close to his frame to observe the emaciated condition of the rest of his body. The garment had a simple rounded neck that exposed his now very prominent collarbones and his hands shook as he lightly touched them. Finally his eyes had seen enough and he let his gaze drift down to the floor to his toes, barely peeking from beneath his nightshirt.

"Come on, dearest. Lets get you back to your bed, now. That's enough exercise for one day." I said, with a lightness my heart did not feel.

He merely nodded his head and allowed me to turn him back toward the bed. Whatever energy his stubborn determination had given him, it was waning now and it seemed I was bearing a bit more of his weight with every step. Finally his legs gave out beneath him and he cried out, clutching on to my clothing desperately as he tried to avoid crumpling in an undignified heap. Thankfully I was able to catch him before he hit that cold stone floor.

"M'sorry, Pip. Didn' mean to fall on you. M'sorry." His voice was slurred and his eyes were glazed as I gently hauled him back up.

"Shhh. Hush, now. It's all right. I've got you. I've got you. It's not your fault and no harm's done." I soothed as I helped him to his feet and leaned his body against mine. "Let's just get you back to bed. All right? Come on, now. Pip's here. Pip's got you. Still with me?" I kept chattering in the hopes of keeping him conscious long enough to get him back to the bed.

"Still...still here." He managed to whisper as we made our way back, swaying and lurching all the way.

By the time we reached his bed, Frodo's head was lolling onto my shoulder and he was being dragged along rather than taking actual steps. I carefully shifted my grip and gently lowered him to sit on the edge of the bed. He clung to me for several moments, hanging onto my sleeve and laying his head against my arm as I stood before him. When he had recovered enough, he spoke again.

"Thought I could...could do it, Pip." He said tiredly, without lifting his head from where it rested against my arm.

I stroked his head, lifting the curls at the nape of his neck that had become damp in his exertions. He sighed, leaning eagerly into the comfort of my hands. Somehow I knew that Frodo was talking about far more than just his trip across the room to the privy and washbasin. He was talking about the Ring - and as far as I knew, for the first time. I searched my heart and prayed to Eru for the right words to say to him.

"You did fine, Frodo." I finally whispered. "You did better than fine...better than anyone else could have. It was just...too much. It was too hard for anyone to be expected to do. No one could have asked any more of you. No one else could have done as much as you did. Don't you ever forget that." I hoped the tears in my eyes and voice weren't as obvious to him as they were to me.

Slowly he lifted his head and gazed up into my face, studying me as though he'd never seen me before. I cupped one of my hands against his cheek and one of his against mine.

"My Pip." He said. "My baby cousin. Whenever did you grow up and become so wise?" He asked me with a bit of a surprised chuckle in his exhausted voice.

"Oh, I think it must have been somewhere between here and the Shire." I answered, keeping my voice light and teasing. "Most likely when that troll sat on me, I think. That has a way, you know? Though, the Ent draught didn't hurt either, I imagine."

Frodo laughed as I had intended. Though the laughter was a bit ragged, it was still like music to my ears as I stood watching his eyes smiling up at me. I didn't tell him what a good question it was...that I myself was unsure of the answer. Had I grown up and become wise? Well, I don't know about wise, but surely I was wiser than I had been before. At least now I realized, it's not all about me - or even Great Smials or the Shire. I know now that there is a whole world out there - and that I can make a difference in it. I said none of this out loud, of course. This kind of talk was for another day, another time. Frodo needed me now. I could make a difference to him.

"Come on, now. Let's get you settled back in and get some breakfast into you before Sam and Merry and Aragorn and Gandalf and, well...perhaps all of Minas Tirith shows up to find you exhausted, underfed and exposed while I'm on watch. I'd rather have another go at a troll as face the wrath of that lot." I teased as I eased him back onto his pillows and drew the sheets and blankets over him.

Frodo sighed gratefully and relaxed into the comfort of his bed. His eyes followed me as I retrieved the tray and brought it to sit beside him on the bed.

"Ready to eat now?" I asked, sitting myself down on the edge of his bed.

Frodo nodded back at me and said, "Think so." with a small smile on his face. Slowly a little color was returning to his lips and cheeks.

"Good!" I said, spreading the napkin over him and lifting the lid of the tray.

Though the food was no longer steaming, it was still warm enough to be very good and the aromas wafted out to us. I hoped Frodo was as enticed by it as I was. I watched him carefully as he reached his still shaking hand toward the tray and tried to lift a small glass of juice. The bottom of the glass clattered against the tray a bit and the juice threatened to slosh as he slowly brought it to his lips. I could see his frustration mounting as more of the juice ended up on his chin than actually in his mouth. Pity washed over me but I tried not to let it show in my voice as I admonished him to let me to help him.

"Frodo, please let me help you. Just this morning. I know you can do it on your own, but humor me and let me help anyway." I hoped my smile would win him over.

He looked at first like he would protest, but then a slow smile spread across his face and he laughed in spite of himself.

"Well, I suppose if I want more of this food inside me rather than on me, I'd best let you help me. Just this once. You've quite worn me out, Pippin. I don't know whatever possessed you to make me get up and tromp about the room." Frodo grinned sagely, watching to see how I would react to this last bit of nonsense. I decided to just go along with him. It'd be easier that way.

"Yes. Whatever was I thinking?" My voice dripped with sarcasm as I reached out to take the juice glass and swiped at his chin with the napkin.

"Here, now." I said, pressing the glass to his lips.

This time, he was able to actually consume some of the juice and he closed his eyes, savoring the flavor of the sparkling citrus juice he had favored since coming to Minas Tirith. He often lamented he didn't know what he'd do when he got back to the Shire where oranges weren't readily available. Orange juice had become one of Frodo's staple breakfast foods and one we knew we could coax into him even when he would accept nothing else.

In order to provide him with a few moments to make sure his stomach wasn't going to protest the morning's activities, I took my time splitting, buttering and then lacing with honey the small, perfectly round *"Biscuits of the Valar" that Frodo also very much favored. They were somewhere between a shortbread biscuit and a yeast roll and so tender and lightly sweet they seemed to melt in your mouth. Frodo liked them so much he had requested the recipe to take with him when he left for the Shire. When I was sure he would not be sick, I alternated feeding him small bits of the buttered and honeyed bread with pieces of the meats, along with eggs and the hash browns, which looked to be cooked to perfection.

"Pip?" Frodo asked just after I'd pressed a small bite of the bread into his waiting mouth.

"Hm?" I asked distractedly as I cut a piece of the ham for his next bite.

"Do you always let me look this dreadful?" He tried to grin cheekily as he said it, but I could tell there was a serious question in there.

I considered my answer carefully before speaking.

"Well, I have to say you look a bit worse this morning than you normally do. My forced march about the room surely took something of a toll on your appearance. I should be flogged, I suppose." I grinned at him as I watched him methodically chewing the bread and ham I had fed him while I was talking.

He looked very thoughtful and reflective for several moments then spoke again, this time around a bite of the eggs.

"I guess I never really thought about how I must look. I mean, I know I often feel pretty tired and sometimes not well but..." He trailed off and I tried not to scoff at his massive understatements of 'pretty tired' and 'sometimes not well'. I took it as a good sign that he would admit even that much. After several seconds, he went on.

"I look...scary. I mean, I look much more horrible than I ever imagined I did. I think I understand now why you all treat me as though I'm made of glass...I look fragile enough to break, certainly. But, Pip - I won't, you know. I won't break." He looked at me very seriously when he said that. I knew somehow too, that it wasn't only me he was trying to convince. He needed to believe it for himself as well. I nodded my head at him and tried to smile a bit.

"I know, Frodo." I whispered. "No one has to tell me what stern stuff you're made of. But Frodo, you have to understand what it was like for us, too. There were so many times when you were gone that we were sure we had lost you. I'll never forget how I felt when the Mouth of Sauron presented us with your shirt - empty of you. And when the mountain exploded - well, it was hard to believe that even a body would be found - even by those eagles. When you were found, and brought back to us - there were so many moments when you were so sick we didn't know if we'd get to keep you or not. You seemed ready to slip away from us at any time and we just felt like we had to hold on so tight - I guess we never really got over that. Frodo, I know this will be hard for you to hear, and even harder to believe, but cousin, you look so much better now than then. And you're improving every day, I think. The first time I saw you, I admit, I was afraid to touch you. You seemed more fragile than even glass then - more like a soap bubble." Frodo's gaze at me was tortured with the question that burned behind his eyes. So I went on and answered it. "But now - now I see you improving each day and I'm so thankful and so glad. It's getting easier to believe we might get to keep you after all. But you can't blame us for holding on a little too tightly sometimes. You're our gift, Frodo. Our gift we never dreamed we'd be so fortunate as to have with us again - and we can't help it if we don't want to let you go." I finished and looked up to see two tears standing in Frodo's eyes.

"Pip, I'm...I'm sorry." He whispered, reaching out his hand to me. I captured it in my own and he went on. "I'm sorry I fight you and well, everyone who cares about me at every turn. I don't mean to. Truly. I just - I guess I'm just a little impatient and I want to erase that worry from your eyes when you look at me. I want to prove I'm all right. And I guess I need to believe it myself."

"Frodo, believe me, I think we would worry more if you didn't try to fight us at every turn. You're our stubborn Baggins, after all." My laugh as I said it was genuine and he smile back at me with only a bit of smarminess.

"Still," He said. "I'll try to do better. Try to take help when I need it. I suppose I could use a hand every now and then." He smiled.

"Well, we'll try to do better as well. Maybe we can manage to hold on without holding too tightly." I held his gaze for a moment then remembered my current task. "Come on, now - your eggs are getting cold." I said, stabbing a forkful and bringing it to his mouth.

He made a face of protest. "I'm full. I don't think I can eat any more." He said.

When I made to insist, he laughed. "I'm only teasing, Pip! Goodness! I think that troll must have squashed your sense of humor along with everything else."

"Very funny, Frodo. Now eat!" My face and voice were mock stern as I said this.

"How is that leg, by the way?" He asked as I continued feeding him.

"Oh, much better now." I said seriously. "It can predict weather now, though! Just like one of those crotchety old hobbits, I am! Always telling people when it's gonna rain by the ache in my leg."

Frodo laughed with me and I launched into telling him (for about the hundredth time, probably) exactly how my being beneath a troll had come about. Frodo was politely regaled with my telling and he did not protest as I continued feeding him. By the time I had nearly emptied the tray though, his eyes were really drooping and he looked very tired. He turned his face away as I tried to get him to swallow one more fork full of sausage.

"No. M'full." he said and looked a bit disgusted as he stared at the sausage.

Being that he had really eaten far more than I ever expected, I didn't push the issue. I put the sausage back on the tray and lifted his teacup instead.

"Well, all right. You really have done very well this morning." I praised. "Finish your tea for me, though." I said, pressing the cup to his lips and holding it there while he drank the cooled liquid in long, slow swallows.

When he'd finished off the tea, I returned all his dishes to the tray and began to tidy up. Frodo's napkin was still laid across his chest and I retrieved it and dabbed it daintily at the corners of his mouth the way a lass would. Frodo chuckled and grabbed it away from me.

"Give me that, you silly Took." He groused and used the napkin to wipe his own mouth.

The door opened just as he was handing it back to me to put away with the tray. A proud looking Sam entered, followed by Merry and Aragorn.

"Look, Mr. Frodo!" He said, sitting down in the chair beside Frodo's bed and raising one foot to show off the sole that no longer had any stitches. "All better they are."

"That's wonderful, Sam. I know you're glad to be rid of them. You mustn't take it as a license to run around on them too much, however. You still need to take it easy." Frodo fussed.

"That's just what Mr. Strider was telling me, sir. And like I told him, you don't have to worry too much about that. I won't be running around here any more'n need be! These stone floors are cold without socks!" Sam replied.

Frodo and I looked at each other and burst into giggles. All present were confused by our laughter.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Yes - what's so funny?" Merry wanted to know.

Strider merely looked at us as though we had lost our minds.

When we finally got hold of our giggles, it was Frodo who spoke.

"It's nothing. Don't worry, dear Sam. We're not laughing at you. It's just something Pip and I were discussing, er, - before breakfast. Right, Pip?" he said and looked at me pointedly.

I got the message. His trip to the privy and washbasin were to be our secret - along with everything that was said afterward. Frodo didn't want the others to worry about him over doing it. And I was happy to comply.

"Frodo - you are absolutely right." I said.

His smile of gratitude back at me let me know that the morning's activities hadn't been for nothing. A change had come over both of us - a change for the better. I was proud to have made a difference.

/Fine

* The "Biscuits of the Valar" from the story were inspired by a particularly yummy batch of "Angel Biscuits" I had recently. They are soooo yummy! You have to try them! As I stated in the story, they are somewhere between a biscuit (not as in the British 'biscuit' - which I would call a 'cookie' - but as in that lovley bread southerners love to cover with gravy and slather with butter and honey and jelly and jam and ... what? oh! sorry!) - anyway, they are somewhere between a biscuit and a yeast roll in texture and very lightly sweet. You'll love 'em. I do warn, though...they are ADDICTIVE!

"Angel Biscuits" or "Frodo's Biscuits of the Valar" :-)

INGREDIENTS:

2 packages active dry yeast (about 4 1/2 teaspoons)
1/4 cup warm water, about 110° F.
2 cups warmed buttermilk, about 110° F.
5 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 tablespoon salt
1 cup shortening
melted butter
PREPARATION:

Dissolve the yeast in the 1/4 cup of warm water. Stir in buttermilk; set aside.
In a large mixing bowl combine flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Cut in shortening until mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in yeast and buttermilk mixture, blending well. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead just a few turns. Roll to about 1/2-inch thick and cut out with a 2 1/2 inch biscuit cutter. Place cut out biscuits on a lightly greased baking sheet. Cover with a dish cloth and let rise in a warm place for about 1 1/2 hours. Bake at 450° for 8 to 10 minutes. Brush tops with the melted butter while still hot. Makes about 2 to 3 dozen angel biscuits, depending on size.

ENJOY! :)