The Ties of Family

Seeing Love

       The knock at the front door was insistent, and Bilbo could perhaps be forgiven if he appeared annoyed as he went to answer it, leaving his guests at the kitchen table where they were enjoying second breakfast, little Frodo involved in eating a slice of slightly chewy bacon.  Afar off they could hear the front door opened, and the excited voice of a lad, the now pleased reply of their cousin.  In a moment he was back, leading young Dando Grubbs, who worked as a hand on cousin Fortumbald Boffin’s farm, which he worked alongside his brother Hildibras and cousin Ira.

       Bilbo’s expression was very pleased.  “Fortumbald’s sent us word--Ivy gave birth this morning at dawn--a lovely little lass.”  He set another place at the table and indicated the lad should join them, pouring him out a cup of cider.

       Drogo smiled.  “How wonderful!  We are going to have to go see, won’t we, Primula?”

       “Of course, love.  Frodo, dearling, don’t take more than you can chew with your mouth closed.  Shall we start after the meal, then?  We should drive over, don’t you think, Bilbo?  Overhill is a bit far yet for Frodo to walk.”

       Bilbo finished rapidly and hurried off to the center of Hobbiton to retrieve Drogo and Primula’s cart from the stable at the Ivy Bush, and as soon as young Frodo was freshly dressed they started off for the farm the other side of Overhill.

       So it was that the first time Narcissa Boffin saw Frodo Baggins was the day of her birth, as the small lad, three and a half years old, lifted high in Bilbo’s arms, looked down on the tiny figure held in those of Ivy Boffin’s, an infant who returned his examination.

       The next time she knew she saw Frodo Baggins was the day on which her cousin Folco was born to Hildibras and Wisteria.  Frodo was now six and a half, and she was three; all came to Hildibras’s smial to see the bairn which had been born in the wee hours of the morning, and Narcissa and Frodo shared a stool as they examined their new, mutual cousin.  Afterward the two of them ran through the garden surrounding the hole until Bilbo, Drogo, and Primula Baggins were ready to return to Bag End.

       Drogo and Primula Baggins returned for Frodo and Bilbo’s birthday in September, and both Boffin families attended the joint party; but that was the last time Primula agreed to come near Hobbiton or allow her son there, anywhere within sight of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who had been telling horrible tales regarding mother and son.

       After that Narcissa saw Frodo primarily at the Free Fair held at Midsummer in Michel Delving, usually in the company of his parents or Bilbo Baggins--until the year his parents died.  That year he didn’t come to the Free Fair at all; the next year he accompanied Esmeralda and Saradoc Brandybuck, but stayed at their sides or in the company of others of his Brandybuck relatives the whole time they were at the Fair.

       After that he usually rode with other children to the Fair in the back of one of the big farm wagons owned by the folk of Brandy Hall; but where most of his fellows would scatter as soon as they were allowed to leap from the back of the wagon, Frodo would dutifully wait for one of his adult cousins to take responsibility for him.  While there he might be allowed to spend some time with old Bilbo; but most of the time Saradoc, Esmeralda, Master Rory, or Mistress Menegilda would have the lad in tow, usually keeping a strict eye on his activities.

       The second year after his parents’ deaths Frodo carried with him his infant cousin Merry, to whom he was obviously devoted; the following year he was surrounded by the youngest of the Hall bairns, for whom he appeared to be almost totally responsible.  At last Bilbo set several lasses from the Hall in charge of the little ones and took Frodo off with him for a time; but when Menegilda realized the lad had been relieved of his responsibilities she made a point of seeking him out and making him resume them as soon as possible.

       The following year, somehow, Frodo had slipped his leash.  He was running with the other teens from the Hall near his age this year, all working at appearing tough and wild.  Rumor had it Frodo had become one of the leaders of the Hall lads gangs, and that he was masterminding the most daring raids of farms, smokehouses, dairies, and glasshouses throughout the Marish.  Certainly the farmers watched the passing of the group of about seven teens with suspicion in their eyes, and several watched Frodo with especial care.  Still, some of the food booths that year came up unexpectedly short of supplies, and Narcissa herself had found Frodo’s gang behind the cattle tent, finishing up an impromptu feast, Frodo feeding bites of apple to little Meriadoc Brandybuck.  When he caught Narcissa’s eye, he gave her a defiant look and turned back to his friends. 

       This state of affairs went on for two more summers--and then suddenly Frodo was back under the thumb of Mistress Menegilda and Esmeralda again, his expression sad and wary, his attitude resigned and meek.  Again he was responsible for the youngest of the Hall bairns, including Merry, and Bilbo Baggins appeared very concerned as he watched after him.  The following year, when Frodo was twenty and Narcissa had just turned seventeen, Bilbo insisted that Frodo be given at least a couple hours to himself at the Fair, and reluctantly Esmeralda had agreed.

       The dancing was beginning when Frodo, accompanied by Merry, found himself behind the ale tent which stood on one side of the dancing ground with a number of other teens and tweens around the age of twenty.  Soon would start the Husbandmen’s dance, a special dance done solely by the menfolk of the Shire, one which started out slowly but in which the tempo increased in each of its seven repetitions until it became quite wild.

       Isumbard Took and Lotho Sackville-Baggins were facing each other down.  “I bet you can’t keep up,” Lotho was saying to the Took.

       “I bet I can,” Isumbard replied.  “I doubt you, however, could keep up for the first three rounds.”

       Ferdibrand Took gave Lotho a disparaging look.  “He’s been practicing, and will probably dance with the menfolk next year, he’s so good.”

       “Well, I’ve been practicing as well,” Lotho boasted.  “My dad is the best dancer in the Hobbiton area.”

       “Even Uncle Bilbo is better than your da,” another Took insisted, “and he’s almost a hundred.”

       Lotho’s face darkened.  “That’s what you say.  He’s getting old and decrepit now.”

       At that Frodo’s face became set.  “You have the nerve to call Bilbo Baggins decrepit, do you?  He could outdance your father any day, and I can outdance you, whoever you are!”

       “Could you, Brandybuck?”

       “I am not a Brandybuck save by my father having married one.  My dad danced the Husbandmen’s dance every year here at the Free Fair, and was always considered one of the best, alongside Uncle Bilbo.”

       “I bet you can’t make it two rounds!”

       “I bet I can make it through every one of them.”

       “You ready to put your goods where your mouth is?  What are you willing to wager?”

       “I have seven silver Shire pennies I’ll wager.  You?”

       Lotho was taken aback at that, for he’d never had so much wealth in his life.  Finally he pulled a fancy pocket knife out of his trousers and held it out.  "This,” he said.

       Isumbard looked at both with a sniff and produced his pocket watch.  “I’ll wager this, then,” he said.

       “Worth too much,” Frodo said, shaking his head.  “Have something else--a steel pen or something like?  Thain Ferumbras would be terribly upset if you lost one of the Great Smial’s heirlooms in a wager.”

       Isumbard had to agree, and at last he, too, produced a pocket knife, a considerably nicer one than the one Lotho had wagered, although it didn’t have as many blades.  The three of them set their wagers in a circle Ferdibrand Took drew on the ground with a stick, and they began to line up.  Several of the others in the group also lined up as the musicians out on the dancing ground began to play the introduction to the dance, and all set their hands on their hips.

       Lotho didn’t make it three rounds before he was missing steps and slapping his thigh when he ought to have been slapping the sole of his left foot.  Ferdibrand Took made it into the fourth repetition, Reginard Took began to falter in the fifth round, Brendilac Brandybuck faltered at the end of the fifth round, and most of the rest didn’t make it through the sixth.  Finally in the seventh repetition Isumbard stumbled twice, although he recovered well.  Only Frodo Baggins made it through to the end of the seventh round without a single misstep or error, and he’d managed to add a couple of flourishes that enhanced his performance.

       When the music finally stopped, Frodo didn’t even appear winded.  His eyes were bright with pleasure, his naturally pale face flushed with exertion, his mouth smiling, his head held high. 

       Reginard shook his head, laughing.  “Well, Bard, looks as if Cousin Frodo now is the owner of two pocket knives.”

       “He won fairly,” Isumbard agreed with grudging respect.  “You’re definitely as good as your da was, Baggins.”

       Frodo gave a nod as he leaned over the circle and pocketed the seven coins and two knives that lay there.  Lotho stood, angry and frustrated, watching as he saw his knife disappear into the other lad’s trousers pocket.  That was a Baggins, was it?  How on earth had he managed to win the contest?  Rumor was that he had a weak heart, after all, if he was indeed Frodo Baggins--his ma had told him so.  Yet there was nothing in Frodo’s stance that indicated he had such a thing--he wasn’t showing any sign he was tired by the dance, while many of the gentlehobbits on the other side of the tent wall were fortifying themselves after dancing the same dance.  Frodo then gave a small bow to the group and wandered off to the dancing area, joining in with the group dancing several times.

       Two of the lasses who’d been watching behind the ale tent lost their hearts to Frodo Baggins that day, though, Pearl Took and Narcissa Boffin, both caught by the competence and grace the young Hobbit showed and that joyful smile at the end of the dance.  Narcissa never recovered hers as long as Frodo remained in the Shire.

First Summer in Bag End

       “You’ve heard the latest on Bilbo Baggins, haven’t you?” asked his cousin Peony Burrows.  “He’s finally done his duty by his cousin Drogo and has taken young Frodo as his ward.  I must say, it’s about time--the lazy soul has let the poor lad languish there in Buckland long enough!  And the word is the lad has become the scourge of Buckland and the Marish, for he’s become involved in all kinds of doings--far too smart by half for his own good; and not enough supervision.  But, then, what else is to be expected from Brandy Hall, so far off there on the wrong side of the Brandywine?”

       Iris Baggins sighed as she looked at her husband’s younger sister.  Peony would have to start talking about Bilbo and young Frodo--and right in front of Lobelia, too.  Lobelia wasn’t supposed to be at this sewing party, for she hadn’t been invited--or at least not by Iris.  However, Peony had decided back when Lobelia first married Otho and came to Hobbiton to attach herself to the old harridan, perhaps hoping close association would keep Lobelia’s poisonous tongue still about Peony’s and Milo’s business; and it was Peony who’d let slip to Lobelia that there was a sewing party going on today for the sake of Olo and Mira Proudfoot, who’s fourth child was due at any time now.  Now, here she was, sitting there with that nasty little smirk on her face, that smirk that always made Iris itch to smack it away, ready to bring back all the accusations regarding Primula’s alleged betrayal of her husband. 

       Iris wasn’t at all certain how the talk had ever gained credence by anyone.  As an infant Frodo had been the spitting image of his own father Drogo as well as his grandfather Fosco Baggins.  Now that he was twenty-one he was so reminiscent of Fosco that many who remembered the lad’s grandfather as a tween insisted they could easily have been twins.  He was slender, as his grandfather had been, with the fair complexion, aquiline nose, and long, dark lashes from his dad and grandfather that the lasses of the Shire all envied for themselves.  His wide brow may have come from the Brandybuck side of the family, the clear blue eyes from his mother, and the stubborn set to his mouth may have been that seen in his cousin Bilbo and in their Took grandparents; but the love of dancing and the grace of his movements were typical Baggins heritage through Drogo, Fosco, and Largo, right back to Balbo himself.  He certainly didn’t look much like Bilbo, whose shorter stature and sardonic wit were more typical of his Took uncles and Grubb forebears.  Even Frodo’s nature was for the most part similar to that of the Bolgers--except when he became angry, at which time it was apparent that old Gerontius Took was definitely his great-grandfather.  Let him and Bilbo both go Took angry, and then and only then there was no telling the two of them apart--except for Bilbo’s barbed words compared to Frodo’s stony silence.  Both of them could give the Old Took’s Look with equally devastating effect, better than any other of his descendants since Old Gerontius himself; and they each had more than full measure of Baggins stubbornness besides.

       Iris suddenly had an idea.  Excusing herself, she went to her sewing room to fetch her other basket of embroidery threads, and slipped into the bedroom and quickly found the portrait Ruby had commissioned of her husband when Fosco and she had their first anniversary.  Smiling, she slipped it into the basket, and carried the basket back out into the parlor, settling it between herself and Lobelia.  Ordinarily she would never have done such a thing, as Lobelia was always swift to help herself to other people’s threads and materials; but in this case she wanted to have the busybody herself find the portrait.

       It didn’t take particularly long.  Almost as soon as the basket was set on the floor Lobelia was rummaging in it, looking for, she said, just the right shade of gold.  She quickly found the picture and brought it out, her smirk growing more pronounced.  “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t realize you were so fond of Frodo that you would have his portrait.”

       Keeping her own face studiously innocent, Iris looked at her as if terribly surprised.  “What are you talking about?” she asked.  “I don’t have any portraits of Frodo--I don’t think anyone has ever done one of him in fact.”

       Lobelia held out the picture, and it was Peony who recognized it.  “Oh,” Peony said without thinking, “that’s Fosco’s picture, isn’t it?  Yes, there it is, right there at the bottom--Fosco Baggins, 1298.  How did it end up in your embroidery thread basket, Iris dear?”

       “The cat must have knocked it off the dresser,” Iris suggested.  As no one else could dispute this, the matter was dropped.  But the smirk had fled Lobelia’s face as all within the room had a good chance to see just whom Frodo Baggins most resembled.  Iris was very glad for Ruby’s gift to her husband’s father.

       Somehow the picture ended up by young Narcissa Boffin, who was attending with her mother Ivy.  Iris saw the lass looking at it closely several times during the duration of the party, and recognized the signs--Frodo had already made a conquest, whether he knew it or not.

*******

       Young Frodo was at Bag End for five days before he accompanied Bilbo into the village for the first time.  Oh, there was no question he was Fosco’s grandson, although he was even more slender than his grandfather had been.  He was quite a contrast to Bilbo--taller, his hair a very dark chestnut, his long, aquiline nose, the cleft to his chin, his hands with their long, slender fingers, his oh, so blue eyes, the wary, rather apologetic expression on his face.  Right now, however, his expression was beginning to give way to annoyance.  “I don’t really need new clothes, Uncle.  I brought plenty.”

       Bilbo did not stop.  “Yes, you brought plenty, plenty that shout ‘hooligan from Brandy Hall.’  However, you are not a hooligan and no longer live in Buckland.  You are once again a Baggins, dwelling in Bag End in Hobbiton.  And, as I expect you to be taken seriously, that means you, my dear boy, need to look the part.”

       “I am not a boy, Uncle Bilbo--I am a Hobbit lad, not a child of Men.”

       Bilbo did stop now, turned and looked up into his ward’s face.  “One thing you need to accept, Frodo, is that you are the equal or better of any mortal youth there is, Man, Dwarf, or Hobbit.”  His face and voice were deadly earnest, and Frodo was impressed in spite of himself.  “I’ll admit I’ve not seen much in the way of children among Men or Dwarves, but what little I have seen indicates you are as fully worthy of respect as the greatest of them.  You are intelligent, sensitive, and caring.  I will call you boy or lad equally, Frodo Baggins, so you’d best get used to it.”

       Feeling confused and intrigued by Bilbo’s pronouncement, Frodo stopped arguing and followed his older cousin into the tailor’s shop.  Narcissa Boffin, who had been sitting, reading, on one of the benches on the edge of the Common, watched after them with interest.

*******

       Certainly the Frodo Baggins who appeared at the Free Fair was quite a different sight than the one seen there the last nine years.  Dressed in fawn trousers, vest of gold linen and jacket the color of the earliest spring leaves, Frodo was impressive; and when he lined up with those taking part in the Husbandmen’s dance along with his uncle and his cousin Isumbard, he stood proudly; he made not a single misstep throughout the whole seven rounds, and at the end was not even winded but stood tall with a smile on his face that lit the hearts of the lasses who looked on.

       Narcissa could certainly hear them talking about Frodo afterwards.  Hyacinth Tunnely was absolutely gushing.  “Oh, but Frodo Baggins was the best of the lot--so graceful, so talented, so handsome!”

       “Even Isumbard Took wasn’t as good,” agreed her cousin Bluebell Chubbs.  “And he danced with me twice afterwards!”  Her voice was smug.

       “He danced with about every lass who stood nearby once or twice, including me,” pointed out Pervinca Took, who was enough younger that the older lasses didn’t bother to take her seriously. 

       Pearl Took just smiled that superior smile that was so maddening.  “Well, he danced with me thrice, and I intend he should continue to dance most with me,” she said with a toss of her head.

       “You’re making Isumbard plenty jealous, you know,” her sister Pervinca pointed out.  “He worships the ground you stand on.”

       “But I can see Isumbard all winter long when we are in the Great Smial,” Pearl pointed out.  “How often do we get to see Cousin Frodo?”

       “You never paid that much attention to him before when Aunt Esmeralda and Uncle Saradoc would bring him to the farm or to the Smial for Yule, or when we went to the Hall to visit.”

       “I’m not a little one any more, Vinca.”

       Primrose Underhill, who lived near Whitfurrow on the farm her father and his brothers cultivated, sighed.  “He’s not giving any of us any more attention than the rest, you know.”

       Narcissa nodded her agreement and wandered out of the portion of the Council Hole set aside for the use of the womenfolk who wanted to dress their hair where the lasses had gathered, and decided to seek Frodo out for herself.

       Frodo was with young Sam Gamgee, whose father Hamfast, better known as the Gaffer for his constant line of advice and aphorisms for the rest of the Shirefolk, served as gardener at Bag End.  Of the six children he and Bell had produced, it looked as if Sam was the most likely to follow his father’s way.  All of the children had an equal love of growing things, but Hal preferred seeing plants start, doing orchard work and glasshouse work, and had joined his cousin Barnabus in the Northfarthing in starting one of the largest nurseries in the entire Shire, while young Ham had been apprenticed as a roper with their uncle Andy in Tighfield.

       Frodo and young Sam were examining the carving work of a shepherd from the hills area of the far Westfarthing, who spent much of his time while his flock was feeding busy with whittling.  Ferdibrand Took was coming along and saw them, and smiled.  “Cousin Frodo!” he called.  “I knew last year you’d soon be up there dancing with the menfolk with Isumbard and Uncle Bilbo!  You were superb!”
 
       Spots of pink flushed on Frodo’s cheeks, while Sam smiled proudly.  “It’s little enough, Ferdibrand,” Frodo answered him.  “I’ve always loved dancing, you know, and would dance about the hole with my mum when I was young and my Dad would play his flute.  Dad began teaching me the Husbandmen’s dance when I was but ten, and said he looked forward to having me dance it alongside him one day.”

       “Well, he’d have been proud of you today--that’s certain.”

       “Thanks--thank you very much.”

       “What are you up to right now?”

       “Just wandering about a bit with Sam here.  Have you met Samwise Gamgee?”

       “Minding him, are you?”

       “No, not really, actually--he’s quite responsible in his own right.  His dad is Uncle Bilbo’s gardener, and Sam is his dad’s helper.  And a marvel with the flowers the both of them are.”  Sam flushed, but his expression was quite pleased.  “It’s just that it’s nicer to go about the fairgrounds with someone, if you understand me, and we find we both like much the same things.”

       Ferdibrand smiled and addressed Sam.  “Do you mind, Sam, if I join the two of you?  I’ve not seen a lot of my cousin here for some time, you know.”

       Again, Sam flushed.  “It’s all right with me, but then it’s not for me to say, Mr. Took, sir.”

       “Just call me Ferdibrand--I’m a long ways from coming of age, you know.”

       Sam looked uncomfortable.  “I couldn’t do that, Mr. Ferdibrand, sir, for the Gaffer’d have my ears if’n he heard me.”

       “I fear he’s right on that one, Ferdi,” Frodo agreed.  “He’s quite the one for insisting his children use proper address, the Gaffer is.”

       Ferdi shrugged.  “Well, I suppose Mr. Ferdibrand will have to do.”

       Frodo indicated the table where the woodcarvings lay.  “We were admiring these, Ferdi.  Master Stock here is quite gifted.”

       The three of them examined the carvings together, comparing them and complimenting them, the shepherd smiling broadly at the praise.  Frodo kept looking at one bird in particular, then finally turned away with regret.  Together they wandered away, talking now of how Frodo liked living in Hobbiton and the Westfarthing.  Narcissa watched them walk off, then stepped up to the table herself.  She looked particularly at the bird Frodo favored--it was charming, but Master Stock wanted more than she could afford for it.  But she did buy a butterfly clip he’d carved, and then walked along the way the three had taken. 

       Narcissa in this way shadowed Frodo for most of the day, watching from nearby most of the time.  None of them appeared to notice her.  When they came across Saradoc and Esmeralda Brandybuck, young Merry attached himself to the party, seemingly overjoyed to find himself able to be with his older cousin once more, holding Frodo’s hand but not interrupting the two older lads.  Yet both Ferdi and Frodo seemed content to have the two young ones with them, even including them in the talk when they could.  They were relaxed and happy enough.

       Then Frodo was seen by a group of young teens from Brandy Hall, who came hurrying up to greet Frodo, several of them demanding a story from him.  It was near the dancing ground, which was full right now of younger ones who’d been involved in the greased pig chase.  Frodo was obviously accustomed to such demands, but looked apologetically at his cousin.  “Do you mind, Ferdi?  I was always telling them tales when I lived in Brandy Hall, you know.”

       “Go ahead, Frodo.  I’m always game for a tale myself.”

       Reassured, Frodo sat on an empty barrel which had been brought out of the ale tent and indicated the younger ones should sit on the ground.  Other children, seeing some entertainment was in the offing, began to join them, and soon there was a sizable crowd around them.  Frodo didn’t seem to mind the size of the group, but was querying his Brandybuck cousins on what kind of tale they wanted.

       “Tell about Cousin Bilbo and the trolls,” demanded Saromac Brandybuck.  With the agreement of many of the others, Frodo finally began. 

       No one noticed Narcissa sitting on another barrel at the back of the crowd, which continued to grow as Frodo told the story.  That Frodo was talented in this quickly became apparent, and the number of adults who stood about the edges of the audience was surprising, as intent on the tale being told and the animated face of the tale spinner as their children were.   As the young tween described Bilbo deciding to steal the troll’s belt purse, they grew intent, and laughed when Frodo imitated the squeaking voice the purse had as it advised its owner it was being taken.  By the time all thirteen Dwarves had been popped into sacks no one else within hearing was saying a word, and all were intently listening as he recreated the argument on how these prizes ought to have been cooked.  When at last the argument lasted long enough for the Sun to rise and turn the trolls to stone all were thrilled with delight, which turned to laughter as Gandalf’s part in the argument was revealed.  

       The tale over at last, Frodo rose.  One of the children from Michel Delving started to protest, until a child from the Hall explained, “No, that’s the rule--one story at a time.”

       Frodo laughed.  “Glad you remember that, Cally.  Now, we wish you all a good day.”  So saying, he rose and nodded to Ferdi, Sam, and Merry, and the four headed off to check in with Bilbo.

       “You have a rule?” Ferdibrand asked.

       “Actually, it was Uncle Rory who made it--one story at a time, and usually only one a day.  Otherwise no one would leave me alone, and none of us would get our chores done.  All the adults in the Hall saw to it that the rule was enforced.”

       As they found Bilbo, Sam’s parents came by and collected their son for a time, and Merry was called back to go with his parents and a group of younger cousins.  Soon Narcissa had lost sight of Ferdibrand and Frodo in the crowd, finding them about an hour later eating pasties together while they talked.  Isumbard joined them briefly, then went off with other older cousins; Folco found them, and then they were joined by Fatty Bolger for a time; then the two younger cousins went off to find Fatty’s parents.  When the dancing resumed Ferdi and Frodo joined in again, and Narcissa found herself dancing with each, her heart racing when she danced with Frodo.

The Story Tellers

       After the Fair at Midsummer, Frodo’s reputation as a story teller of note was made throughout the Shire, and now, every time he went into the center of Hobbiton, into Bywater, or even to Overhill he was always quickly surrounded by children demanding stories.  Frodo always made certain he’d done his shopping first, save for those things that ought not to sit out in the sun for long; and then he’d tell one story to the children, he’d give them a nod afterwards, then finish his own purchases and head home.  As often as she could do so, Narcissa Boffin would be part of the audience.

       Sam was openly envied, living so close nearby and working at Bag End alongside his dad where he might hear stories all the time, which made the gardener-in-training feel flattered, amused, and embarrassed all at the same time.  When the word went out that Bilbo Baggins was now teaching Samwise Gamgee how to read, write, and figure, many sighed and put it down to the influence of Frodo--and they would have been accurate in part.  Bilbo had already seen the promise in Hamfast Gamgee’s youngest son and had begun to entice him with stories read from books--now that Sam had begun actually trying to read over Frodo’s shoulder and Frodo himself had realized the lad was dying to learn to read for himself, Bilbo finally openly approached his gardener with the offer to teach him.

       Somehow, Hamfast was realizing, Bilbo had managed to get some teaching in with all his children.  Both Hal and young Ham now admitted they had learned the rudiments of reading from him, Daisy allowed she had learned to read and also to write with a decent hand the summer she was helping in Bag End after Bilbo had broken his arm, May let on she had learned figuring that same summer, and now Marigold was demanding her brother teach her whatever he learned during the day as soon as he got home.  The small practice slate given Sam to use at home saw a lot of duty during the time Sam was studying with Bilbo and Frodo, and he and his sister went through a great deal of chalk, it seemed.  Sam began to save the coins he received from his parents and those he got weekly from Mr. Bilbo for the work he did in the gardens on the Hill, and with them bought paper, pens, and ink for himself and his sisters.  That all his children were able to read was a marvel to the Gaffer; that Sam was learning to figure and then use it in helping his old dad with the management of the gardens and orchard was wonderful.  Maybe there was some use to all of this learning after all,  he realized.  When he found he could now send notes dictated through Sam to Hal and Ham off in the Northfarthing and in Tighfield and Daisy in her own apprenticeship, and they not only understood them but returned their own, he and Bell became glad, for now they were able to keep up with the doings of the older children as well.

       Sam was learning more, however, for he was hearing the lessons given to the young Master as well as his own, and was picking up Elvish history, languages, and poetry, often learning off whole poems by heart.  Maybe even a simple gardener could find reading, writing, and figuring useful--but what use knowing the histories of Gondolin and Eregion might ever prove was beyond the understanding of Hamfast Gamgee.  The two of them--Frodo and Sam, however, would go on about it all at length.

       The Gaffer admitted, rather proudly, to all at the Ivy Bush and the Green Dragon that his son was receiving teaching; his shock at learning all his children were literate and the extent of Sam’s studies, however, he discussed only with two people--with his wife Bell and, of all people, with young Miss Narcissa Boffin, both of whom listened solicitously and gave him warm reassurance that this was not a matter to be overly concerned about. 

       Why he spoke with Miss Narcissa he couldn’t really explain--he supposed it was in fair part because she was such a contrast to that old busybody Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, because she listened and did not repeat it all around, because she was so often around when he went into Hobbiton or Bywater, and always seemed to be in the tea shop in Bywater when he stopped in for elevenses the days he went there to do his purchases of plants and seeds, manure for the gardens, and other supplies at the big shop there.  He found himself accepting her invitations to sit by her regularly, and was flattered that such a one as he could catch her attention.  Of course, she was only being charitable to an old Hobbit; but the attention of a lovely young Hobbit lass of quality was a thing to put a spring into his old step and a smile in his heart.

       The end of summer brought that old Wizard Gandalf back to Bag End, a matter that sparked concern in the heart of Hamfast Gamgee, a concern he passed on to Miss Narcissa, for fear the old conjurer would spark anew the wanderlust in the heart of Mr. Bilbo, or, worse yet, in the heart of his Sam.  He could see that Sam was not like himself, was more intelligent, more perceptive, was made for bigger and better things than just working for others all his life as Hamfast had done.  There was something fine in the lad that the Gaffer found himself fascinated by, an awareness and sensitivity that almost matched that of young Master Frodo, but of which he would prefer the lad not be aware--or at least, not yet.  He was truly afraid that the day young Samwise became aware of the fact that he was far wiser than he knew, that on that day he would in some manner lose his son to whatever comprised his fate.

       At first he was convinced that Master Frodo’s friendship with young Sam was just the willingness of an older lad to be gracious to a young one; but over time he realized that this friendship was quite different, that there was a mutual respect here between the Master’s ward and the gardener’s lad that bridged the years between them.  Whatever caught Frodo’s interest he shared with Sam, and Sam felt the same interest in it as Frodo himself, and quickly understood implications.  The two of them shared interests in things Hamfast had never even thought of--how insects went from grubby things to beautiful flying creatures; the stories of Elves; the way words could be woven into complex meanings.

       Gandalf’s visit, however, didn’t lead to the changes he’d feared.  Gandalf seemed as surprised as Hamfast himself to see Sam studying under Mr. Bilbo’s tutelage alongside the young Master, but it appeared to be a pleasant surprise.  He admitted this to the Gaffer, in fact, and on one day came outside still chuckling at something Sam had said.  “Your son sees through to the heart of the matter so swiftly and clearly--if we had enough of those with his understanding around we’d have a great deal less tragedy in the world, for he’d simply refuse to see the romantic possibilities of tragic actions, and everyone would feel too foolish to allow themselves to languish.”  Exactly what this meant, the Gaffer had no real idea; but obviously Gandalf appreciated Sam’s ability to think for himself.

       “He’s a fine lad, your Sam is,” Gandalf told him another day, “a remarkably fine lad, with a good head on his shoulders, and a stronger sense of duty than I’ve seen in many a year even among Hobbits.  He’ll do remarkably well in life.  I only hope he doesn’t find his heart torn too much in two by what he faces.”  But what it was the Wizard foresaw for Sam he didn’t say.

       One day toward the end of the visit Gandalf was standing in the garden facing south and east, as if peering far off at something the Gaffer himself could not see.  His face was careworn, his eyes troubled, his attitude concerned and protective.  Then at last he turned West, his eyes seeking some reassurance.  Slowly his watchfulness relaxed, his eyes closed, his face smoothed.  He was sad but calmer when his eyes opened and he realized that he was not alone.

       “You are troubled, Mr. Gandalf sir?”

       “We live in troubled times, Gaffer,” Gandalf answered.  “The dark seeks to rise again, although it is not ready yet.  And this time I fear the Shire will be touched by it as well as the outer world when at last it begins to reach out.”  He sighed.  “I would hate to see that, hate to see those of this pleasant land drawn out of it to defy that darkness.”  He stretched.  “I must speak with the Dúnedan, get him to set a stronger watch.”

       “Who is that?”

       “One who cares,” Gandalf said, smiling sadly.  “One who cares.”

       A week later he was gone, and Sam was saddened by his going, saddened and thoughtful.  The Gaffer was disturbed--lads of but ten ought not to be so thoughtful.

       That first late fall that Frodo Baggins spent in Bag End a pestilence went throughout the Shire.  The number of folks who came down with colds, fevers, ague, and the lung sickness was beyond belief.  Everyone seemed to catch something, and there were two close to the Gaffer who went into lung sickness--his beloved Bell and young Frodo.  It didn’t take them the same way, but both were very seriously ill, and Gammer Laurel was hard pressed to help either.  Finally they rallied, but Bell never truly recovered, was weakened thereafter.  It was Master Frodo’s Aunt Dora who made certain there would be reason for celebration among those on the Row and on the Hill that year, who helped folks rally, who gathered greens and saw holes decorated, who prodded folks to start the baking and cooking, who saw holes cleaned and readied for the joy of Yule and the new year coming in.  There was no bonfire that year, for it was too cold, the snows too high, and too few throughout Hobbiton who were well enough to defy the weather to bring the wood and see the fires lit.  Instead the troubles lists were burnt that year in parlor fires lit anew, and music and dancing filled private homes.  The recovery of so many from heavy ills was the major basis for celebration that year, and too many like Bell Gamgee and Frodo Baggins were still barely able to stand, much less dance. 

       The news that Frodo Baggins was among the worst hit locally swiftly spread throughout Hobbiton, Bywater, and Overhill; after just seven months in Bag End he had become one of the most well liked individuals in the area.  His cheerfulness, his concern for others, his stories, his willingness to help others however he could had all served to endear him to the people among whom he now lived.  Gammer Laurel found herself being pestered for word of his recovery, and families throughout Hobbiton and Bywater began sending pots of soup, loaves of bread, and plates of cakes to Bag End for him, which largess Bilbo found himself sharing with the folk in the Row as there was far more coming in than two Hobbits could eat by themselves.

       Narcissa had been sick for several days, but had recovered fairly quickly; the word that Frodo was seriously ill, however, almost sent her into a relapse.  Ivy Boffin was very concerned for her daughter’s condition, and particularly as it appeared to mirror that of Frodo Baggins.  Narcissa was still but a lass, and would not be an adult for years yet.  Why on earth would she begin to form such an attachment so young?  Nor was young Frodo anywhere near adulthood, either--he was just barely twenty-two himself, after all, and hadn’t apparently even begun paying much attention to lasses as of yet.  True, he was remarkably handsome as Bagginses often were; but as he was still but a young tween himself, he would probably not begin to truly pay attention to lasses for another three years or so.  Ivy therefore was relieved the day she heard that Frodo had begun to recover finally; and, sure enough, Narcissa also appeared to recover her own color at the same time.  Well, there could be no question at all that Narcissa’s heart had already been captured, although it was very likely the object of her affections had not the slightest idea this had happened as yet.  Ivy Boffin set herself to wait and watch her daughter--and Frodo Baggins.

*******

       Fortumbald Boffin, as a great-grandson on his mother’s side of the Old Took, was more adventurous than Boffins usually were, and often rode out of the Shire on his own, a very atypical behavior for a Boffin.  He had business ties with the owners of the Prancing Pony in Bree, selling a good portion of his potato crop to the Butterburs.  Old Barford Butterbur swore that Shire-grown potatoes had better flavor than did those grown in the Breelands, and Fortumbald of course felt this to be true as well, so he was happy enough to ride out to Bree to negotiate the price each harvest and to arrange delivery.  His first trip to Bree had been with a mixed party of his Took cousins and a couple of Brandybucks, and he’d taken samples of his farm’s produce with him.  After that, feeling comfortable with the Road from the Brandywine Bridge, he began to ride out alone, although it didn’t take long before he didn’t feel quite as alone, as he found himself joined, his second trip out on his own, driving a wagon full of potatoes, by a mounted Man in a stained grey cloak held closed by a star at the left shoulder, a sword at his hip, and a bow and quiver at his shoulder.

       “Hello, Master Hobbit,” the tall Man said by way of introduction.  “They call me Bowman, and I am one of the Rangers who patrol this region.  There has been some activity by brigands along the Road, so I fear I cannot allow you to travel on your own at this time.  I hope you will not take it amiss if I accompany you to Bree.”

       There wasn’t a lot he could say against such a speech, although he found himself wondering if this mysterious Bowman might himself be a brigand.  The rider had dropped behind the wagon, and often as Fortumbald looked over his shoulder he could see the Man, bow and arrow loosely held at the ready, watching out as they rode.  Once they reached the West gate to Bree, the Ranger bowed his head respectfully and turned away.  When he left the village the next day, his wagon now empty, another, this time one cloaked in green, the silver Star at his left shoulder, quite a young Man this, joined him once he was out of sight from the gate.  “They call me Silver Sword, small Master,” he said as he smiled, and certainly the silvered hilt of his sword seemed to be at hand as they rode together.

       The next time he rode out, in the early Spring, it was a worn-looking Man in a stained green cloak and no Star who joined him, quite a ways down the road from the Brandywine Bridge, an especially tall Man with watchful grey eyes, riding on a brown horse, a worn bow and quiver on his shoulder, again sword hilt ready to hand as they rode.  He simply bowed his head in greeting and fell in slightly behind Fortumbald’s pony.  As they rode he watched carefully till they passed the Barrowdowns, and then, as they continued the ride, began to sing softly, although the song gained in volume and clarity as it progressed. 

       This was not sung in the Common Tongue, and what language it was sung in the Hobbit had no idea; he only knew it was a powerful song and a beautiful one for all he did not understand the words.  As they approached the gates to Bree another Ranger came out of the forest and approached, and his companion halted to await his coming. 

       “My lord,” the newcomer said, “we’ve found their camp.  Six Men, two of whom have already been taken.  Hardorn is watching the four left.”

       His companion nodded, then turned to the Hobbit.  “We will let you go on alone, then, small Master,” he said, and he turned his horse to follow his fellow.  Fortumbald watched as the two disappeared back to the northwest, then turned to complete his journey to Bree alone.

       Later that evening a party of three Men came into the Prancing Pony together, and Barford’s son Butterbur went warily to take their order as they sat together at a table in the corner.  One of them was the Man who’d accompanied him that day, and one he thought was the one who’d introduced himself as Bowman.  After they ate a meal and had a cup of ale, the other two rose, gave the one who remained a brief bow, and left the inn, while the one remaining had drawn out his pipe and filled and lit it.

       A group of locals were drinking and laughing together, and at one point were clearly discussing something, giving the lone Man sitting in the corner looks.  Finally one turned to him, and asked loudly, “What news from the wild, Strider?”

       The Man in the stained green cloak shrugged.  “Little enough,” he said, then blew out a smoke ring.  “All is relatively quiet, for the moment at least.”

       “Do you have any tales you can share with us tonight?” the other asked him.

       “What kind of tale?”

       The locals looked to one another, and shrugged, then one leaned toward their spokesman and murmured something.  “How about the tale of Túrin and the dragon?” the one who served as spokesman suggested. 

       Strider sat thoughtfully, finished his pipe, took a pull at his mug, and signaled Butterbur for another.  The tavern fell expectantly silent.  When a new mug finally sat before him, he straightened somewhat, then began.

       Fortumbald had heard the story before, heard it told by his cousin Bilbo Baggins; but he’d never heard it told as it was now.  Strider’s voice deepened as he spoke, became increasingly rich and sad.  It was told as half tale, half chanted poem; and as it was told and the horrible details of the dragon’s vengeful words were spoken, the Hobbit seemed to see the scene before him--grief-stricken Man; dying, sly monster, the dark blood still steaming as it pooled beneath the dragon’s belly.

       All sat bespelled by Strider’s voice.  Finally the deaths were told, the grief of Túrin’s companions described, and Strider fell silent.  At length he drained his mug, rose, left a coin on the table, bowed to the company, and exited the inn.  All watched after, and at last the buzz of voices finally rose again, although more subdued than they’d been before.

       The one who’d served as spokesman looked still toward the doorway, finally turned back to his own mug.  “No one can tell a tale like that one,” he commented.

       After Fortumbald had a chance to speak with Barford about how much in potatoes he would like to see this year, he finally asked about the Rangers and Strider.  “Little enough to tell,” the innkeeper said.  “Always been Rangers hereabouts, there have.  Seem to come from the North, keep to themselves mostly.  Rarely have more than two or three here at a time, usually just one, in fact.  Strider’s the only one as I know as wears no Star, though; my dad said when he was younger he did wear one, but then for years no one saw him at all, and when he finally come back a few years ago he didn’t wear one no more.  No idea as to how old he is, but for all he looks relatively young he must really be getting on.  Don’t seem to age much, the Rangers don’t.  Carry their swords and bows, and know how to use them, too.  Seen them break up more than one fight in here with strangers who’d thought to make themselves important with their weapons.  Was a mad dog last summer come through the village, and that Bowman got it with a single arrow to the throat.  They could be dangerous, I suspect, the Rangers.”

       When Fortumbald headed back toward the Brandywine Bridge again the next day, once again it was Strider who joined him.

       “Hello, Strider,” the Hobbit greeted him.

       “Master Hobbit,” the Man said in reply.

       “Not even my cousin Bilbo tells the story of Túrin and the Dragon as you did last night.”

       “Ah, you are kin to Bilbo Baggins, then?”

       “You know him?”

       “I certainly know of him,” Strider said, but said no more.

       Finally, Fortumbald said, “Bilbo says he dealt with a dragon once.”

       Strider shrugged.  “Smaug was sly, too.  Dwarves are glad to have him gone, as are the Men of Dale.”

       “How did he die?”

       “Didn’t Bilbo tell you?  Bard the Bowman shot him with an arrow in the one place where he was vulnerable.  Fell into Long Lake near the ruins of Lake Town.”

       “Then Bilbo’s tales were true?”

       “If he told you that, then, yes, they were true.”

       The rest of the ride was passed in silence, till Strider stopped short of the Bridge, gave a respectful bow of his head, and turned and rode East once more.

       Fortumbald continued riding out to Bree two or three times a year, and usually a Ranger would join him along the road each way.  None said much or had much to say of themselves; but it was Strider Fortumbald looked forward to seeing, for often he’d sing at least once along the way.  After Barford’s death the Hobbit dealt with Barliman, and so it went until three years after Bilbo Baggins disappeared again, when Fortumbald suddenly died.  His daughter Narcissa and widow Ivy were grief-stricken; but at that time the family farm’s dealings with Bree stopped, for the tales they heard from outside the Shire told increasingly of danger, and none of those now working the land wished to ride out to Bree any more.  But the stories Fortumbald had told his daughter about Strider and the Rangers she was to remember.

Dudo

        Dudo Baggins was the youngest child of Fosco, after Dora and Drogo.  He didn’t inherit his brother’s height or weight, or his sister’s confidence.  He married Camellia Chubbs and had a daughter Daisy, but when his wife died during the birth of their second child two years after his brother’s son Frodo was born--a son who didn’t survive his mother by quite two days--he left Bywater and took his daughter northwest to a small village called Westhall, near the borders of the Shire. 

       He’d been back to Hobbiton rarely since young Frodo turned twelve, for since the death of his brother and his wife there seemed little to go back for--not that Drogo and Primula had lived there for years, much less died there.  He and Dora had little in common; and Bilbo as head of the family was certainly nothing to draw him back.  Drogo had gotten along well with their eccentric older cousin, and Dora did well enough with him, although her Baggins sensibilities were still insulted one who had simply disappeared one fine day and had returned a year and a day later was still considered the head of the family.  Dudo was frankly embarrassed to be tied to him, and he also had no intentions in the world of letting his daughter be exposed to similar insults from the insufferable Lobelia Sackville-Baggins to that which had been heaped on Primula and her son Frodo.  He had purposely removed himself from the conscious thought of his family, and was pleased to keep things that way.  Yes, he was a Baggins; but there was little enough he thought about it.  The family name was fading, and certainly wasn’t in danger of being revived by himself, not with but one child, and a daughter at that, to follow after.

       But it appeared that Bilbo was keeping discrete tabs on him, and each year he received an invitation to attend Bilbo’s birthday party, and each year on the date of Bilbo’s birthday, at Yule, and at Midsummer he and Daisy received a gift from Bag End--usually a book, and one which interested both of them.  

       His biggest shock, however, was when he remarried.  Remarriages were highly unusual within the Shire, but would occur from time to time.  Emerald was half Took with the full benefit of the Took heritage, and was quite a willful one.  Like Primula, she was a grandchild of the Old Took, Donnamira and Hugo Boffin’s daughter, born late in their marriage and to their great surprise.  Given little coddling or supervision by her parents, who weren’t really certain, at their age, what one did with a child, she’d run rather wild; and after being corrected by Ferumbas and Lalia one too many times for her misadventures, she’d frankly told them to skive off, and took herself out of Tookland completely.  Ferumbras had been angry at receiving such defiance, and from that point on forbade her to be counted among the Tooks; as she was a Boffin by birth, that made it easier for the rest of the family to forget her as well.  As she’d lived in the Great Smial as a child, however, the Boffin family had never paid her much heed, and certainly never thought of her as one of theirs.

       Neither of them was particularly young when they married, Dudo being now seventy-two and Emerald fifty-six; yet both figured they might indeed know some pleasure in what time was left them.  The shock had come when at their marriage, which had been intended to be quiet and ignored by the rest of the families of both, Bilbo had turned up.  How he had known they were marrying Dudo had no idea.  He’d made a nice gift to them for their wedding, a set of silverware he’d had made by his Dwarf friends, had shaken their hands and had wished them the best, and had left as discretely as he’d come.  After that the gifts continued at Yule, Midsummer, and Bilbo’s birthday for the three of them--Dudo, Daisy, and Emerald.

       Dudo had moved to Westhall because he had half interest in a farm there, and once in the area he began assisting in the working of the land.  That a Baggins would actually be willing to get his hands dirty working the land had been a surprise to Erdo Gravelly; but after a year he had to admit that Dudo was a willing worker and highly dependable, if uninspired when it came to working with the crops.  

       Erdo had found, however, that Dudo could manufacture furniture out of about any piece of wood that came his way.  Old wood from a fallen barn had become a remarkable series of cradles and bedsteads for Erdo’s children; a slab cut from a huge oak tree cut down after it was struck by lightning became a gorgeous table top; a walnut tree felled by a fall windstorm had been made into exceedingly comfortable chairs. Erdo’s farmhouse and the hole Dudo had purchased were both furnished with Dudo’s creations, and all recognized they were unique, comfortable, and attractive.  That in time Dudo should have more furniture on hand than he and Erdo could use was inevitable, so he and Erdo together looked for an outlet for the overflow.

       Erdo’s brother Egro had no interest in farming, and had become a smith who specialized in making farming tools and equipment.  His shop began displaying chairs and chests and tables beside his harrows, hoes, and hayforks, and soon word got out that the Gravelly smithy was the place to go for rocking chairs, wall shelves, and cradles.  Suddenly both Egro and Dudo were beginning to make money.

       One day Dudo looked up from work he was doing in his shop area and found that the one who had just entered was not just a customer, but was instead--Bilbo Baggins.

       “Hullo, Bilbo,” Dudo said, turning back to his work.

       “Hello, Dudo.  As you know, next month will be my eleventy-first birthday, and I truly wish you and Daisy to come--Emerald, also, if she will.”

       “Why?”

       “Because I intend to do what you have done--disappear.  Except I intend to do it even better than you have.  I admire you, by the way, leaving as you did, basically letting us all know that we can all skive off.  You and Emerald are to be commended.”

       “Who is head of the family after you?”

       “Frodo, of course.”

       “Frodo?  How did you manage to get that past the Sackville-Bagginses?”

       “I finally overruled Rory, Gilda, Sara, and Esme and insisted on taking him as my ward, and then officially adopted him a year later.”

       “That must stick in Lobelia’s craw!”

       “It appears the Sackville-Bagginses are the only ones who do not yet realize this bit of news--after you, of course.”

       “Lovely!  I approve!  If you must be eccentric, then at least do it in a responsible manner--and it appears you have done so.”

       Bilbo smiled broadly.  “Well, will you come and at least see me off and Frodo into his inheritance?”

       “Does Frodo know?”

       “Yes, although he is still trying to believe it isn’t going to happen.  Sam will help see him through it all.”

       “He comes of age, doesn’t he?”

       “Yes.”

       “Sara, Rory, and Esme made you promise to wait till now to leave, then?”

       Bilbo’s smile became rueful.  “How well you know us all.”

       “Who is Sam?”

       “The Gaffer’s youngest son, and Frodo’s best friend.  Samwise Gamgee.”

       “Frodo’s best friend is the gardener’s lad?”

       “Yes, the gardener’s lad on one hand, and Esme and Sara’s son Merry on the other are those closest to him.”

       “I’d have expected him to be closer to Brendilac Brandybuck or Isumbard and Reginard Took.”

       “I fear that Isumbard is out of the question--for right now, at least.  Bard and Frodo were rivals for some years for the attentions of Pearl Took.”

       “Oh, Frodo and Pearl are courting, then?”

       “They were, up to a couple years ago--then suddenly she threw him over.  We still don’t know why.  Frodo does enjoy Ferdibrand Took, though.  It will be better, though, once Ferumbras is gone.”

       “The Thain’s still never forgiven you for leaving the Shire before?”

       “He’s been worse about it than you have, Dudo.  Will you come?  I’d like it if Frodo could at least see his uncle, you know.  And Dora is getting on now.”

      “What is Frodo like?”

       Bilbo raised his chin and smiled.  “About as different from me as possible.  Has the same interests as me, but is responsible, careful, deeply caring, and is about the most decent individual you could ever hope to meet.”

       “Does he look like Drogo?”

       “Far more slender than Drogo was, more like your dad--and you.  Handsome lad, extraordinarily handsome.  Has his mum’s eyes.”

       “Intelligent?”

       Bilbo nodded.  “No question about that.  Has an Elvish air to him, he does.”

       Dudo looked at his cousin thoughtfully for some moments.  “We’ll think about coming.  That’s all I’ll promise.”  Then he asked, “Why didn’t you just send an invitation?”

       “Would you have read it?”

       “Probably not.”

       “Well, there you’ve answered your own question, haven’t you?”

        Dudo laughed.

******* 

       A month later Dudo drove a cart into Hobbiton, Daisy beside him.  Emerald, having learned Ferumbras was attending, had announced she had no intention of being within forty miles of the Thain, and stayed home in Westhall.

       They were to stay with Wisteria and Folco Boffin, who’d been surprised to receive the note that these two were attending the party and in need of somewhere to sleep that night.  Meanwhile they brought their rig to the paddock area where provisions had been made for vehicles and ponies, paid Olo Proudfoot’s eldest to care for them, and headed for the lane where a gate had been cut into the hedge that fenced the Party Field, feeling very excited.

       Bilbo stood at the gate to greet them, with Frodo opposite him, a younger lad of somewhere about nineteen or so beside him holding a bag from which presents were being pulled for distribution to the coming guests.  Bilbo’s eyes lit to see them, although he didn’t say much different to what he’d said to those immediately before them.  “Welcome, welcome indeed.  Good to see you here.  You know Meriadoc Brandybuck, don’t you?  No?  Then consider yourself introduced.  Come and enjoy yourselves!”  Each was handed a wrapped gift, and they found themselves in the midst of activity that reminded them of the Free Fair at Midsummer.

       Frodo was soon sent off to mingle with the guests, and shortly was in the midst of the dancing.  He approached Daisy at one point and asked her to be his partner.  She was surprised he’d ask someone as much older than he as she was, but smiled politely and joined him in the dancing, and found she was enjoying herself thoroughly.  Frodo, she realized, could dance, and dance well; and once she’d danced with Frodo, others began to approach her.  When Brendilac Brandybuck asked her to dance with him she found herself dimpling with pleasure.  But when Griffo Boffin asked her to dance with him--ah, something happened inside.  Unlike Frodo or Brendilac, Griffo was not a particularly good dancer; but she found herself enjoying the dance anyway, and enjoying him, for he was looking not at her dancing, but at her.  Daisy had been of age long enough that she had begun thinking of herself as being a spinster like her aunt Dora; but now she’d danced with Griffo Boffin--she found herself thinking perhaps she didn’t intend to remain one much longer.

       There was a younger Hobbit, a sound, sturdy looking lad in his early twenties, who appeared to be keeping an eye on Frodo; and Dudo found himself watching this one closely.  Now and then he would approach Frodo as if checking to be certain of what was to happen next; then he would speak to those serving at the party, and a new round of drinks or food would be laid on the tables.   Now and then he would be joined by Meriadoc Brandybuck and a young lad who had to be a Took, with those auburn curls and green eyes, and although he treated them with deference, the two of them appeared to equally defer to his authority.  Was that, Dudo wondered, Samwise Gamgee?  Again he was approaching Frodo, Merry and the Took lad following behind.  Frodo turned, smiling automatically at him, leaned forward to hear his low-voiced question, automatically accepting the youngest lad’s company, drawing the child to him as he conferred with the older two, his hands lying comfortingly on the little one’s shoulders.  They were being joined by two others, a Boffin and a Bolger if Dudo was any judge of Hobbits, the Bolger lad immensely fat; and a lass Dudo recognized as Narcissa Boffin sat nearby, obviously watching the group--especially Frodo, Dudo realized with amusement--closely.  

       The sturdy lad finally made as if to head off to bear a message, but Frodo reached out to restrain him, nodding toward a group of lasses over to one side, smiling as he clearly indicated his friend was to take a break from his duties and enjoy himself at least for a time, and he then sent Meriadoc off to speak with the servers from the food tent while he and the Bolger and Boffin and Took lad went to check with those who were in charge of the ale.  Bilbo was gathering a group of the youngest Hobbits around him and was beginning to tell them a story; when his story was done Frodo slipped in and took his uncle’s place while Bilbo circulated through the crowd and spoke with his various cousins and other family heads attending.  The old Wizard Gandalf was present, bestowing squibs and crackers on the young ones, setting off some wonderful fireworks as the darkness finally fell.

       Dudo suddenly realized that Bilbo was sitting beside him.  “Enjoying yourself, Dudo?” the old Hobbit asked.

       “Yes, surprisingly,” Dudo returned.  “No one appears to be paying me the least bit of heed, save you, and I’m finding it pleasant.”  He looked around, saw that Frodo was again amidst the dancing, dancing with Narcissa Boffin, whose face was alight with joy.  He saw the sturdy lad with the hair the color of dark honey was standing once again watching things responsibly, a young lass beside him, holding his hand.  “Is that the gardener’s lad, then?” he asked, indicating the pair.

       “Yes, that’s Sam, and his cousin Rosie Cotton, who has claimed him since she was a young thing.  No one has ever questioned that when the two of them come of age they will marry.  Where’s Daisy?”

       “Over there,” Dudo said, indicating a group watching the dancing, where Daisy stood with a group of Boffins.  “Frodo got her to dance with him, and then others followed him.  But since Griffo asked her, she’s not been back near me.  She appears to be quite taken with him.”

       “Griffo’s a responsible one.  Has his own farm now, you know, and runs it efficiently.  Most of the Boffins work the land themselves, and are excellent businessmen to boot.  They tend to marry later than most, but usually choose well.  She’d find herself well loved if she accepts him, as well as well provided for.”

       “Who is that young Boffin there, there with the fat Bolger lad?”

       “Folco Boffin, Hildibras and Wisteria’s son; and the Bolger lad is Fredegar, Odocavar’s son.  Frodo is quite close to both of them.”

       “That’s Folco?  I wouldn’t have recognized him!  He has grown since I last saw him, I must say.”

       “You’ve been gone for quite some time, you know.”

       “I know--but somehow I suppose I must have expected the young ones just to stay as they were when I last saw them.”  Dudo looked around, finally saw Dora Baggins sitting near the Thain and the Master.  “There she is, my dragon of a sister.”

       “Yes, puffs like a dragon but has a heart as soft as warm butter.”

       Dudo laughed.  The dance was now over, and the musicians were taking a break; Frodo stood by Narcissa, with whom he exchanged a few words and a laugh, then turned as Ferdibrand Took approached, obvious pleasure in Frodo’s eyes.  “I see that Ferdibrand has little fear of the Thain’s displeasure regarding his folk dealing with your ward.”

       “Oh, Ferumbras has no difficulty with Frodo--it’s me he can’t stand, Dudo.  He was most put out to learn that Ferdi was talking with me, and cut back on the lad’s visits for a time; but I doubt he’ll continue the ban once I’m gone.”  The old Hobbit’s expression became solemn.  “They all love Frodo, you know.  Quite the fairest and best Hobbit to be born in the Shire in a dragon’s age.  Has spirit, but is also responsible to a fault.  He and Sam make a good pair.”  He watched as Ferdibrand, Frodo, and Narcissa spoke for some moments.  “He brings out the best in almost all he meets, it seems.  He can even keep young Pippin there in line, which is quite a feat.”

       “Pippin?”

       Bilbo indicated the young Took lad Dudo had noted earlier.  “Peregrin Took, Paladin and Eglantine’s youngest.  Was born just before Yule the year I finally took Frodo as my ward.  Lovely lad, but impulsive as only a Took can be.”  Eglantine had the lad by the hand, obviously restraining him as she discussed something with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.  Lobelia was looking down on the lad with wrath, but Eglantine drew him behind her as she kept her gaze level on the other Hobbitess.  Reluctantly Lobelia shifted her gaze from the lad to his mother, and at a final word from Eglantine more reluctantly nodded and turned away.  Meanwhile another Hobbit was confronting Otho, holding a young Hobbit lad who too closely resembled Lobelia’s husband by the shoulder as he made his complaint.

       Dudo asked, “Is that Otho and Lobelia’s son?”

       Bilbo gave a sigh as he responded, “Yes, young Lotho.  As unpleasant as his mother, I fear--rather a bully.  He and young Ted Sandyman are the only two lads in Hobbiton no one can stand, not even Frodo or Sam, both of whom usually can get along with anyone.  Wonder what Lotho did to Porto?  My beloved cousin looks most annoyed with the lad.”

       “Lobelia was looking very upset with young Pippin.”

       Bilbo gave a snort.  “Doesn’t take much to annoy Lobelia, as you well know.  He may well have pulled a prank on her--or he might simply have bumped against her in the crowd--she’d be just as affronted either way.”  Dudo shrugged his agreement.  “Well, you had best speak to Dora some time tonight, Dudo.  You are invited into the family tent around the old oak for dinner.  I think you will find it most amusing, although I suspect both Ferumbras and Lobelia will be most annoyed with me.  As long as they don’t take it out on Frodo, I don’t really care.”  He raised his tankard in a salute, then rose and headed off toward the Brandybucks.

       The dragon firework took all by surprise and terrified some as it whizzed repeatedly over the field, before it finally flew off over the Water and burst into a fantastic display of color and light.  Dudo found himself quite liking it.  When the announcement came that this firework heralded supper, he joined the lines headed into the tent Bilbo had indicated earlier.  The older Hobbits tended to separate into families, with the Brandybucks fairly near the front, the Proudfoots off to one side, the Tooks mostly opposite.  Dudo decided the time had come to confront his sister, so he made a point of sitting beside her.  Dora turned to see who had taken the place, and looked surprised to recognize her errant brother.  

       “So,” she said, “you’ve finally decided to return to Hobbiton, have you?”

       “Bilbo made a point of inviting me in person, so I felt beholden to come.”

       “Thought a good part of the reason you left was because of him.” 

       Dudo shrugged, then smiled.  “Doesn’t mean I’m glad he’s been family head--but an eleventy-first birthday does earn him some respect.”

       She shrugged in return, then smiled.  “You are looking fine,” she said.  “Farm work seems to agree with you.  Are you still working with wood, too?”

       “Yes.  I’m not the carver Drogo was, but I enjoy making chairs and tables and such.”

       “We miss you, Dudo.”

       “I don’t miss Hobbiton, though.”

       “I was afraid of that.”

       Dinner was superb.  Dudo was certain Bilbo would wait till his birthday speech to announce his leaving, and so it proved.  Frodo and he had sat together at the end of the Baggins table, but hadn’t taken part in much of the conversation of the others.  When Bilbo rose, Dudo saw the pain in Frodo’s eyes, saw him look down swiftly at his hands in his lap as he tried not to give away what was to come.  Once Bilbo began to speak, however, the younger Hobbit’s eyes rose to follow Bilbo avidly.  “I regret to announce...” Bilbo finally said, and then suddenly there was a terrific flash of light and roar of sound and a cloud of smoke--and the old Hobbit had disappeared.  Frodo’s face was full of grief, which was swiftly controlled; young Sam had apparently been apprised ahead of time as to what would happen, and was swiftly giving the orders to pass out the last of the desserts, more ale and wine, while young Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, Fredegar Bolger, and Folco Boffin began to move in between the rest of the relatives and Frodo as if to protect him, Frodo was rather skillfully handling the demands of old Odo Proudfoot, Thain Ferumbras, Dora Baggins, and a few others to know what Bilbo had meant by the thinly veiled insults and this second disappearance, and Gandalf the Wizard had disappeared from view.

       There was no question in Dudo’s mind that Frodo had indeed known ahead of time that Bilbo was leaving, that he was in deep grief over the leaving, but that he would weather it; and it was also plain that the younger Hobbits who were his especial friends would do their best to make certain he was not importuned unnecessarily and that he would be supported to the best of their ability.

       Dora was in shock, and begged Dudo to come to her house that night, and at last he agreed, first letting Wisteria know that Dora had insisted.  Daisy, however, went with Wisteria and Folco.  Dudo and Dora spoke throughout the night, and went to bed not long before dawn.  The surprise had, Dudo realized, caused his sister deep distress and grief, and for the first time in years he realized that she did need someone in whom to confide from time to time.  In her way, Dora had loved her cousin Bilbo, and by leaving in this manner he had caused her great pain.  When after two days he finally took his own leave of her, Dudo realized that his sister was far more frail than he’d imagined.  When she died a year later, somehow he wasn’t surprised.

********

       Emerald looked up as her husband came into their home.  Her face was, Dudo noted, rather pale.  “Do you have them all moved in?” she asked.

       Dudo nodded.  “Yes, Griffo and Daisy are settling into Dora’s old hole rather nicely.  I’m glad she decided to leave it to them.”

       “I’m a bit surprised they weren’t settled into Number Five, where you three were born.”

       “Olo and Mira Proudfoot have as much right to that as Daisy and Griffo, you know.  They are, after all, closer relations to Bilbo.  Certainly Frodo has no reason to kick them out just because Daisy is now married; and Dora was happy enough to make her and Griffo her heirs.”

       “How is young Frodo doing?”

       “Well enough,” Dudo answered.  “Appears to have accepted Bilbo’s leaving, and keeps up Bag End beautifully.  Old Hamfast has completely retired, and his youngest son Samwise is now the gardener there.  The lad is totally competent, and appears to be devoted to Frodo.”

       Emerald nodded.  She was quiet for a time, and was rubbing her back.  “Well,” she finally said, “I learned something odd while you were gone, and I suppose I’d best discuss it with you as soon as possible.”  Then she went quiet, and he was intrigued.

       Finally he prompted her.  “For something which you feel you ought to discuss with me, you appear to be finding it hard to put into words.  What is it, beloved?”

       She looked up at him, a bemused look on her face.  “It’s not something that, after this length of time, I’d thought to say, Dudo.  It appears that we are expecting.”

       He looked at her blankly.  “Expecting what?”

       She began to giggle at his expression.  “A child.  It appears that, like my mum and dad, we are going to have a child between us at this late date!  Whatever are we going to do with a child, Dudo Baggins?”

       He stood looking at her in total shock.

       But it wasn’t, strictly speaking, a child, but two, for Emerald and Dudo found themselves, in early April, the parents of that great rarity among Hobbits, twins, a boy and a girl.  Dudo was in as much shock at this news as he’d been at the initial announcement of the pregnancy in September.

       The bairns had come several weeks early, and were quite small. Considering how extraordinarily large Emerald had grown in the last month, this was something he simply had not thought of--that there would be two, and each so small.  The midwife was concerned at the small size and the earliness of them.  She’d never seen twins before--to her such things had always been the stuff of legend.  Yet, here was definitely a pair, and, she feared, likely to be a sickly pair at that.

       Dudo and Emerald named them Fosco and Forsythia.  Three days after their birth a package arrived from Bag End--a pair of knitted blankets.  Three weeks later Emerald awoke to find that in the night Dudo had died.  Their children would not know their father, save through what they were told by others.  Emerald stood over the two cradles which Dudo had made for them, and wept her grief for her gentle husband.

       Each September twenty-second, each Yule, and each Midsummer there would arrive gifts for the three of them from Bag End--until Emerald died when the two little ones were six; then Erdo’s son and daughter-in-law took them to foster, and further gifts from Hobbiton were sent back to the sender unopened.  Having found herself unable to have children of her own, Lilac Gravelly intended not to let these two get away from her, or for strangers from Hobbiton to claim them, just because they were Bagginses by birth.

Unrequited Love

       On the way home from Bilbo Baggins’s disappearance, Narcissa Boffin could not feel any too upset.  Frodo had danced with her that day and evening--had danced with her four times!  He had even spoken and laughed with her, which hadn’t happened for years--not since he was twenty-five and had begun to return the attentions of Pearl Took.  They’d talked when they were little ones, had played together.  They’d talked when she was a teen.  They’d laughed then.  But once Frodo had decided he was in love with Pearl all other lasses had appeared to disappear from his attention.

       Narcissa had known from the start that Pearl would not continue to love Frodo as he deserved--how she knew this she couldn’t say; but she knew it, somehow realized that one day the very thing about Frodo Baggins that made him so special would drive Pearl from him.  When it had happened Narcissa was the only person who wasn’t surprised.  What did surprise her was how angry she felt when it happened.  Here Pearl Took was, throwing over the best lad in the entire Shire and not being honest as to why she was doing so; and not telling him what had changed for her.  Narcissa ought to have felt vindicated by Pearl’s change of heart, but instead she was furious with the lass for hurting Frodo so.

       So, Narcissa had waited, knowing Frodo would take time to have his heart heal so he could look at another.  She had waited, waited in sight of him so he could be aware of her.  And tonight that waiting had finally brought fruit.

       Ivy Boffin saw the joy in her daughter’s face, and smiled.  Narcissa had been in love with Frodo for so long--it was good to think that at last the young Hobbit was able to see that love and begin to respond to it.  Ivy would be happy to have Frodo as her daughter’s husband.  She’d make certain that Frodo was invited to the party being thrown to mark the completion of the smial for their cousin Cortlo and his wife Sapphira.  It would give Frodo more of a chance to realize just how much Narcissa glowed just to see him in the same room.

       But when it came, the party was a failure.  Frodo smiled at Narcissa when he saw her, but it wasn’t the smile which admired how pretty she was or how her gown flattered her; it was the same smile he gave to Folco!  It was the same with all the lasses and older Hobbitesses who attended--all were treated with precisely the same courtesy he showed their menfolk.  He danced several times, but not constantly as he had always done before.  He seemed to prefer sitting and talking, nursing his mug of ale and smoking his pipe, watching the others enjoy themselves while ignoring the chance to have the same enjoyment himself.

       Nor did things get better over time--if anything, they got worse.  As the months passed, Frodo paid less and less attention to the lasses.  He was as polite as ever to them, but he didn’t appear to notice when a lass smiled at him, not even to be embarrassed as had happened when he was still a lad.  He didn’t look after them as they walked by, which even when he was in love with Pearl he’d still done.  He had simply become blind to sensuality, it appeared, and no one could understand why.

       It was after Frodo’s thirty-ninth birthday party that Folco and Ivy talked, Ivy complaining about how blind Frodo had become to Narcissa’s devotion to him.  Finally Folco shook his head.  “We were talking about that after the party was over,” he explained.  “Freddie was shaking his head, and asked why Frodo danced so infrequently.  He at first looked at Freddie and shrugged, and said that he just didn’t seem to notice the lasses any more, then said something strange.  He said he missed being able to appreciate how lovely a lass was, that even when he was concentrating on trying to see such beauty it would just slip away.  And there was real regret in his eyes, Aunt Ivy.”

       Ivy sighed--she’d certainly seen the same in her daughter all these years.  Not since Narcissa was seventeen had she been able to see any other lad than Frodo Baggins; and she certainly was oblivious to the gentlehobbits who pursued her now.

       As time continued to unroll the situation didn’t change.  Narcissa would quietly haunt the footsteps of Frodo Baggins throughout Hobbiton and Bywater; and he would be polite but totally incapable of seeing her devotion.  It came to a head when Frodo was forty-two, when Iris Baggins, at a meeting to plan activities for the Free Fair, asked that Frodo not be invited to dance the Husbandmen’s Dance that year.  “It’s a travesty--all his dancing seems to do is to get the lasses all back in love with him again, but then he never looks at any of them as if they were special or anything.”

       “No one ever thought of not inviting Bilbo Baggins to dance,” pointed out her husband Ponto.  “He didn’t give any lasses looks after he came back from his adventure, you know.”

       “But no lass or Hobbitess in her right mind even looked twice at Bilbo,” Ivy Boffin pointed out.  “It’s not the same with Frodo--Narcissa has been dying for a look from him for years, and it’s as if she were just another of the lads instead.  It’s been killing her heart slowly since he came of age.”  When the others at the planning dinner agreed, Will Whitfoot sighed, for he had to admit they were right.

       If Frodo was hurt not to dance with the others that year, he hid it, although he was a bit quieter that year.  He watched after the others his age, saw them with their wives, husbands, children, and his face was filled with clearly perceived regret.  But he watched the dancing with appreciation, then went off to tell stories to the children, his face lighting up with pleasure as he told his tales, then watched with envy as, sated with the images he’d filled them with, the children would rush away to share their delight with their parents.

       Will made a point of approaching Frodo at that moment, that moment when the envy was clear in his eyes.  “You’d make a good father,” Will commented.  “Why don’t you marry and settle down, start that family you so obviously want?”

       Frodo looked at him, and for the first time Will could clearly see the frustration in his face.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Will,” he returned.  “But I can’t seem to see lasses any more, not as I once did.  And it tears a hole in my heart every time I realize this.  I want to marry and to have children.  I’ve always wanted it.  That I can’t seem to see a lass--it’s not right!” 

       Will, who had never thought such a thing would be possible for any Hobbit, looked at Frodo with confusion.

       The next to approach him, and only minutes later, were Eglantine Took and Esmeralda Brandybuck, both full of righteous anger.  “The nerve!” Eglantine said through clenched teeth.  “Why did they exclude you this year, Frodo?  You are the best dancer in the entire Shire, and they didn’t have you dance the Husbandmen’s dance?”

       All he could do was shrug.  “I don’t know, Aunt Eglantine.”  He took a deep breath.  “There’s no reason to become angry on my part--I’m not hurt any.  Maybe I wasn’t asked to dance because--because I’m not a husband.”

       Esmeralda gave a snort.  “Neither was Bilbo a husband, and they certainly asked him every year until he left the Shire.  In spite of his age, he could keep up all that time.”

       “As it is, I barely dance at all any more,” Frodo said.

       “Well,” Esmeralda said, giving him an evaluative look, “it certainly isn’t because of lack of interest in you.  After all, you are still the most eligible bachelor in the Shire.  Why don’t you go and ask someone to dance with you?  You know Narcissa Boffin would give anything to have you give her any attention at all.”

       He sighed.  “I know, Aunt, and I can’t say why I can’t seem to notice unless I pay attention--but it just seems harder and harder to pay attention like that any more.  It’s driving me crazy, Aunt Esme, not being able to see a lovely lass as a lovely lass any more, and there’s no question Narcissa is lovely.  But when I start out to approach her, or any other, it’s as if there were someone taking me by the hand and leading me off elsewhere, filling me with thoughts on how I must speak to Merry about this or Uncle Paladin about that or Will Whitfoot about something else; and by the time I realize I’ve just been distracted again, the time isn’t right any more, or someone else has her.

       “It’s so odd--I get the feeling someone is standing behind me, watching me when this happens, watching me and laughing at me.  You know I don’t want to stay unmarried.  You know how much I’ve wanted to have a wife and children.”

       Eglantine and Esmeralda just looked at one another.  Never had either heard any such statement from anyone before, and certainly not from Frodo.  At that moment they both stopped, and looked surprised as a farm family walked by, a small lass and lad following closely behind them.  Eglantine watched with shock.  “Who are those with Emro and Lilac?  They don’t have any children!”

       Esmeralda was looking closely at the lad.  “He looks so much like you when you were a little one,” she commented to Frodo.

       Frodo was alert.  “Are those Emro and Lilac Gravelly?” he asked, his eyes fascinated.

       “Yes,” Eglantine answered.  “Why?”

       Frodo took a deep breath.  “It’s a private matter, Aunt Eglantine.”  There was a hint of anger in his eyes, and a look of longing.  His cousins looked at one another, intrigued, but it was obvious he had no intention of discussing the matter any further.  They asked him if he’d join them for luncheon and he agreed, finally abandoning the place where he’d sat telling his stories. 

       Once they were gone, Narcissa came out from behind the tent wall where she’d been sitting and listening, and looked after him, bemused by the idea he actually thought of her as lovely.  If he thought of her as lovely, then why couldn’t he see her when she was right in front of him?  Her frustration grew even deeper.

Family Head

                Frodo saw Sam walking with his sister Marigold and his brothers Hal and Ham near the garden tent, where Sam and Hal both had entries, and approached him eagerly.  “There you are,” Frodo said.  “I’ve just become aware of a family business matter that I need to see to, so I’ll not be going directly home tomorrow.  Must see to the situation of a cousin or two.  I should be home in a matter of a few days.”

                Sam nodded his understanding.  “I’ll see to things at Bag End for you, then, Mr. Frodo,” he assured him.  “You take as long as you need.”

                That night Frodo, Merry, Pippin, and Fatty Bolger slept out together in a wooded  area about a mile from Michel Delving, and early the next morning they were back to get a first breakfast at one of the food stalls they’d always liked best.  They saw the last of the judging, and then Frodo wished them a good day and headed out on his own.  The rest had no idea where he was going, and he certainly had no intention of telling them.

                Among the papers Bilbo had left Frodo were descriptions of every Baggins known to remain in the Shire, their family ties to Bilbo and Frodo, where they lived and under what circumstances.  Frodo had followed the fortunes of his uncle Dudo and Emerald, and had been delighted to learn of the birth of the twins; but Emerald had certainly not encouraged him to visit young Fosco and Forsythia.  Emerald appeared not to have left any will at all, which had made it easier for Emro and Lilac Gravelly to claim the twins as fosterlings; Frodo now felt it was time to see them personally and to see whether or not they were indeed happy.

                Westhall was a small village he’d visited rarely--once with Bilbo, many years previously, and then for first Dudo’s and then Emerald’s funerals.  Now he intended to go there again, and found himself wishing he looked less like his Uncle Dudo--it would be easier to find out what he wanted to know if people didn’t connect him to his young cousins.  Then he thought of Oridon Goodbody, and smiled.  Yes, he thought, Oridon would be a good Hobbit to use in this.  As he walked through the area where carts and wagons and ponies were cared for, Frodo kept an eye out for Oridon’s rig, and spotted it near the edge of the area.  Frodo smiled, and settled on a fence rail where he could keep an eye out for his banker of discretion while he smoked his pipe.

                Many of the Goodbodies had become bankers of discretion.  There was a strong strain of arithmetical ability that ran through the family, along with a tendency to entertain romantic imaginations and keep ones own counsel which made them perfect for the job.  Oridon loved his work, and particularly enjoyed working for Frodo, for Frodo gave him a fairly free hand and had proven to have as romantic a turn of mind as Oridon himself.  At first Oridon had taken offense when he found himself having to deal with Brendilac Brandybuck as Frodo’s lawyer when Frodo had made the switch from Beslo Grubbs three years back, but Brendilac had proven to be better at the paperwork as well as more discrete than old Beslo, and there was no question he truly cared about his Baggins cousin and did his best to see to his interests.  Beslo had himself died not long ago, and no one had as yet taken up the old Hobbit’s clients--yes, Frodo had made a good decision, changing over when he did.

                Oridon and his son Ordo finally left the fairgrounds and headed for their wagon and team.  When he spotted Frodo awaiting them, Oridon smiled.  “Ah,” he said quietly to his son, “it appears we have something we can do.  Shall we see what it is?”

                Frodo stowed his pipe as they approached and rose to greet them.  Finally after the greetings were said, Frodo explained, “The two cousins closest to me by blood are my Uncle Dudo’s twins by Emerald Boffin, who, like Bilbo, was a grandchild of the Old Took.  I think that we are closer in blood even than his daughter Daisy by his first wife.

                “Since Emerald died a few years ago, Emro and Lilac Gravelly have taken the children as their own, but on whose authority I have no idea.  Nor will they accept the gifts I’ve sent the bairns each year since their birth.  I’ve not yet set Brendilac to see if either Dudo or Emerald left a will, but I certainly can’t imagine Dudo wouldn’t have done so.  He was, after all, a Baggins.  Emerald, however, might indeed not have left a will--but, then, she might have left one anyway.  The two children, however, as Bagginses by both blood and name, are, in the end, my responsibility as family head.  I intend to seek them out over the next few days, there near the Gravelly farm where they live; I’d like you, Oridon, to go into Westhall and find out such information as you can about their status, if you will.  When can you come up to Westhall to do this?”

                Oridon and Ordo spoke softly for a time, then finally looked back to Frodo.  “We could head up there tomorrow,” Oridon announced.  “It will take you that long to get there if you make it a walking trip, as I suspect you’ve already determined.”  Frodo nodded.  “Shall we both give ourselves a couple of days; maybe meet near the inn there a couple hours after noon day after tomorrow if we find we want to look over the situation more closely, and definitely plan to meet at the Jumping Cricket at Bedlinger and compare notes four nights from now?”

                All agreed, and with a nod of his head Frodo shouldered his worn pack and climbed through the paddock fence, heading north and west.

 *******

                Forsythia was carefully pulling out the tiny purple horns from a clover blossom, biting off the tips, and sucking out the nectar while her brother whittled on a piece of branch when the stranger appeared out of the woods surrounding their field.  He was a slightly taller than average Hobbit with very dark hair, dressed in well worn but still good clothes, wearing a pack with a bedroll wrapped in a green cloak on his back, and carrying a nice walking stick cut from a birch sapling tipped with silver.  Forsythia was a good one for noting details--it was necessary, she’d found, so that she could tell her brother about what it was she saw.  Fosco, after all, didn’t see well at all, except for those things right up next to him.

                Fosco heard the stranger whistling softly as he approached, though he didn’t see him.  He stopped his whittling and cocked his head.  “Who is that?” he asked.  “Doesn’t sound like Da or Beasty.”

                “It’s not,” his sister agreed.  Beasty, actually Bedro Bracegirdle, was the local bully, who had taken to stalking Fosco and seeking to make his life unbearable.  His da had managed to cause such problems in Hardbottle that he’d had to leave town to stay out of serious trouble; Bedro hadn’t yet realized that there might be reason to rein in his native antagonism toward others.  Forsythia kept up her watch on the stranger.  “He’s not anyone I’ve ever seen--he’s tall and skinny.”

                “Is he a tramp?” Fosco asked.

                “No, I don’t think so,” his sister said.  “Clothes are too good, and his walking stick is shod.”

                Together they waited while the stranger came nearer.  Finally he stopped, some feet off, and gave them a look.  “Mind if I sit here and rest a bit?” he asked. 

                “No, we don’t mind,” Forsythia said.  “Where are you from?”

                “Walked up from Michel Delving and the Free Fair,” he said.

                “We went to the Free Fair this year,” Fosco said.  “Mum and Da took us.”

                “I think I saw you there,” the stranger admitted.  “You certainly look familiar.”

                “Why were you at the Free Fair?” asked Forsythia.

                “I’ve been going almost every year since I was born,” he said.  “How often do you go?”

                “That was just our second time.  Mummy--our real mummy--took us once. This was the first time Mum and Da have taken us.”

                “What happened to your real mummy, then?”

                “She died when we were still tiny.”

                “I see.  I’m sorry.”

                “Do your mum and da take you?”

                He gave a sad smile.  “I was almost twelve when my mum and dad died.  It was an accident.  I stayed with my cousins at first, then was adopted by my uncle.”

                “Our cousins don’t pay us no mind,” said Fosco with a definite sound of anger in his voice.  “Mum and Da worked with our real dad, and took us when Mummy died.  They’ve never heard from our cousins.”

                Forsythia noted that the stranger’s face became angry, and thought it was on their account.  “It’s okay,” she said.  “Our oldest cousin left the Shire years ago anyway.  Maybe the rest don’t know about us.”

                “Who was your oldest cousin?”

                “He was called Bilbo.  Mum and Da say he was crazy.”

                “Bilbo Baggins?”

                “I don’t know what his last name was--just Bilbo.”

                “What’s your last name?”

                “Gravelly.”

                “Oh, really?”

                Forsythia thought for a moment.  “I’m not sure if that’s our real last name.  Mum and Da haven’t told us.”

                “How old are you?”

                “Eight.”

                “Both of you?”

                “We’re twins.”

                “I don’t think I’ve ever seen twins before,” the stranger commented.  He was getting into his pack and bringing out a large packet of oiled paper.  “It’s time for my elevenses.  Would you like to share?  Wouldn’t be polite to eat in front of you and not share, you know.”

                “Have you heard about twins before?” asked Fosco.

                “Yes.  Lord Elrond was one of twins, and his sons are also twins.”

                “Who is Lord Elrond?”

                The stranger was quiet as he unwrapped three pasties and offered one to each of the children, then took the last for himself.  Finally he said, “He is Lord of Rivendell, where the Last Homely House is.  He is an Elf Lord.”

                “Do Elves have twins?”

                “I guess they do, as he was a twin and his sons are twins.”

                “Is his twin brother a lord, too?”

                The stranger shrugged.  “The Lord Elrond and his brother were the Peredhil, the Half-Elven, for their grandmothers were Elves but their grandfathers were Men.  They were given the choice which they would be themselves.  Lord Elrond chose the life of the Eldar, to become an Elf and live as an Elf.  His brother chose the lot of Mankind and became a mortal, although they say he lived far longer than Men usually do.  He was a lord, though, and was the first king of Númenor.”

                “How do you know so much about it?” asked the sister.

                “I’ve read books, and spoken with Elves.”

                “You’ve spoken with Elves?”

                The stranger nodded.  “Yes, but not much,” he admitted.  “They like the Shire, you know.  They like to travel through it.  They say it is peaceful here, more peaceful than it is outside.”

                “Where do you find books about Elves?” asked Fosco.

                The stranger turned his clear, blue eyes on the two children who sat by him.  Finally he answered, “My uncle had lots of books about and even by Elves.  He used to take me walking through the Shire when I was young to find them, introduced me to them when I was still a young teen.”

                “Your uncle talked to Elves?”

                The stranger nodded.

                “Do you see them still?” Forsythia wanted to know.

                “I’ve not seen much in the way of Elves now for some years.  There are troubles in the outer world, dark troubles, and so they don’t travel as much as they once did, or they are fleeing to the Havens to leave Middle Earth for good.  The few I’ve seen in the past years were doing that, going to the Havens.  They were mostly wood Elves, though.  But they were still leaving, heading for Elvenhome before the way becomes closed completely.”

                Fosco asked, “How about your uncle?”

                The stranger turned his eyes away.  He shook his head, then said quietly, “He left over nine years ago.”  They were quiet for a time while they ate their pasties.  At last he asked, “Do you like living here?”

                “We were born here, after all,” Forsythia answered.

                “Yes, but do you like it?”

                “Mostly, yes.  I liked Michel Delving, though.  It is a lovely village.”

                “Yes, I agree.”

                “Do you live there?”

                “No, but I’ve always gone there for the Free Fair.  Do either of you read?”

                “Yes, we both do.  Mum doesn’t like us to read, though.”

                He looked surprised.  “She doesn’t like you to read?”

                Fosco laughed.  “No, she doesn’t.  She keeps telling me it will hurt my eyes more, but it doesn’t, not really.  But she doesn’t like for Sythie to read, either.  I think it’s mostly because she doesn’t read herself.”

                “Hurt your eyes more?”

                “I don’t see good, you see.  Lyria says it’s most likely because we came so early, that my eyes can’t see a lot.  I can see things up close, but not things that are very far away.”

                “Oh, I see.  I was early, too, but it didn’t hurt my eyes--I was sick some as a child, though.”

                “Do you have brothers and sisters?” Forsythia asked.

                “No.  Mum had a sister for me, once, but she didn’t live.”

                “Oh.  That’s too bad.”

                “So I’ve had to make do with my cousins.”

                Fosco sighed.  “I wish we had cousins.”

                “I thought you said you do.”

                “None that pay attention to us.”

                “Maybe that will change in time.”

                After a while Forsythia asked, “Where are you staying?”

                “I’m camping in the woods.”

                “Why don’t you stay in the inn?”

                “I like sleeping out under the stars.  They always make me feel better.”

                “Do you sleep out under the stars at home?”

                “Sometimes I do.  But I mostly stay in my own room.  Who taught you to read?”

                “Our real mum did when we were tiny.  Who taught you to read?”

                “I don’t remember.  Seems as if I always just knew.  Might have been my mum or dad, or my uncle, or maybe all three.”  He looked at the wood Fosco still held.  “You like to whittle?”

                “Yes.  Do you?”

                “I tried carving wood a couple times when I was smaller, but I’m better at drawing.  My dad did woodcarving, though--he was very good.”

                “Mum and Da say our real dad made furniture,” the lad volunteered.

                “Oh, did he?”

                “Yes.  What did you carve?”

                “I tried carving a bird, but it looked more like a lizard when it was done.  Then I made a walking stick for one of my uncles, and carved a dragon on the handle.  It did look like a dragon, much more than the bird looked like a bird.”

                “There’s no such things as dragons.  Da says so.”  Forsythia sounded very sure of this.

                “There might not be any dragons left now, but there used to be such.  The Dwarves have told me about Smaug and what he was like.”

                “You talk to Dwarves?” asked Fosco, surprised.

                “I have talked to Dwarves.  They travel through the Shire on their way between the Iron Hills and Erebor.”

                Forsythia asked, “Where are the Iron Hills?”

                “West of the Shire.”

                “Where’s Erebor?” her brother wanted to know.

                “Far to the East, east of the Misty Mountains.”

                “I’ve seen Dwarves,” Forsythia said.

                “Not as many Dwarves travel through the Shire now as used to do.”

                “Why not?”

                “Same reason as the Elves--things are getting worse outside the Shire than they used to be.”

                “That’s sad,” said Fosco.

                “Yes.”

                The stranger pulled a handful of horehound drops out of his pocket and offered them some.  The two young Hobbits accepted them courteously.  Forsythia asked, “Are you married?”

                He looked sad.  “No.”

                “Why not?”

                He gave her an odd look.  “I don’t really know why.”

                “Don’t you want to get married?”

                “Yes.”

                “Then ask someone.”

                “I wish it were that easy.”

                Fosco looked up.  “I think it’s almost time for us to go home.  Otherwise Mum will come looking for us.”

                The stranger looked up.  “It’s close to noon.  Yes, she’ll be expecting you for luncheon.”

                “Will you be here tomorrow?”

                “Yes, although I must head for home tomorrow afternoon.”

                “Maybe we’ll see you then.”  The two of them stood up, and Forsythia took her brother’s hand, and together they headed across the fields toward their home near the edge of the village. 

                At the far side of the field they stopped and Forsythia looked back.  “He’s still there, Fosco,” she said.  “He’s watching after us.  Now he’s getting up, sort of bowing toward us, and picking up his pack.  Now he’s turning away, and heading back through the fence and now he’s going into the woods again.”  She gave a wave, then turned back toward the village again.  They didn’t have to discuss between them that they ought not to say anything about the stranger to their mum.

******* 

                Oridon and Ordo sat in the village inn eating their luncheon when Emro Gravelly came in.  How the farmer came to sit at their table he couldn’t say afterwards, but the strangers from near the center of the Shire were quite warm and welcoming and interested in what could be learned of the area--indicated they were looking for farms to buy shares in and businesses to invest in.  He gladly discussed with them the farm he’d inherited from his dad, the brother and sister who shared it with him, the other two brothers who had gone on to take apprenticeships elsewhere, the uncle who had become a smith and whose shop had sold furniture for a time when their father’s partner had been still living.  How he came to be speaking of Fosco and Forsythia afterwards he couldn’t say, either, although he realized this was a part of the conversation he would not be admitting to Lilac.  But they did discuss the two children at length, and that there was a smial that would be theirs when they became older, that it was full of books and things, that no will had been looked for when Emerald Baggins died, that it was now locked up and all.  Then they discussed other businesses in the area, and by the time he returned to his farm he’d quite forgotten that they had discussed the business of Dudo and Emerald Baggins.

                As head of the Baggins family, Frodo had some rights and responsibilities, and  in the late afternoon Frodo, Oridon, and Ordo approached the headman in the village, swore him to secrecy, and got the extra key with which to enter the smial which had been the home of Dudo and Emerald.  It didn’t take them long to find Emerald’s will and to check out the contents of the smial against the inventory which had been made when Emerald died.  Frodo quickly made a copy of the inventory and the will, his copy of the will was signed by the headman, Oridon and Ordo, and they left it in the place of the original and took that with them.  A few items were missing, some of the more expensive jewelry pieces and the best of the furniture; and the headman admitted that Lilac had been seen wearing the jewelry, and that he’d seen the furniture in the Gravelly home, and that it was used by the children. 

                None of the books in the smial were missing, however, and there was a brief discussion on how these might be made available to the two children while they remained with their foster parents.  So far there was no sign of abuse or neglect of the children by the Gravellies, so there could be no real justification of taking the children from them--refusing them reading material certainly wasn’t grounds.  Gander Proudfoot, who was both headman to the village and a distant relative of Frodo’s in his own right through his father’s mother’s side of the family, was glad that at last young Frodo Baggins was taking an interest in his first cousins, and was glad also that he had no intention as yet of removing the children from their current placement. 

                He denied the two children faced any problems at all, conveniently forgetting Bedro Bracegirdle.  Ordo, however, had recognized Bigelow Bracegirdle as they arrived in the village, and all three of them had heard the tales from Hardbottle that had preceded the removal of the family from there.  Once the two Goodbodies realized there was a Bracegirdle family in residence in Westhall, the two of them began looking for signs of bullying, which appeared to accompany the Bracegirdles the way plants grew around Gamgees and disturbing events seemed to take place about anywhere a Took took up residence. 

                Finding out what the Bracegirdles were doing didn’t take too long--Oridon returned to the inn and had plenty of chances to watch Bigelow’s activities that evening as he came in sullen, became drunk over the length of the evening, and began to harass one of the younger farmers who sat nearby.  Ordo and Frodo, who went out into the commons area, saw Bedro finally, and saw him teasing the lasses, who uniformly shuddered when he came near them, and harassing several of the lads.  When the two children who were quite plainly kin to Frodo Baggins came into view dutifully following their foster mum, Bedro began to shadow them; and when Lilac Gravelly went into a friend’s house to visit, Fosco and Forsythia remained out in the yard.  Once it was plain that the adults were paying the children outside no heed, he began to harass them, obviously targeting Fosco especially. 

                Frodo watched for a time, barely able to contain his anger.  When Bedro began chasing the two smaller Hobbit children down toward the Commons, however, he readied himself.  Ordo watched with interest as his father’s employer stood up in the shadow of a tree, and then, as the children fled past him stepped into Bedro’s path.  “You appear to like harassing smaller lads and lasses,” Frodo said conversationally.

                “What’s it to you?”asked Bedro, surprised to see this much slighter individual in his path.

                “Nothing, I suppose, except that I have this dislike of seeing anyone chased and threatened,” the stranger said.

                “And what do you propose to do about it?” growled Bedro, preparing to beat the stranger.

                “Just this,” Frodo said quietly, and Bedro felt one punch and found himself lying on the ground, quite surprised.  Frodo turned and left the village.  Only Ordo saw the quick interaction, and there was no way he was going to make a complaint or support any the young Bracegirdle might make.  Bedro finally got up and stood shaking his head for some moments.  What had become of the strange Hobbit who had confronted him he had no idea; but he had no intentions of facing him again.  Continuing to shake his head, he went off toward his home.

                Fosco and Forsythia, once they realized they were no longer being pursued by Beasty, crept back toward the house where their Mum was visiting, keeping a sharp eye out for the bully, but finding him nowhere.  When Lilac came out she was quite surprised to find the two of them sitting openly in the front garden of the house, for usually they seemed to end up around back or even, for some reason she’d never bothered to ascertain, up in one of the trees.

                They were looking forward the following day to perhaps seeing the strange Hobbit out in the field again.  As Forsythia led her brother through the field, she looked about carefully, but had to admit she didn’t see him.  Finally, though, as they approached the far fence, she saw him, outside the fence, sitting in the shade of the trees at the edge of the woods, a notebook and pencil in his hands.  He seemed intent on his writing, and Forsythia whispered all this to her brother.  They quietly approached the fence out of his line of sight, crept through, then came along the line of trees until they were standing near him.  Forsythia realized now that he wasn’t writing, but that he was drawing, and he was drawing the field through which they’d come and the dead tree that stood in the middle of it.

                “Ooh,” she said, “that is good!”

                “What is good?” asked Fosco.

                “He’s drawing a picture of the field and the dead tree, and it looks just like it.”

                “Oh, can I see it?” her brother asked.

                The stranger had been a bit startled when Forsythia spoke up, but only a bit, and now he was smiling at the two of them.  “Certainly you can see it if you like,” he said, and he handed the notebook to the lad.  He watched as the child took it and held it at an angle to his face, and moved his head carefully over it.  Finally he smiled and handed it back, carefully looking at the artist out of the corner of his right eye.

                “It’s very nice,” the lad commented.

                “Well, it appears you and your sister both like it, so obviously it must be nice,” the grown Hobbit commented.

                “Where did you get your walking stick?” asked Forsythia.

                “One of my uncles gave it to me for Yule a few years before I came of age,” he said.  “He knew I liked going on walking trips, so he thought I would like it.”

                “The uncle who adopted you?”

                “No, another one.  My mum’s older brother.”

                “Do you get to see him often?”

                “No, he died a few years ago.”

                “Oh.”  She was quiet for a time.  “Did your da have brothers?”

                The stranger nodded.  “Yes, he had an older sister and a younger brother.  Both of them are dead now, though.”

                “That’s sad, that all your uncles and aunts are gone now.”

                “I call some of my older cousins Aunt and Uncle, but they are really cousins.  They are still much older than I am, though.”

                “Do you have cousins who are your own age?”

                “A few who are near my age, but the ones I’m closest to are the ones who are younger than I am.”

                “Why?” asked Fosco.

                The older Hobbit shrugged.  “Like I said yesterday, I was often ill when I was younger, so my cousins who fostered me wouldn’t let me play too hard.  I didn’t understand why then--and I’m not certain I understand it now, either.  So for my chore I got to take care of the younger ones in the smial, my younger cousins, that is.  Their son is like my little brother, and another cousin who is younger is like he’s littler brother to both of us.  And my best friend is as if he were my little brother, too.”  He finished his picture, then closed up the notebook and put it and the drawing stick away, pulled out another packet wrapped in oiled paper.  “I went into the village late yesterday and got some pork pies.  Would you each like one?”

                “Oh, the pork pies from the inn are very good,” Fosco said.  “Yes, please.”

                Again he shared them out among the three of them, then drew out three bottles of ginger beer, giving each of them one.  Together they ate the pies and drank the ginger beer.  He asked, “Do you have friends here in Westhall?”

                Forsythia answered, “I play with Petunia Stock sometimes, but she’s not very smart.  She can’t read and thinks reading is foolish, and doesn’t believe there are Elves.”

                “Not believing in Elves is what is foolish,” the grown Hobbit commented.  “I’ve certainly seen them.  My friend Sam hasn’t seen one yet, but is dying to do so.  He’s gone with me on a couple of walking trips where we hoped to see some, but like I said there aren’t many who travel openly right now.  It may be hard to see a Hobbit who doesn’t want to be seen, but it’s harder to see an Elf who is hiding himself.  That’s what my uncle used to tell me.”

                “She doesn’t believe in Dwarves, either, but I’ve seen them.”

                “Does she believe in Men?”

                Forsythia thought for a few moments before answering, “No, I don’t think she does.  Have you ever seen a Man?”

                He nodded.  “Yes, when I was just a lad and was in Buckland.  Sometimes Men will ride along the West Road from the Brandywine Bridge, tall Men on real horses, which are so much bigger than our Shire ponies.  All I’ve seen were dressed in grey or green cloaks with silver stars on their left shoulders.  My uncle told me they are Rangers of Eriador.”

                “Your uncle knows a lot about those who live outside the Shire,” Forsythia said.

                He shrugged.  “Yes, he’s been outside the Shire.”

                “Oh, has he been to Bree?” she asked.

                “Yes.”

                “I’d like to go to Bree some time,” Fosco commented.  “Have you ever been there?”

                “No, I’ve not been outside the Shire yet.  My cousins wouldn’t let me when I was younger, and they made my uncle promise not to take me when he adopted me.”

                “That’s not fair,” the lad said.

                Their companion smiled.  “They didn’t want him to infect me with the wanderlust he had,” he explained.  “One day I suspect I will go off, but not yet.”

                “What’s your name?” asked Forsythia.

                The stranger looked at them, obviously thinking.  “You can call me Iorhael, I suppose,” he finally said.  “The Elves say that’s my name in their language.”

                “You mean they don’t speak our language?”

                “The Elves I’ve spoken to speak the Common Tongue, but also speak Sindarin, and perhaps Quenya as well.  Those are two of the Elven languages.”

                “Oh, I didn’t know they had their own languages.  Do Dwarves have their own languages, too?”

                “Yes, they do.  And Men have a number of languages they might speak, depending on where they are from.”

                Both children were very impressed.

                Iorhael asked Fosco, “Do you have a best friend?”

                He shook his head.  “I used to play with Cousin Fendi, but he says I slow him up because I can’t see as well as he can.  His mum is afraid he’ll hurt me, so I think it’s mostly she doesn’t want him to play with me.”

                “That’s too bad,” Iorhael said.  “Is there anyone you don’t like in the village?”

                Both of them nodded.  “Beasty Bracegirdle,” they said at the same time.

                “Beasty?” he asked.

                “His real name is Bedro,” Forsythia said.

                Fosco nodded.  “Everyone calls him Beasty, though.  He’s not nice.  He picks on us.”

                “Oh, I see.”

                “Did you have someone pick on you when you were small?”

                “I think everyone does at one point or another.”

                “Beasty was chasing us last night, then suddenly stopped and left.  We don’t know why he stopped or where he went,” Forsythia said.

                “He’s a nasty git,” Fosco commented.  “I’d like to be able to give him a real punch some day.”

                Iorhael laughed.  “One of my older cousins taught me to do that when I was a tween.  I’ve been very glad he did.”

                “Can you teach me?” asked Fosco.

                Iorhael looked at him critically.  “I’m not certain you are big enough to do a really good punch yet, certainly not toward someone as much taller than you are as Beasty is.  Part of what works for me is that I am a bit taller than most Hobbits, so I can get what my older cousin called leverage.  I can sort of show you, but until you grow taller it won’t work very well for you.  What my little cousin does that works for him is to roll under the reach of the bigger lads and tackle their legs and make them fall down.  Then he and the other smaller lads gang up on them.”

                “Oh, I’d love to do that to Beasty, but I don’t think I could talk the other lads my size into helping me.”

                “It does call for cooperation.”

                “Would you show me anyway?”

                Iorhael took his bedroll with his cloak around it off his pack and set it against a fence post, and did his best to teach Fosco.  They worked on it for a half hour or so, then the grown Hobbit called a halt.  “You’ll have to work on it for a time, but I’ll warn you it works best when it’s on someone near your own height.  And it’s best that they don’t realize you’re going to punch them.  I talk to them and get them convinced that I couldn’t hurt them, then suddenly let go, and they fall down real fast.”

                “Oh, I can’t wait till I’m big enough to do that.  Do you do it often?”

                “No.  Mac made me promise only to use my punch when it’s really needed, so I don’t really hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

                “Why did he teach you?”

                “One of the tweens my older cousin hired to work on the farm was a bad bully, and he was beating up on all the littler lads.  One day I tried to stop him, and almost got beaten up as a result.  Mac saw him getting ready to beat both me and the little one he had been hurting, and stopped it himself, then taught me when I asked him.”

                “You are good at it now?”

                Iorhael nodded.

                Forsythia sighed.  “I hate Beasty.  He is a bully.”

                “Most of the Bracegirdles are pretty nasty folks,” Iorhael agreed.

                “His dad Bigelow is a drunk.”

                “I’m sorry.  It’s such a waste when folk drink like that.”

                They continued talking for a time, then Iorhael looked up.  “It’s almost noon.  I need to leave, and your mum will want you home for luncheon again.  I’ll try to walk this way again in a few months, and look forward to seeing you then.”  He rummaged through his pack and brought out a book.  “This used to belong to a younger cousin, but he gave it to me so I could give it to someone who is younger than he is now who might like it.  Would you two like it?” 

                Forsythia reached for it eagerly.  “Oh, yes,” she said.  “We love books, you know.”  She took it and read the title.  “Joco and the Cornfield.  Oh, I love this story!”

                “You do?  Then good, I know you’ll enjoy the book then.”  He was rerolling his bedroll and cloak, then attached them onto his pack.  “I hope to see you perhaps in early September, then.”

*******               

                After that Iorhael came to Westhall two to three times a year, and Fosco and Forsythia looked forward to his coming.  He always looked about the same, his hair dark brown, his eyes so very blue, his smile always inviting.  Usually he brought them a gift or two, which the two of them would slip into the house and hide away.  In time they found a cave which became their hideout, and they brought him there, and they kept his gifts there instead of in the house where Mum might find them.  He knew how to cook over an open fire, and taught them how to hunt mushrooms in the woods and how to cook them on sticks.  He showed them how to tell which berries were good to eat, and how to find wild onions.  He took them fishing, and showed them how to cook what they caught.  Each time he came he worked with Fosco on how to throw that telling punch, and each time the lad got better.  And he began to teach them to dance.

                Their da also was meeting with Hobbits from the center of the Shire.  One was a banker of discretion and the other was a lawyer, who bought interests in the farm.  How Forsythia came to realize that these were connected to Iorhael she couldn’t say; but she figured it out.

*******

                The last time Iorhael came, they were sixteen.  It was just after Midsummer, and they’d just seen him at the Free Fair in Michel Delving.  He’d been sitting near the ale tent and the dancing ground, telling a tale to the younger lads and lasses when they recognized his voice, and they’d come to listen to the story, too.  It was then that they heard someone calling him Frodo Baggins and realized this was his real name.  When their mum had realized who it was they were listening to, she tried to hurry them away.  Neither of them intended to leave, though, and they sat there stubbornly listening until the story was done and Frodo had gotten up and nodded his thanks to his audience and walked away with his grown friends.  Then and only then did they allow Mum to lead them off, and when they got to a quiet place, Forsythia had glared at her foster mother and asked, “What is our real last name?”

                Mum tried not to answer, but finally admitted, “Baggins.”

                “Then he’s a cousin of ours?”

                “Yes.  His da was your real da’s older brother.”

                “I see,” Forsythia said, and then grew quiet.  For the rest of the day she only spoke to Mum when Mum asked a question.  She was polite, but would say nothing on her own. 

                The day after they got home the two of them hurried off to the cave to wait for Iorhael to come.  He arrived in the evening, and didn’t appear surprised to see them there.

                “You are our cousin, then?” asked Fosco.

                “Yes, I am.”

                “Why didn’t you tell us?”

                “Your mum and da didn’t want you to have anything to do with me, and have always sent back the gifts I sent you.  This was the only way I could tell if you were all right.”

                “Why didn’t they want us to have anything to do with you?”

                “Because I’m family head, and could insist on taking you to foster the way Bilbo did me.  Your mum and da love you and were afraid of losing you.  But unless things aren’t good for you, I won’t insist on that.  They do love you and mostly treat you very well.”

                “You knew Bilbo?”

                “Yes, I knew Bilbo.  He is my cousin whom I’ve always called ‘Uncle’ who adopted me and left me his heir and the head of the family.”

                “So, Mum lied when she said our cousins didn’t try to find out anything about us, then?” asked Forsythia.  Iorhael nodded.  “And your real name is Frodo.”

                “Yes, my name in Westron is Frodo.  But it really is Iorhael in Elvish.”

                “What’s Westron?” asked Fosco.

                “It’s the proper name for the Common Tongue.”

                “So when you were angry when we told you about Bilbo, you weren’t angry he ignored us, but because you knew he hadn’t ignored us after all?”

                “Yes, and because I hate hearing people say he is crazy.  He isn’t crazy at all.  He is one of the smartest Hobbits there has ever been.”

                “He isn’t still alive, is he?” asked Forsythia.

                “Yes, I believe he is.”

                “Where is he?” asked Fosco.

                “When I came of age he left the Shire, and went back to Erebor once more to see the Dwarves who live now once again beneath the Lonely Mountain.  I’m not certain where he went from there, but I intend to find out.”

                “When?”

                “Soon.”

                “Are you going to leave the Shire, too?” Forsythia asked, suddenly worried.

                Frodo Baggins looked at his two young cousins for quite some time before he answered, “Yes, I have to leave very soon.”

                “Why?” asked Fosco.

                He was quiet while he thought what to answer.  “Are you willing to swear not to tell anyone what I tell you?” he asked.

                Both said they’d swear.  He again examined them at length before he said, “Bilbo left me something I have to take out of the Shire because we’ve learned it is very, very dangerous.  If I don’t take it away, bad people are likely to come to the Shire and try to hurt Hobbits looking for it.  I’ll be taking it where it’s safe to leave it.”

                “Will you come back afterwards?”

                He shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I hope to, but have no idea what will happen.  Maybe, once I find where Bilbo is I’ll just stay with him.

                “You really like Bilbo?” asked Forsythia.

                “He’s my family, Forsythia.  He’s the one who really loved me, enough to take me and adopt me.  My cousins who fostered me before love me, too--they love me very much, in fact.  But they didn’t let me do the things I needed to be able to do in order to feel grown up, needed.  Bilbo did.  He trusted me, and taught me how to take care of myself and others the way we all need.”

                Fosco looked at Frodo as carefully as he could with his limited vision.  “I don’t want you to leave, Iorhael--Frodo.  I want you to stay here in the Shire.  I’d like to live with you.”

                “If it hadn’t been for the--for this thing I have to deal with, I’d take you now, and see you properly educated and all.  But this is truly important.  It’s something that affects everyone, Elves and Dwarves and Men and Hobbits and all the rest, too.

                “One other thing,” Frodo added, “I can’t tell you exactly how I know this, but it’s important that you not let others know you are Bagginses.  Let them think you are Gravellies until I get back--if I come back.  Otherwise I fear they will hurt you and your mum and da very badly.  Do you understand?”

                Fosco and Forsythia finally agreed to this.  Frodo nodded with relief.  “I’ve come to like you two very much, and am glad we are cousins.  Hang on till this is over, and I will do my best to make certain you get a good education and the final raising you need.”

*******

                A letter came in September for Forsythia, delivered quietly to her by Oridon Goodbody, the banker of discretion who worked with their da.  It was quite short.

 Dear Forsythia and Fosco,

                I am glad I got to meet you.  I’m off to do what I have to do.  Take care and hold on as well as you can. 

                                                                                I

                 That was the last they heard for quite some time.

                Then the Time of Troubles started, and there was little time to think of anyone else at all.  There were no Big Men quartered in their little village, but their wagons came through and the Men and Hobbits who came with them took as much as they could of the goods the Hobbits of Westhall owned.  Somehow, however, it appeared no one thought of going through the smial on the east end of the village.  Told that the Hobbits who’d owned it had died years ago, the Big Men assumed it was empty and never gave it a second look.  Certainly the ivy growing over the windows gave it a deserted and somewhat decrepit appearance.

                The Hobbits of Westhall lowered their heads and hid in their holes and houses as much as they could, and mostly they were ignored by the Big Men, for which they were grateful.  That Frodo Baggins’s first cousins lived there was not generally known (or at least thought about) even within the village, and certainly Lilac and Emro Gravelly weren’t going to tell anyone, nor would Gander Proudfoot, who also was not making his own relationship to the Bagginses known.  It was best, all agreed, to keep quiet and low, and hope the whole thing would blow over soon.

                Things often felt horrible to the two young twins, and as that horrid winter came on they appeared to get worse and worse.  A Shiriff House was built on the edge of the Commons, but only three Shiriffs were stationed there, as glad to be ignored by the Big Men as the rest of the folk of Westhall.  No one was surprised when Bedro Bracegirdle joined the Shiriffs, but he was sent to the eastern borders, where his troop was stationed along the Brandywine.  The Hobbits of Buckland closed and locked their doors and didn’t allow the Shiriffs and Big Men entry to their smials.  It appeared the Shiriffs could not keep the Buckleberry Ferry floating, and all rowboats disappeared suddenly, or developed serious problems with holes in the bottoms.  The only way into Buckland was via the Brandywine Bridge, and the road was suddenly very dangerous for those who were not born to the region.  The Big Men and Shiriffs weren’t overtly attacked as they were in Tookland; but there was no question that once their nature was known they didn’t appear to fare well at all in Buckland.  With the little news that filtered into Westhall regarding the situation along the Brandywine, all were glad that Bedro had been sent there, even his father.

                Spring as it approached seemed to grow darker by the day.  South of them the sky was brown and dreary, and seemed to grow more so day by day.  Forsythia and Fosco found themselves dreaming constantly of their friend Iorhael, and they were not good dreams.  They dreamed about darkness, dust, fire, terror, horrible faces looming up lit by red flames, cries of pain. 

                Then came the darkest day of all, when the entire sky to the south of the Shire was a solid ceiling of dark brown dust.  All felt the tension mount in the air, then a moment of unexplainable horror--followed by a feeling of relief unprecedented in the memories of Hobbits anywhere, as winds high in the heavens ripped at the brown cloud and tore it to shreds, allowing light and joy back into hearts long afflicted with fear and terror.  Even the Big Men and those Hobbits that followed and supported them were taken aback, looking at the sky in consternation,  uncertain what the changes meant.

                But, when after several days of uncertainty no forces of good appeared out of the wilderness surrounding the Shire to relieve the Shire of the tyranny of Lotho’s Big Men, those took heart and became even nastier than ever.  However, they found themselves facing growing pockets of Hope here and there throughout the Shire, and were frightened by it, for what if these pockets of Hope should take root?  But they could not fully understand what they perceived, much less identify the source of that Hope they faced.

                There were those who were certain that the changes they felt somehow had to do with those four who had left the Shire; but the spring did not bring them home; nor the heat and sun of summer; nor the winds of autumn--not until the closing of October....

                The rumors that the four Travelers had reentered the Shire there at the Brandywine Bridge, that they’d invaded the Shiriff’s House there, flouted rules, and refused to take the threats of the Shiriffs and the Big Men seriously flew through the Shire on the breeze.  Then there was talk of the Big Men in the heart of the Shire being routed by the blowing of a horn bound with silver, and the Thain’s son calling for the archers of Tookland and leading them to rout out the bullies and brigands--and then, as suddenly as it had started, the Time of Troubles was at an end; Frodo Baggins was Deputy Mayor; Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took were hunting down the last of the Big Men; and Samwise Gamgee (Who were the Gamgees? many asked) was coordinating the rebuilding of the Shire and the replanting of trees and gardens.  Throughout the Shire Hobbits were beginning to realize it was safe once more to live and breathe.  Fosco and Forsythia Gravelly of Westhall felt hope fill them, and looked to Iorhael coming to see them in the spring.

Brandybuck Lawyer

                Brendilac Brandybuck sat in the Bridge Inn with a drink in front of him, his feelings decidedly mixed.  When a form passed between him and the light from the front windows of the place he looked up to see his cousin Frodo approaching him carrying a plate and mug. 

                “Mind if I join you, Brendi?” Frodo asked.

                “Feel free,” Brendilac said somewhat distractedly, indicating the chair opposite him at the otherwise empty table.  “Been visiting Sara and Esme?”

                “Yes, and Merry, of course.  I understand that Old Flour Dumpling has accepted you to practice law now.”

                “Yes, just yesterday, in fact.  It’s quite an honor--I’m the youngest to be accepted to write contracts and so on in over a hundred years.”

                “Merilinde must be very pleased.  When’s the wedding?”  Then, at the change in expression in his cousin’s eyes, Frodo’s own expression became concerned.  “What is it, Brendilac?  Is she still ill?”

                Brendilac’s shrug was studiously practiced.  “Yes, she is.”  His attempt to look calm didn’t hold, however.  The dark circles under his eyes were now obvious, and there was no disguising the pain he felt.

                Frodo was around the table and crouching at his cousin’s side immediately, putting one hand on Brendilac’s shoulder and taking the young lawyer’s near hand with the other.  “It’s that serious, then?”

                Brendilac nodded, his face set with grief.  “Yes.  There’s a growth in her belly, and they can’t do anything for her, Frodo.”  He raised his hazel eyes to meet Frodo’s blue ones.  “They say she won’t make it till Yule.”

                Frodo held his cousin to him as he finally broke down.  He dragged a stool closer and sat down, and pulled his friend’s head onto his shoulder.

                The two had been friends when they were small.  Much of an age, they’d played together when the Bagginses came to visit Brandy Hall and later when Drogo moved his wife and son into the smial near the river.  Brendilac was one of the few near their age who approached Frodo’s own level of intellect or shared many of his interests.  One of Sadoc’s descendants, Brendilac was Brandybuck through and through and had lived in the Hall most of his life.  It looked as if Frodo and he would become close friends until the death of Frodo’s parents.  Suddenly Frodo was being surrounded by rules and strictures, was forbidden to do anything strenuous or that might cause him worry, and the lads his own age were actively discouraged from including him in their activities, which were seen as too rough and dangerous.

                For three years as a rebellious teen that had changed, until the fateful day Frodo targeted Maggot’s mushrooms one too many times and got caught with the goods and run off the farm by Maggot’s dogs.  After that the strictures were back with a vengeance until Bilbo stepped in and took Frodo as his ward, after which Brendilac seemed to rarely see him, particularly as at the same time his own family had moved to a smial of their own north of Crickhollow.  But they still exchanged letters on occasion, and Frodo always sent a small gift at the time of his birthday.

                Brendilac had loved Merilinde Goodbody since he was in his late teens, and the two had been looking forward to the time when they would marry for years.  But when Merilinde came of age she’d become ill, and had stayed ill for most of three years.  No one seemed to know precisely what the problem was, but she could not keep down her food and often suffered from blood loss and weakness.  Menegilda had finally been prevailed upon by Bilbo to summon a healer from Bree who had studied diseases of the stomach, and she had suggested a complete change of diet.  Finally Merilinde seemed to be responding satisfactorily, and she began to put on weight at last, and her face began to take on color.  She and Brendilac began to plan for their wedding, and then suddenly she was ill again.

                Now they knew--a growth, one of those which would not respond to draughts or diet.

                Frodo stayed with Brendilac that night and through the next day.  When at last Brendilac appeared to be ready to talk of plans for the future, Frodo asked, “Do you still love her in spite of knowing she is dying?”

                The young lawyer considered for a time, then looked into Frodo’s eyes and said, “Yes.”

                “Do you wish to spend what time you can with her as her husband?”

                “Yes.”

                “What about her?”

                “I don’t know.”

                “Shall we go and ask her, then?”

                After speaking with Merilinde, Frodo had next gone to see Master Saradoc and asked him to come to Merilinde’s family’s home to discuss things.  Both Brendilac and Merilinde wanted to make the most of what time was given to her, and wished to marry and live as husband and wife.  Finally, after much discussion, the small wedding was planned and executed.

                She’d lived six months beyond Yule, and had been extremely happy for the time she’d known as Brendilac’s wife.  One morning she’d not been able to rise, and by nightfall she’d fallen asleep again, and then slipped away.  It had not been easy for Brendilac, but at the same time he had no regrets for having shared that time with her.  By that time, he was Frodo’s personal lawyer.

                They were not friends as they had been as children or the companions they’d been as members of the same gang of lads as teens, but Brendilac developed a respect and regard for his Baggins cousin that he knew for no one else.  Frodo was quite the best and most decent Hobbit the Brandybuck knew, and his discernment toward others was well worth honoring.

                Only one thing he seemed incapable of discerning any more, and that was the love offered him by Narcissa Boffin.  Why Frodo Baggins ignored this Brendilac simply could not understand, and when he tried to discuss the situation with him Frodo just looked at him as if he could not understand the language Brendilac was using.  Something had changed in Frodo since Bilbo left the Shire, something that seemed to make Frodo incapable of knowing the love of a lad for a lass, and it puzzled the lawyer terribly, trying to understand why this was so.

                Then came the day when Frodo quietly summoned Brendilac to Hobbiton to meet with him.  “I need to make a will, and to write up a bill of sale for Bag End.  I also need to make provisions for what might happen if I don’t come back.”

                “Come back?  Come back from where?”

                Frodo looked at him closely.  “I have to swear you to secrecy, Brendi.  Do you understand?”

                This was one of the parts of being a personal lawyer that Brendilac was aware of that had not been asked of him before.  “I understand.”

                “The only one you can discuss this with will be Oridon, and even then it will be limited strictly to my business partnerships and all, or the execution of my will if I don’t come back.”

                Brendilac Brandybuck swore the oath required by those who were to keep their clients’ business strictly confidential.  Finally Frodo, having assured that no one was outside the windows or anywhere else around, explained as best he could.

                “Bilbo left one--object--for me when he left the Shire that we have learned is dangerous, terribly dangerous.  I must take it outside the Shire and give it into the hands of those who will, I hope, know what to do with it to contain the danger it holds.  If I remain here with it, there are those who will come seeking for it, and probably soon.  They are, I am assured by Gandalf, deadly.  I will not risk that for the Shire I love.”

                “You believe Gandalf really understands the danger?”

                “I am certain.  I’ve studied enough under Bilbo and on my own in the years since to know that the danger of this thing cannot be exaggerated.”

                “How did Bilbo come by it?”

                “He found it in the caverns of the goblins during his travels.”

                “Why did he bring it here?”

                “It looks terribly innocent.  There is nothing to indicate what it really is and how dangerous it is unless you know the one test to prove its nature.  Gandalf had to look hard to find that test, but he found it and performed it.  There is no question.”

                “Can you tell me what it is?”

                “No.  It would be too dangerous for you to know.”

                “Why are you selling Bag End?”

                “I have to convince others that I have reason to leave Hobbiton.  I’m putting it out that I’ve run out of Bilbo’s treasure and come to the end of my money.”

                “No one will believe that.”

                “Don’t be so certain, Brendi.  People will believe what they want to believe.  And there are those who think I have had too much good luck and that it is time for the bad luck to start, and they will be fully glad to believe me poverty stricken at last.”

                “Like the Sackville-Bagginses?”

                “They aren’t the only ones, you know.”

                He had to agree with that statement. 

                Oridon was also sworn to secrecy, although Brendilac didn’t believe that he was given as much detail as Frodo had given the lawyer.  The will was surprisingly simple--if he died or did not return in two years time, everything Frodo now owned was to be left in trust for Fosco and Forsythia Baggins for when they came of age, save for the properties he still owned on Bagshot Row, which were to come under the ownership of the residents.  The house that he would purchase with the proceeds of the sale of Bag End would return to the ownership of the previous owner if he failed to return to it in two years time.  The next family head for the Bagginses would be Ponto Baggins, and after him Fosco Baggins.  All partnerships were to remain in trust for Fosco and Forsythia until they came of age, and the one to guarantee their interests was Saradoc Brandybuck, Master of Brandy Hall, but not unless Frodo failed to return to the Shire within two years of his fiftieth birthday or proof was brought that he was dead.

                It was when the time came to write the bill of sale and deed for the sale of Bag End that Brendilac began to wonder about Frodo’s sanity.  “You are selling it to whom?”

                “Lotho Sackville-Baggins.”

                “Why ever for?”

                “I didn’t want to do so--I’d offered it to Ponto and Iris, for I knew if I returned I could purchase it back from them.  But Lotho was up here with cash in hand with the amount I’d asked from them, and I couldn’t say no and still look credible as a newly impoverished individual.”

                “This is too much, Frodo Baggins.  Too much!”  With much grumbling, Brendilac finally wrote out the bill of sale and saw the deed signed over to Lotho and Lobelia’s names.  Then he went to Michel Delving, after getting the signatures of mother and son, to file it all.  It was one of the last proper bills of sale to be filed in the Shire for a year.

                As he prepared to leave the Shire, Frodo remembered the last day he spent as a rebellious teen, the day he’d been caught by Farmer Maggot and had been run off the farm by his dogs.  After a time all the dogs but one turned around and went back to the farmhouse, once Frodo was past the boundaries of Maggot’s property.  One, however, stayed after him.  At last Frodo had spotted an abandoned byre and ran toward it, falling as he approached it, twisting his ankle and barely making it inside a former stall and banging closed the door before the dog caught up with him.  Frodo had never had much to do with dogs, and was frankly terrified of those belonging to Maggot.  He was in a good deal of pain from his ankle, and more from sheer terror.  At last he’d pulled back into a corner, weeping with the pain and fear, and hid his head under his arms.  He could hear the dog out there, its breathing and its occasional growls every time he made the smallest sound.  He knew he would never get back to the Hall, that they’d find his body here after days of searching, and the flesh would have been gnawed off his leg bones....

                He woke suddenly, realizing he’d slept and was no longer alone in the byre, that someone was speaking to the dog, and the dog was whining.  There were thuds of something heavy hitting the wood of the stall wall, then the voice giving direction to the dog, telling it to return to its master, its duty had been fulfilled hours ago.  But this was not being said in the Common Tongue.  How he was understanding it, he didn’t know.

                The sky had been darkening toward dusk, but there was a light in the byre as if someone had brought in a lantern.  Now it was coming closer, and a form was leaning over the rail of the stall where he cowered.  “What have we here?” asked an amused voice in Westron, and deep grey eyes looked down into Frodo’s.  “And what did you do to provoke Master Maggot into setting his beast after you?”

                It was a tall figure, but not one Frodo had ever seen before.  He was tall and slender, heavily bearded, clad in dusty brown, his eyes distant.  He reached out to Frodo, placed his hand on his shoulder, compelled him to stand and come out.  Seeing his wince with pain he’d lifted him as easily as a parent lifts a small bairn out of the bath, sat him gently on the edge of a still sturdy manger, knelt to check his ankle.  He’d felt the warmth of the stranger’s intent fill his leg as he gently touched it and began to sing, and the pain was relieved, the muscles eased, the swelling diminished.

                At last he had risen, and led him out of the byre under the early stars, out to a fallen tree.  There they sat, side by side as he shifted his examination to the rest of Frodo.  Finally he said quietly, “You were never intended to be a thief, Cormacolindor.”  He reached out and took Frodo’s hands, held them palm up on top of his own, examined them.  “It was a different purpose that was intended when you were gifted with your Light.”  He looked again into Frodo’s eyes.  “They mean well, but do it wrongly.  You will need other nourishing, other teaching.”

                “What do you see when you look at my hand?” he’d asked.

                “A gap, intense pain, but it will be relieved.  Much will be needed from you, perhaps all you have.  I see, however, that the love you will need to have surrounding you will be there, freely given.  But such cannot come to one who lives as a thief.”

                He examined him again.  “A long-contained problem has awakened in you.  You need your own people about you now.  It is time for you to go home.”  The stranger had then risen and walked with him to the river, helped him across in the rowboat he’d left hidden, saw him to the kitchen doors of the smial.  Who he was Frodo had no idea, and he never saw him again in Middle Earth—not that he knew of, at least. 

                He’d not taken part from there on in any raids on farms or pantries, had never taken anything not intended for himself.  He’d even gone out of his way to try to recompense those from whom he’d stolen by working secretly on their farms, weeding fields and gardens, preparing cows for milking, cleaning stalls.  He’d decided no one would ever be able after that day to call him a thief.

Spring Leads to Summer

                The one Fosco and Forsythia thought of as Iorhael didn’t come in the spring, though they continued to wait patiently.  Word was that, yes, he was back in the Shire and served well as deputy Mayor, but that Frodo Baggins was not particularly well.  His exceptional thinness was often remarked on; the shadowed eyes were repeatedly mentioned.  He didn’t come, and he didn’t come.  Nor did any letters come.

                Then it was summer, and all were making plans to go to the Free Fair in Michel Delving.  There was talk of Frodo Baggins being put forward to run for Mayor, and all spoke excitedly of having a new Mayor at last who was so much different from Old Flour Dumpling.  There was a great deal of talk about how he had taken the shambles Will’s office had become while Will was imprisoned and had cleared it away.  There was talk of how he’d questioned all the Shiriffs and the justice given many of those who’d aided Lotho and his Big Men.  There was talk about the investigation he’d begun on how Lotho had become as powerful as he did so quickly.  There was talk about how he’d set Sam Gamgee to checking out what needed to be done to rebuild and replant and reforest.   All were eager to confirm him as Mayor.

                Fosco and Forsythia certainly weren’t planning to stay home, no matter what Mum and Da might wish.  At last they were on their way, the day before Midsummers, their parents reluctant, themselves intent on seeing for themselves why Iorhael had not come to them in the spring.

                They heard his voice as they went through the Fairgrounds, giving an election speech--giving an election speech for Will Whitfoot?  Their mum and da, who’d been certain he would be elected and who’d been predicting all kinds of dire things if he were, seemed as stunned as everyone else around them.  He didn’t want to be Mayor any more?  Forsythia had realized Lilac and Emro were worried that now he was back and once he was officially Mayor, Frodo Baggins might turn his mind to his two cousins who lived in Westhall and they might lose their children at last.  But as they listened it became obvious that Frodo didn’t wish to remain Mayor, that he wanted to restore things to the way they were before he left.  Will stood there beside Frodo, his face as surprised as that of anyone else--surprised and disturbed.  He’d spent a good deal of time in the past two months talking to the movers and shakers among the Hobbits of the Shire, convincing them that Frodo Baggins was the right Hobbit for the job; and here Frodo was making certain all knew he didn’t wish to continue in the position after all.  Forsythia could see how embarrassed Will was, and quickly described it all to her brother.

                The speech over, Frodo stepped down, leaving Will up there alone, forcing himself to make a speech accepting the nomination Frodo had just made.  But Fosco pulled on his sister.  “Which way did he go?” he whispered.  The two of them slipped out of the crowd, began to search for their cousin.

                They found him in the Council Hole, sitting on the floor of the banquet chamber on the other side of the great carved sideboard, his head pillowed in his arms.  Forsythia wasn’t certain at first whether he was weeping or not, but Fosco urged her onward.  At last they stood over him, and he looked up warily.  No, he wasn’t weeping, but he was indeed haunted looking.  The twins found themselves kneeling by him, putting their arms around him, and he was holding them close to him.  Forsythia could feel how thin he was, how prominent his bones were; and both could feel the rasping of his breath and the trembling as he held them to him.

                “You, too, must feel I’ve betrayed you,” he was whispering.  “But I can’t do another term--at times I almost didn’t make it just the eight months I’ve served.  I can’t do it more--I can’t!  I couldn’t come to you, either--I’m so sorry!  I’m so sorry!”

                “It’s all right, Iorhael,” Fosco found himself repeating, over and over the way his mum used to soothe his nightmares when he was younger.  “It’s all right.  You will see.”

                Forsythia said nothing, just held him close, realizing how weak he was underneath.  Finally the intensity of their meeting was over, and the twins at last sat back a bit, looked at him.

                “Why are you hiding here, Iorhael?” Forsythia asked him.

                He gave a small laugh that was half a sob.  “I found myself wanting my dad, I think.  He carved this, you know,” and he gave the sideboard a pat, looking at it sideways with a longing expression.  And Forsythia noted that one of his fingers was missing, and she paused with shock to look at it, saw him pale as he realized what she saw and turned his face away.

                “What is it?” demanded her brother, as he realized something had disturbed both his sister and their friend.

                Forsythia wouldn’t answer him, kept looking at Iorhael, and at last Frodo turned back to look at her again, a level of defiance in his gaze.

                “What is it?” asked Fosco again, a note of desperation in his voice, uncertain what this tension was.

                Frodo sighed, and at last answered him.  “I lost a finger on my journey, and she’s looking at it, just looking at where it’s missing.”  His voice was low and dead sounding. 

                Forsythia reached out slowly and took the reluctant hand, held it between hers, and Frodo and Fosco suddenly both were aware she was crying, crying for what he’d lost.  She drew his hand to her cheek, was holding it to comfort him and herself both.  And suddenly he was reaching out once more, drawing her kneeling form to him, holding her close to his breast, seeking to comfort her back.  Now Frodo was the one crooning, “It will be all right, Forsythia,--or I hope it will be.”

                “We thought we’d lost you, Iorhael,” she whispered at last.  “We were so glad to hear you were back, so glad to know you were deputy Mayor and making things all right, and so upset you didn’t come to us.”

                “I couldn’t,” he answered.  “It’s been all I can do to make it once to Buckland to see Aunt Esme and Uncle Sara, or at times just to make it here to Michel Delving.  I’m not well, children.  I must be honest with you--I’m not well.”

                “Why do you have to be honest with us?” asked Fosco.

                “I suppose because I find it so hard to be honest with everyone else, even myself at times.”  He was trembling again.  The three of them held onto one another once more, and at last his trembling stopped again.  He sort of pushed them back a bit, took the water bottle he wore and drank from it, finally corked it, and looked at them.  “You both look so good.”

                “You are related to the Master, then?” Forsythia asked.

                He nodded.  “We are really cousins, you know.  His father Rorimac was oldest of my mum Primula’s brothers and sisters.  I’m also cousin to his wife Esmeralda and Thain Paladin, who is Esmeralda’s brother.  All of us are the great grandchildren of the Old Took--you two, Merry, Pippin, Folco Boffin, Narcissa Boffin--except they are really great-great grandchildren, Narcissa and Folco; and me. Only your sister Daisy isn’t, but then she’s a half sister.” 

                They looked at him with shock.  “We have a sister?” asked Fosco.

                Frodo looked at his younger cousin with even greater shock.  “You mean you didn’t know?” he asked.  When Fosco and Forsythia both shook their heads, his expression changed.  “This is insupportable,” he said, “that you two should be ignorant of your own blood.  Insupportable!”  He was showing signs of anger, and the two young Hobbits realized it was aimed at their foster parents.  Finally he sighed.  “Your real dad was married to Camellia Boffin, of the Boffins from Hobbiton.  She was a fourth cousin, once removed, on the side of our grandmother Primrose, who was married to our grandfather Fosco, for whom you were named.  They had a daughter Daisy in 1350.  She married Griffo Boffin the year after I came of age and Bilbo left.  When our Aunt Dora, who was the eldest of the three, herself, my dad Drogo, and your dad Dudo, died the following fall, she left her smial to Daisy and Griffo.

                “Your own mum was Emerald Boffin, daughter of Donnamira Took, second daughter to the Old Took, and Hugo Boffin from Frogmorton, who’s a third cousin, twice removed, from me.  They had only the one child, for Emerald came very late in their lives, only a few years before the two of them died, much as you two did.  Hugo moved into the Great Smial when he married your grandmum, so after they died Emerald stayed there because that was where she was born.  But growing up with older parents and then orphaned at a relatively young age as she was, she didn’t get much supervision and was seen as too willful for her own good." 

                He stopped and took a deep breath, then began again.  "She finally had one fight too many with Thain Ferumbras and his mother and left in a fury, and since she was born a Boffin the Thain announced she was no longer to be numbered among the Tooks."  His expression saddened.  "The Boffins of Hobbiton, Bywater and Overhill, however, never really knew her, for she’d grown up in Tookland and was closer to the Frogmorton Boffins.  She met your dad, who was a widower, and married him four years after he moved to Westhall, which was a couple years after I was born.  Daisy’s mum died that year in childbirth, and the baby, who was a son, died shortly after.  I think it broke Uncle Dudo’s heart, and he wanted something totally different afterwards.

                “Anyway, your mum and dad were married a long time before you two came.  When he left, Uncle Bilbo left me, as new family head, a list of all the Bagginses in the Shire and where we all live."  He gave Fosco a searching look.  "There aren’t many of us left, you know.  The last few generations have been almost entirely lasses.  The headman of your village is a cousin of ours, too, third cousin twice removed on our fathers’ side.  Because he is kin, Bilbo and I have both kept watch over your family through him.  Do you understand?  He let me know as soon as you were born, and again when your dad died a few weeks later.  I sent you gifts through your mother every year thereafter till she died, and then the Gravellies took you to foster.  They haven’t let me send you anything, and finally, after the second time you came here to the Free Fair, where I saw and recognized you, I went to see you myself."  Again he stopped to sip from the water bottle. 

                “Your mum and da do care for you well, and I couldn’t really say much about anything unless they mistreated you.  This is the first real indication I’ve had that you are not receiving proper education, learning you don’t even know about Daisy being your sister.  She and I aren’t particularly close, although we get along all right.  But that you should be ignorant of her existence when she lived so long there in Westhall is insupportable.  Certainly your mum and da knew her and know where she is now.  Maybe they’ve been afraid she would take you.  I don’t know.  We’ve never really discussed you two, though.”

                “Did you know our dad?” asked Fosco.

                Frodo nodded.  “I saw him a fair amount before my parents died.  He’d bring Cousin Daisy to visit us fairly often when we lived in Buckland when I was a child, and later in Whitfurrow, where we lived before my parents died.  We were visiting at Brandy Hall when they died, and I ended up just staying until Bilbo finally took me.  I remember seeing Uncle Dudo at the funeral there near Brandy Hall.  The last time I saw your Dad was at the Party when Bilbo left and I came of age.  He brought Daisy, and I danced with her.  She fell in love with Griffo that day.”

                “Our mum didn’t come?”

                “No--Thain Ferumbras was there, and she wouldn’t go to a party he attended.  Too bad, really--we’d rather, I think, have seen her than Ferumbras.”  The three of them shared a rueful smile.  “I wasn’t in Hobbiton the last time your dad came to help Daisy and Griffo move into Aunt Dora’s smial--I was off in Buckland, I think. I did go to his funeral there in Westhall, and then that of your mum.”  He took another drink from his water bottle, sat back against the wall, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.  At last he said, “Well, that’s it, really, our family history.”

                Forsythia saw how tired he looked.  “Do you hurt, Iorhael?” she asked. 

                He started to shake his head, but stopped.  “Yes,” he said quietly.  “I have a place on my neck--I--I was wounded.  It’s draining today, and Sam had to clean it.  It hurts.”

                “Who’s Sam?”

                “My best friend, my gardener.”

                “Did he go with you?”

                He nodded.  “Sam, Merry, and Pippin.  I didn’t want them to come, but they had figured out I was leaving, wouldn’t let me go alone.”  He stood up.  “They’ll find me soon if I stay here.  Let’s leave.”

                They slipped out of the fairgrounds and went out into what had been the woodlands for the village.  There were still trees, but so many had been lost.  The new trees were growing quickly, but it was so different from what they remembered seeing from the last time.  Frodo sat down and leaned back against one of the larger trees, drank again.  Even Fosco could see how thin he’d become.

                Fosco finally asked, “Where did you go?”

                Frodo just sat and shook his head for a time.

                Forsythia tried next:  “Did you get rid of the dangerous thing?”

                His expression grew grim.  “It’s gone now,” he finally said, “little thanks to me.”  He leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes.

                “You were gone so long,” she said.  He nodded.  “Did you know there’s a king again?” she continued.

                Here he laughed and his expression eased.  “Yes, for I saw Aragorn crowned, carried the crown to him, even.”  He smiled, opened his eyes, and leaned forward.  “He’s a wonderful person, children.  I miss him, miss him and the Lady Arwen.”  He touched his throat where he wore a gem on a chain.

                He sighed, and his expression became more solemn.  “We left the Shire through the Old Forest, and finally got out of it, went to Bree.  Aragorn saw us reach the Road, followed us into Bree, introduced himself there.  None of us trusted him at first, and he didn’t trust us either, until he realized we were being followed, and by whom.  He took us to Rivendell.  I--I was badly hurt on the way there.  We made it barely in time.

                “We Hobbits hoped we could leave It, the thing, there, but we couldn’t, not with the Black Riders following us all the way there.  It had to go elsewhere.  We went on with companions to try to destroy it.  Part of the journey was wonderful; much of it was--bad.  It got worse--kept getting worse.  I tried to go on alone, but Sam wouldn’t let me.  We made it, Sam and I, but we almost died doing it.  But then--at the end--I betrayed everyone.  Some--someone else did it, destroyed it.  Not that he meant to--it was an accident he fell with it.  Sam got me away, and we were rescued.  Not that I deserved it.  Aragorn was able to call us back--he’s a healer as well as the King.  We stayed with him for a couple months and gained strength, saw him crowned King, saw his marriage to the Lady Arwen.  Then--then we came home.”  He was clutching at the jewel he wore.

                “Did you find Bilbo?” asked Fosco.

                He nodded.  “He’s in Rivendell, for now.”  He sighed.  “He’s very old now, as old, almost, as the Old Took was.”

                “Is he going to die?”

                Frodo bowed his head.  “We will all die some day.”  His voice was very low and soft.  His face was very pale.  Finally he looked at them and continued, “He lives in Rivendell now, with the Lord Elrond, who was foster father to the King, who taught the King to use his healing gift.  He is the greatest healer in all of Middle Earth.  He believes Bilbo will live at least another year, perhaps a year and a half, although not much beyond that.  At least he will die of old age, after living a very full life.”

                “But it will hurt you to know he is gone.”

                It took some time for Frodo to answer, “Yes, it will.  He’s the one thing I could count on to be there--to be there for me.  Even when he left, he was still--still somewhere, for me.  And now--now I can’t----”  He stopped and swallowed, uncorked his bottle and drank, corked it again.  “Now, I can’t be certain I can be there for anyone else as he’s been there for me.”  His eyes were shining with unshed tears.  “I’m not really well.  I don’t think I ever will be, not now.”

                “We are here, if you need us, Iorhael,” Forsythia said.

                Frodo raised his head and gave her a long look.  “I’m the grown up.  I’m the family head.  I’m supposed to be the one who is there for others.”

                Fosco shook his own head.  “We have to take turns helping each other, Cousin Frodo.  I guess it’s our turn.  You’ve looked after us as you could.”

                “Some looking after, when you have to wait until you’re almost a tween to learn you have a sister.”

                “That’s not your fault, Iorhael.  We’ll deal with that with our mum and da.  We know them better than you do.  And now that we know who and where she is, we can let her know we know.  Maybe our real mum never told her about us.  You said you knew of us only because Gander told you; maybe he never told her, too.”

                Frodo considered this idea.  “It’s possible,” he said slowly.  He looked at each of them in turn.  “But now--now I can’t take you as I’d intended.”  He considered for a time, then suddenly gave a small smile.  “I can give you the key to your parents’ smial, though, for it’s yours now.  We have your mum’s will, and your da’s will, too.  They never appointed any guardian for you, although your mother indicated she favored the Gravellies as guardians; and as the village head approved of Emro and Lilac taking you to foster, particularly as they had no children of their own and aren’t likely to be able to have any of their own, the fostering arrangement is a good one and legal enough.  But your parents left the smial to you, it and all within it.  Lilac did have some of your mum’s jewelry, and some of the furniture on the inventory is in the house you’ve grown up in, although Gander said it was where you were using it, too; and if you two want to give those things to your foster parents, you can once you turn twenty-five.  Your dad knew that your sister was taken care of and provided for, and she brought a good dowry into the marriage with Griffo.  He also knew, as old as he was, that he probably wouldn’t live long enough to see you grow up.  I think he hoped that since your mum was so much younger than he was that she would live that long, but obviously she didn’t.”

                Again he looked consideringly at each of them.  “I’ll have the key brought to you, and make arrangements for you to have free access to your parents’ hole and the books and all that is there.  And I’ll do what I can to help you be educated, as Bilbo educated me.  That is, though,” he said thoughtfully, “if the Big Men didn’t take everything that your parents and your foster parents had as they did so much through the Shire.”

                “They never went into the smial,” Forsythia said, “and my parents buried all our jewelry and anything valuable when the rumors came through that there were gatherers and sharers coming.  They buried it in a newly plowed field, so no one could tell where anything was--only Da.  Most of the folk in Westhall did the same.”

                Frodo smiled.  “Good.”

                Fosco’s stomach growled, and Frodo looked at him, his face concerned.  “It’s time for your tea.  We’d best get back to the fairgrounds.  Sam will be worried if I don’t come back soon, too.”

                Forsythia asked, “Do you want to go back now, Iorhael?”

                He shrugged, and stood up.  “Let’s go back.”  He took each by the hand, and together they returned to the fairgrounds.

                The voting for Mayor was finished by supper time, and the Thain took the voting box to a special table where he sorted out the ballots after they’d all eaten, and then three Hobbits sat and counted them. 

                At sunset everyone still at the fairgrounds gathered in the open space near the west end where the hill was, and the Thain rose to announce the results.  “Will,” he said, “it looks as if you are Mayor for another seven years.  It’s an honor to read your name once more.”

                Forsythia and Fosco sat with Lilac and Emro Gravelly near the front, a bit to the right, and Forsythia could clearly see the Mayor giving Frodo a look of disappointment as he rose to climb the hill to stand by the Thain and shake his hand.  Frodo sat on the ground near the Thain’s son Peregrin and several Brandybucks and two other Hobbits, one with honey brown hair and brown eyes, sturdy and solemn, and the other plainly his wife, who sat holding her husband’s hands, both of them watching all but mostly keeping an eye on Frodo.  Forsythia whispered a description of the scene to her brother, who nodded. 

                The speech from Will Whitfoot was interesting, far more interesting than such speeches they’d ever heard before.  They had a king now in Arnor, a king who was who was king of Gondor as well.  Frodo (their Iorhael) and the other three who’d gone with him had seen him, had truly come to know him, had attended his wedding.  And the Hobbits of the Shire had overcome Sharkey and Lotho’s Big Men, knew now that they could stand up to anyone who might try such again.  There was much to be grateful for.

                But it was the singing which moved the two teens the most, as they heard Frodo Baggins, Sam Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took sing songs from the outer world, the world they’d visited, the world to which the Shire now belonged.  As he sang, Frodo closed his eyes, lifted his face toward the sky, his voice sweet and clear, not faltering.  When he was done he returned to his place and sat down carefully, and Missus Gamgee handed him a cup from which he sipped.

                All were surprised when the two dark-haired Elves suddenly appeared, bowing low to the assembly, giving honor to the Travelers and Frodo in especial, and asking permission to sing themselves.  Once they began to sing, Fosco suddenly poked his sister in the ribs, leaned over to whisper, “They’re singing about our Iorhael!  It’s about him!  Do you hear them singing his name?”

                She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Yes.  Shhh!”

                The two of them realized that although Frodo had said he felt he’d betrayed everyone, the Elves didn’t agree, nor did the three who’d gone with him or Sam Gamgee’s wife, that those four were looking at him with pride and caring, and that Sam had reached out to place his hand on Frodo’s shoulder.  Frodo sat with the tears running down his face, and in the starlight he seemed to shine faintly--certainly his eyes and his tears sparkled.  The others were weeping, too, and constantly their eyes returned to Iorhael where he sat, smiling through their tears.

                Both Fosco and Forsythia found themselves understanding some of what the Elves were singing, although they couldn’t say precisely how.  They realized that all had been in great and terrible danger, and that Frodo had sought to take it upon himself, had agreed to go into even greater danger to protect all of Middle Earth.  They sang of the Fellowship:  two Men, tall and strong, both of great lineage and honor; a prince among Elves; a sturdy Dwarf whose courage and honor could not be tarnished; a great Istari of unparalleled wisdom (although they had no idea what an Istari was), and four Hobbits, their own Iorhael and three others, and they realized these were the other three Travelers, Peregrin Took, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Sam Gamgee.  They’d left Imladris and gone from danger to danger, had faced wargs and orcs and trolls and worse.  They’d braved snow and darkness; had known terror and sanctuary.  They’d sailed down the great River Anduin, had been assaulted and the Fellowship broken.  Iorhael had sought to go on alone, but Perhail had refused to let that happen, had gone with him; and the two young Hobbits realized Perhail must be Samwise Gamgee.

                The song went on and on, and they seemed to see much of it.  The image of their Iorhael crawling up a steep slope alongside Perhail reduced both of them to tears, the image of Perhail lifting his friend onto his back and carrying him up the mountainside, finally crawling until he could crawl no more filled them both.  Then the betrayal--not by Frodo but by someone else, the untrustworthy guide--shocked them.  Then something had happened, Iorhael taken by an evil so great no one could withstand it--until he was attacked and the evil was taken from him by violence.  Yet their Iorhael had been delivered by that violence from something far worse than whatever had robbed him of his finger.

                Then the song turned joyful.  Sam Gamgee, Forsythia noted, had his eyes closed, his face raised to the stars as Frodo’s had been while he was singing.  His hand was still on Frodo’s shoulder, and Frodo had his hand over Sam’s, the tears still slipping down his cheeks.

                Then there was the last worry, the worry as to whether these two in especial would survive or recover, and the final joy when it was known that they would.  And at last they heard the call to praise them with great praise, and the two Elves, the sons of Elrond of Imladris, the two Iorhael had told them were twins as Forsythia and Fosco themselves were, knelt and bowed their heads toward the Travelers.

                Fosco gave his sister a nudge, and without words she knew what he wanted.  The two of them rose, and she led him around the crowd to the back of the hill where the two Elves must come as they left.  At last they came, stopped with mild surprise when they found themselves confronted by two young Periannath.  Forsythia said, “Pardon me, but may we please speak with you?”

                The two Elves looked at one another, then led them further away from the crowd to near the wooded area where they’d gone earlier with Frodo.  Finally one of them asked for both, “What would you know of us, small Master and Mistress?”

                “You were singing of our Iorhael,” Fosco began.

                “You know him by that name?” the Elf asked.

                “He didn’t wish us to realize he was our cousin when we first met him, for he knew our folks would be upset to know he was seeing us, so he said his name in Elvish was Iorhael and we could call him that.”  The Elves nodded.  “He says he isn’t really well.”

                “That is true.”

                “Is he dying?”

                “He will weaken as long as he remains in Middle Earth.  His burden was very heavy, and robbed him of his health.”

                “Is there anything we can do to help him?”

                The two Elves looked at one another, seeming to communicate without words much as Fosco and Forsythia seemed able to know what the other was thinking so often.  The other Elf answered this time.  “All you can do is to love him and let him know that you do this.  Can you love him enough to allow him to go when the time comes?”

                This time it was the Hobbit twins who looked at one another, realizing both were paler than could be accounted for by the starlight.  At last Fosco said, “If that is what he needs.”

                “He almost didn’t live to come back, didn’t he?” asked Forsythia.

                “That is true several times over, tithen nin.  He has known great pain and privation.  It is only by the grace of the Creator he remains with us now, that and Estel’s love and healing gift.”

                “Who is Estel?”

                The first one answered, “He whom we think of as our brother, both for that our father fostered him when his own father died, and for his marriage to our sister.”

                “You mean, the King Aragorn?”

                “Yes.”

                The four of them remained quiet for a time.  Finally Fosco asked, “Why does he think he betrayed everyone?  The evil thing took him over at the end, didn’t it?”

                “Yes,  He fought It long and hard, very long and very hard.  There in the depths of Orodruin, however, It was at the height of Its power, and It would have overwhelmed any Child of Iluvatar that bore it.  Not even the wise among the Istari would willingly touch It lest they become corrupted.”

                His brother added, “Not even Isildur could withstand It when he stood there with It in his hand.  It took him then, and later betrayed him to his death.”

                “Oh,” said Fosco, although he didn’t really understand what the Elf was speaking of.

                “Iorhael na i·lebid--is that his title now?” Forsythia asked.

                “It means Frodo of the Nine Fingers.  It is one of his titles, as Beren became known as Beren One-hand.  He is also Cormacolindor or Cyllgor, the Ringbearer, and Bronwe athan Harthad, Endurance Beyond Hope.”

                “What does Iorhael mean?”

                “The same as Frodo--the Wise One.”

                “He doesn’t feel very wise right now.”

                “No, he doesn’t.  He has much healing to face.”

                “But if he will weaken as long as he stays in Middle Earth, then how can he heal?” Fosco asked.

                Neither of the Elves would answer, choosing instead to look at them with sorrow and compassion in their eyes.  Finally Forsythia asked, “Is that why we must be ready to--to let him go?”

                Instead of answering, the Elf who had spoken first asked them, “Will you tell us your names?”

                Fosco said, “We are Fosco and Forsythia Baggins.  Iorhael’s father and our father were brothers, and our mothers were cousins, I understand.”

                The two Elves exchanged looks, and then smiled down at them.  “We see.  And we see that the promise of his blood will not die completely from this land when he must leave it by either Ship or grave.”

                The other one said, “We must leave you now.  But we will keep the secret of your identity for a time, small ones.  And we rejoice that he has such as you to love him now, and to keep alive his memory after.”  The two Elves gave them a deep bow, and disappeared into the shadows of the wood.

                Lilac Gravelly was very worried when for the second time that day the twins disappeared, and in her relief at their return she fell on them with a deep hug as at the same time she berated them for leaving her sick with fear for them.  “What if any of those Big Men had been nearby?  They might have killed you both!”

                Fosco and Forsythia just bore it silently.  They intended to confront their foster mother about why she’d not told them about their sister or that their cousin had sent them gifts before, but they would not do it tonight.  Tonight it was enough to know that Iorhael was back, but wouldn’t be back for long.

Relief and Grief

                “How in Middle Earth did this happen?” Iris was wailing as Narcissa Boffin came into Iris and Ponto’s smial.  “How on earth did Lotho find out, first, that Frodo had offered to sell Bag End to Ponto and me, and then how did he end up with the deed to our hole as well?”

                Ponto and his brother-in-law Milo Burrows were both standing over the chair on which sat Peony, whose face was stark white.  “Did you have anything to do with this, Peony,” asked Milo ominously.

                “I swear, I didn’t realize anything would happen like this!” Peony whispered.  “I only thought Lobelia should know that Frodo was selling Bag End, for she’s waited so long to live there, so very long.  And--”  Tears were rolling down her face.  “Yes, I told her, I told her, and that you were taking out a mortgage on Pippingdale here so you could pay him.  How was I to know she’d tell Lotho and he’d not only pay cash for Bag End, but he’d send his lawyer and banker of discretion to convince you that you were getting the money to buy it when it had already been bought, but to write the terms of the mortgage contract the way they did?  How was I to know, Iris?  How was I to know, Milo?  How was I to know that Lotho would do this to cheat you two out of your own home, that he would write the mortgage so that you had to wait a year and a day to pay him back and pay rent on a weekly basis in the meantime?  How was I to know I was helping Lotho cheat my own brother?”  She was absolutely in shock.

                Ponto, himself pale as a sheet, sat down heavily on a kitchen chair.  “I should have known better than to tell you, Peony.  I should have known you’d tell Lobelia immediately.  Why you have always insisted on kissing her feet the way you have since she came to Hobbiton is absolutely beyond me.  This is horrible.”

                Milo shook his own head.  “I have begged you to stay away from her, Peony.  I have warned you she will use whatever information you’d give her to hurt others.  You’ve seen it time after time, and you’d think you would have learned by now.”

                Olo Proudfoot shook his head.  “How did Lotho end up with so much money to begin with?  Have you any idea how many properties in the area he’s purchased in the last three years?  How did he end up with money to pay cash to Frodo?”

                “And what is this about Frodo having spent all his money?” demanded Leto Chubbs.  “It’s awfully sudden that he has nothing left, when just two months ago he was upgrading the press at Old Winyards.  Didn’t appear he was suddenly out of funds then.  Has Lotho managed to get his hands on Frodo’s partnership agreements or something?”

                Milo shook his head.  “I’d like to know why my shares in the Hornblower pipeweed farm are suddenly no good any more, and where all the pipeweed that grew there last season disappeared to?”

                “And my Longbottom Leaf?” added Olo.  “I’ve always received at least two barrels every year for eighteen years--and this last season I was told that the whole crop was bought up by some unknown individual and sent off, but that my share of the proceeds was less than what I would have paid for two barrels had I bought them outright.”

                This was the first realization that the folk of Hobbiton had that the Time of Troubles had begun.  Partly through buying property and partnerships at a rapid pace, but increasingly through progressively questionable contracts, bluster, and the threat posed by his sudden acquisition of what had to be recognized as an army of Big Men, Lotho Sackville-Baggins suddenly had made himself the tyrant of the Shire; and anyone foolish enough to speak out against his sudden rise to power was intimidated, openly threatened, and stripped of everything, including dignity.  Suddenly previously trustworthy lawyers were presenting contracts that had clauses written into them that required exorbitant interest payments on simple loans; property leases were written in such a manner that the property owners found themselves losing their property altogether as a result of defaulting on promises written into the contract that no one could begin to satisfy; second mortgages caused the deed to pass immediately into the hands of the mortgage holder and rent had to be paid until a future date at which time the loan had to be repaid in full.  No one could understand how they could have been foolish enough to sign such agreements; no one could understand how any Hobbit could ever have thought to have written such contracts to begin with.

                Lotho found himself very happy with his cousin Timono Bracegirdle and the suggestions made by his not-so-silent partner from the South.  Accustomed as they were to contracts which for all their verbosity were nevertheless simple and straightforward, most Hobbits didn’t bother first carefully reading the wording of what they were signing.  Now they were finding they were consistently on the losing end in these new contracts.  Timono was writing most of the contracts, but Lotho was using a party of more familiar lawyers to actually present them, lawyers who had in many cases been set up by Lotho and Timono in such a way he could blackmail them into cheating good, common Hobbits out of their property and their money, often both at the same time.

                Ponto and Iris Baggins found the rent they must pay on their own hole in the next year would add up to three times the amount of money they’d borrowed on it in hopes of purchasing Bag End, and at the end of the year and a day period they would still have to pay the full amount they’d borrowed or they would only have the contract extended automatically another year at an increased rent. 

                It had been expected that old Bolo Goold would sell the Green Dragon, for his daughters had married lads from the Southfarthing and there were no other kin to run the place.  All had thought he was selling it to Rubo, who’d worked for him managing the inn for the past ten years; certainly Rubo thought that.  But suddenly Bolo announced he’d sold it to another buyer for cash and left the Westfarthing so rapidly everyone was shocked.  When it was closed within a month of Lotho moving into Bag End they were even more shocked.  How Lotho had managed to purchase almost every inn and tavern within the Shire with no one the wiser as to who was making the purchases no one could explain; but it was shown to be the case.

                Same with the purchases of the majority of the mills in the Shire--they, too, were later shown to have been purchased quietly by Lotho over a period of three years, sometimes apparently under threats of various sorts, but often for amounts that appeared on paper to be substantial until it proved that some of the ancillary promises were in fact empty air.

                In the end, it was found that the majority of the contracts presented by Lotho Sackville-Baggins in the last three years of his life were specifically designed to bring him the greatest amount of income while allowing for the least amount of outgo.  The only reason why Frodo hadn’t been cheated as well was because he had insisted his own lawyer draw up the bill of sale for Bag End; and even then Frodo had accepted substantially less than Bag End was worth from Lotho--but then he’d accepted what he’d already asked from Ponto and Iris.

                So many family heads and so many close to Frodo Baggins, the Thain, or the Master were dispossessed that year, their holes dug out, their houses torn down or burned to the ground, as the greater bulk of their possessions were confiscated in the name of “gathering and sharing.”

                Ponto and Iris weren’t forced to move out, but they were forced to pay such exorbitant rent that they were barely surviving.  Will Whitfoot was imprisoned early on, and it was the judgment of most that a good part of the reason he was imprisoned was so he wouldn’t have sufficient time to review contracts to see how unfair they were--as well as symbolizing the authority that Lotho wished to flout and appropriate for himself.

                Ivy and Narcissa Boffin were not forced out of their home as so many others were, and it was the judgment of many that the reason they were allowed to remain was because Lotho had enjoyed the spectacle of Narcissa following after Frodo for so many years and being totally ignored by him.  However, it appeared that their home was a regular stop in the routes of those who “gathered and shared”--their home was targeted at least once every two months.  By the time the Travelers returned to the Shire, Narcissa and Ivy had very little left in the way of possessions in their hole, and most of what they were able to hide had been squirreled away by Folco and his mother on the family farm their fathers had once worked together.  All their books were hidden, and their better furniture and part of the family jewelry the same.

                Part of what had been taken from them was found in the sheds there by Bag End; some was never found, although none of what was still missing was anything that they would need or had much meaning to anyone but Lotho.  It appeared that Lotho had the nature of a magpie, liking things that were shiny and bright, while most of the valuable items most Hobbits owned were actually substantial items such as fine furniture that had stood up to generations of Hobbits already and would likely stand up to several generations more ere they finally gave way to the effects of time.

                Griffo and Daisy Boffin were not particularly bothered--somehow Lotho had apparently not realized Daisy was Frodo’s first cousin.

                Peony Burrows had died, apparently of grief, while Frodo was gone, and Ponto had suffered a severe heart seizure and was unlikely to ever recover properly.  Milo and Iris both looked very old as well, although they appeared to be recovering a measure of their native vitality now that hope had been restored.

                The investigation into how Lotho Baggins had managed to gain so much property and power so quickly lasted beyond Frodo’s term as deputy Mayor--that Timono Bracegirdle was at the heart of most of the extraordinary contracts that Lotho had negotiated certainly was made plain early on, as were the betrayals of other lawyers which led to their having been blackmailed into presenting the majority of them.  Timono Bracegirdle found himself ostracized from his own family, and was taken himself to the former Lockholes where one larger section was made into a prison suite, a far more comfortable and commodious cell than most of those imprisoned under his cousin had known, and there he stayed under special guard while the investigation continued to go on.  He at least had a bed with a mattress and proper linens, two comfortable chairs and a small table, a proper privy, and decent meals four times a day--bland food, perhaps, but at least decent amounts and nutritious enough, if not precisely the best in Shire cooking.  He had everything but freedom and respect.  It was decided in the end he would face the King’s justice.

                Frodo had managed to identify those Shiriffs who had abused their authority under Lotho’s rule, and many of them were held under house arrest by their families while consideration went into how they were to be treated after.  Some would, it was finally agreed, be sent to stand before the Steward Halladan for final judgment and disposition, for their crimes were such that they could not be forgiven; and the  former punishment of banishment from the Shire was now recognized as possibly endangering those outside the Shire, particularly those in the Breelands, should these seek to settle there and continue in their careers.  Frodo had demanded reparations from some to be paid to the families who most prominently had suffered from their misdeeds; some were set to labor in repairing roads or working as common laborers on poorer farms or in the quarries for several years as penance for their crimes and to help make up for the damage they’d caused.  A few were set to rebuilding the proper water mills that Lotho had torn down, a labor that would keep them busy at this point for at least a decade.

                Frodo’s refusal to run for Mayor took the entire Shire by surprise, although those who saw him more frequently were beginning to realize that his health and strength were impaired and possibly even starting to fail. 

                Narcissa Boffin had been thrilled to hear that Frodo was back, and had heard the initial stories of prisoners freed, his insistence that the captured Big Men be treated humanely until they could be taken to the borders of the Shire, and his appointment as deputy Mayor with a measure of pride that could not be calculated.  Her shock when she saw him up close the first time and realized he had been changed and hurt by his experiences was the more profound as a result.

                She’d seen him from a distance several times before Midsummer.  Then came the day he’d come into the reopened Green Dragon in Bywater and shared a table with her.  It was only when he sat with her that she began to see that his physical condition was not particularly good, and learned he was experiencing serious, ongoing problems with his stomach.  She didn’t actually see where he’d lost a finger for another three weeks, when she saw him examining restoration on a house that had been seriously damaged by the Big Men and had only just now been repaired.  He’d been checking the solidity of restored brickwork around the doorway when she saw the finger was indeed missing and not just folded against the palm of his hand.

                She’d seen him frequently through September, and had made certain she was in Hobbiton when he walked into the village square to do his marketing, even ran into him in Bywater on occasion, and once was visiting with her aunt Wisteria and her cousin Folco in Overhill in the house that had been built to replace the family smial when Frodo came to call.  Frodo was always polite, but looked at her with compassion, tended to greet her with a level of reserve.  She recognized he saw her now as a lass and not just another Hobbit, but that at this point he wasn’t ready to try to sustain a relationship as a lover or husband with anyone, and mourned for him.

                He had done some more frequent visiting as the summer progressed and appeared to be approaching reasonable health--and then something happened in October.  He’d gone off to Budgeford to see their cousin Freddie Bolger, and came home looking gaunt again.  He didn’t stir from Bag End for a couple weeks, and was quiet when he finally emerged and started rejoining the life of Hobbiton once more.  It was several weeks before he began to walk into the village regularly again.  He’d lost weight and his face had little color.  As the winter closed in on the Shire the visits stopped for a time, and he didn’t come down to the Party Field for the Yule bonfire.  In February as the weather improved he began to walk out again and looked better, but in mid-March he again seemed to have disappeared into Bag End.

                It wasn’t until late in April he came into the village again, and his appearance was noted by all.  He walked very slowly, as if he were very old; he was desperately thin; his eyes were haunted.  He had new clothing made, in greys and silvers.  His trips to the market were now intermittent, and he no longer purchased any meals in the Ivy Bush.  He would still tell stories to the children in the Common, but the stories tended to be quiet and short, and often interrupted by periods when he looked off into the distance.  He told mostly of Shire happenings now, although one day he told the story of the Dwarf Gimli and the Elf Legolas, whose fathers had not met under the best of circumstances, describing the arguments that were waged between them for weeks, until Legolas saw the greatness of the remains of the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria and saw the grief of Gimli as he knelt by his cousin’s tomb and heard the dying records of the attempt to recolonize Khazad-dum once more; and then Gimli saw the beauty of the Elven land of Lothlorien and came to love the Lady Galadriel.  As he described how the relationship had changed, how friendship had risen between these two, and how they had forged bonds of mutual assistance between their peoples, Narcissa could see the pride in Frodo’s face.

                The children had laughed as he’d recreated some of the earliest arguments, but had grown appreciative as they saw how deeply he respected both and their growing love for one another.  When the story was over, Sam had come forward from where he’d been standing at the edge of the audience, smoking his pipe.  He’d stowed the pipe and had smiled down at Frodo, who’d accepted his assistance to stand.

                Pando Proudfoot had asked, “Mr. Sam, did they really sound like that?”

                Sam had laughed.  “If anything, he’s making them sound better than they was.  The first few weeks they did nothing but bicker, and the words as they’d give each other always had a bite to them, they did.  When we was looking for the place where the gates to Moria was hid, Legolas kept on about how only Dwarves would think to hide their doors, and Gimli was growling back about how the Elves had helped hide them and put the opening and closing spells on them and all.  The two of them hardly had a decent thing to say to one another up till then.  Was nice to have the arguing and all stop once we met the Lady Galadriel.  And if Gimli wasn’t took from the first moment as he laid eyes on her!”  He’d nodded at the children, asked something softly of Frodo who’d shrugged and smiled, and together they’d walked back toward Bag End, Sam carrying the basket.

                Something happened in early June, and suddenly Sam was doing the shopping and looking very worried.

                The Free Fair had been a great shock, to see how weak Frodo had become, to see how little reaction he was showing any more.  She saw Sam’s tears, heard his admission that Frodo would most likely not live much longer, and had crept away to a corner of the Council Hole to weep.

                She saw Frodo watching the dancing, no hint of regret on his face for the fact he wasn’t up there dancing, too.  She’d fallen in love with him because of his dancing; now he didn’t dance at all--most likely couldn’t.  Then the children found him, and he took a seat as usual on an empty ale barrel and began describing a Man he’d met in Minas Tirith.

                “We lived in a guest house in the Sixth Circle, on the opposite side of the level from the Houses of Healing.  Mistress Loren, who cared for the house while we stayed there, was shocked when we refused to sleep in the upper rooms, which among Men are usually set aside for bedrooms.  I took the library, Sam slept in one of the two parlors, Merry and Pippin slept in the second parlor on the other side of the great day room with its balcony that looked over the parapet of the wall out toward the great fields of the Pelennor where the battle had raged. Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli had rooms upstairs, and there was a room where the page Lasgon slept, only Mistress Loren slept there the one night a week Lasgon spent with his family.

                “One morning I went out into the garden and was standing watching the sun rise over the Ephel Duath when an odd Man appeared, walking along the wall.  He wore a great cloth bag over his shoulder and carried a brush in his hand, and he was sweeping the ash off the wall into the bag.  The ash had fallen on the city during the dark days when Sauron had forced Mount Doom to pump out great clouds of ash and smoke to darken the sky to make it easier for his troops to march.  Trolls, after all, cannot walk under the direct light of the Sun; and most orcs cannot bear her shining, either.

                “I watched the Man with interest, and could not imagine what he was doing.  He did not see me, so intent was he on seeing and gathering every speck of ash.

                “Finally I asked, ‘Has the King set you to clean the grey ash off the walls of the city, then?’  He must have jumped several feet into the air, for he’d not noticed me at all. 

                “He turned and looked at me, then gave a deep bow.  ‘I am Celebrion son of Celebmir, Master Glassblower,’ he told me.  ‘I gather the ash from the volcano to add to my glass, for it does wonderful things when mixed with the sand.’  Then he invited me to visit his workshop in the Fourth Circle.

                “Never have I seen such glass as he blew from the sand he’d mixed with the ash from Mordor.  It shone with many colors--blues, greens, golds, oranges, even pinks.”

                The story went on, describing Celebrion’s daughter Linneth and the young Man who loved her, and the beads he bought from her on Market Day in the Fourth Circle, only to bring them to set around her neck on the High Day, when he courted her.

                And he described a great bowl he purchased from the glassblower to present to the King before they left the city, of the awe which the King and Queen had shown at its beauty, and how they’d set it on a table in their own quarters and kept it full of fruit.  He’d also purchased a strand of the beads, and had given it to Mistress Loren on the day they left the city, in thanks for the caring she’d shown for them.

                “It was odd,” he concluded, “to think of the hatred Sauron had shown to all who loved beauty, and how he’d forced the mountain to spew forth such great clouds of ash to support the troops he was sending against Minas Tirith, intent on destroying its majesty and glory from the face of Arda.  Only, that very ash was the source of a form of beauty such as I’d never seen before.  Sauron did not realize how the product of his hatred would be used to bring such glory into the world, or I doubt he’d have caused the Mountain to spew forth so much of it.”

                He then smiled at the children and stood up.  There were two in their late teens or early tweens who stood near her, their backs to her, and Frodo had approached them, smiled at them, and they’d followed him as he walked slowly toward the west end of the fairgrounds.  Where they disappeared to she had no idea.  She’d caught a glimpse of the face of the lad--he looked almost exactly the same as Frodo had looked the day she’d seen him dancing the Husbandmen’s dance behind the ale tent.  She was so taken aback by the glimpse of this unknown lad, one whom Frodo appeared to recognize, that she just stood there as the three of them were lost to sight.

Fostering

                Daisy Boffin clung to her husband Griffo in sheer shock.  “You can’t mean it!  I can’t have a younger brother and sister--I can’t!”

                Frodo sat on a settle with his arms around his updrawn knees, his head resting on them.  Gander Proudfoot and Lyria Bottomly stood looking at her with a mixture of compassion and embarrassment.  Brendilac Brandybuck had an expression of sheer wonder.  Oridon and Ordo Goodbody both looked affronted for about everyone involved--affronted Daisy should have remained ignorant of the presence of the twins until today, affronted Gander and Lyria hadn’t told her, affronted that Frodo would have had to be the one to do this, affronted that they and Brendilac would have to be there in such circumstances. 

                It was three days after the Free Fair where Frodo Baggins had given the office of Mayor back to Will Whitfoot.  Frodo had managed to find these other five before he’d left the fairgrounds that day and insist they meet here at the smial of Griffo and Daisy today; it appeared that the worst had indeed happened--neither Dudo nor Emerald had bothered to let Dudo’s daughter know about the birth of the twins.  Until the other day when he was speaking with Fosco and Forsythia, he’d simply taken it for granted that Daisy had known, but that she’d been treated as he had, just as Emerald had discouraged him from visiting them while Emro and Lilac Gravelly had refused his gifts.  He felt tired and in some pain, for his neck was still draining, and he was still grieving for the twins’ own isolation from their natural family.

                Griffo finally spoke.  “Why weren’t we told?  How was this information hidden here in the Shire of all places?  And how is it that Frodo knew, and we didn’t?”

                Gander’s embarrassment increased.  “Bilbo and Frodo have, of course, as heads of the family, insisted I let them know of significant changes in the family’s circumstances, even if I thought Dudo and Emerald ought to have told them themselves.  When they asked me to marry them, then, I contacted Bilbo; when Daisy announced she and Griffo were marrying at Michel Delving I contacted Frodo; when the twins were born I contacted Frodo; when Dudo died I contacted both you, Daisy, and Frodo.  I’m surprised you didn’t see the twins when you went to the funeral.  When Emerald died, I contacted both of you again, and I was surprised you didn’t insist on seeing them, Daisy; I had no idea you didn’t know about them.”

                Daisy shook her head.  “I saw several bairns at Dad’s funeral, but Emerald wasn’t holding any of them; afterwards she just left with Lilac Gravelly and Alyssum Tunnely, so I assumed the bairns they were holding were theirs.  How was I to know they were hers and Dad’s?  And at Emerald’s funeral there weren’t any children.”

                Frodo said, his voice somewhat muffled as his face was still to his legs, “I think Lilac was seeking to discourage us from taking them from her, me as family head for the Bagginses and you as their grown sister, so she apparently insisted they stay at her house.  She and Emro couldn’t have children of their own, after all.  I contacted Gander, and he told me that Lilac and Emro had been caring for them and wished to foster them and were good with them, so I didn’t insist on anything further.”  He sighed and raised his face.  “I ought to have insisted on seeing the two wills then, but I didn’t.”  He reached out to the mug of water he’d accepted earlier and sipped from it, set it down carefully.  “We were all remiss, it appears.”

                Lyria gave herself a shake.  “Emerald said she’d contact you, Daisy, when the twins were born.  I don’t know why she didn’t.  I know that your father was very shocked to learn that, as old as they were, he and Emerald were suddenly expecting; it was more of a shock when the babes came early and it turned out they were twins. 

                “He’d had a bad patch there at the end of the winter, when he caught that case of ague that just kept lingering.  He wasn’t quite well when the twins were born, you know.  Then so shortly after he died so suddenly during the night.

                “The birth was easy enough for Emerald, as small as the two of them were, but she had difficulty feeding them, as she didn’t have enough milk.  Alyssum was wet nursing the two of them, so she and Lilac were both over there frequently, helping Emerald.  She was, after all, quite elderly to give birth, much less try to feed twins.  It took a good deal out of her.”

                “The question now,” Frodo said quietly, “is what do we do to provide for their future?   They are Bagginses, after all, for all that they’ve been raised in Westhall as Gravellies.  I started visiting them secretly when they were eight, a couple years after Emerald’s death.  Emro and Lilac brought them to the Free Fair, and Aunt Eglantine recognized the Gravellies and asked how they’d come by children, as she knew Lilac had none of her own.  Lilac, after all, was a Banks before her marriage.”  All nodded.  “Then Aunt Esmeralda noted the resemblance between the lad and me when I was small.  That made me realize that I needed to check out the situation, find out whether or not the children were well cared for.  In my visits I saw they obviously were well dressed and fed, and comfortable with their mum and da.  They knew about their own parents, knew there were relatives, but had been told, apparently by Lilac, that we didn’t care about them.  They’d been told that the family head was Bilbo, but that he was crazy and that he’d left the Shire; they weren’t aware I was now family head and that none of us received any news of them from their foster parents.  They thought that we were all ignoring them.  They were not aware of your existence, Daisy--I learned that just the other day when I spoke to them at the Free Fair.” 

                He sipped again from his mug.  “I must tell you that, with my current--situation, I can’t take them, not at this time, although I’d definitely planned to do so, once I got back.  I’ll do anything to make certain they have a good home and a proper education.  Both are very intelligent, and learned to read from Emerald before her death.  They’ve been thrilled with the books I’ve given over the years, but they’ve had to hide them from Lilac, for she has discouraged them from reading.  They are also both very caring individuals, and have survived the attentions of a Bracegirdle--Bedro Bracegirdle, who stalked them for years--a situation apparently Emro and Lilac weren’t aware of, or at least not the full extent of the harassment he gave them.  And both are excellent dancers--I taught them before I left the Shire.”

                “Why can’t you take them now?” asked Daisy.

                Frodo turned his shadowed eyes to hers.  “I haven’t a great deal of endurance, Cousin, not since I woke in Ithilien.”  None of the rest truly understood what he meant by that, but it was plain just looking at him that he was not as he’d been before his disappearance.  “If it weren’t for Sam and Rosie, I doubt I’d have been able to be here today,” he added.

                As the discussion continued, he again pillowed his head on his knees, and at one point Daisy addressed a question to him, and they realized he’d fallen asleep.  All paused as they contemplated him.

                “No,” Griffo said softly, “he couldn’t take them, not now.”  He looked at the rest.  “Do any of you know what happened to him--out there?”

                All shook their heads.  Brendilac sighed.  “He was badly hurt, I know that.  Merry will talk about the King and meeting him and what the Golden Wood is like and what Rivendell is like and the nature of the Elves they met, and he is quite eloquent in describing Minas Tirith and Edoras, Gondor and Rohan and their people.  But although he will speak of Ents and admits he met some orcs, he can’t bring himself to describe exactly what they went through.  He has a very nasty scar on his forehead, and the same is true of Sam Gamgee; and Frodo, Merry, and Pippin all have signs of scars on their wrists and ankles indicating all three of them were tightly bound for a time.  Then there’s Frodo’s finger....”

                “What about his finger?” asked Daisy.

                “Something happened to his hand--he lost the ring finger on his right hand.  None of them will speak about it.  The Thain won’t believe what Pippin has tried to tell him, so Pippin and Merry have finally moved into the Crickhollow house that Frodo had bought from the Master.  Frodo gave them the house to live in, and now he’s returned title to the Brandybucks on condition those two are allowed to stay there as long as they need it.”

                “But,” Gander asked, “why would they ‘need’ it?”

                Brendilac shrugged.  “All four of them have returned markedly changed.”

                Daisy rose to approach her cousin, and realized he had a bandage beneath his collar.  “It looks as if he has quite a boil on his neck or something,” she commented, and she retreated back to the sofa where she and Griffo had been sitting together.

                It was finally decided she and Griffo would go to Westhall and check out the smial and see the twins.  Griffo was shaking his head.  “I must say this has been quite the day for surprises, what with seeing up close how--tired he has become, learning Daisy has a sister and brother she wasn’t even aware of, and learning they were twins.  Who would have believed such a thing--twins among Hobbits?”

                Brendilac shrugged.  “There are records of such in Brandy Hall, but not for generations.”  He rose and gently set his hand on Frodo’s left shoulder.  “Frodo?  Can you wake up now?”

                Frodo woke suddenly, startled awake and for an instant looked fearful, then relieved.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I didn’t sleep well last night.”  He stretched, and several of them could see that what Brendilac had said about the missing finger was true, although he didn’t appear aware of their interest, for he was looking down and had reached up to rub at the back of his neck.

                “What’s wrong with your neck, Frodo?” Daisy asked.

                He shrugged.  “Started draining the other day is all.  Nothing to be concerned about,” he said.  Lyria and Daisy exchanged raised eyebrows.  He looked at Daisy.

                “Griffo and I will see them at least, and talk to the Gravellies,” she told him.

                “Good,” he said.  “I must get home.”  He finished his water, rose and went to the door, accompanied by his cousin.  He put on the cloak he’d worn, although it was a warm day, took the water skin that hung with his cloak, and after giving her a quick peck on the cheek he headed off toward the square, then Bag End.  She looked after him, concerned.

*******

                Daisy and Griffo’s interview with the Gravellies didn’t go particularly well, and they didn’t see the children.  “Maybe we ought not to have warned we were coming,” Daisy said as they left.  “I wonder if they sent them elsewhere to keep us from talking to them?”

                Griffo shook his head in disgust.  “That they’d tell them that their relatives didn’t care about them when the truth was they hadn’t told us is unpardonable.”

                “They might believe it is true.  What if Emerald wrote me a letter, but didn’t mail it when she was distracted by Dad’s illness?  She’d very likely feel hurt I didn’t care enough to come see them before Dad died, and might have told the Gravellies that I was apparently angry about the children being born.  After all, Frodo knew about them only because Gander told him.”

                “You heard what Frodo said--they weren’t even aware they had a sister.”  Griffo shook his head.  “Someone in the village ought to have told them about you--you lived here for years, after all.”

                At the inn they met with Oridon and Ordo, and Ordo quickly went out to search out the twins.  He found them at Alyssum Tunnely’s house, and hurried back to the inn to apprise their sister.  Daisy and Griffo headed that way, and found the two teens sitting on the wall out front.  They raised their heads at the approach of the strangers, and Daisy got her third surprise concerning them--that the lad was almost blind.  She stopped dead, and closed her eyes.  “Oh, sweet Valar,” she murmured.

                Griffo was shocked, for he’d never heard his wife make such an oath before.  He looked at her with concern, then back at the two teens.

                “She looks like Cousin Iorhael,” the lass was saying.

                “Iorhael?” Griffo said, feeling decidedly odd.

                “Our cousin Frodo--he said his name in Elvish was Iorhael,” the lad said.

                “Yes, he’d know what his name was in Elvish,” Daisy said.  “Bilbo would have been certain to tell him that.”

                “Are you one of our Baggins cousins, then?” asked the lad.

                “I’m your sister, Daisy.  I just learned the other day you existed.”

                “Did Mum and Da know you were coming today?” asked the lass.

                “Yes.”

                The lass’s face became angry, and decidedly like Frodo’s when he was beginning to assume the Look.  “I knew there was some reason she didn’t want us home today.  Aren’t you glad we didn’t go to the hideout?” she said to her brother.

                “I don’t know how much more we ought to put up with,” the lad said.  “I know Mum and Da love us and all, but they ought not to have left us ignorant of our relatives.  Iorhael was right about that.”

                “He didn’t tell us that--that you....”

                “That I can’t see well?” asked the lad.

                “Yes, that.”

                “He isn’t well,” the lad said.  “It probably slipped his mind.”

                “How do you know he’s ill?” asked Daisy.

                “He admitted it at the Free Fair when we found him, and the Elves said the same,” the lass replied.

                “You spoke to the Elves?”

                “Yes, when they were done singing about him and how he lost his finger.”

                “How did he lose his finger?”

                “Getting rid of the bad thing is about all we understood.”

                “What bad thing?”

                The twins shrugged simultaneously, which was rather disconcerting to watch.  The lad said, “He told us before he left that he had received something bad, and that he had to get it away, out of the Shire, to protect us.  He didn’t tell us what it was, though.  But the words of the song the Elves sang, they were about Frodo of the Nine Fingers, and they said it was like Beren coming to be called Beren One-Hand, although we aren’t certain what that means.”

                Daisy paled.  “But Beren was called Beren One-Hand only after he wrested the last Silmaril from Morgoth’s iron crown, and holding it burned his hand away.  What could Frodo have had that would cause the Elves to sing about him, or would cost him his finger?”

                “The untrustworthy guide did something to him, after the bad thing took him over,” the lass said.

                “What untrustworthy guide?” asked Griffo.

                “They had an untrustworthy guide, Iorhael and his friend.  He did something very bad to Frodo, but it still saved him from the bad thing, which was worse.”

                “How do you know all this?” asked Daisy.  “Did Frodo teach you Elvish?”

                “No--he’s taught us a few words, but that’s all,” the lad answered.  “But as the song was sung we could understand a great deal of it.  It was like we could see it, see Iorhael and Perhail crawling up the mountain.”

                “Who’s Perhail?”

                “That’s the Elvish name.  We think it’s his friend Sam.”

                Daisy and Griffo looked at one another, neither fully understanding what the twins told them.  At last Daisy said, “Then you’ve seen Frodo several times over the years?”

                “Yes, since we were eight.  He told us then to call him Iorhael, so if Mum found out about us meeting a stranger she wouldn’t know it was him.  We didn’t find out his name in Westron is Frodo until the last Free Fair before he left, when we heard him telling stories and we heard folks calling him that.  Then we realized he was Frodo Baggins and is our cousin.”

                The lass added, “He has come to see us at least twice a year since we were eight, but although we waited after they came back, he didn’t come.  We insisted we go to the Free Fair  this year, for everyone was talking about how he was going to be the new Mayor--only he told us he couldn’t do it any more, that he had days when he couldn’t do much of anything.”

                The lad sighed.  “We told him we’d help him as we can, but he doesn’t want to let us do that--says he’s the grownup and the family head, and he ought to take care of us.”

                His sister nodded.  “But he’s not strong enough now.”

                The lad suddenly asked, “Are we really part Brandybuck and Took?”

                The two adults were taken aback by the shift in topic.  Daisy said, “Well, Took, definitely.  But although Frodo’s mum was a Brandybuck, our side isn’t particularly strong in the Brandybuck blood.  We have more Boffins and Bolgers on this side of the family.”

                “Yes, our real mum was half Boffin--Iorhael told us that.”

                The gasp behind them took all by surprise.  They turned to find themselves looking at Lilac Gravelly.  “What are you doing, talking with my children?” she demanded.

                Daisy found her Took side was suddenly quite strong as anger filled her.  “I will remind you, Lilac Banks, that they are my younger sister and brother, about whom I’ve known nothing until the other day when my cousin Frodo finally told me of their existence.  If I’d known of them it is likely I’d have left them with you for raising, had I been told after they came to live with you; but the fact is I have the right and responsibility to know them now that I know of them.  Even Frodo had no idea that Griffo and I hadn’t been told they were born.”

                “I don’t see what right Frodo Baggins has to know about them,” Lilac blustered.

                Griffo bridled.  “He is the head of the Baggins family and has been for the past nineteen years.  It is his responsibility to know about the Bagginses of the Shire, whether you like the idea or not.  He is only doing what he is supposed to be doing, keeping an eye on his family.”

                “Well, these two have been raised as Gravellies.”

                Daisy snorted.  “Gravellies who are able to read, who are able to talk easily to Elves, who have a smial waiting for them on the other side of the village, who strongly take after both the Baggins and Took sides of the family?  You want to consider them just as Gravellies, you can go on making fools of yourselves.  But the fact remains that they are Bagginses.”

                “And how does anyone know they can talk to Elves?” Lilac asked.

                “Because we did that at the Free Fair--we talked to the Elves who sang.  They’ve met Ior--Frodo before.”  The lad’s tone was very matter-of-fact.

                “How do you know that?” she demanded.

                “We asked them,” his sister answered.

                “And why would you care about him?  You’d not seen him until the Free Fair two years ago.”

                “We’ve known him for years,” the lass corrected her.  “He first came to meet us when we were eight.  He saw us two or three times a year.  Now he isn’t well enough.”

                Her brother added, “He’s taught us to find mushrooms and berries and to fish--and to dance.  He’s a good dancer.”

                Daisy nodded.  “He is the best dancer in the Shire--or he was.”  She looked at Lilac.  “Frodo Baggins is also the most responsible Hobbit in the Shire, and cares about those who have been placed under his protection.  It is why the Shire has recovered so swiftly from the Time of Troubles, and why we wanted him for Mayor for a proper term.  But he had decided not to accept it, and apparently he is ill.

                “I do know this about my cousin--he cares deeply, but won’t take on what he knows he can’t do or finish.  I think this is why he wouldn’t agree to run for Mayor--he isn’t well enough to do a good job now.”

                “That’s what he told us, that he could barely make it through some days,” the lad said.

                “He cares a great deal about the two of you and sees you as very intelligent and deserving of a proper education.”  She again looked at Lilac.  “The choice is now yours--to allow your children to grow and accept their part as Bagginses as well as the children you have raised, or face losing them completely, for they are Bagginses no matter how strongly you wish them to be Gravelly through and through.”  She straightened.  “I’ll be speaking with Will this next week.  Frodo can, apparently, make it to Michel Delving.  We’ll set up a meeting to plan for their education and training, and a proper introduction to society.  They don’t have to leave here for most of it, although they should do some traveling through the Shire to learn what the Shire is like. 

                “There’s one more thing of which you need to think--Griffo and I have no children of our own; so unless we do what my parents and Emerald’s parents did and find ourselves with children at the closing of our lives, we will most likely see these two as our heirs.  Do you understand?”

                Lilac looked at Daisy, her mouth open and her face white.  Assured that Lilac had a great deal to think of, Daisy nodded.  “I’ll be leaving now.  However, I will have you know I intend to know my brother and sister.  You’d best get used to the idea.”  She turned to the two of them.  “Your names again?”

                “I’m Fosco--”

                “--And I’m Forsythia.”

                “As I told you, I’m your sister Daisy.”

                The three hugged.  She smiled.  “I’ll see the two of you again quite soon.”

                Griffo smiled.  “And I’m Griffo.  We’ll see you soon.”  He also hugged them both, rose and nodded to Lilac.  “Mistress Gravelly, it’s a pleasure to meet you, and I look forward to knowing you better.”  Lilac blanched at the tone of his words.

                That night Forsythia did a search of the house while her mother was gone to Gander’s house with Emro.  At last she found, in a box at the back of the wardrobe, what she was seeking, letters addressed to Hobbiton.  She took them to Fosco’s room and read them to him.  When Emro and Lilac returned, the two teens were waiting in the parlor for them, both faces set with what Daisy would have recognized as the Look. 

                “You took the letters our mum wrote to Frodo and Daisy and never sent them.”  Fosco’s voice was full of anger.  “No wonder they didn’t know about us!”

                “But they wouldn’t have come....”

                “Daisy would have come.  Iorhael would have come!”

                “Who is Iorhael?”

                “It’s Frodo’s name in Elvish.  That’s what the Elves were singing at the Free Fair, about him--about Frodo Baggins, except they called him by his name in Elvish.  He did come, came for us, to make certain we were happy, to make certain we were well.  He came two or three times every year for eight years.  Do you understand?  He cared for us, and still cares for us.  He’s never tried to take us away from you, just tried to add what we needed because we are Bagginses and have a lot of Took blood, like he does.”

                Forsythia said, “You made everyone here think that our own sister was jealous of us, because you didn’t send our mum’s letters to her.  You tried to make us think our other cousins didn’t care, but the truth is that you hid us, kept hiding us.  Did you really think we would stop loving you because we could love them?  Or that their love would make us not need or want yours?  We knew Frodo cared for us and loved us, but that didn’t stop us loving you and Da.  But finding these letters certainly shakes our love for you.  You tried to make us live a lie for years.  I’m ashamed of you.”

*******

                When the note came about the meeting in Michel Delving, Fosco accepted it, read it, then read it to the family as they sat at the luncheon table.  The meeting was set for the following Starsday.  He then started out of the room after setting the letter before his sister.

                “Where are you going, Fosco?” Emro demanded.

                He turned slowly.  “I’m going to decide what I’ll be wearing to that meeting.  Forsythia and I are going with you.”

                “Nonsense----”

                Forsythia, having finished reading the note over herself, folded it and set it in front of her da as she, too, started for her room.  “Oh, you can believe we are going.  Try to make us stay home and see where it gets you.  And they already know we plan to come--we sent a note yesterday.”

                Lilac was fit to be tied, and Emro stared after the children with wonder.  Finally he looked at his wife and shook his head.  “Now and then it is so very obvious they are not Gravelly.  I wonder if those folk down in Michel Delving will be able to keep them under control?”

                She sighed.  “I don’t know.  I feel that I’ve lost them, Emro.”

                He gave her an evaluative look.  “If you hadn’t kept the letters Emerald meant for you to send, then this wouldn’t be as bad as it is.”

                She dropped her eyes.  “I only wanted bairns to love as my own, Emro, you know that.”

                He put his hand on her shoulder.  “They’ll understand some day.”

                “I hope so,” she said quietly, then rose to clear the table.

*******

                Will looked with interest at the two teens that accompanied Emro and Lilac Gravelly into his office as he indicated the four ought to take seats around a table.  These, then, were the now infamous twins who were the children of Dudo and Emerald Baggins?  Certainly the lad favored Frodo heavily, while there was no question the lass had both Baggins and Took blood.

                Frodo arrived next, and entered the office quietly, pausing just inside the door as if examining what few changes might have been wrought here since he last entered as deputy Mayor just a scant couple weeks previously.  His face was quiet, although it lit up with pleasure as he and the twins exchanged looks.  He crossed the room and sat himself at the table. 

                “Hello, Iorhael,” the lad said, his tone gentle. 

                “Hello, Fosco, Forsythia,” he said.  Then he looked at Emro and Lilac and inclined his head.  “Mr. and Mistress Gravelly.”

                Griffo and Daisy Boffin arrived next, followed by Gander Proudfoot, Oridon Goodbody, Brendilac Brandybuck, Everard Took, and Lyria Bottomly.  All apparently gathered, they looked at one another.

                The discussion was long, but surprisingly amicable.  The wills of Emerald and Dudo Baggins were produced, Dudo’s from the archives here and Emerald’s by Frodo, while a copy of Emerald’s obviously made by Frodo along with copies of the inventory made when Emerald died were brought out by Gander.  Also brought out were the birth certificates of the twins and the death certificates of their parents.  One of the clerks who had worked under Frodo came in and set a large mug in front of him, received his thanks, smiled, and withdrew; later trays of tea were brought in with plates of biscuits and small cakes. 

                Frodo drank the water he’d been brought, refilled the mug from his own waterskin, and sipped from it as the talks went forward.  He gradually relaxed increasingly into his chair, saying relatively little but watching to make certain the others remained on topic.  The twins would be granted each one of the copies of the keys made for their parents’ smial, and a teacher would be sent to them four days a week from Tookland to teach them Shire history, the genealogy of their families--including the genealogy of the Gravelly and Banks clans, figuring, Sindarin, writing, herblore, the histories of Gondor and Arnor, and farming.  They would be allowed to spend at least a week a month with their sister and her husband.  They would spend one month of the summer visiting the rest of the Shire, learning about its layout and its people, and would be accompanied by a member of the Boffin family.  They would be allowed to attend parties at the Great Smial.  They would be included in any parties that left the Shire on the King’s business within Arnor.  They would be allowed to inherit Emro’s and Lilac’s as well as their real parents’ interests in the farm.  When they were twenty-five they would be allowed to take part in a group discussion regarding the final disposal of their parents’ smial and personal property.  When and if Forsythia chose to marry, a suitable dowry would be provided her from her real parents’ assets, to which her foster parents might add if they so desired.  They were to remain with their foster family and respect them and the family ties they had forged through them.  But no longer would they be allowed to remain in ignorance of their Baggins, Boffin, and Took heritage.

                When the meeting finally drew to a close, with the promise that between them Brendilac Brandybuck and Everard Took would write up a binding contract formalizing the final decisions made this day, at last Lilac Gravelly cleared her throat.  She looked at the twins, who were looking at her expectantly, and then, looking down at the table top, she said, “A great deal of the reason we are here today is due to my actions years ago.  Alyssum Tunnely and I were a great deal by Emerald’s side after she realized she was expecting, once the bairns were born, and after their father died.  I’d learned by then that I wasn’t likely to ever have bairns of my own due to an illness I had when I was a tween.  I was pretty desperate to have children of my own.

                “Emerald was getting on in years when she found she was expecting, and she feared she might not survive the birth.  Her concern for Dudo’s health once he contracted the ague that year was pretty strong, for he didn’t truly recover from it, and this added to her concern for the bairn.  When her time came early she was frightened.  Both were mightily surprised when they realized there were twins, and all were worried for their small size.  But they were stubborn bairns, and they survived, although we realized when they were still small that Fosco’s eyes were weak, and he could only see things that were right before him, little that was very far away.

                “She wrote a number of letters to Hobbiton that year, and I’d always take them for her, promising to send them for her, only I didn’t.  I knew she wasn’t likely to long survive Dudo, and I saw this as a chance to become a second mum to the bairns.  I didn’t send those letters, fearful that if--if the Bagginses and Daisy knew there were bairns they’d insist on taking them and raising them in Hobbiton.”  She drew from a woven bag she carried two bundles of letters and laid them on the table.  “Here they are.  She thought you were angry and jealous for the birth of these children, Daisy, and so she was bad hurt and became resentful toward you--and I--I encouraged her.  I tried to make her think Mr. Baggins didn’t care, also; but his gifts arrived and kept arriving, so she realized he didn’t resent things and was soothed.

                “Her last year she sickened, and again I’d take the letters she wrote and didn’t send them, and she thought Daisy didn’t want nothing to do with her and the bairns, so she wrote her will leaving the caring of the bairns to Emro and me, but they were to be allowed teaching to be provided by the Bagginses.  She told us all this.  When she died, I let on to Gander as she’d not written a will, and no one looked for it.  Emro and me, we took the bairns and raised them as our own, and I--I told them their cousins from their parents’ side didn’t care.  I didn’t realize that the Frodo Baggins that Emerald kept referring to was now family head for the Bagginses--thought it was still Mr. Bilbo, but he was gone now so I wasn’t worried he’d show up and demand to do right by the children.  I didn’t accept any gifts from anyone outside the village, and let on to the folk of Westhall that the other kinfolk had been disgusted with the idea that Emerald and Dudo should have other children at their advanced ages.  All were angry with you, Daisy, so that’s why no one else told you about the children.

                “Forsythia found the letters a few weeks back, and we’ve had some discussions about it.  She and Fosco were terribly angry and upset, and I know the knowledge of what I’d done hurt them both and shook their love for us.  I hope all of you will forgive me.  It was as though Dudo and Emerald were our uncle and aunt, and as if these were my own cousins, and I wanted them to be mine.”

                Will reached out to the bundles of letters and read through the addresses, handed them to Frodo and Daisy, then was surprised when he realized a couple were addressed to the Thain.  These he held for a time, finally gave them into Everard’s keeping.  “Apparently she wished the Tooks also to realize these children had a call on them.  Paladin will do right by them now, I think; and this will help him in accepting his responsibility to provide a good teacher for them.”

                Emro, who’d been mostly quiet so far, finally asked, “Why are you insisting that these have ties outside the Shire?  Why should they know about the histories of the outside countries or be part of parties going outside the Shire?”

                Frodo sighed.  “This is my part in the provisions for them,” he said.  “They are almost the last of the Baggins family, for I’ll not be able to have children of my own, not--not after what I’ve been through.  And, for the last two generations the Bagginses have been the ones who have forged the ties to outside, Bilbo between the Shire and the Elves and Dwarves, and me to the world of Men.

                “The Shire cannot remain isolated now, no matter how many edicts Aragorn may make forbidding Men to enter here.  We are part of the realm of Arnor and Gondor combined, and we need folk who are knowledgeable of the outer world to help our people deal with them.  This is the least I can do--to provide an education for the remaining Bagginses so that our family will continue to serve the Hobbits of the Shire in our doings with that outer world.”

                All looked to one another.  No one could think of an argument to counter the statement and reasoning offered by Frodo.  Finally all nodded, and Everard and Brendilac retreated to a corner of the room where they worked on the document.  All others went out to the inn to eat luncheon.  In the early afternoon they returned to the Council Hole where the document forged by the Brandybuck and Took lawyers was read and considered, and finally approved by all.  Fosco and Forsythia were the first to sign it, followed by Frodo and then all others present.  Finally Will signed it, and he indicated he’d like Everard, Brendilac, and Frodo to produce copies for all involved.  It took the greater part of the afternoon to do this, and Frodo was rubbing at his shoulder a great deal as the day progressed, but finally all had copies, and after a final meal together in Will and Mina Whitfoot’s smial, they all dispersed back to their homes, although Frodo accepted the offer, one last time, to sleep in the room where he’d stayed when he served as deputy Mayor.  The following morning he returned home to Bag End, his mind much at peace for the welfare of his young cousins.

Settling Affairs

       Frodo sat at the table in the old cold room, looking across it at Oridon and Brendilac, his hand on the gem at his throat. "I need a final accounting, Oridon, to attach to my will. I must file it--as soon as I can." His face was so very thin and pale, it was obvious he would not remain much longer, and Oridon nodded.

       "I’ll give it to you or Brendilac by the end of the week," he said quietly.

       Frodo nodded. "And remember to include the matter of the one in the Eastfarthing. Sam is not going to thank me for that one." He turned to Brendilac. "You have the papers for the adoption finished?"

       "Yes, I do." He set them down before Frodo, who picked them up and checked through them. "Will is not going to be particularly happy to see that."

       "I think--I think he will appreciate it in time." Frodo reached down and picked up the mug he’d brought in with him and drank from it. He set it down again and once again touched the jewel, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. After several moments he finally looked at the two of them again. "I’d certainly never have thought, back when Bilbo was introducing you to me, Oridon, that I’d be coming to this so soon." He shivered.

       "Perhaps we ought to have met in your study where it’s warmer," Oridon suggested.

       "No, more privacy here."

       Brendilac cleared his throat. "It’s quite a different will from the last time."

       "Situations have changed. We--we made it only because of him. You cannot believe how much we all owe him. He deserves--deserves more than I--than we can give him. He’ll be good for the Shire. You will see." He again briefly closed his eyes. "I wish the will read on the eighth of October, here in Bag End. Can one of you pick up clothing from Moro and Daisy’s tailoring shop for delivery here that morning?"

       Lawyer and banker of discretion looked into one another’s eyes. "Yes, I can," Oridon said, "or I can have Ordo do it for me, actually."

       Frodo nodded. "Good." He handed Brendilac a small box tied in ribbon. "This is to be given to him when the will is read, at the official declaration of him as my adopted heir. There are other things there, and they’re all properly marked." He nodded to a number of sealed boxes against the wall. "I’ve--I’ve been preparing them for months, as my health has permitted."

       Brendilac sighed. "And have you made arrangements--arrangements for----"

       "For my funeral?" Brendilac paled at the blunt words, but nodded gamely. "There will be no need of such."

       "You aren’t planning--planning to----"

       Frodo laughed, a surprisingly cheerful laugh, though brief. "No. It’s just--just I’m leaving first. They hope I can be helped, but once I go, even--even if they can help me, I won’t be able to return." His eyes became solemn. "It’s as irrevocable as my actual death would be, and there’s always the probability I will die in spite of all. No, if that happens, they will see to the disposal of--of what is left, which I suspect won’t be much."

       Brendilac sighed again, and swallowed to keep from weeping. "I see."

       "Remember, you are both sworn to secrecy on this, until the eighth."

       "Yes, we know."

       "Thank you." He again drank from the mug, then looked at it thoughtfully. "Uncle Sara and Aunt Esmeralda will be devastated--but they have already realized----" He didn’t finish. "I wish I could have seen Aragorn once more, just to tell him how much I love him." Again he looked to both of them. "I wanted to thank you both for all you’ve done for me over the years. And please, stand by him."

       "Who is family head after you?" asked Oridon.

       "What little family remains," Frodo said with a sigh. "Fosco." They nodded, started to stand to leave. "Brendi, can you stay a few moments more?"

       "I’ll see myself out," Oridon said, his face pale but set.

       "Thanks," Frodo said, rising to accompany him to the doorway. The banker of discretion paused, and then suddenly reached out to embrace his employer. Frodo just closed his eyes and embraced him in return. Oridon finally pulled away and let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him. Brendilac was certain he must be fighting to hold the tears in. Both of them had come to love Frodo Baggins greatly over the years.

       Frodo wavered, then came back to the table and sat down heavily in the chair Oridon had just vacated. He clutched at the jewel, then looked into Brendilac’s eyes earnestly. "I have one more favor to ask of you, and it’s not one you are likely to understand. When--when they finally finish the review of what was done, there will undoubtedly be--be a trial of--of Timono and the rest. And I suspect Timono will be sent to Lord Halladan, or perhaps to Minas Tirith itself. Will you please go with them, represent their interests?"

       Brendilac Brandybuck looked at his cousin in amazement. "Represent their interests?"

       "Most of them--were coerced. They didn’t deserve what Lotho did to them, what is happening now. But Timono--no one else will stand by him, not even the other Bracegirdles. Even he--he needs some support."

       "How can you speak of support after he’s betrayed the Shire as he has?"

       Frodo was shaking his head. "I--I did worse. I was saved--saved from betraying all of Middle Earth only because I was not alone." He was shivering again, and not just from cold. Brendilac reached forward, pulled Frodo to him, held him close. "Oh, Brendi, I did worse," Frodo whispered in his ear. "Don’t let him stand alone, please, Brendi, for my sake."

       Unable to speak further, the Brandybuck lawyer nodded, and felt Frodo’s slight form relax in his arms.

*******

       The Council Hole banquet hall was full, but not this time of feasters. The full population of Michel Delving was here, along with most of the denizens of Hobbiton, Bywater, Overhill, and surrounding areas. The Thain and Master sat on either side of Will Whitfoot, their sons, each in his uniform from the outer world, standing behind them, each at attention. At the right hand of the Thain sat Samwise Gamgee, pale but calm and considering, his hands lying folded together on the table before him. To the left of the Master sat his brother Merimac as scribe for the event.

       In the center of the room stood those on trial--Timono Bracegirdle, Ted Sandyman, Bedro Bracegirdle, and six other lawyers, eight other former shiriffs, three bankers of discretion, two farmers, ten merchants, the secretaries of three of the pipeweed plantations, and six others who had happily collaborated with Lotho and his Big Men. Standing by them, obviously uncomfortable but bravely doing as his cousin had asked of him, was Brendilac Brandybuck. The Master of Brandy Hall looked at his younger cousin with an air of concern on his face.

       "And why are you there, Brendilac?" he asked.

       "I was--begged--to stand by these and see to their interests, to make certain that what they did to others was not done to them."

       "By whom?"

       Brendilac stood straighter. "By my former employer," he said quietly.

       Master and Thain looked to one another across Will Whitfoot. Sam looked up into Brendilac’s eyes searchingly, and then, the lawyer realized, was giving him a slight nod of approval. Will just looked at him uncomprendingly.

       "He asked this of you? He’s done a good number of unexpected things lately, but this is one I’d never have anticipated."

       Sam Gamgee looked across the Thain at the Mayor. "He knew as what he was doing, Will," he said quietly. He looked back at the group in the center of the room. "You folk will get far more than what you give others when your Chief was in control. Even you will know you are getting justice."

       The questioning began. Five of the six lawyers confessed to having presented contracts they knew to be improper and which were intended to cheat those who signed them of their proper rights, goods, property, and money. In each case they had been set up by Timono Bracegirdle, Lotho Sackville-Baggins, and others and then threatened with exposure if they didn’t comply. Their stories were not all that sordid, were pathetic, really. But each had been trying to hide his misdeeds from everyone else. The sixth tried to excuse his own behavior and blame it all on Timono’s influence and the authority of the Chief, but the facts presented by the lawyer and shiriff who’d investigated his case said differently. He’d enjoyed the exercise in coercion and legal theft, and had profited well by his cooperation. As for Timono....

       The influence of the Big Men was examined and questioned thoroughly, the nature of Sharkey investigated. Pippin and Merry were asked to explain his role in the outer world, what his plans had been evaluated as being, how he had been influenced by Sauron, how it appeared he had hoped to take Sauron’s place, if he could only get hold of the Enemy’s weapon.

       "That weapon," asked Will, "can anyone get hold of it now?"

       Sam answered, softly but with finality, "No. It’s gone, gone for good."

       "How do you know for certain?"

       Sam just looked at him for some minutes. It was so quiet almost all felt they could hear the watch in Sam’s waistcoat pocket ticking. "I was there, Will," he finally said. "And these here," he added, with a backward gesture to Merry and Pippin in their uniforms, "they serve as witnesses as well. They saw what happened the moment as it hit the fire, the one there on the battlefield, the other from Minas Tirith-although I believe Mr. Merry has a better memory of it."

       Again they returned to Timono, and along with the other lawyer the evidence was damning. No matter how much influence the Big Men and Lotho had wielded or what manipulation and advice he’d accepted from Sharkey, in the end he himself had come up with most of the strategies by which Lotho had been able to purchase and swindle control of at least half of the properties to which he held title by the end of his career. What was more, in reviewing contracts he’d negotiated up to six years prior, they had found impropriety after impropriety in the contracts and sales agreements he’d written and presented in the behalf of his family and other clients. No, Timono was into this business up to his neck, and all knew it.

       In the end the five lawyers were stripped of their right to serve as such for six years, and they were ordered to pay reparations in their own right to certain specified individuals, usually their own clients to whom they’d presented contracts on Lotho’s behalf. One was made to labor for two years as well, as he’d betrayed more than the expected number of his own clients.

       Charges against three of the former shiriffs were finally dropped, although they were given strict warnings against allowing themselves to be manipulated into doing things they knew weren’t right.

       Will looked at them sternly, his high voice deeper than usual as he spoke. "You just remember what all our mothers said to us when we did stupid or dangerous or just plain wrong things when we were young: Just because everybody else is doing it is not sufficient reason to do it yourself! If everyone else is climbing trees and leaping out to break their legs or worse, would you do it then?"

       Bedro Bracegirdle and two of the other former Shiriffs were made to pay heavy reparations to specific victims. The rest were made to pay reparations and were given varying periods of servitude within the Shire, with the bulk of the money they would ordinarily receive in wages going to the reparations ordered of them.

       One of the farmers, two of the merchants, and one of the secretaries were let off, again with warnings. The others and the bankers of discretion were given periods of servitude, and the farmer lost his farm to provide for reparations to be made to those who were forced to labor for him as slaves during the occupation. Ted Sandyman they looked at with disgust.

       "You were in collaboration with Lotho and his Big Men," the Thain said, "and you were pleased to serve their will and to spy on your neighbors for them. However, as your own cooperation has robbed you of your proper place in Hobbiton as miller, of your property, and all status, there isn’t much we can see that would serve as proper punishment further to what your own foolishness has done. Your claim for return of the Mill has been dismissed, for you sold it full willingly, then worked there for pay, again full willingly. You also full willingly accepted food and goods you knew had been wrongfully taken from others within the Shire, even though you knew that there were Hobbits about you like Gaffer and Marigold Gamgee and the Widow Rumble who were in true want and yet you did nothing to see to it that their needs were met. The alleged reason for the ‘gathering and sharing,’ after all, was supposed to serve to help those in need." He glared again at Sandyman. "You will further serve one weekend a month the needs of the village headman for Bywater for the rest of your life."

       Brendilac here stood for Ted’s interests and questioned the punishment, as it was in stark contrast to those who’d been given two to six year’s servitude for their own actions.

       Sam was the one who answered the protest. "For the rest as have been given servitude--they are all far smarter’n Ted Sandyman--smarter and far more capable. They’ll finish their terms and will member as what they did. As for Ted--" he gave Ted a disgusted look, "--as soon as his time is over he’ll do his best for to forget it all, as if he’d done nothing. No, he’ll need constant reminders as to what he’s done, and that it’s a fair sentence."

       With the agreement of the rest of the room, including that of several of those who still stood before them, Brendilac withdrew his objection.

       Three of the other six collaborators were given seven years’ servitude, while the other three would be sent with Timono and his fellow to stand before the King’s Steward Lord Halladan for final judgment. At last the trial was over, and Timono was escorted back to his cell, and the other four also were taken to prepared cells in the Lockups.

*******

       The Lord Halladan sent word he would question the remaining prisoners in Bree. A grange hall on the north side of the village was rented, and on the appointed day Brendilac Brandybuck accompanied the five of them out of the Shire. Meriadoc Brandybuck and three of the Great Smial’s best archers served as guards, and once they crossed the Brandywine Bridge they were joined by four Rangers of Arnor, their swords and bows equally ready to hand. Each bowed to the company surrounding the prisoners, especially to Merry and the Thain and Isumbard Took. They took up positions on the outside of the party, and all rode in quiet to Bree. The five prisoners were taken to the town lock-up for the night, which was in no way as comfortable as they’d known in the Shire, and the next day all were escorted to the grange hall.

       Brendilac Brandybuck looked at the tall Man with the grey eyes with deep interest. Here was quite a contrast to those who had served as Sharkey’s Big Men--here was intelligence, keenness of vision and understanding, and a nature that would tolerate no lies. Frodo had told him that the Lord Halladan was himself the King’s cousin; if so, then what must the King be like?

       The Steward read through the reports presented him as copies were read aloud by one of his clerks so that none present could be in question as to the charges and findings to date. When all had been read, the Steward questioned how the information had been gathered, how those accused had been treated during the time of the investigations, and how the trial had been conducted. At last he looked at the five before him.

       "I must say that the alleged backwater land of the Shire is far more genteel and refined in its treatment of those accused of crimes than the rest of the realm, including the King’s city of Minas Anor itself," he said. "The prison where you were held last night was luxurious compared to what most prisons within Middle Earth are like, and yet you were kept in cells with comfortable beds, tables, and full toilet facilities in your homeland. That is, of course, in stark contrast to what was found by those who released your ‘Chief’s’ prisoners after the Scouring of the Shire." He held out his hand and a letter was placed into it by another clerk, and the writing on it Brendilac recognized as Frodo’s. He read aloud the description of the cell in which Fredegar Bolger had been found, that in which Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had been incarcerated, the ones which had housed Will Whitfoot and Ferdibrand Took and three others. He read of the treatment of those Big Men who had given themselves up, and how they were given medical attention, food, clean water, and decent treatment until they were escorted to the borders of the Shire, then the copy of the interrogation of one of these who had been taken by those Rangers set to watch the borders on their return from the War in the Southlands which confirmed Frodo’s report. He read Frodo’s report of the preliminary findings of the investigation, which had been sent jointly to him and the King.

       "And now we have the five of you." He looked at Brendilac. "You are clearly not one of the prisoners," the Steward commented. "Why do you stand by them?"

       "It was asked of me that I see to it their own interests were represented."

       "This is customary in your land?" asked the Man.

       "This whole affair is anything but customary in the Shire," Brendilac said, simply. "I don’t think we have ever had any such situation ever in our history."

       "I see," Lord Halladan said. "Then who asked this of you?"

       Brendilac again straightened. "My cousin and former client, Frodo Baggins," he said.

       The Man nodded. "I ought to have known," he said, sighing. "The Ringbearer himself. Well, as the Lord Frodo has requested this, you will be allowed to stand by them still."

       Timono Bracegirdle straightened. "Lord Frodo?" he asked.

       "Yes, Lord Frodo Baggins, the Lord Frodo Baggins about whom minstrels from Angmar to Umbar sing, whose deeds are told from Rhun to Harad, as well as within the Undying Lands. His elevation to Lordship has been ratified by all of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, by Men, Elves, Dwarves, those Halflings who were there, and Ents. He and the Lord Samwise Gamgee are among the most highly praised and honored of individuals of all races within Middle Earth, as is true of Captain Peregrin Took and Sir Meriadoc Brandybuck as well. Do you have any further questions?"

       Timono’s face, pale from his long period of incarceration, paled still further. He shook his head. The archers from the Great Smial looked to one another, and then glanced sideways at the Thain and Merry, both of whom raised their chins proudly.

       All five were given servitude on the roads of Arnor, Timono and the other lawyer each getting sentences of seven years, the rest five years. "Afterwards, you will be given those wages saved for your use after release, and you will be free to return where you will." He looked at the Thain, asked, "Will they be free to return to the Shire?"

       "No, sir, none will be welcome back within the Shire again."

       "That is fair enough. You will be allowed to settle here in the Breelands if you choose, or find empty land to settle on if you prefer. However, if any of you ever offer any offense against the health or safety or integrity or possessions of any other soul, you will be retaken and most likely hanged. Do you understand?"

       They nodded. Lord Halladan turned to Brendilac Brandybuck. "Do you believe the Ringbearer would approve of this justice?" he asked.

       The Brandybuck lawyer nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "Yes, my Lord," he said respectfully, "I think that Frodo would definitely accept this."

       The Man gave him a smile that showed his own grief. "Then that is good. I would not wish to disappoint him or my beloved Lord cousin." He stood, and all others stood hastily with him. "You will be taken to your work gangs in the morning. Tonight enjoy the luxuries of Bree, friends." The irony of what he said was lost on none.

Final Business

       Forsythia and Fosco Baggins were devastated when they saw Frodo again at the Free Fair that last summer he spent in the Shire--he was so plainly ill now. Again they followed him into the Council Hole, and then Forsythia hurried off to bring him a glass of wine and some rolls while he and Fosco discussed the work done on the great sideboard by Frodo’s father.  He’d brought a chair from the banquet table to sit on as he examined his father’s work.  He leaned back in the chair at times and would go quiet, his eyes closing for minutes at a time, then would straighten and go on.  Both of the young Hobbits stood by him with their hands on his shoulders while he described some of those whom Drogo Baggins had pictured on the sideboard.  Fosco examined  and felt it for quite some time.  At last Frodo went quiet again, and Fosco commented, “I still make my figures, but have never gone into anything like this.  Your da was very gifted.”

       “Yours was, too, with the furniture making he did.  We all seem to share in the gift of artistry.”

       “What about your mum?” asked Forsythia.  “Was she gifted, too?”

       Frodo nodded.  “In embroidery and wool work.  And both she and my dad loved to dance.  I received that gift from both of them, apparently.”  He looked at her.  “I don’t know for certain what your gift is, although I think dancing is part of it.”

       “She’s best in singing,” Fosco said.  “You’ve not heard her yet, but she can sing beautifully.”

       “Wonderful” Frodo said quietly.  “You will love it, then, when you meet Aragorn, for he is a gifted singer.”

       “It’s odd to think of someone you call simply Aragorn being the King returned,” Forsythia said.

       “Sam still calls him Strider, which is another of his names.  You will find that he is well worth the loving,” he said.  He went quiet once more.  “I’m sorry I won’t be able to see him again,” he sighed at last.  “When you meet him at last, give him my love for me, will you?”

       Fosco and Forsythia both hugged him.  “We will,” each assured him.

*******

       The last time they saw him was the day he left Bag End.  They were in Hobbiton with Daisy and Griffo, and had walked out toward the Hill, had seen Frodo come out of Bag End with his friend Samwise Gamgee.  Sam had helped him onto a lovely pony that stood waiting for him, a beautiful, blooded animal who seemed happy to bear Frodo.  Frodo had reached forward to pat the pony’s head, and the pony snuffled at his fingers.  Sam had checked the girth and the fastenings of Frodo’s saddle bags, then went to his own pied pony and checked him over one last time. 

       Sam’s wife, whom they’d learned was named Rosie, came out carrying her daughter, a small cat following her out the doorway, came down the stairs and lifted the baby up so Frodo could lean down and kiss the child.  He then laid his hand on the child’s head, and then on Rosie’s, looked down at her and smiled.  Then Sam had turned to her, took and kissed the baby gently, set her on her feet where she stood unsteadily by her mother, holding onto her mother’s skirts.  Then Sam embraced his wife, and they kissed, a kiss such as those watching had never seen before for passion.  Sam at last pulled away reluctantly, gave sort of a sob, and looked at her, gave a tremulous smile, could clearly be heard saying, “I’ll be back as soon as I can, love,” and he turned pointedly away to mount his pony. 

       Together he and Frodo went down the lane and turned north.  Rosie watched after, clearly weeping as she stood there, finally reaching down to pick up the bairn,  holding her close by her.  Forsythia quietly described this all to her brother.

       A lad came out from where he’d been standing in the shadow of the hedge for the field that lay below the Hill, a lad of about fifteen.  He was watching after Frodo and Sam, then turned toward the two newcomers, approached them.  “Hullo,” he said.  “I don’t recall seeing you before.”

       “We’re Fosco and Forsythia,” Fosco said.  “We are visiting with our sister in the village, and came out this way to see Frodo if we could.”

       “He just left,” the other said.  “I’m one of his cousins, Pando Proudfoot.  We live here on the Row, my folks and my sister and me.”  He looked off the way Frodo and Sam had gone.  “I think he’s gone for good.  I don’t think as he’ll come back, not Frodo.  He’s gotten too sick.”

       “Where’s he gone?” Forsythia asked.

       “Dunno,  but it might be Rivendell.  Lord Elrond, who lives there, is the greatest healer in all Middle Earth--both Cousin Frodo and Sam say so.  Maybe he can help him.”

       “Why would he go there?” asked Fosco.

       “Because that’s where Uncle Bilbo has been, most the whole time since he left the Shire, according to both Frodo and Sam.  Uncle Bilbo will be a hundred thirty-one tomorrow, you know.  He’ll be older than the Old Took.”  He looked them both over carefully.  “You have a fair amount of Took in you, from the looks of you.”

       Fosco shrugged.  “Our mum was born in the Great Smial, for all she was known as a Boffin.”

       “What’s your last name?” Pando asked him.

       They looked at him for a time before Forsythia answered, “Baggins.  Our dad was Dudo Baggins.  Iorhael is our first cousin.”

       Pando looked at them with surprise.  “First cousin?  I see.”  He looked back up the Hill where Rosie still looked off the way Sam and Frodo had gone.  “He’s made Sam his heir.  I heard him say so when he came back from Michel Delving.”

       Fosco and Forsythia both shrugged.  Fosco said, “We have a smial our folks left to us, and we’re most likely to be Griffo and Daisy’s heirs as well, and our foster parents’ heirs also.  We’re not cheated--he knows that.” 

       A small lass came out of the field.  “He’s gone then, Pando?”

       “Yes, Cyclamen, he’s gone now.”

       She nodded solemnly.  “He’ll be better if he goes with the Elves.”  Pando nodded with equal solemnity.

       “I wonder what ship he’ll take?” Fosco said.

       “What about a ship?” asked Pando.

       “The Elves who sang last year said he would leave by ship or grave.  He must have decided to go by the ship.”

       Cyclamen considered.  “He must be going to the place the Elves go to, then, to Elvenhome.”

       Pando snorted.  “Mortals don’t go to Elvenhome--only Elves can go there.”

       His sister shrugged.  “An Elf came here to bring things to Sam a week back, to help Cousin Frodo.  I saw him.”

       “You don’t see Elves less’n they want to be seen--you’ve heard him say that.”

       “Then he wanted me to see him, then.  When Sam went back up the hill with the bundle, the Elf came out and watched after him, then smiled sadly at me.  Came up to me and told me they would help Frodo become better if they could do it, if he’d go with them.”

       “If he goes to Elvenhome, though, he can’t ever come back,” Pando said.

       “I know,” Cyclamen answered.  After a pause she said, “I’ll miss him so.”

*******

       Elrond looked down on the sleeping form of Samwise Gamgee, relieved that at last the gardener had managed to rest.  He was considering moving away when he realized one of his other mortal companions had awakened where he lay under the linden tree.  The Elf rose and looked down on the faintly glowing shape of Frodo Baggins, his eyes reflecting the glory of the autumn stars.

       “What can I do for you, Iorhael?”

       “I have--” his voice failed him.  His breathing, the Elf noted with concern, was labored.  He nodded to Gildor to stay by the Hobbit and looked at the small fire that had been kindled and the water heating there, rose and went to check on it.  Quickly he brewed a different draught than that which he’d given Frodo so far, and when it was cooled somewhat brought it to the Hobbit, assisted him to sit up some and gave it to him, finally helped him lie back against cushions as his breathing eased.  He could not lie flat, Elrond noted, and let this be communicated to the others as they gathered to the aid of the Ringbearer.  

       Finally comfortable once more, Frodo nodded his thanks.  But he was plainly desirous of staying awake for a time.  This time he didn’t bother speaking aloud.  Carefully he framed the thoughts for sharing with those around him.

       There is one last bit of business I need to do before I leave the Shire completely, he indicated.  It has to do with my young cousins Forsythia and Fosco.  I just realized that I’ve left the letters to them and the final codicil to my will regarding them unfinished.  He moved restlessly, sought to stretch his shoulder, rubbed at the scar from the Morgul knife.  I find that--that being in the physical process of dying is rather distracting.

       Elrond did not seek to correct him, for he knew that Frodo’s estimation of his physical condition at the moment was all too close to accurate.  “Once we are able to go aboard the ship and it sets sail, you will find that things will begin to grow better for you, and your body will begin to know easing.  Lord Ulmo has ever been the closest to the mortal lands, and he will be able to allow the aid of the rest of the Valar to soothe your body’s distress.”

       Frodo shrugged slightly.  If I can come that far, his thought replied.  Can paper and ink be produced? he asked.  Galadriel came forward with the requested items, and Elrond noted the smile the Perian gave her.  Yes, he realized, it would be she who would think to bring parchment and ink--both black and red, he noted.

       Frodo’s thought dictated the words he wished to say, and at last the letters were done; then after a moment’s thought he dictated one more.  Then he put his mind to the codicil, choosing to bypass the legal-sounding language preferred by the folk of the Shire for a more straightforward and much shorter set of instructions.  When at last all was as he desired, he leaned forward with assistance, and accepting a quill he dipped it into the red ink and signed it, then signed the others.  He carefully returned the quill, and smiled with relief up into the Lady’s face.  Thank you so very much, he indicated.  As we are still inside the borders of the Shire, there should be no difficulty if I have this witnessed by those of you here.  If seven can be found who will be willing to serve as witnesses to the codicil?      

       All laughed softly, and Galadriel herself signed it first, followed by Elrond, Gildor Inglorien, then others of the company.  “Would you have Samwise sign it when he awakens?” Elrond asked.

       “I will sign it,” Bilbo said, revealing he had also awakened briefly.  The bottle and quill were presented to him, and after a moment he added his shaky signature to the document, gave them back, and laid himself back to rest again. 

       Relieved to have this finished, Frodo looked at his older cousin with love, then back to Elrond.  Can you find a way to get these forwarded to the Council Hole in Michel Delving?  I’d prefer not to burden Sam with them right now.

       “Círdan will see them properly dealt with,” Elrond assured him.

       “Thank you,” Frodo whispered, and he leaned his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes.  Elrond placed his hand over the Hobbit’s brow, aided him to slip once more into sleep.  Then all joined together in a song of healing, and they saw the breathing further eased, the sleep deepened, the heartbeat smoothed--some, at least.

*******

       Círdan stood by the three Periannath who remained there in the Havens, straining their eyes to follow the light of the Phial of Galadriel as it disappeared into the West, and at one point he placed his hand on the shoulder of Meriadoc Brandybuck and drew him apart from his companions. 

       “I was entrusted with this,” he said quietly, offering a packet to Merry.  “It is addressed to one I believe is of your family, a Brendilac Brandybuck.”

       Merry nodded.  “Yes, he is one of my cousins, and has been Frodo’s lawyer for the last few years.”  He took the packet and asked, “Do you wish me to give it to him?”

       “If you will.  Apparently the Ringbearer had some last business he needed to see done that he was unable to complete earlier.”

       Merry carefully put the packet into the inner pocket of his jacket, and rejoined the others. 

       He had no time, however, to get it to Brendilac until they were in Bag End for the reading of Frodo’s will.  He carefully placed the packet in Brendilac’s hand, and the lawyer sighed as he examined the inscription.  “I’ll deal with it later.  I doubt anything he might have sent at this time will have a great deal of impact on what he’s already done, and suspect I know what this contains, for there is one set of relatives he hadn’t dealt with in the will so far.  Did he have these written here within the Shire, do you know?”

       “I don’t know, for I wasn’t with him at the time, but I suspect they were written in the first two days of their journey, both of which would have found them still within the Shire, from what Sam has said.”

       The lawyer nodded.

*******

       Will and Brendilac opened the packet after they’d returned together to Michel Delving.  The three letters it contained were addressed to young Fosco and his sister and to Narcissa Boffin; the codicil indeed dealt with those three as well.  Will considered the request Frodo was making, and smiled.  “Yes,” he said.  “Very fitting,  I’ll be glad to see to this, and to follow the request here.  Whether Narcissa will cooperate, however, is another question, for she’s been absolutely heartbroken over his condition since the Free Fair.”  He signed the paper and indicated he’d see it filed and the request Frodo had made processed first thing in the morning.

*******

       Narcissa had received notice that Frodo’s will would be read on October eighth, but she’d refused to go to Bag End to hear it.  The news that Frodo had left the Shire completely and would never come back had broken her as nothing else had been able to do.  Ivy held her daughter and tried to comfort her, but realized that this time the hurt had been to the heart itself.  She prayed Narcissa wouldn’t fade.

       Daisy and Griffo Boffin had attended the reading of the will, as had Folco and a number of others of varying degrees of relationship by blood or friendship to Frodo.  Afterwards Folco had brought the books and some of Frodo’s mother’s things that Frodo had left for her to Narcissa’s, and she thanked him quietly, looked at them where he’d placed them on the kitchen table, and turned and went back to her room.  Finally, after they’d remained on the table for six days, Ivy took the books and placed them on the shelves with the rest of their library which Folco had brought back from their hiding place at the farm, put the linens into the cupboard, and quietly slipped into Narcissa’s room to put the small box of jewelry on the dresser, set the china figurine on the mantle, put the small silver flute in the drawer by the bed, and the fine cloak and shawl into Narcissa’s wardrobe.  The painted china bowl from Bree sat on the sideboard, and the silver spoons went into the drawer.

       Narcissa finally went through the box of jewelry, and after a few weeks took to wearing a ring she found there, one set with a garnet and two opals, on her right hand.  At Yule she wore one of the necklaces that had been Primula’s, and after the New Year she often wore one of the bracelets.  

       Her aunt Wisteria was gone now, and Folco lived alone in the house which had replaced the smial in which he’d been born.  Narcissa finally began walking into Hobbiton again once the spring was come again, and noted the two young Hobbits who were visiting at Griffo and Daisy Boffin’s place.  They were the two she’d seen following Frodo at the Free Fair.  The stance of the lad reminded her strongly of Frodo, as did his dark hair and cleft chin.  Somehow, however, now he reminded her more of the Tooks, and she wondered why.  The lass also reminded her of Frodo, but at the same time reminded her of both Daisy and her own mother Ivy, and she found herself watching them for quite some time.  Griffo and Daisy came out and took the hands of the young ones as they headed off toward Bywater and the Green Dragon, and the four of them were laughing as they went.  But Narcissa noted that the studs in the lad’s cuffs were familiar ones--Frodo used to wear them; and the lass wore a stickpin that Frodo used to wear on his jacket.  Then they are more relatives of Frodo’s? she wondered.  Well, she couldn’t be expected to have met all of them.

Independent Guardian

       Narcissa was sitting at the tea shop in Bywater where she used to sit with Gaffer Gamgee a few days later when a gentlehobbit approached her and asked if he might join her.  She looked him over--one of the Goodbodies, she noted, Oridon Goodbody who was married to Mattie Longbottom.  She nodded.  After a moment the door opened and a Brandybuck entered, looked around the room, saw them, and came over and asked if he, too, might join them, and she nodded, now suspicious.  Once they had all given their orders and were sipping their tea, the two menfolk looked to one another as if deciding between them which ought to start.  Finally Oridon cleared his throat and began.

       “We’ve been commissioned, as those who were Frodo’s banker of discretion and lawyer, to approach you today about the codicil to his will that was added just before he left the Shire.  This codicil is focused on his two younger first cousins, Forsythia and Fosco Baggins, the children of Dudo Baggins by his second wife Emerald Boffin, born late to the two of them, not long before Dudo died in Westhall.” 

       Narcissa was surprised.  “I had no idea that Dudo had any children other than Daisy,” she said.

       “We know.  Fosco and Forsythia have been quite the surprise to all who knew Frodo.  About the only one who has been aware of their existence from the beginning was Frodo himself.  Did you know that while in Westhall Dudo became close to the partners who owned the farm in which he owned shares?”

       “I think I’d heard something about it after Daisy moved here to Hobbiton with Griffo into Dora’s smial.”

       The pasties and pastries they’d ordered came.  When the server left, Oridon continued.  “Erdo Gravelly’s son Emro and his wife, who was Lilac Banks, became very close to Emerald that last year.  Dudo learned just after he helped Daisy and Griffo move into Green Hall that Emerald was pregnant.  She was herself born quite late into her parents’ marriage, and so it is perhaps easier to understand how such a thing would happen to her.  Everyone was shocked to learn she carried twins, who were born some weeks early.  A few weeks later, Dudo died suddenly in his sleep.”  Narcissa nodded.

       Oridon was quiet for a time as he finished his tea and refilled his mug.  Finally he continued.  “Lilac Gravelly had learned she couldn’t have children of her own, and was apparently envious of Emerald’s pregnancy.  Emerald had asked her to post letters to Frodo and Daisy about the pregnancy, and later about the bairns.  She hid them instead, made Emerald believe Daisy was angry about them.  So Emerald named Emro and Lilac to foster them in her own will. 

       “Gander Proudfoot let Frodo know about the bairns, Dudo’s death, and Emerald’s death.  Gander is headman for Westhall and related to Frodo and Bilbo.  He’s always reported Baggins business to one or the other as family head to the Baggins family.”

       Again, Narcissa nodded her understanding.  Family heads were supposed to keep track of all with their name within the Shire, which could become difficult when the family was prolific.  That Frodo would have such sources of information about family members who lived more distantly was understandable.

       He continued, “Frodo regularly sent gifts to Emerald and the bairns during Emerald’s lifetime.  Once the Gravellies began fostering them, however, they no longer accepted his gifts, but returned them.  After two years he went to Westhall himself to see how they fared, and took my son and me with him.  We checked out the entire situation and went through Dudo and Emerald’s smial and found Emerald’s will, made a copy, and brought it away.  Frodo met with the children and saw that they were well taken care of, although woefully ignorant of their family ties.  He decided to leave the situation as it was unless he found in the future signs of abuse.

       “He saw them regularly until he left the Shire; after his return he didn’t see them until the Free Fair.  He then arranged a meeting with Daisy and Griffo to find out why they had never tried to see her sister and brother, and we learned she’d never known of their existence.  Griffo and she arranged to go to Westhall to meet with the Gravellies, and while they were in the village they also managed to meet with the twins.  It was the first time they’d met their sister, and they learned the truth about the situation.  That night Forsythia apparently searched the house while her parents were meeting with Gander, and found the letters Emerald had entrusted to her to post to Daisy and Frodo.

       “A special meeting was set up in Michel Delving, and Will oversaw the writing of a proper fostering agreement.  Part of the agreement is that the children are to travel throughout the Shire one month during the summer, in the company of a member of the Boffin family, to learn about our land.  Last summer they did this with Griffo, but he cannot get free to do it this summer.”

       She looked at the two of them.  “So, this summer you want me to do this?”

       The Brandybuck nodded.  “This was desired by Frodo.  Apparently as he was leaving the Shire in the company of the Elves he realized he’d not included anything in his will regarding the disposition of the title of family head for the Bagginses or the responsibilities he still owed these two during their minority.  He appears to have dictated his desires to one of the Elves, and then signed it.  There are the requisite signatures of witnesses in red ink, and Merry tells me it includes some of the greatest names among the Elves of this time, although which were going on the ship with Frodo and which might only be accompanying them to the Havens we don’t know.  The seventh signature is one I’d not thought to see on a legal document at this late date--it was that of Bilbo Baggins.”

       Narcissa looked at him in shock.  “Bilbo?”

       “Yes, for he apparently was also granted the grace to enter the Undying Lands until his end comes.  He, too, carried that which Frodo carried out of the Shire for, apparently, a very long time.”

       “What was this thing?  No one has ever said, not to me.”

       “Apparently it was the great Ring of Power Sauron himself made to try to control all the peoples of Middle Earth.  It was found by a fisherman in the shallows of the River Anduin near the Gladden Fields near where Isildur is said to have perished.  The fisherman was murdered by a kinsman who then took the Ring and in time fled to the caves beneath the Misty Mountains, where he finally lost it.  There it was found by Bilbo, and he brought it away with him back to the Shire.  He left it to Frodo on the night of his party.

       “Gandalf helped identify the thing at the last, and Frodo left the Shire because he feared that as Sauron had again awakened and was seeking again to make himself lord of all that he would send his servants here to seek it.  Sauron did just that, and they pursued Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin out of the Shire and all the way to Rivendell.  They wounded Frodo the first time between Bree and Rivendell.”

       Narcissa looked at the Brandybuck with dawning understanding.  “Then, that is what he couldn’t bring himself to say.”

       The lawyer nodded.  “The trip was all too often terrifying for all of them, and all were badly hurt and scarred by their experiences.  Our family healers, having finally heard more of the details, assure us that considering what the four of them went through, they all came out of it remarkably well, even Frodo, although his health was steadily deteriorating almost the entire time he was home.  All seem to agree that Frodo’s condition was the most serious, and that it was unlikely he would have lived much longer had he remained.  At the time he left for the Havens, he himself apparently expected he wouldn’t live more than an additional week or two, in fact.  He’d been at the point of death several times during the quest, and felt he had only been granted sufficient time to settle his affairs and to accept either death or the grace offered him so that he might find healing for his body and his spirit at the end.  Sam tells us that he only accepted the right to go on the ship with the great Elves at the very last moment.”

       Oridon continued the tale.  “So, here we are with the codicil he wrote to his will at the last moment before he left the Shire.  He also dictated this letter to you, as well as letters to young Fosco and Forsythia.”  

       He handed her a folded missive which had been sealed with a drop of what appeared to be bees wax.  It was addressed in an unknown hand, Narcissa Boffin of Overhill, the Shire.  She carefully wiped away the wax and unfolded it.  The writing was in the same hand, a woman’s hand, apparently, one that was especially graceful.

Dear Narcissa,

       Again, I grieve that I could not return your love as you deserved.  Had I not received from Bilbo that which he bequeathed to me when he himself left the Shire, it is very possible I would have done so.  Certainly, when I have thought of the women of the Shire, your face has ever been one of those I’ve seen.

       I have realized that it was your love for me that kept you from accepting the attentions of the others who have realized just what a special Hobbit lass you are, and so you, as has been true for me, have been denied the marriage and children you so dearly desired.  Always in order to know the joy of family I have had to make do with my cousins, and perhaps at the last I can, in a way, give you the same pleasure I’ve been able to know.

       As I look at the end of my time in Middle Earth, I have realized I neglected to make provision for my youngest cousins bearing the Baggins name, Forsythia and Fosco Baggins, the children born to my Uncle Dudo at the end of his life by his second wife, Emerald.  As family head, it is my responsibility to assure that these are not left neglected should something happen to their current foster parents, who are Emro and Lilac Gravelly of Westhall.  I ask that you accept responsibility for them, and that you visit with them at least twice a year until they come of age.  I also ask that you accompany them during their summer trips around the Shire intended to prepare them for the time when they, as adults, hopefully will assist in the interactions between the folk of the Shire and the people of Bree and the rest of Arnor.  And I ask that you accompany them outside the Shire when at last they venture out of it, as I am certain they one day will.

       Fosco is named family head at my leaving, for the only other male of the Baggins name who would usually be eligible would be Ponto, who is too weak to serve adequately as of the time I dictate this.  I have directed my banker of discretion, Oridon Goodbody, and my lawyer, Brendilac Brandybuck, to keep Fosco apprised of the few Bagginses of the name who remain in the Shire.  It is not likely our family will rise to prominence again, but it is possible that in time its numbers may once again rise somewhat.

       I’ve come to care deeply for these two over the years, and I hope you will find them as intelligent and charming as I have.  Perhaps you will find them a means of knowing the delight of assisting young things to come to maturity as I had hoped to do.

       My body has become very weak, and I am uncertain whether I will live to reach Elvenhome.  Lord Elrond, the Lady Galadriel, the Lord Gildor Inglorien, and the others with whom I travel are doing their best to bring me through first to the Havens, and then, they hope, to the Undying Lands.  If I do not live to make it, at least I will have done the best I can to live as fully as I am able, and I am content.

       Please forgive me that I must dictate this.  Even on this journey I have known some level of distress, although they have eased it for now.

       Thank you for your kindnesses toward me, and for reminding me that I might have known the fulfillment of marriage had the chances of my life been different.

                                   Yours with much regard,
                                   Frodo Baggins
                                  
       Narcissa looked at this letter for some time, looking at the familiar signature which had been affixed at the end.  Finally she looked up at the two who shared the table with her.

       “Have you read this?” she asked.

       They shook their heads.  Brendilac Brandybuck said, “No, although he indicated in the codicil that he would ask you in his final letter to you if you would accept the role of independent guardian for these two until they come of age.”  

       She nodded, then sighed as she carefully folded the letter and slipped it into her reticule.  At last she said, “I will accept this, for his sake.”

       Oridon looked relieved, while Brendilac smiled broadly.  “That is good,” the banker of discretion indicated.  “I think you will find them very charming and interesting.  Certainly they are well behaved and polite, if at times willful--willful as only Tooks and, recently, the Bagginses appear to have become.”

       Suddenly, Narcissa found herself smiling at this description.  “Willful, are they?  That is a laugh, considering how willful he could be.”

*******

       Ivy looked up as Narcissa returned to the smial.  “You look thoughtful.  What happened?”

       Narcissa sat down opposite her mother.  She slowly opened her reticule and drew out the letter she had received that day.  “I just received one more letter--from Frodo.”

       Her mother looked shocked.  “But I thought he left the Shire last fall.”

       “He did,” she answered, “but he apparently wrote one last letter to me as he was leaving,”  She looked at the letter she held.  “It appears that he had two younger cousins who still have the Baggins name, and he has asked me to serve as one of their guardians until they come of age.”  She held the letter out to her mother, who took and read it. 

       “Are you going to accept?” Ivy asked when she was done.

       Narcissa nodded.  “I already have.  I’m not completely certain why, but I have.”  She looked at the ring she wore, the one that had belonged to Primula.  “It’s little enough, Mum, that he ever asked of me.”

       “Why hasn’t anyone heard of these two before?”

       Her daughter shrugged.  “I suppose I will find out.”

       Ivy gave Narcissa a long, searching look.  “It isn’t going to just reawaken the pain again, is it?”

       Narcissa rose and went to the window.  “The pain has never really gone away, Mum,” she finally said.  “I’m living with it--after all, what choice do I have?  Perhaps this will, in some way, help it.”

       “It’s possible,” Ivy said.  “I’d once thought you and he might marry, and I would have been very glad had it happened.”  She looked once again at the letter, refolded it and set in in the center of the table.  “Why did they wait this long to give you this?”

       “He apparently asked that they wait until I’d had a chance to--recover from the shock.  I knew he wasn’t well, Mum.  I saw him at the Free Fair, and I was able to talk to Sam a bit, and Sam was already--accepting that he was probably dying.  Certainly that’s in line with what--what he wrote there.”  She sighed.  “He had a letter from the King, and it sounded, from the way the King worded it, as if he knew about the offer, and hoped he would accept it.  Or, that’s the way it seems now that--now that I know where he chose to go.”

       She turned to her mother.  “Could you imagine leaving Middle Earth, Mum?  Going with the Elves and Bilbo to Elvenhome to live for the rest of ones life?”

       Ivy shook her head.  “If he was dying anyway, though, it’s as well he did, I would think.  Whatever happened to the Travelers out there in the outer world, it hurt them all, and changed them all as well.”  She looked again at the letter.  “I wonder, though,” she continued, “what he did to earn that gift.”

       Narcissa came back to the table and looked down at the letter also.  “I suppose that, in time, I will find out just what.”

Summers’ Progress

       Narcissa, who’d never been further than Michel Delving in her life, now looked at driving alone to Westhall.  Ordo Goodbody had offered to drive with her, but she refused his company, although she did accept his directions.  She arrived late in the day and took a room at the inn and enjoyed a light supper, then went to bed.

       She had come to the dining room to have breakfast when the two she’d seen at Daisy and Griffo’s hole approached her table, and she nodded to them in invitation to join her.  The lass set her brother’s hand on the back of a chair, then sat down herself in one of the remaining two that sat by the table.  Fosco pulled the chair from the table and sat down, then scooted it closer to the table himself.  Narcissa looked on him with interest.

       “Your vision is--” she began, but he interrupted her.

       “I’m almost blind,” he said.  “Although I can read things and see things clearly when they are here by me close.”

       “Oh, I see.”  Narcissa sipped at the tea she’d been brought.

       “Gander told us you were coming and should have arrived last night, so we decided to meet you at breakfast.  We can afford to pay for our own, by the way,” the lass said.  The server approached, and she and her brother each ordered a substantial second breakfast, and then, once she was gone, the lass continued, “Your name is Narcissa?”

       “Yes, Narcissa Boffin.”

       “Our grandfather was Hugo Boffin of the Frogmorton Boffins,” Fosco said.

       “So I understand.  And your grandmother was Donnamira Took, daughter to Old Gerontius himself.”

       They nodded.  Narcissa examined them both.  Yes, they were Bagginses, Tooks, and Boffins rolled into one--no question.  Fosco again was wearing the studs that had been Frodo’s, and the lass--her name was Freesia?  No, Forsythia--yes, that was it--Forsythia wore the stickpin, which was a single star done in white crystals.

       “I never met your mother Emerald,” Narcissa continued.  “Do you remember her?”

       They nodded in an identical manner.  Forsythia smiled as she recounted, “We were, after all, six when she died.  She had very dark hair with a slight reddish tint, and eyes of a dark green with a blue ring about the outside of the colored part.  She was never plump as Mum is, was always rather slender.  Her hands were very white and always cool to touch.”

       Fosco considered.  “Yes, I remember that.  And she always smelled of carnations, it seemed.”

       “I see,” Narcissa said.  “I understand that Frodo sent you letters written while he was on his way?”

       “Yes,” Fosco said softly.  “We saw him leave with his friend Sam.  He was very pale, but sat his pony well--from what I could tell.”

       “It was a very, very nice pony, a gelding, I think, a lovely bay,” Narcissa added.  “You could tell it liked him, and was a quiet steed.”

       “I only saw Strider a couple times, but I agree, he is a nice pony.”

       “He named the pony after the King?” asked Fosco.

       “You know that the King was known as Strider in Bree?” Narcissa asked back.  At their solemn nods, she shook her own head.  “He does appear to have confided a good deal in you.”

       “It used to be he’d come here to Westhall two or three times a year, and we’d see him for a day and a half at a time at least.  The last two times we saw him, other than when we saw him at Michel Delving and when he rode away, were at the Free Fairs the last two years.  We talked to him in the Council Hole, by the great sideboard his father carved.”

       She considered.  After she’d seen him that last time at the Free Fair she’d herself gone to the Council Hole to the room reserved for Hobbitesses, where the lasses always gossiped and fixed their hair after the dancing.  And he’d been nearby talking to these two while she had sobbed her heart out.

       Forsythia asked, “How are you related?”

       “Frodo and you and I are all second cousins once removed on the Took side, for my father’s mother’s father was Isembold Took and his mother’s mother was Isembold’s younger sister Mirabella and yours was Donnamira.  My father’s father was your mother’s father’s second cousin twice removed.  Hugo was one of the Frogmorton Boffins; my grandfather Guido Boffin was born and raised in Hobbiton.”

       “Oh, I see.  How long did you know Frodo?”

       “From the day I was born.  That’s fifty years now.”

       There was quiet for a time, and the server brought them their breakfasts.  Finally, Fosco said quietly, “You were in love with him, weren’t you?”

       “Yes.”

       “I can hear it in your voice.”

       “I wasn’t the only one.”

       There seemed no answer to that one.  Finally Narcissa asked, “Where did you go last year?”

       “We went to Whitwell and Whitfurrow and Michel Delving and Tighfield.  Griffo had business dealings there, with other farmers and nurseries and suppliers of manure for his fields.”

       “I see.  Was it boring?”

       “I liked it,” Fosco said.  “We got to talk about planting and grafting and all.  Griffo has a wonderful orchard on part of his farm.  I love fruit trees.  I think I’d like to put an orchard here on Da’s farm some day.”

       Forsythia straightened.  “I prefer raising animals, myself.  I’d have rather visited dairies or pony farms.”

       “She loves ponies, and wants to raise them.  We only have Bet and Dot, who pull the plow and the harrow,” Fosco explained.

       “They’re not even ponies--they are oxen.”

       “You don’t even have a wagon?” asked Narcissa

       “Bet and Dot pull the wagon as well,” Forsythia said.

       “Da says they’re slow but dependable.  I don’t think he likes to go fast.”  Fosco took a bite of his bacon.

       The rest of breakfast they discussed the farm where the children had grown up, and then the one Narcissa’s dad and uncles had worked.  “Our cousin Rimbo works on it with Cousin Folco.  Folco loves working on the farm.  We have a few head of dairy cattle, three teams of ponies and one of oxen, and a good number of chickens; but mostly we raise root vegetables--potatoes, carrots, beets, turnips, parsnips, radishes.  Uncle Bilbo and later Frodo had shares in it.”

       “We raise mostly leaf vegetables,” Forsythia said.  “We also raise ladybugs and the types of wasps that kill caterpillars and cutter worms.”

       “That’s a good idea.”

       Fosco sighed, “Except the wasps will sometimes decide we are threatening their nests when we just didn’t realize they’d made new ones.  I hate being stung.”

       Once they were done eating, the twins offered to take Narcissa out to show her Westhall.  She found herself enjoying the small village, and loved walking through the fields with them.  The two had been raised working the land alongside their foster father, and obviously loved their home.  They’d grown up with the types of chores that needed to be done on the farm.  Yet they’d also been given a reasonable amount of freedom.

       The Baggins smial was comfortable.  “I come over once a week and air it out and dust it,” Forsythia explained.  “I’ve had to replace some of the cushions, but mostly things are fairly much as they were when we lived here before our mummy died.”

       Narcissa looked at the library with interest.  “I see several books that Frodo copied here,” she said.  “He both copied and bound them.  Uncle Bilbo taught him how.  He and Uncle Bilbo both loved giving books as presents.”  She spotted one that was familiar, and took it off the shelf.  “Oh, he gave you the copy of Joco and the Cornfield, did he?  Uncle Bilbo gave it to Frodo when he was tiny, then he sent it to me one year for Yule, and I gave it to Folco, who gave it to Merry, who gave it to Pippin, who gave it back to Frodo to find someone else to give it to.”

       They discussed their teacher from Tookland, an elderly Took named Orimbras whose father had been a nephew of the Old Took.  “His great love is the genealogy of the Took family,” Fosco said, “and he has us spending hours at a time copying out family trees.  But we do learn some odd things.  Two of the Old Took’s sons went off on adventures, and one never came back; and one of his brothers ended up settling in the Breelands, although he changed his name to Oversmial so as to not shame the family too much.  His name was Peregrin also, but I don’t think anyone ever called him Pippin. 

       “Orimbras is the first besides Iorhael to tell us much about the Sea Kings, though.  He has one of the books he says the Old Took put into the library that he received from Lord Elrond that tells about the founding of Númenor.  Iorhael had told us about how Lord Elrond’s brother was the Lord Elros and how he chose to become a mortal while his brother chose to live the life of the Elves, and the book tells how he led the chosen of the Edain to Atalantë and became their first king, Elros Tar-Minyatar.  The new King Aragorn Elessar is descended from him through Elendil the Tall and Isildur.  Iorhael loves the King Aragorn Elessar.”

       “Yes, I know,” Narcissa said.  “So do the others.  You mention his name to Pippin, and he just straightens up as if he were getting ready to start his duty, which I understand is to stand on guard before the King’s throne itself.  He is quite proud of the Lord Aragorn.”

       “I wonder what he looks like?” Forsythia said.

       Narcissa sat quietly for a moment, then said, “Just a moment,” and opened her reticule.  Carefully she pulled out a tooled leather folder and handed it to the lass. 

       Forsythia looked at it, carefully opened it, and examined the picture.  “This is the King?” she asked, raising her eyes to Narcissa’s.

       “Yes.  Frodo sent it to me as he was preparing to leave.  He’d shown it to me once before.  He always carried it with him, that and the first gold coin struck of the King’s coinage.”  Narcissa watched as at last Forsythia handed the picture to Fosco, who looked at it out of the side of one of his eyes, smiling as he examined it.  “My dad knew him before he was King, when he was still just the leader of the Rangers of Arnor.  Strider and some of the other Rangers would escort him when he drove or rode alone from the Brandywine Bridge to Bree and back.  My dad loved to hear him sing, and he said he was an excellent teller of tales as well.  That is one skill he shares with Frodo.”

       “We miss Iorhael,” Fosco said as he reluctantly closed the folder and returned it to Narcissa.  “We saw him leave, but didn’t have the chance to say goodbye to him.”

       “Yes, I know.”  Narcissa sat quietly, opened the folder and looked at the picture herself.  “He seems to have preferred just slipping away.”

       They discussed where they would like to go this summer, which parts of the Shire they would wish to see, and it was decided they would go to the Southfarthing this time.  Narcissa thought of her cousins whom she could count on offering the three of them hospitality, and said she would start the planning.

       At last they left the smial and Fosco locked the door behind them, and the three of them walked back to the Gravelly’s farm.  Lilac didn’t appear any too happy to meet her, but did politely invite her to share elevenses with them, which Narcissa accepted.  Talk at the table was focused mainly on the various Boffin relatives the twins shared with Narcissa.  Afterwards she accompanied them around the farm to watch them do their chores, and assisted in cleaning Bet and Dot’s stalls.  Finally, just before luncheon she bade them goodbye and went back to the inn.

*******

       At the Free Fair Fosco hung about the dancing ground, and when the Husbandmen’s Dance started Narcissa, watching his alert posture and the way he had his head tilted, was reminded of the interest Frodo had shown for this, and the wager he’d won from Isumbard and Lotho.  There was a place in the lines of the gentlehobbits who performed the dance that was empty, there between Isumbard and Reginard and in front of Folco Boffin, and Narcissa realized suddenly that this place was there in honor of Frodo, that these three intended to see that the Shire remembered his skill and grace.  She was grateful to them, although she found herself with tears slipping from her eyes.

       It was Sam Gamgee who sat on the ale barrel that year, and the tale he told was of the trip through the Mines of Moria by the Fellowship of the Ring.  It was a tale none had ever heard, and all sat in rapt attention.  Narcissa had never heard of the Fellowship of the Ring before, and wondered where on his journey Sam had heard the tale--until she heard him speak familiar names--Strider, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, Merry, Pippin.  He didn’t mention Frodo by name, she realized, and he spoke of another Man besides Strider named Boromir.  He barely mentioned himself at all, but it was plain he’d been part of it, she realized.

       Merry and Pippin had come upon the tale in progress as Sam reached the part where they slept in the guard room.  “There was a chamber where all allowed as they’d feel more comfortable sleeping as it was more cozy and protected feeling and all.  Two of the Hobbits wanted to rush right in and find the most comfortable places to settle, but was held back by the others, who had more experience in adventures.  Good thing as they did, for when Gandalf entered and the light at the end of his staff filled the room, they could see as there was an open well there--had they gone rushing in it’s like as not one or the other would still be falling to this day, waiting for the splash or the splat at the bottom.

       “That open well fascinated Pippin Took, and he wouldn’t take his eyes off it.  Finally he found a loose shard of stone, and when no one was looking....”

       Narcissa found herself looking at Merry and Pippin, and saw that Pippin’s face was red with embarrassment while Merry was stifling his laughter.  Yes, this had happened, and it was indeed Pippin who had dropped the stone.  Then after describing the sound it made as it finally hit bottom and the startlement it caused, Sam paused, then described the tapping of the hammer in the distance.  He was leaning forward, and the children and those adults who were listening were leaning forward as well, all intent on the story, aware of the fear and consternation this tapping had caused in those who were within the chamber.  All were in sympathy with the young Hobbit who had to stand the first watch as penance for indulging his curiosity in this way, and were relieved when Gandalf sent him to bed early, unable to sleep himself.

       But it was the part about the chamber where Balin’s tomb had been found that caught at their hearts.  Sam’s expression had become solemn, and he looked into the distance of his own memory to describe what he remembered, the terror of knowing they were going to be attacked by orcs in a moment, the sweat as they clutched their weapons which they barely knew how to handle at that point.  Then, the moment when the first of the enemy burst through the doorway, the chaos as they found themselves fighting for survival.

       “It’s hard to describe what its like when you realize that this piece of metal as you’re holding onto so tight is what stands between you and death, that these aren’t any as you could reason with or even wish a good day to.  They was coming to kill those who was within that chamber, and they already knew how to do this, probably had lots of experience.  Suddenly the practice Boromir made us do just clicked, and we was using them swords as they was intended to be used, and we was killing orcs, protecting ourselves and each other.

       “Only one as didn’t actually kill any of the orcs was the Ringbearer, although he managed to stick Sting into the foot of the cave troll as they’d brought with them--not that it seemed to lame him much if any.  The rest was busy, Legolas with bow and white knife, Gimli with his axe, Strider and Boromir and Gandalf with their long swords.  Anduril was a flame of steel, shining in the light of the torches as we’d dropped as Strider killed orc after orc after orc.  Both Sting and Glamdring, the sword as Gandalf carried, what he’d found long ago in the mountain trolls’ den near Rivendell, glowed blue with the light as was put into them to shine with when enemies was near, and Gandalf was using both staff and sword against the enemy.  When we could us Hobbits was throwing stones, but now and then we had to use our swords.  Merry and Pippin was magnificent, while Boromir fought like six warriors all by hisself.  All did as we could to stand between them and the Ringbearer--but we was beat off; and suddenly an orc thrust a spear at him, took him right in his chest, and we thought as he was dead as he fell....”

       He spoke of one of the group scooping the Ringbearer from the floor of the chamber, the retreat down the east stair, Gandalf remaining behind to try to put a closing spell on the door, the startlement of all when suddenly the Ringbearer spoke and allowed as he was still alive after all, Strider’s insistence that the spear ought to have skewered him like a wild boar....

       Then they were running before the threat of the shadow and the flame--the dark flames of an ancient demon, freed from his prison under the mountain by the singleminded pursuit of mithril by the Dwarves who had carved Moria from the stone of the mountain itself.  When he described the stand Gandalf made against the Balrog on the Bridge of Khazad-dum, no one else made a sound, and Narcissa saw that tears of remembered grief were pouring down Merry and Pippin’s faces. 

       “He lifted both staff and sword, cried out, ‘You shall not pass!’ and brought them down on the bridge afore him, the might of his will shining through him.  The Balrog spread its wings of shadow like smoke and seemed to fill the chamber--it stepped forward, and the dark fires that filled it shone around it with an eldritch light, and it shifted its weight--and the bridge broke apart, just there afore where Gandalf stood, and the Balrog fell--fell into the abyss, the shadow of it engulfing all, the flames startled with its fear and fury.  It swung its whip as it fell, and the tip caught the ankle of Gandalf, caught him off guard, dragged him off the bridge, released him but too late.  Gandalf held on for a moment, cried, ‘Fly, you fools!’ and--and he fell.”

       He bowed his head and was silent for some time.  Pippin’s eyes were squeezed shut, but he stood straight, his hand on the hilt of the sword he wore.  Merry’s hands were wringing his cloak, his tears still shining on his cheeks, his jaw clenched with the pain of the memories.  Finally Sam continued, but softly.  “We fled, Boromir and Aragorn making certain as we followed Gandalf’s last command.  We fled up the stairs to the gate, out onto the mountainside, and there we stood under the light of day, finally having a moment of safety to take stock of our loss, our grief, the knowledge the greatest force for good as was in Middle Earth at the time, was gone.  We lay on the ground, clutched at one another in our grief, sat on the stones and wept, walked off alone in shock and horror and loss.  The Ringbearer stood alone, his grief more than he could bear, more than he could speak of. 

       “But we couldn’t stay there, and Strider commanded us to stand up, move off, afore all the orcs in the Misty Mountains came out to attack us.  We headed down the mountain slope, headed for the safety of the Golden Wood of Lothlorien, the realm of the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn.  Only when we found ourselves by the water of Nimrodel did we stop again, and we learned the mystery of as how the Ringbearer survived the spear thrust at him--under his clothes he wore the mithril shirt old Mr. Bilbo had brought back from the Lonely Mountain when he helped the Dwarves win back their old realm from Smaug the Dragon.  No way could the spear pierce that.  We give thanks the old Hobbit had thought of this protection for the Ringbearer, and that he’d agreed to wear it.

       “Then we moved on, for we still wasn’t completely out of danger.”

       Narcissa saw the nods of acknowledgment from Merry and Pippin.  Sam stood up then, gave a brief bow, scooped up his daughter Elanor from where she sat before him, and the story for the day was over.

       The Fellowship of the Ring--they were from that Fellowship, he and Merry and Pippin--and that left--that left Frodo--Frodo Baggins--as the Ringbearer.  Suddenly a great deal of what he and Pippin and the rest had said and not said over the past three and a half years made horrible sense.  Narcissa looked to where Forsythia and Fosco Baggins stood, and saw both faces were almost as pale as had been the face of their cousin.

       Shortly after, Narcissa sat down near where Sam was sitting in the ale tent with little Elanor beside him, just as Merry, Pippin, and Merry’s new wife Estella approached and joined them.  Sam glanced to the side to see who had come to share the table, gave a slight nod, then looked back at his hands, which sat on the table in front of his mug of ale.

       “I was a bit surprised to find you’d chosen to tell about the quest, Sam,” Pippin said gently.

       “Thank Ted Sandyman.”

       “Sandyman?  How did he lead to this story being told?”

       Sam gave a snort, reached out and took his mug and took a fairly decent drink from it, then set it down again, folding his hands once more.  “This morning, just after we got here, he was telling stories of the Time of Troubles, how awful it was for those as lived in Hobbiton, so close to Lotho and Sharkey once he came, and how many was so close to starving there.”

       Merry’s eyebrows raised.  “Ted Sandyman was bragging about how bad he had it then?  The same grimy but well-fed soul we found propping up the walls of the new mill, pleased as a pony in new clover to be allowed to polish wheels and cogs where his father had been miller in his own right?”  His snort of derision was louder than Sam’s had been.

       Sam looked up at him from under his eyebrows.  “Yup--that’s the one, him and his horn to call for the bullies to save him from a mere tonguelashing.  Anyway, there he was telling as how bad it was and implying that he was among the worst off, a course, and then he sees me.  So, he says, really loud and impressive, ‘Course, there’s some hereabouts now as don’t know as how bad things can get.’  Imagine, him trying to let on as how we had no idea of what real terror is.”

       “I’d have liked to see what he’d have done in three days’ journey being waylaid across Rohan by Saruman’s Uruk-hai,” Pippin said, shaking his head.  

       Sam gave a humorless laugh.  “Imagine him if he’d been approached by one of them Nazgul?  Don’t think he’d of been up to stabbing one of them behind the knee to save the Lady Éowyn.”  At a noise he looked up, then said, “Sorry, Mr. Merry, didn’t mean to start the numbness again.”

       Merry was rubbing at his hand and wrist, his face twisted in remembered pain.  “It’s all right, Sam.”  After a moment he said, “I’d have loved to see him facing that spider you fought.”

       Sam nodded.  They were quiet again, the three of them.  Finally Pippin said quietly, “He certainly wouldn’t have lasted an hour carrying It into Mordor.  It would have driven him crazy or to putting It on before he got out of sight of the orc tower where you rescued Frodo.  Much less making it all that way on crumbled lembas and what little water you found.” 

       Again Sam nodded, not taking his eyes from his folded hands.  Finally he said, “It’s the terrible weight of the thing as I member most.  How he bore It I don’t know, especially there at the end.  He was that close to dying, he were so very weak.”  Narcissa saw a tear land on the table by his arm.  After a moment he said, “The grown ups don’t want to listen or know, but the bairns, they’ll know, have some idea at least.”  He looked up at Pippin’s eyes.  “They’ll know what was give up that they might be safe now.  They’ll have some idea of what true courage and dedication is.”

       Estella reached across the table, laid her hand on Sam’s, and he looked up at her, still weeping silently, but obviously grateful.

*******

       The trip through the Southfarthing was to start the next day, so the Gravellies had brought baggage with them in the cart they’d hired to make the trip to Michel Delving in, and the twins transferred it from that cart to the small carriage lent to Narcissa by Griffo and Daisy.  Lilac looked resentful but resigned, and when Forsythia and Fosco kissed her and Emro goodbye she was fighting down her tears.  At last she and Emro turned away, mounted their own pony cart and left for Westhall while the twins climbed up on the box of the carriage with Narcissa and she coaxed their team  into movement, headed back to her home in Overhill for the night.

       The visit south proved more interesting than Narcissa had anticipated.  They visited several of the pipeweed plantations and farms, a couple of vineyards, three farms where they bred ponies, and one where they bred prize beef cattle.  The twins were fascinated with everything they saw.  The farmers they met found the interest shown by these young tweens flattering, and their wives found their courtesy and willingness to help however they could during their stays endearing.  That they knew how to work and would assist as necessary brought them respect, and their ability to discuss many topics and dance well made them popular at the parties they found themselves attending.  When one evening Fosco admitted he had even learned to dance the Husbandmen’s dance from his cousin Frodo Baggins, Beslo Hornblower, who was their host at the time, became excited. 

       “That’s right--as Bagginses you are related to Frodo, aren’t you?”  At their nod of assent, he asked, “Want to dance it with us now?  We have about three in the room who dance it regularly at the Free Fair.”

       Fosco was surprised, but agreed to stand with the others, and came forward as the musicians who were playing for the dancing struck up the introduction, and Fosco set his hands on his hips....

       Narcissa seemed to see a similar form when a young Hobbit, but twenty years old, stood up with Isumbard and Reginard and Ferdibrand Took, Lotho Sackville-Baggins, Brendilac Brandybuck, and several others behind the ale tent at the Free Fair, remembered that only two made it through the entire seven rounds, and only one without a single stumble or error, remembered the look of pleasure and triumph at the end--not triumph he’d won the wager, but triumph that he’d danced the dance.  Again a few tears slipped free, but she was smiling with pride--remembered pride for Frodo and current pride for his young cousin as once again a young Baggins performed all seven rounds with grace and competence.

       At the end the entire gathering was applauding wildly, and Fosco seemed to have to shake himself back to the present, and then blushed to accept the praise, handclasps, and claps to the back of those present.

       “You’ll be up there yourself next year if I have anything to say about it all,” Beslo promised.  “Frodo taught you himself, then?”  At Fosco’s nod, he smiled broadly.  “Don’t know why I thought to question it, for you’re as good as he ever was, as good as both Frodo and old Bilbo as well.  Frodo’s own dad taught him when he was but a lad, and Drogo was certainly up there until he died.  Remember seeing him when I was a lad.  Never understood why his brother Dudo wouldn’t join in, too.  Saw him dance it once when he was visiting down here in Pipestown a year before he married Camellia.  Just as good as his brother, he was; but I guess he felt dancing it alongside the others would be sort of competition or something.”

       Afterwards as they were going to their rooms for the night, Fosco whispered to Narcissa, “I can do something my dad did!  Oh, I’m so glad!”

       Forsythia hugged him proudly before she and Narcissa went into the room they shared, and Fosco cheerfully slipped into his own room.

Tales for Bairns

       They decided that the next summer they would visit the Northfarthing, and again Narcissa found herself thinking of cousins who might be willing to host them during their visit.  She drove them back into Westhall, the three laughing and joking, and she dropped them off at the door to the Gravellies’ farmhouse, telling Emro how much of a pleasure it had been to accompany them on the trip and how proud he and Lilac could be of their behavior.  He seemed embarrassed, but nodded his thanks, and saw them into the house.  He didn’t think to offer her any hospitality, and with some surprise she drove to the inn to stay the night.

       During their monthly visits with Daisy and Griffo the twins took to spending one day with her, and they would time this for Mersdays, for on Mersdays Sam Gamgee was taking to sitting in the common where Frodo used to sit, and was telling stories to the children, stories about Gondor and Arnor, mostly.  He told one time of the fight between the Dúnedain of the North and the Witchking of Angmar, of the death of Arvedui and the fleeing of his forces across the Shire, heading for the safety of the Havens of Mithlond, telling how the Hobbits of the Shire had assisted them in fleeing the Nazgul’s forces.

       “What does Nazgul mean?” asked young Beredith Chubbs when the story was at last over.

       “The Nazgul were the Ringwraiths, those kings of Men who accepted the Rings of Power intended for Men, the Rings as was forged in Eregion by the folks of Celebrimbor under the teaching of Annatar, the one they thought of as the Lord of Gifts.  What none of them knew was that Annatar was but Sauron the Deceiver and Accursed in disguise.  He taught the making of Rings of Power to the Elven smiths of Eregion, but did so intending to betray them all.  When the Nine for Men and the Seven for the Dwarves was done, he left them, secretly returned to Mordor and to his own forge in the Sammath Naur, the Chamber of Fire as was his own Place within Orodruin, the fire mountain, the volcano known as Mount Doom, there in the heart of Mordor.  That was when he forged his own Ring, the Great Ring of Power intended to rule all others forged through the teaching he’d given to Celebrimbor and his folks.

       “After Annatar left Eregion, Celebrimbor set out to make the Rings of Power for the Elven lords, giving two to Gil-galad, the lord of Gondolin, and one to the Lady Galadriel, who came from Aman itself, the eldest and wisest of all of Elvenkind in all of Middle Earth.  These were the Rings of Water, of Fire, and of Air.  I suppose he intended to do a fourth, the Ring of Earth, as well, and perhaps for hisself to wear; but they was betrayed by Sauron hisself afore it could be made.  Realizing the betrayal as Sauron uttered the enchantment by which he poured so much of his own power and hatred and essence into that plain-looking gold Ring as he’d forged, those as had received the Elven Rings took them off and hid them, refusing to wear and use them as long as Sauron wore his, refusing to become his slaves and further his dupes.

       “Furious at being found out and at the refusal of the Elves to let themselves be controlled and betrayed further by him, Sauron set out for Eregion to demand the remaining Rings of Power from Celebrimbor.  When the Elven lord refused to give them over, Sauron made war on him and his land, and finally prevailed against him.  The Lady Galadriel and her husband, the Lord Celeborn, were given safe passage with many refugees through the Dwarf Kingdom of Khazad-dum, of Moria, to the other side of the Misty Mountains, the Eastern side, looking down on the vale of the Great River Anduin.  But Celebrimbor and many of his folk died at the hands of Sauron and his forces, and at last Sauron entered in and took the six Dwarf Rings as he could find and the Nine intended for Men.  Then he looked for those as looked apt to his hand to gift them to.

       “Those who received the Nine all fell to Sauron’s own power.  They couldn’t die fully while they wore his gifts, but neither could they continue to live properly forever, so they passed into the Shadow world and become wraiths, horrible wraiths neither properly alive nor dead, until the destruction of Sauron’s own Ring finally released the eight as was left.”

       “What happened to the ninth?” asked Pando Proudfoot.

       “Meriadoc Brandybuck, Esquire to the King of Rohan, and the Lady Éowyn of Rohan stabbed him afore the walls of Minas Tirith.  It was said no Man could kill him.  No one said anything about the ability of a Hobbit and a woman.  Even as far away as we was at the time, Mr. Frodo and me felt the moment of relief Middle Earth knew as that one died, and the slaves of Mordor was whispering of it in shock and dismay.”  He thought for a moment.  “That one used to be the Witchking of Angmar, afore he fled south after killing Arvedui and the coming of the forces of Gondor finally broke his army and power in the north.  Reckon Arvedui and those of our folk as aided his widow and heir to escape feel right honored to see one of ours helping to finally rid the world of Arda of him at the last.  And the smith of Arthedain who forged the blade which Merry used, he’d of been right proud of its ending.”

       “Why did the blade end then?” asked Pando.

       Sam gave him a sad but proud stare.  “No blade could survive what cut into the undead flesh of one of them.  Mr. Merry never named his sword, and we don’t know if the one as carried it afore ever did, not that it was a sword for him--only a long knife in the hands of one of the tall Men of the Dúnedain.  When it was made, however, the smith of Arthedain as forged it inscribed it with rune spells of curses aimed at the Witchking of Angmar and his forces.  When Merry stabbed the Lord of the Nazgul behind the knee, the blade burned away, he said, like cordwood.  When the Lady Éowyn cut into where the thing’s neck ought to of been, its black crown went rolling across the field, and her sword also burned away.  Their arms went numb, both that of the Lady and of Merry.  She fell unconscious almost on the spot, in grief and horror at the feelings that filled her and the loss of her uncle, the Lord King Théoden, as was hurt to the death when the coming of the Nazgul made his horse to fall on him, crushing his body.”

       “But Merry has a sword now,” Pando pointed out.

       “Yes, and it’s a proud blade, it is.  It was commissioned for him at the request of the Lord King Éomer as became king of Rohan after his Lord uncle died.  The smith as wrought it for him wasn’t of either Rohan or Gondor, strictly speaking--he’d come north from Harad long afore the war, and he’d accept no pay for the making of it.  Don’t know as exactly what the runes as he put on it say, but they are intended, he told us, to proclaim the honor of him as for whom it was made and to work for the good and honor of whoever carries it from now on.  He’s not named it as yet, for a name is usually given a sword after it’s proven itself in battle; and even Merry hardly holds what was done here as a battle, as important as it is for us.  For one as fought in the Battle of the Pelennor and saw his sworn Lord fall in honor and who faced the terror of the Witchking of Angmar and saw his end, it’s hard to consider the Battle of Bywater as quite enough to name a sword for.”

       “Did you ever kill anyone?” asked Pando.

       Sam shrugged.  “I killed at least one orc in Moria, and I certainly hurt old Shelob, the great spider as guarded the tunnel in the Pass of Cirith Ungol.  Don’t know as I killed her, though.  The orcs as I faced in the tower there, one got away and the other tripped over the ladder head and fell and broke his own neck, so didn’t have the chance to kill either of them myself, though the Powers know as I wanted to.

       “But my job wasn’t to kill, not particularly.  My job was to help Mr. Frodo to do what had to be done that we all might have the chance to remain living free.  And that’s what I did, doing my best to hold his hope so he could have it again after.

       “When you are fighting evil, you don’t just fight with swords.”

       The children, realizing at last Sam was done, rose and began dispersing.  Narcissa noted Ted Sandyman standing on the edge of the common, looking at Sam with a mixed expression.

       Ted worked now as a common laborer.  He’d sold the mill on the Water to Lotho full willingly, and the replacement of the original water-driven mill wasn’t yet complete, and would not return to him in any case.  One of his distant cousins, a Goold from Hardbottle, was providing the new millstones and was helping to pay for the building of the mill now being erected.  He’d be the new miller for those who lived here around the region of the Hill.  Ted had collaborated fully with Lotho, his Big Men, and later with Sharkey; he’d never been liked in Hobbiton for his petty and bullying nature, and now hardly anyone would give him the time of day.  At the Free Fair he’d almost accused Sam of running away from the Shire before the Time of Troubles; but what Sam had just said indicated that the Travelers had known much worse than what they’d found here on their return.  Certainly what he’d just said indicated Ted’s own claims of having survived terrors were nothing compared to what Merry, Pippin, Frodo, and Sam himself had survived.

       Narcissa found herself glad Ted had heard all this.  Insufferable git, she thought.

********

       The following summer at the Free Fair Fosco Baggins stepped into the empty space Isumbard, Reginard, and Folco had left, and they were so surprised to see one who so resembled Frodo taking that spot that they said nothing and didn’t think to make another empty space.  Somehow none of them was surprised with the young tween did the full seven rounds without a single error or stumble, and that he wasn’t even winded after, although his own look of pleasure and triumph was different from that Frodo had shown.  He stepped off the grounds, turned as a young lass called out “Here, Fosco,” and joined what was plainly his sister and Narcissa Boffin, approached Emro and Lilac Gravelly of Westhall.  Only then did they realize that this tween was also nearly blind, as he took his sister’s elbow.

       “Who was that?” asked Reginard Took of Narcissa, who’d lagged somewhat behind.

       “It’s our second cousin Fosco Baggins, son of Dudo Baggins and Emerald Boffin,” she answered.

       “Emerald Boffin?  You mean, Hugo and Donnamira’s child?”

       “Yes, that’s the one.”

       “When did she marry Dudo?”

       “A few years after Camellia died and he moved to Westhall.”

       “But when was he born?”

       “A year and a half after Bilbo’s last Party, just a few weeks before Dudo died.  And the lass with him is his twin sister.”

       “Twins?!  Did Frodo know about them?”

       She gave an exasperated snort.  “Of course he did.  He was family head for the Bagginses, after all.  Who do you think taught Fosco how to dance the Husbandmen’s Dance other than his own cousin?”

*******

       The story Sam told that day was of the meeting with Strider.

       “For four as had never been out of the Shire afore, the first time as we saw an inn designed for Men was a bit on the shocking side.  We walked in and felt overwhelmed.  Men are, for the most part, so very tall.  They towered over us, making us feel small and vulnerable.

       “Barliman Butterbur, the innkeeper, was fairspoken, but much given to constant chatter and bustle, trying to watch all sides at once and to anticipate the wants and needs of all.  As such he was constantly being distracted, and his mind full of a million details at the same time.

       “Gandalf had warned Frodo not to use his right name, as that was known to the Enemy, so he was to call hisself Mr. Underhill.  So, once we’d eaten in the private parlor as we was given and three of us went off to look into the common room, that was how he was introduced to the folk of Bree as was in the Prancing Pony that evening.”

       A few of those adults listening nodded at the description given of Butterbur and the inn and the common pleasantries there, for there were a few who’d been to Bree in the past.  They laughed at the idea of someone of the Shire thinking to write a book, and nodded as Sam described the friendliness of the Hobbits of Bree.

       “But in the corner sat an especially tall figure, cloaked and hooded in a stained green cloak, smoking his pipe, watching us, especially Frodo, with interest.  He was a sinister figure, he was, sinister and dark.  I pointed him out to Frodo, who asked Butterbur about him.  ‘He’s a Ranger from out of the Wild,’ we was told.  ‘Don’t know as what his right name is, but around here he’s known as Strider.’

       “Strider.  What he was to become to us we had no idea then, but at the time he simply frightened us.  Well, we thought, we won’t have no need to deal with him.

       “Oh, was we wrong!"

       The ones listening were laughing as the conversations with the Hobbits from Bree were described, as they each insisted on telling their stories right there and then or sought to give Frodo a list of folks who could tell him great tales, beginning with Barliman here.  “It was as if they all expected him to pull out book and quill and ink right then and there and produce this book right on the spot, it was.  Folks seem to have no idea as to what writing a book entails, they don’t.”

       “How do you know what it’s like?” asked one of those sitting there.

       “I watched when Mr. Frodo finally wrote his book, after all, and I’ve tried my own hand at writing, just to see what it’s like, mind you.”

       Looking at his expression, however, Narcissa Boffin was certain that there was a good deal more to the reason Samwise Gamgee had begun writing then simple curiosity about the process.  He, however, was going on to speak of other things.  He described the moment the local Hobbits had finally tired of waiting to see the promised book appear before their eyes, and Frodo, embarrassed, slipped away to the side of the room and found himself being summoned by the mysterious Strider, who clearly wanted to speak with him, but who suddenly became aware that Pippin was discussing things that ought not to be said while Frodo carried what he had in his pocket.

       At that Sam became quiet for several minutes.  Finally, he said, “It’s odd how things can move from one person and place to another.  Sometimes it’s as if a thing could have a will of its own.  But when a thing does have a will of its own, it can be frightening.”  He looked around his audience coolly, as if gauging their ability to understand.  Finally he gave a small nod, and continued.

       “There are those here as have heard the story of the making of the Rings of Power.  Sauron in disguise went to the greatest Elven smith then in Middle Earth and offered to teach him the ways of making such things, skills he hisself learned when he was still faithful to the Valar and served under their own smith.  His plan was now simple enough--have the Elves do the work and others was like to trust the Rings as they made; then he’d make one more Ring, spelled to command the rest.  He’d wear his Ring, they’d wear theirs, he’d see their hearts and thoughts and command them, and all would come under his sway.  But it wasn’t so easy as that, or so he found.

       “At last the day came when he lost that Ring, when his enemies finally brought him down, although it cost the greatest of the Kings of Men and Elves for that to happen.  Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand and took It as his own--save it is more likely the Ring took him instead.  Then when Isildur sought to use It to escape from orcs, It changed Its size, as It could do, and slipped from his finger and revealed him to the orcs as had been following his scent, and he was shot with arrows.  I suppose the Ring thought one of them would see It and pick It up and bring It back to where Sauron could find it once his power was sufficiently restored he could reclaim It again, but instead It found Itself at the bottom of a river where nothing more interesting than fish saw It for the longest time.

       “Then a fishing Stoor found It, and his own cousin saw It in his hand, there where he pulled hisself out of the River where he’d fallen in and seen It in the mud and brought It out, and Sméagol killed his cousin and took the Ring for hisself, then hid in the caves of the Misty Mountains with It for almost five hundred years.

       “But once the Ring realized Its master was almost ready to try again for ultimate power and It began to awaken again, It realized as long as It remained with him, Gollum, as he was now called, would never leave where he was and wouldn’t carry It back to Sauron.  So It abandoned him one day.  Only no orc or goblin found It.  Instead It was found by a Hobbit as had gotten lost escaping goblins, and Bilbo Baggins carried It away and brought It here, here to the Shire, in his pocket.

       “Only one holder of the Ring ever give it up voluntarily--Bilbo Baggins.”

       Pippin Took gave Sam a distinct look at that, which Sam studiously ignored.  Narcissa wondered what wasn’t being said this time.

       “Of course, he needed just a little help to let It go, but he did it and walked off away from the Shire, feeling suddenly free after over sixty years of carrying It.  And so It came to Frodo Baggins, who never wore It--not till one day in the Old Forest, and then a second time, this time totally by the Ring’s will, there in the Inn of the Prancing Pony in Bree.  Hearing Pippin starting to say things as oughtn’t to be said right then, Frodo climbed up on a table and begun a speech, and they thought as he was drunk.  ‘A song!  A tale!  A dance!’ the crowd demanded, so he begun a comic song as old Mr. Bilbo had written, and when he was done they begged him to repeat it.  So he did, and he begun to dance on the table, and then It betrayed him.  He’d put his right hand in his pocket, and stepped to the side, and the table fell.  Did he suddenly lose his step, or did the Ring suddenly change weight?  I’m here to tell you It could do such, for It’s done just that more than once.  In Mordor It felt as if It weighed heavier and heavier the further in as we went.

       “Whatever the cause, the table fell, and Frodo fell, and as he fell, It slipped Itself onto his finger and he went invisible.  And there were there in the common room those as had been set to watch for any hint the Ringbearer had come their way.  No better way to announce Its presence then making someone go invisible, after all.  The honest folk was confused and frightened; those of us as knew what it was he carried was terrified; the ones set to watch was triumphant and went to call their masters.

       “Frodo crawled away to a corner and took It off, furious and terrified at what It had done, for he certainly hadn’t wanted to do such a thing.  And Strider saw him, told him they needed a long talk and soon, and told him to get out of sight as quickly as he could.  But then Butterbur was there to find out what had caused this stir, and at last he indicated that arguing about what had and hadn’t been seen was foolish, and we slipped off alone, we hoped, to our room.  Only Strider was there with us, sitting in the corner and demanding to speak with Frodo.

       “He wanted to be our guide--this grim looking stranger, this very tall Man with an ancient sheath for an ancient sword at his side, this one who was telling us to trust no one--trust no one but still trust him?  Well, I thought, if we was to trust no one, then we ought to start by not trusting him, particular as it appeared he knew precisely what It was as sat in Frodo’s pocket.  He’d been told to be on watch for a Baggins using the name of Underhill, had he?  Only one knew as Frodo was supposed to use that name, and he wasn’t there.  Where was old Gandalf, and how did this odd, rough looking soul know about Gandalf telling Frodo to use that name?

       “And how came it he shone with the same Light as my Master?  I could see that, and was took aback, I was, for no one as ought to do that save Frodo Baggins.  Yet here was this one as was called Strider, this Ranger from the Wild, this one as we’d been told not to trust by Butterbur and who’d told us to trust no one, and he held the same Light in him, and I was shocked.

       “As he spoke, his speech was changing.  At first he spoke as one would expect of a rough stranger, his voice as rough as his looks.  But slowly as he forgot his disguise and he responded to my Master’s Light, it become smoother, more that of a well educated soul, more that of one who is intended to speak and others do, who asks and others answer, who tells and others listen.  There was music in his voice, as even when he was uncertain there was yet the grace of the dancer in my Master’s step.  And as they spoke the Light of each flared, grew stronger and more distinct.  Mr. Pippin and me, we was fascinated, and terrified.

       “But Mr. Merry wasn’t there, and we realized as he’d had time to go out and sniff the air as he’d indicated he’d do many times over.  Where could he be?

       “Then there was another knock at the door, and it was Butterbur, and in his hand was a letter.  He was sorry, he told us, but he’d been asked to keep out an eye for a Hobbit of the Shire as would be coming to Bree calling hisself Underhill, but whose real name was Frodo Baggins.  He had been asked to help such a one as well as he could, for he’d been warned this one would be most like running from danger into even greater danger.  All his responsibilities had knocked the memory of that almost clear out of his head, what with one thing and another, and only now had he remembered those words and the request as had come with them, the request to forward a letter to the Shire, a request made at the beginning of summer, and here it was late September.  For he’d found no one headed for the Shire to entrust the letter to, he hadn’t and now he was taking the chance that this one as had come to his inn that night calling hisself Underhill was the Frodo Baggins he’d been asked to watch for....

       “Who was it as had left the letter with him?  Well, it was the wizard Gandalf it was, and Butterbur was certain as he’d be changed into a toad in the garden for his lapse of memory, or perhaps something worse.  Frodo was that put out, he took the letter and opened it.  And  Butterbur was muttering about how there was folks about as had been asking about Bagginses, and that the one called Strider had been demanding to see Mr. Underhill, he had been.  And where was the fourth of their company, that Mr. Brandybuck?  Well, if it didn’t appear as this party of innocents from the Shire as needed a keeper....”

       Sam was smiling, shaking his head with the memories, looking into the distance of time, seeing it all again.  And Merry and Pippin, who sat nearby, had identical smiles on their own faces. 

       “And Strider, hisself both thoroughly disgusted and yet wanting to laugh at the situation come forward from the corner where he’d sat hisself, and said Strider was here after all, and Butterbur would of saved all a great deal of trouble and his tables and crockery a good deal of damage had he let him down the corridor to speak with us earlier.  Butterbur retreated, he did, promising to send Bob and Nob out to seek Mr. Merry, shaking his head that we was now in worse danger than ever, if we took up with this woodsman from the wild.

       “The letter was straightforward enough--word had come to Gandalf as already the Enemy had sent out his darkest servants to seek the Shire and Bagginses, and we was to leave the Shire as soon as possible and not wait for the birthday as had been planned.  On the way we was to keep watch for one as called hisself Strider and whose real name was Aragorn, and we could trust him, we could, for he knew our business and it concerned him closely anyway.  And there was the worry that somehow Butterbur might just get distracted and forget to send this letter, and the threat that if he did he’d be toast, the realization Butterbur had the memory of a lumber room--thing wanted never to be found. 

       “And at the end of the letter was a poem, advising us that not all that is gold does glitter, and not all as wanders is lost.  Frodo read that, looked up at Strider, and demanded to know as why he hadn’t just told us he was Gandalf’s friend.  So if he didn’t just start quoting the same poem as was in the letter!

       “How was we to know as this was the real Strider? I demanded.  How was we to know he wasn’t a brigand as had killed the real one and had taken his clothes?

       “He laughed at me, he did.  Had he wanted the Ring, he told us, he could of taken it much sooner and without all this talk--and he stood up over me and I was pulling at the sword as I’d been given in the Barrowdowns, wishing I knew how to actually use the thing.  But then he backed down and his voice and his face was sad.  Oh, he was the real Strider, he told us, and that poem went with him as Aragorn son of Arathorn.  And he unhooked his sheath from his belt, pulled the hilt of his sword out to show us the blade was broken, then spilt out the rest of the blade onto the table.

       “I’d not read that much about the end of the Second Age and beginning of the Third Age, so had no idea what that broken blade meant--not then.  I’ve read up on it since, though.  But if I was puzzled by him afore, now I was flat confused.  He was out wandering the wilds with a broken sword?  What in Middle Earth was this about?  Mr. Frodo, though, he was beginning to understand, for what I hadn’t read he had, either in his own studies or in the copying as he’d done for old Mr. Bilbo.  He knew there was one sword which was broken as was important, important enough those as cared for it would keep it just as it was, until the day it was time to reforge it.  He knew the story of Narsil, and how the broken blade had been used to relieve the hand of Sauron hisself of that as sat now in his pocket.

       “One last time those two, the tall, spare Man and the Hobbit as was a scholar, looked to one another’s eyes, and their Lights both shone together again; and I realized with a rising and a sinking of my heart that we was going to follow this one to whatever destination as he’d chosen for us.

       “How was I to fully realize I’d just been introduced to him as was to become our King, after all?”

       Again, the story was plainly over, as Sam stood up and bowed to the crowd of children and their parents, and his daughter followed after him as he walked away.      

       Again Pippin and Merry joined him in the ale tent, and Narcissa Boffin sat nearby where she could hear.  Pippin sat and shook his head.  “Only one gave up the Ring?  You know that’s not true, Sam Gamgee, and you know the circumstances as to when it happened again.”

       Sam looked up at him solemnly.  “Are you so certain,” he said quietly, “that I give It up willingly?  True, when he snatched It away from me I didn’t snatch It right back.  But I was reluctant to give It back.  It was already working on me, It was.  It was beginning to know It could get at me through my pity for him, as It had realized It could get at him through his pity for others.  It was finally coming to grips with the minds of Hobbits, It was.”

       All three of them looked at one another, and gave identical sighs.

*******

       The next day Forsythia and Fosco were off to the Northfarthing with Narcissa where they moved among relatives who were of the North-Tooks for the most part.  So it was that they happened to be there on the day when Peregrin Took arrived at the home of Olimbard Took to bring a message sent by the Thain, and saw the meeting between Pippin and Diamond of Long Cleeves.

       Pippin wore his mail with the black surcoat over it, his sword suspended from a belt made of enameled links shaped like leaves.  His helmet hung from the pommel of his saddle on one side, his shield on the other.  He rode erect and proudly, and he could be heard singing as he approached the smial.  The song he sang was in a strange tongue, and was hauntingly beautiful.  Narcissa and the twins sat with many of the younger denizens of Long Cleeves in the front garden, enjoying tea in the open air while the youngest of the children turned cartwheels and somersaults on the lawn among the dogs, and the mothers and nurses watched all in between gossiping and taking stitches at whatever needlework each carried that day. 

       Diamond sat at the next table with her sisters Sapphire and Ruby and her closest cousins Elsbeth and Lorilmae.  They’d been playing at shuttlecock much of the day, and their rackets sat beside their chairs as they sipped at tea cooled by ice chipped earlier in the afternoon from the store in the ice cellar.  There was a lake below the hill into which the long smial had been cut where this was cut in the depths of winter each year, and the ice cellar at Long Cleeves was considered a marvel throughout the Shire.  As they heard the singing coming nearer, all craned their heads toward the track leading to the smial, saw the shining form, silver embroidered Tree on his chest, riding toward them, looking like a figure out of an ancient tale.

       Pippin stopped Jewel at the beginning of the walk, looked down at the assembled young folk and bowed his head.  “Is Master Olimbard within?” he asked.

       The children had stopped in their tumbling and looked up at him with their mouths open in surprise while the teens and tweens seemed to be equally impressed with the vision before them.  Finally Diamond stood, realizing no one else was in any shape to answer, and gave a surprisingly deep yet mocking curtsey.  “Ah, Sir Knight,” she said, half mockingly, “yes, our dear grandfather is indeed within.  Will you dismount and accept our hospitality?”

       Pippin colored, then dismounted.  “Sorry,” he said, “but when I have to ride far within the Shire I prefer to be ready in case we find more of the brigands hiding in the wilder bits.  Also, as part of the message has to do with the King’s business, I felt I ought to dress the part.”

       Diamond shrugged.  He stood, holding onto the pony’s bridle, and examined her.  “Hello, Diamond,” he said.  “It’s been about six years, hasn’t it?  You have grown up to be a very lovely lass, you know.”  Then he realized he’d just said this in front of about every young Hobbit in Long Cleeves, and flushed again.

       “And you have gone from being woefully short to being the tallest individual I’ve ever seen,” she answered.  “Have problems finding clothes?”

       He shrugged.  “Have to have them made to order, I must admit.  Anyway, my da has forwarded a message from the Lord Steward Halladan as well as one he’s sent himself to your great grandfather, and I suppose I’d best deliver them.”

       She indicated to one of the older lads he ought to take Pippin’s pony, then turned coolly toward the open door and headed for the smial.  Pippin quickly slipped his saddlebags and a dispatch case over his shoulders and followed her inside.

       That night Pippin sat beside Olimbard at the high table, dressed now in a more common outfit of greens and golds.  Olimbard was questioning him on the intent of the proposed meeting to take place the following month in Michel Delving on what each family unit was willing to trade with the outer realm, and asking whether he ought to attend himself or if his second son Embilard who now worked most closely with the farms and the lime kilns and the shepherds ought to go in his stead.  Diamond sat toward the end of the table studiously ignoring their guest, who kept looking her way.

       Pippin stayed for three days and had several conferences with Olimbard and his sons and oldest grandsons; but it was plain he would like to have some time to spend with the younger Hobbits, particularly Diamond.  Narcissa was amused to see how he kept trying to bump into her, and how carefully Diamond was avoiding his attentions.

       The last evening, though, was Diamond’s birthday, and Pippin was invited to attend the party.  Olimbard had indicated to Diamond’s parents that Pippin was to sit at the head table with them and Diamond, which as Diamond was still pointedly ignoring him caused him great embarrassment.  When the gifts were passed out, Pippin unwrapped his to find a wooden flute which was rather battered looking.  Pippin, however, smiled to receive it, examined it carefully, then lifted it to his lips, gave a few tentative notes, and commented, “This is quite marvelous.  Do you mind if I try a tune on it?”

       No one could say no to that request, and he began to play.  He played a series of three songs, the first a shepherd’s tune quite familiar to many there, the second one which none recognized but which brought to mind starlight on water and leaves, and the third a dance tune all knew which set toes to tapping and hands to clapping after a time.  Diamond had turned to him during the first song with interest; her expression was surprised and rapt during the second, and by the third had become almost worshipful.  Narcissa was reminded how her own heart had been won by the grace and smile of Frodo Baggins; Diamond’s had now been won by the songs played on that flute.

       Pippin lowered it at last, smiling at it.  “It’s been a long time since I played a flute,” he commented.  “I used to play one on the farm and when I worked among the shepherds when I was approaching twenty.  Don’t know what happened to it.  But I don’t appear to have lost the knack.”

       Diamond looked at him, smiling.  “No,” she said, “you don’t.  That was very beautiful, you know.”

       He looked at her, startled to find himself finally receiving her attention, and said with a duck of his head, “Thank you.”

       “Where did you learn that second one?” asked Diamond’s mother.

       He was looking at the flute again, and his expression became thoughtful.  “The Elves were singing it as they went aboard the Grey Ship at Mithlond when Frodo left,” he said, finally.  “I don’t know all the words, but the melody is one I’ll never forget.  I think it was a hymn in honor of the Lord Ulmo.”  He fingered the holes on the flute for a moment.  “I suppose when I return to Minas Tirith I could ask the Lady Arwen about it.  I’m certain she must know it.  Probably Aragorn knows it as well.”

       “You are planning on leaving?” asked Sapphire.

       He looked up at her, surprised.  “Leaving?  You mean leaving the Shire for good?  Oh, no, never for good, or not in the foreseeable future.  But I am a Guard of the Citadel, and will go back to serve my duty from time to time, and will attend on the King when he comes north as well.”

       His expression was utterly serious, and all realized this was a statement of fact.  Diamond’s younger brother Micolo asked, “You mean you do know the King, then?”

       Pippin nodded.  “Yes, I do.  He confirmed my vows to the Lord Steward Denethor after his coronation, and commissioned me as a captain of the Guard, which was embarrassing.  I mean--I’m still not quite of age yet, and had only served for a little while.  I ought not to have been given such a rank so soon.  But the true Captain of the Guard not only accepts it, I found out he suggested it, and Aragorn gladly fulfilled the suggestion.”

       “You call the King by his first name?” asked Olimbard, impressed.

       Pippin colored again.  “Not when I’m on duty, of course.  But we did travel together for quite a while before it finally sank in he was meant to be the King.  While we were traveling we all just called each other by name.  No one bothered calling Boromir, for instance, Captain Boromir or Lord Boromir, both of which titles were his by right and achievement; and the only one who referred to Legolas as ‘my Lord Prince’ was Aragorn, and then only when he was particularly tired of hearing him bickering with Gimli, and Legolas’s father is King of Mirkwood.  The only one anyone called by title with any regularity was Frodo.”

       “Frodo?  You mean Frodo Baggins?” asked Diamond’s father.  “What title did he have?  What relevance would being family head for the Bagginses have outside the Shire?”

       Pippin looked again at his fingers on the flute.  “Family head for the Bagginses and Master of Bag End?  No, of course those have no relevance anywhere but here.  However, he earned several titles outside the Shire, and I do mean he earned them.  The one he’s known most by, however, is as the Ringbearer.  That’s what they called him by most of the time, and what he’s known as by more than know his name.”  Again he lifted his eyes and looked solemnly and proudly at Diamond’s parents.  “And I will tell you, I am proud to have been one of the Ringbearer’s companions on that journey.”  He looked back at Diamond.  “Thank you again, Diamond, for the flute.  I will truly treasure it.”

       This time it was Diamond of Long Cleeves who colored--with pleasure, Narcissa noted.

The King’s Sculptor

       Sancho Proudfoot, who had been the patriarch of Number Five on the Row, for the past eight years--not counting the Time of Troubles--for all he was only recently of age, looked at Cock Robin with disbelief.  “The King is sending what to the Shire?”

       “A sculptor.”

       “And what is a sculptor?” he asked.

       “Makes statues, great huge statues, for the King’s city.”

       “Why?” asked Ted Sandyman.

       Robin Smallburrow shrugged.  He hadn’t realized Ted was in the Green Dragon, or he’d not have given his news.  “Wants a monument made of the four Travelers.  Sending him here to see what they looks like.”

       “How’s he to do one of Frodo Baggins?” demanded Griffo Boffin.  “He’s not here in the Shire any more.”

       “Went sailing, sailing away with Sam’s Elves,” agreed Ted.

       Griffo looked sideways at the laborer.  Somehow the idea of being agreed with by the likes of Ted Sandyman made him uncomfortable.  Cock Robin eyed Ted with much the same feelings Griffo himself had.  “The letter says this sculptor has a gift to be able to make sculptures of the faces of those as ain’t here no more.”

       Moro Burrows, who’d married Sam Gamgee’s sister Daisy, asked, “When is he to come?”

       “They’re in Bree now.”

       “What does Sam think of this?”

       Robin shrugged.  “Not very happy about it, or so it seems.  Said the monument was a fool idea.”

       “Then why would he consider going along with it?”

       “I suppose for the King’s sake.  Certainly was happy enough when he recognized his seal and writing on the letter.”

       Folco Boffin stretched.  “Sam and Frodo both think the world of the King,” he commented.  “Both would do about anything for him, I think.”

       Sandyman snorted.  “And why do you think Baggins might of survived this long, even there among them Elves?” he asked.  “Saw him afore he left the Shire--stiff wind would of lifted him and blown him away.  On his last legs, he was.”

       All turned on him with openly expressed dislike in their eyes.  Folco examined him coldly.  “He was given the grace to go to the Undying Lands in the hope he would be able to finally receive the healing that could not come to him here in Middle Earth.  All swear he nearly gave his life for all of us, although I’m still not certain precisely what all was involved in what he did.  In that case, he certainly deserves whatever healing could be given him.”  Ted shrugged, but wisely kept his mouth shut after that.

       Folco soon started for home, stopping by his cousin Narcissa’s hole to share the news with her.  She nodded, but made no comment on it.  She was busy making a shawl for Forsythia for Yule.  “They coming to Griffo and Daisy’s place soon, then?” he asked.

       “No, for their mum has become quite ill.  I’ll go see them in a couple weeks’ time, probably, if we don’t get a heavy snow.”

       “Bear them my greetings.”

       Folco had met them at the Free Fair the last couple summers, when Fosco stood up among the menfolk to dance the Husbandmen’s dance.  Folco had been intrigued to meet these young cousins, and had watched after them with great interest.  When he learned that Frodo himself had asked that Narcissa serve as an independent guardian for them he was even more intrigued.  Her attitude of grief which had been on her since Frodo’s leaving had caused him concern, but it appeared to be at least somewhat relieved when she spoke of these young things.

       The twins had attended the meeting of family heads regarding trade which was held in Michel Delving in late August, and then had gone to Bree in early October for the general conference on mutual trade within Arnor and between Arnor and Gondor and Rohan.  Much attention was given to the representatives from the Shire, although almost all was given the Thain and Master and their sons and the Mayor; few paid much attention to the two younger Hobbits and the Hobbit lady who accompanied them, or the three Hobbit lawyers and two bankers of discretion that completed the party.  The Lord Steward with his great height, grey eyes, dark hair and beard, and courteous, competent, and watchful demeanor impressed the Shirefolk greatly, as did the five Dúnedain who attended him.  Merry and Pippin both personally greeted most of those who had
come to the conference by name and were given a good deal of respect in return, which underscored the fact that what they had told of their journeys was not exaggerated.  All stayed at the Prancing Pony overnight, whose proprietor seemed pleased if somewhat bemused to host them, although they did not spend much time there, meeting in a grange hall on the north side of the village.

*******

       Folco himself went to the Great Smial the day after he spoke to Narcissa, for he enjoyed spending time with his cousins there, now that Ferumbras was gone.  It was there that he met the sculptor from Gondor and his sister, and he accompanied them from Tuckborough back to Hobbiton and then stayed there at Bag End as a guest through Yule.

       Narcissa went to Westhall just a week after she spoke to Folco, and was concerned when she came back a week later.  Lilac Gravelly was definitely seriously ill, and Lyria Bottomly was obviously concerned when she spoke of her.  She spoke with Daisy and Griffo, and the three of them were all equally worried for the foster parents of their young kinsmen.  Narcissa had little time or thought to spare for a strange artisan from the land of Gondor.

       She saw Ruvemir and Miriel of Gondor at the Yule bonfire, but thought little enough about it.  They were certainly intriguing, with their odd bodies, the sculptor’s overly large hands and short beard, the straight hair of both, the odd clothing and the boots they wore.  With them was an extremely tall lad, but one, she heard tell, who was almost blind similar to what was true of Fosco.  Almost she went over to meet them, but at that moment others were about Sam and Rosie and their guests, and she thought better of it.

       The news that Folco had declared his love for the foreign mannikin lady Miriel of Gondor during Yule spread like wildfire throughout Hobbiton, Bywater, and Overhill; the news they were to be wed soon was received by all with surprise, amusement, and great interest.  Then came the news Folco was selling his home, and that he intended to go to Gondor with his new bride and live with her on her father’s farm.  Narcissa was shocked.  She received the invitation to the wedding, but chose instead to drive to Westhall to see Fosco and Forsythia, for their mum was still seriously ill and they refused to leave her side.

       One would think Lilac Gravelly would be reassured that the children loved her by their refusal to leave her while she was ill, but instead she seemed more anxious than ever to prove to herself that they cared for her.  Her demands for such reassurance became frustrating and even wearing.  She was anxious when Narcissa came, although she was also strangely comforted by this.  Narcissa did her best to make things comfortable for Lilac, but she found herself relieved when it was time again to return to Overhill.  She hugged the twins, gave her farewells to Emro and Lilac, who finally appeared strong enough to get out of bed, and drove away from the farm gladly.

       As she drove by the house where Folco had lived, she was sad to see it sitting there dark.  She would miss her cousin, and could not think how on earth he could even consider leaving the Shire, even for the sake of love.

       The next day she spent with Daisy and Griffo, who described the wedding to her.  Will Whitfoot had performed the marriage, and folk had come from all over the Shire to attend, many happy that at last Folco had found love, but many apparently out of curiosity about this mannikin lady and her odd brother who’d come so far to learn about four of their own.  The Master and the Thain had come also, she learned, along with many of their folk who appeared to have developed affection for the foreign guests.  The courtesy and respect the two had shown to all was much commented on, and the happiness Mistress Miriel had shown when approaching her bridegroom had satisfied the most hardened of Shire romantics.

       It was told that Master Ruvemir also was to marry soon after he returned to Gondor, that he had a love there among the daughters of Men.  Of those who had come to meet and know the two guests to the Shire, all spoke well of them, including Daisy and Griffo, and all expected that he would make a fine husband to whoever was lucky enough to have caught his regard.  Narcissa decided to reserve judgment.

*******

 The first letter arrived from Tharbad.

My dearest Cousin Narcissa,

       I write from Tharbad where we are having to stop for a time to have a wheel and axle replaced.  We stay with the wheelwright, who is a courteous Man, and he will accept no pay for his hospitality, although we have decided to give him more than he quoted for the repair of the coach in part as compensation.

       I am at times overwhelmed by the immensity of the lands outside the Shire, for now I have seen true mountains and valleys, and rivers to make the Brandywine appear a mere stream by comparison.  I’ve seen many Men now, the courteous and quiet Dúnedain, the bustling folk of Bree, the sullen and untrustworthy people of Dunworthy, and the industrious folk of Tharbad, who remind me very much of the folk of the Shire.

       The coach is mostly being driven by a Dwarf, Dorlin son of Dwalin, whom you may remember from visits to Bag End before Uncle Bilbo left the Shire.  We are accompanied by one of the Dúnedain, Eregiel son of Miringlor, who is a cousin to the King, and his dog Artos as well as a puppy who was gifted to young Ririon at Brandy Hall.

       Ririon, as with Fosco, is nearly blind.  He appears able to see light well enough, but as if he were seeing it through cloudy glass in most parts of his vision.  He wears a hat with a wide brim when outside, which he tells us helps to limit the glare and allow him to see what detail he can more easily.  He is quite a personable lad with a pleasant disposition, and is very gifted in his artistry.  He cannot seem to hold off from carving, and almost always has a piece of wood or stone or some clay in his hand as we travel, constantly shaping, whether it is a simple yet pleasing pattern or a complex and lovely figure.

       You may have heard that Pando Proudfoot joined the party headed south, for he has taken it into his head that he wishes to sculpt as well.  I’ve seen him working with stone and wood and do not see great signs of talent there, but when he works with clay he does wonderful shapes.  Certainly Ruvemir feels he will do well under the teaching of a friend who sculpts in clay and wax and does castings in metal.  This friend lives in Belfalas, which he tells me is far to the south in Gondor. 

       Ruvemir must be the most wonderful brother-in-love that one could ever hope to see.  He is very intelligent and courteous, and has boundless curiosity and enthusiasm for about everything.  I find myself constantly amazed at how much beauty and fascination he can find in what I see as commonplace objects.  He draws empty fields as they are, and you seem to see the promise of the crops which will grow there in the coming spring and summer.  He holds a fallen branch and can describe the grace of the tree from which it fell.  He sketches a child at play, and you seem to see in the resulting picture the graceful youth or maiden it will become.

       But it is in speaking with people he is most gifted, for I find one can confide almost anything to him and he can help to cut through the knots of pain and fear and anger and grief to find the heart of the matter, and then help to see it aright.  It was amazing to see the effects of his visit there at the Great Smial as he would ask about Frodo, and the pain would begin to fall away, the confusions loosened, and the love we all feel for him would become obvious.  He has himself developed a respect and level of affection for our lost cousin that equals any I’ve seen within the Shire.  Sam was rather suspicious of Ruvemir at the first, but by the time we saw him just before we left the Shire when he came to bid us his farewells at Brandy Hall he was as enthusiastic to see the memorial done as any of us, and his examination of the model Ruvemir has done was tender, and his respect for him beyond bounds.  What is more, Ruvemir has developed a love and respect for our people, and particularly for Sam Gamgee, that is quite moving.

       I cannot wait to meet our Lord King.  Eregiel, Miriel, Ruvemir, Ririon, and Dorlin all think so highly of him, and you’ve certainly seen how the faces of Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Sam always light up when just speaking of him. 

       As for my Miriel--oh, Narcissa, how I wish you’d met her and come to know her.  She is so different from anyone I have ever met, and yet I feel as if I’ve known her all our lives together.  She is very well read, and like her brother sees to the heart of the matter in an instant in almost any situation she faces.  She is more retiring than Ruvemir is--where he has always defied the world to accept him on his merits, she has until recently tended to hide from it somewhat.  

       I have learned that there are few Mannikins in the outer world, and that they are not actually a different race from Men as Hobbits are.  Instead, Mannikin is a descriptive word for those among Men who are born stunted in their growth.  Both the parents of Ruvemir and Miriel were normal in size for their kind, I am told, and both gifted in artistry.  Their mother was a designer and weaver of tapestries, while their father is a well-respected woodcarver.  Eventually Ririon will come under his tutelage as well as that of Ruvemir, for he appears to be equally good in carving wood and stone.  

       As children Miriel and Ruvemir were often teased and taunted and treated very badly as a result of their differences.  In many places, Ruvemir tells me, such children will be sold to troops of entertainers as an oddity and to be trained to tumble and so on to cause people to laugh.  Many are treated as children all throughout their lives, and it is not uncommon for them to be abused or ignored.  Miriel and Ruvemir were fortunate to be born to parents who accepted them as they are and who encouraged their intelligence and curiosity, and saw to it their artistry was trained fully.  Ruvemir has gone out into his land and has carved his figures wherever there is desire for them; Miriel stayed at home and did her embroidery and sewing, and has until now sent them out with her father to sell at the fairs and markets which he frequents.  Of course, he has always attended only the most exclusive of sales and markets, and both his work and hers have always brought the highest of prices.  But until now, few who have bought her work have known that it was wrought by one known as a Mannikin.

       Miriel is not beautiful in the way that beautiful lasses or ladies of the Shire are beautiful, or in the way that I’ve learned beautiful women among Men are beautiful--not beautiful in body, at least.  But her eyes would be beautiful in any race, as is true of her heart as well.  Never have I known such as she, and never had I thought to know such love as she has brought me.  I am so blessed, Narcissa, and I can only hope that you, too, will know such. one day.  Frodo would wish to see such, I know, for he cared for you deeply and desired your happiness and delight, even when he could not give you the love you desired.

       Please do not close yourself off completely now that he has gone.  He would never have wanted that.  Know that just as he had begun to realize just how deeply you loved him once his heart healed from Pearl, even so it may prove for you as well, and there is no betrayal in accepting it when it comes. 

       I am glad that, in his way, he has given you the experience of children through young Fosco and Forsythia, and that he, too, had sufficient through them and through his caring for so many so much younger than he, that he can appreciate how wonderful a father he would have been had his health allowed it.

        I will write again when we reach Gondor.

                                              Your cousin,
                                              Folco

       Narcissa sighed as she finished the letter.  Certainly in the last letter he’d written himself Frodo had wished her joy, but in the one he’d dictated to the Elven woman along the way he’d assumed she was never going to marry, or so it had appeared.  She remembered the last sight she’d had of him, his saddlebags over his shoulder as he’d left Will’s office at Michel Delving, his gaze already seeing other places, when he’d wished her joy.  For a second, as he’d said that, he was looking right at her, and she knew he meant it--he did wish her joy--a joy he could no longer feel.

       Is he healed now? she wondered.  Is he able to know joy now?  But, the only mortal in all of the Undying Lands, he can never marry now.  She thought about it--marriage and the raising of a family was the one joy totally lost to him--and the one he had always wanted more than anything else.  He might know deep friendships and beauty of a sort beyond telling here in the mortal lands, he might know accomplishment again and, she desperately hoped for him, the pleasure of painless movement, the glory of his stars, the ability to dance again--but he could never know the physical or emotional or spiritual joy of love of a wife or of ones own children.  She understood now that Frodo had taken the Enemy’s Ring all the way to Mount Doom in Mordor, that he’d given up all in order to do so, and it had cost him his ability to know physical and spiritual peace in Middle Earth, and had cost him forever the hope of family.

       She found herself pitying him--and without realizing it she stopped numbering herself among those who would never know that joy.

       In February the twins again came to visit their sister, and they indicated their mum was much better--or appeared to be, at least.  But during their next visit there came a message--Fendi Gravelly, Uncle Egro’s grandson, rode into Hobbiton on a lathered pony--their mum was took bad--real bad; and dropping all else they harnessed up the pony trap they’d rented and headed off back to Westhall accompanied by Narcissa.

       Lilac lay restless in her bed till she heard them come into the smial, and relaxed only when Forsythia and Folco stood beside her.  She held onto their hands tightly, smiling for the first time in days, they learned later.  “My bairns,” she whispered.  “You was sent to me, and I’ve been so glad....”

       She died during the night.

       Emro was shaken by his wife’s death, and seemed almost unaware of anything else for days.  Narcissa did her best to assist as she could, but didn’t believe that he even noticed.  She stayed for three weeks after the funeral and finally decided it was time to go home when Emro finally began to look at plowing the back fields.

       In late April Fosco and Forsythia came back to Hobbiton again, quiet and sad.  Emro was working the farm, but half-heartedly, they reported.  The two of them worked alongside him, but were glad to get away for a week.

*******

       The second and third letters arrived within a week of one another, just before Midsummer.

Dearest Cousin Narcissa,

       We have made it at last to Minas Tirith, save they now call it here by its original name, Minas Anor, the Tower of the Setting Sun.  It is the most amazing place I have ever heard tell of.  It is like a great tiered cake of a city built around a steep hill at a mountain’s foot, the White Mountains behind it and the Fields of the Pelennor before it.  You cannot believe it, not till you see it!

        We have seen so much--I have met Ents, the Rohirrim, their King and Queen, and at last the King Elessar and his Queen Arwen Undomiel.  Everything Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Sam have said of them is true.  Ruvemir showed the King the model for the monument and he was in tears of grief for Frodo; then Ruvemir told him of Sam’s circlet of honor from when he was made a Lord of the free peoples--he and Frodo were both given this honor--and how he’d found out Sam had let Elanor and Frodo-Lad teethe on it, and the King sat down on the floor and howled with laughter, clutching at his knees.  Everyone laughed with him--we couldn’t help it!  When he told that Sam had even checked with the Dwarves to make certain chewing on it wouldn’t hurt the children the King laughed the more.

       I’ve also seen Strider the Ranger, and I can’t think of a more implacable foe for anyone.  He is quite an amazing person.

       We are staying at the Inn of the King’s Head in the Second Circle of the city, and the room was designed by Pippin himself, they tell us.  It is so comfortable!  Ruvemir’s Elise serves here until she marries him, and she is indeed very beautiful and warm and, from what I can see, well worthy of his love and regard.

       The Lady Arwen will give birth soon, and Ruvemir works on his figures while we await the birth of the child and Ruvemir’s wedding, which will be in a few weeks on the High Day, here at the King’s Head.  

       I wish you were here, dearest cousin, and hope you will come to see it here one day.  The love the people of Gondor feel for the four Travelers, and particularly Frodo, is beyond belief.  Maybe you can bring your wards one day.  It would be a wonderful trip for them.

       Until I can see you again, I remain

                                       Your loving cousin,
                                       Folco

Oh, my beloved Narcissa,

       If only you could have been here for Ruvemir’s wedding.  It was quite the most moving marriage I have ever seen.  The King himself officiated, and his love for these two was quite obvious.  They actually bind the hands of those being wedded here, with a multicolored cord that represents all the different moods and happenings that will happen throughout married life.
 
       The Queen attended, also, carrying her daughter, who was born the Monday before the wedding.  Ruvemir was asked to be one of those who attended on and witnessed the birth, by the way, he thinks in place of Frodo.

       Tomorrow we leave for Lebennin where Miriel and I will live with their father Mardil the Carver.  He came to the city along with Ruvemir’s teacher Master Faragil for the wedding, and I must say I am impressed by my father-in-love.  He is so tall compared to his son and daughter, yet looks like both of them.  I only wish that their mother had lived so I could have met her as well.

       There will be war soon, I fear.  The King prepares to lead troops East to aid the people of Rhun against their enemies from further East, the Wainriders, so called from their practice of fighting from their wagons and from chariots.

       Until then, the people of Minas Tirith and Gondor rejoice in the presence of the King and the birth of the first child of King and Queen.

       Oh, and did I tell you yet I am to become a father--on the day we leave the city for Lebennin?  We are to foster two children orphaned when their family perished in a fire upon the Pelennor.  The King himself drew them from the fire and has seen to their burns.  They will go with us to the South to Master Mardil’s farm where I will live with my family by marriage. 
 
       Ruvemir works on the figures aided by Ririon and Pando and a borrowed apprentice, Celebgil son of Hirgon.  Ruvemir finds he enjoys working with the lad, who is apparently quite gifted in his own right.  The figure of Pippin is quite advanced, and he’s begun working on the figure of Merry as well.  The stone for Sam’s figure has known some rough cutting, and that for Frodo’s is being worked in a warehouse down in the First Circle--he says the surface layers are flawed, and it needs to be protected until he gets down further into the carving.  The King himself has been there to see some of the working for this, and he sang as Ruvemir worked.

       I find myself fascinated by our King.  In so many ways he reminds me of Frodo, as different as the two of them are.  I see now why Sam says that the two of them are like brothers.

       Please consider coming to Gondor, Narcissa.  Please do so.  You will find a great deal of pleasure here, I think.  And you do deserve it.

                                       All my love, 
                                       Folco

Visits with Tooks and Brandybucks

       At the Free Fair Fosco again danced with those performing the Husbandmen’s dance, and both he and Forsythia took part in the rest of the dancing as well.  Forsythia found herself partnered during the Springlering with Alumbard Took, a younger cousin of the Thain’s, and enjoyed herself thoroughly.

       Later in the day the children gathered around the ale barrels which had been carried out of the ale tent, where this year Meriadoc Brandybuck sat waiting for them.  “I understand,” he began, “that you are accustomed to hearing tales told here.  Well, it was suggested that since the tale to be told this time happened to me, I perhaps ought to tell it myself.  Not, of course, that I was the only one who took part, mind you--my young cousin Pippin was there, too.  However, as he was just married this morning, I regret to say he is more than a bit distracted at the moment, so it falls to me to tell it.  So, if I should make myself a bit more heroic sounding than I do him, we shan’t tell him, shall we?”

       The children giggled while those older lads and lasses and the adults who stood to listen laughed outright.

       “You know,” he said, his voice becoming more solemn, “that the one his folk called Sharkey sent his Big Men here to the Shire to help Lotho Pimple take it over, causing the Time of Troubles.  I’m not certain what all names Sharkey had, but the one he was best known by in the outer world was Saruman, Saruman the White.”  And so began the story of the descent of one sent to oppose the will of Sauron into madness, envy, and corruption.  He told of the coming of the Wizards, sent from the West to aid the free peoples to stand against Sauron’s will, the disappearance of the two Blue Wizards into the East, the calling of the White Council by the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien, the choice of Saruman over her suggestion as its chief, the appointment of Saruman as the White, of his growing but hidden jealousy of Gandalf the Grey, also known as Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, whose wisdom was deeper and who had the respect of those whose regard was worth having, moreso than did Saruman.

       The children listened with interest, and as Merry began to describe how Saruman began to envy and emulate the Dark Lord, they began to look at one another with knowing nods.  When he described the betrayal and imprisonment of Gandalf when Gandalf had come to him to ask for advice in how to direct the Ringbearer, their eyes bored into him.  When he told of the rescue by Gwaihir the Windlord they cheered.

       “The Fellowship of the Ring traveled down the Great River Anduin from Lothlorien in three small, light silver boats given us by the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel.  Eight of us traveled in those boats--Aragorn son of Arathorn, who had been introduced to us in Bree as Strider, who had been caretaker of the Sword that was Broken since he came of age at twenty--”

       “Twenty!” interrupted a young Sandybanks lad.  “You aren’t of age when you’re twenty!”

       “Not among Hobbits, but they do among Men, for Men come to adulthood sooner than Hobbits do, and also die at a younger age for the most part,” Merry explained.  “Not that this is likely to be true of our Lord Aragorn, however--he is not a common Man, after all, for he is the Dúnedan, the heir of the Sea Kings through Elendil and Isildur and their descendants.  The Dúnedain live often twice the time of common Men, and it is likely the Lord Aragorn will live to be over two hundred years of age, if he is not slain in battle. 

       “I was beginning to name those who rode in the boats down the River.  Our leader from the Bridge of Khazad-dum on had been Aragorn, who now carried the Sword Reforged, no longer called Narsil but named now Anduril, the Flame of the West.  With us was also Boromir son of Denethor, Captain of the Hosts of Gondor and Heir to the Lord Steward of Gondor as well.  Then there was the Elf Legolas, whose father Thranduil was King of the Elven Kingdom of Mirkwood, and the Dwarf Gimli son of Gloin of Erebor and the Iron Hills, craftsman and warrior of his people.  And there were the four Hobbits, Peregrin Took, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Samwise Gamgee, and the Ringbearer.  The ninth of our party, the Wizard Gandalf, known better in the Southlands as Mithrandir, was no longer with us, for he had fallen in Moria, dragged off the broken bridge of Khazad-dum by the whip of the Balrog.  We believed he had fallen to his death, which was true--and yet he was sent back by the Creator and the Valar to finish his task, which remained to bring all to stand against Sauron, to work and fight together that his will not be imposed on all of Middle Earth.

       “The chasm spanned by the Bridge was very, very deep, and long Wizard and Balrog fell, and as they fell they fought, until at last they fell into the deep underground lake at the bottom of the shaft.  They plunged through the water, and the Balrog sought to flee Gandalf, and found the Endless Stair to the top of Zirak-Zigal, as the Dwarves call it, where there stood a Dwarf tower atop the peak of the mountain.  There Wizard and Balrog fought long until at last Gandalf was able to cast the demon down to its final destruction.  However, the battle cost Gandalf all that was there in his mortal frame, and his spirit fled to the West until it was sent back, and his body awakened there in the snow atop the mountain.  

       “Again Gwaihir the Windlord found him newly awakened, and bore him to Lothlorien after we left it, and the Lord and Lady of that land rejoiced to know he was now returned and had been named by the Valar as the White in place of the fallen Wizard Saruman.  But this none of us in the Fellowship knew as yet. 

       “Aragorn was uncertain what path Gandalf had purposed to follow, whether to go to Gondor and its capitol of Minas Tirith, or to turn Southeast to Mordor that the Ringbearer might complete his task with our assistance, or if we were to split up and part go the one way and the rest the other.  Certainly Boromir had no intention of traveling East to Mordor at that time--his duty was to return to his city and again take command of the armies of Gondor.  Aragorn had thought to accompany him there, for the time was now come for the Heir of Isildur to proclaim himself openly; but with the fall of Gandalf he felt he must now accompany the Ringbearer and guard him as he might, so he felt honor-bound to go to Mordor with Frodo.”

       Now he described the breaking of the Fellowship, of the Ringbearer’s decision, in the wake of the threat by Boromir, to go alone to spare the others and to draw the Evil, he thought, away from them, and of the refusal of Sam to allow him to go on alone.  He told of the arrival of the army of Uruk-hai sent by Saruman, ordered to capture the Halflings and to slay the rest, of them finding only two Halflings on the slopes of Amon Hen, of their slaying of Boromir and the taking of Merry and Pippin prisoner with the intent to bring them not Southeast into Mordor but back West to Isengard at the Gap of Rohan.  He described the horrors of regaining consciousness to find oneself so tightly bound one could not move hands or legs properly, the stench of the orcs, the burning of their draught, the promised tortures recited by those who watched over them in the brief and infrequent moments of rest, the burning of the wound on his forehead when the salve was rubbed into it, the numbness that came on the minds of the two Hobbits as they were alternately hauled along like sacks of potatoes and made to run among their captors, constantly receiving lashes to motivate them to run longer and faster.  And he described the cleverness of Pippin, the ruse of the loops, the sacrifice of the Elven brooch, the leaving of clear footprints at the cost of a severe lashing, the leadership in the eventual escape.

       The assault by the Rohirrim under the command of Éomer brought another cheer, as did the escape by the Hobbits into Fangorn Forest.

       “Beyond the High Hay that marks the eastern borders of most of Buckland lies the Old Forest, whose trees are among the most ancient and most aware in all of Middle Earth; but the trees of Fangorn are even more aware and more limblithe; and they are guarded by the Ents, the great shepherds of the Trees.  Never had Pippin or I thought to meet them, not that we even knew of their existence within Middle Earth; but meet them we did.

       “The anger of the Ents was growing due to the increasing assaults on their trees as Saruman, dismissing the Ents from his thinking, sent his slaves, orcs and Men both, to cut down Fangorn Forest to feed his machines and furnaces.  The news that Saruman was also betraying the land of Rohan and that meant that he would need ever more fuel which would increase the attacks on their trees sparked the Ents to war against the Wizard.  The forest erupted, and Treebeard, the eldest of all the still-active Ents, carried us on his shoulders as he marched at the head of their line, South and West to the Gap of Rohan and the Ring of Isengard. 

       “It is amazing how poorly the minds of bullies and thieves work.  They threaten and take, and as long as those they threaten, steal from, and hurt allow the bullying to continue unimpeded, the bullies will convince themselves they are the strong ones.  When at last they push too far and the ones being abused and threatened retaliate, usually they are taken by surprise, for they take lack of action by others as signs of weakness.  Saruman proved he was not truly wise when he failed to even consider the fact that the Ents, whose existence he definitely was aware of, might fight back.  It was an amazing sight to see.

       “Saruman had sent off the total of his forces against the people of Rohan, leaving few of his servants, slaves, and orcs within the Ring of Isengard.  When the Ents began their assault they were taken totally by surprise.  In the end, the Ents prevailed, trapping Saruman alone in his tower, filling the vale surrounding it with water to hold him there.  And all this we saw, Pippin and I.

       “Then we heard the sound of hooves, and a white shape veiled in a grey cloak approached, and for the first time Pippin and I saw Gandalf returned, now Gandalf the White.  Treebeard agreed to keep Saruman penned within the Tower of Orthanc, and to put his agent Gríma Wormtongue with him should he come to report to his master; and Gandalf left again with the loan of a number of Huorns, the half-aware trees of Fangorn who accompanied the Ents to Isengard.”

       Briefly he told of the defeat of Saruman’s army at Helm’s Deep and the destruction of its remnants by the Huorns sent by Treebeard, then the arrival of the King of Rohan, his nephew Éomer, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf at Isengard.  He described the parley, and the decision to leave Saruman under the guard of the Ents.

       “The Ents declared they would hold Saruman prisoner; but when the Ring was destroyed and Sauron fell in Mordor, the Ents came to believe that Saruman was now powerless to cause further harm, and Treebeard allowed him to leave.  After the wedding of our Lord King Aragorn Elessar to the Lady Arwen Undomiel, we finally set out to return to the Shire, in company with most of the surviving Rangers from Arnor who had gone south to fight alongside their Lord Captain and Chieftain Aragorn, and the Elves of Lorien and Rivendell.  On the way we came upon Saruman, now ragged and beggarly, still followed by the craven remnant of Gríma Wormtongue, and we pitied them both, so far had they fallen.  I even gave Saruman some of my pipeweed, although all he did in return was to offend us, and particularly Frodo, who did nothing to cause anyone offense--unless it was to make certain that the Enemy’s Ring would be capable of tempting no one in the future.  No, all that Saruman would do was to offend us and to steal from me openly my pouch.  Frodo grieved for him, and we did not understand fully--not then, not until we saw Gandalf leaving Middle Earth--then and only then did I finally begin to understand the beginnings of the Wizards and their true nature, and then and only then did I begin to understand why Frodo had wished to allow time for Sharkey to find healing that perhaps he might have been able to return to his brethren. 

       “They would not hurry us more than necessary, and at the time again I did not understand fully why this was so, although I was loath to lose the fellowship of the Northern Dúnedain and that of the Elves, particularly the Lady Galadriel.  So it was that we returned October twenty-second, to find that Sharkey had gotten here before us and had had Lotho killed and buried and had ordered the destruction of as much of the beauty of the Shire as possible.  He looked on us and particularly on Frodo with hatred and satisfaction, and was angry and even unwillingly respectful when Frodo would not return evil for evil, when even then Frodo wished to give him the chance to heal and find himself again.  To spark respect in his heart was, in the depths to which he had sunk, the worst offense of them all, so he sought to strike out at Frodo and to kill him, only Frodo was still wearing the mithril shirt beneath his clothing, and the blow did him no real hurt, only snapped the blade of a good knife to no purpose.  And even then Frodo still offered him the gift of time to find forgiveness, and so it was to his own he offered his last offense, and it was poor Wormtongue who finally gave him what he desired--hatred, anger, and release.

       “I’d not realized that the immortals could truly find in life a great weariness, that they might themselves wish to be relieved of the burden of it in the end, but so it was with Saruman, who had been intended to know the most blessed of existences but who had lost that ability by coming to desire power instead.  And so it was he found the same end as did Sauron himself, but to a far smaller and more petty scale.  The Valar would receive neither back among themselves, and the last rising of their spirits was shivered to nothingness as in each case their seemings were blown apart by a West wind.”

       One of those sitting nearby was the Thain himself.  He looked at Merry and asked, “One thing I still don’t understand was why you didn’t return home the faster.”      

       Merry looked at him, his gaze sad but level.  “As I said, I didn’t fully understand then why, but I finally did when we reached the Grey Havens--for Frodo’s sake.  Until he embraced me in farewell I did not truly appreciate how ill he was, Uncle.  They sought always to take the way as easily as possible to avoid causing him stress.”

       The Thain looked down at his hands in consideration, then looked back at his nephew’s eyes with a small nod of understanding.  “I see,” he said quietly.  “And thank you for more fully explaining Sharkey’s nature to us.”

*******

       Narcissa this year took Forsythia and Fosco to the Great Smial and Brandy Hall, and then through much of the East Farthing.  At the Great Smial those who remembered Emerald Boffin with fondness and concern found themselves thrilled to meet her son and daughter, and the Thain was certainly glad to come to know them better at last.  He found his attention drawn back repeatedly to the resemblance between young Fosco and his cousin.  Eglantine had taken one look at him and automatically given him the room that had always housed Frodo when he came to visit.  And everyone seemed drawn to Forsythia, her obvious intelligence and good sense. 

       It had been years since the Thain had worked the land at the farm at Whitwell; now much came back to him as he found himself discussing the Gravelly farm in Westhall and Griffo’s in Overhill, both of which these two knew well.

       Ferdibrand Took found fascination in trying to understand Fosco’s vision.  “I had the chance to speak a good deal with Master Ruvemir’s ward Ririon while he was here.  He had good vision until last fall, when he developed the children’s pox, which appears to have scarred the front of his eye.  He was finding ways of cutting the glare by wearing brimmed hats which allowed him to see detail better, and I showed him how I’d begun using a walking stick to feel the ground in front of me so as to avoid tripping over items or stepping off into dips, and to find the harder way of the paths and roads.”

       Fosco considered this with interest.  “I see best over to my right side, and with my right eye.  I see almost nothing with my left eye.  I can read if I hold the writing near to my face.  I enjoy reading those books which Iorhael copied for Uncle Bilbo, for it is usually clear and sufficiently large I can make it out easily, but at the same time the letters sufficiently small I can see most of the word at a time.  Uncle Bilbo’s writing, on the other hand, is hard for me to make out.

       “I’d never thought of using a cane or a staff to feel the way before me.  Always I’ve walked with my sister or Mum or Da.  I’ll definitely have to consider it, for I can’t always lean on them, can I?

       “How did it feel for you to go from seeing normally to not seeing at all?”

       Isumbard found himself comparing lives and experiences with Narcissa Boffin, for both were the great grandchildren of Isembold Took, a generation further from the Old Took than the twins for all they were far older.  Narcissa found Pearl far different than she remembered, quieter, more approachable, less likely to convey that level of self-centeredness that had been so obvious when she was younger.  The marriage was a good one, and they were clearly devoted to one another on both sides.

       The third night of the stay Narcissa and Pearl sat in the Thain’s parlor after the rest had gone to bed, Pearl embroidering a waistcoat she said was intended for young Piper, Narcissa mending a given seam in Fosco’s trousers.  At last Narcissa asked the question that had bothered her for two and a half decades: “Why did you pull away from Frodo as you did, Pearl?”

       Pearl sighed, and put down her needle.  “First Sam, and now you,” she said.

       “Master Gamgee has asked you?” Narcissa asked, surprised.

       Pearl nodded.  “Not long after Frodo left the Shire, in fact.  I think he had his own suspicions and wished to see if they were accurate.  When I told him, he certainly nodded as if it were about what he’d expected.”  Narcissa waited.  Finally Pearl continued, “It was Lobelia--Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and her gossip.  Told me Frodo had a weak heart, and that he could die easily if a shock were to be great enough.  Told me our children could inherit it.  I talked to one of the healers at Brandy Hall, and he told me that it was true, that as a child Frodo had shown the signs of problems with his heart.  That was when I stopped listening.  We have enough Boffins in the family, after all, to know that weak hearts can be passed through families.”

       Narcissa nodded in her turn.  “Both my father and Folco’s certainly died suddenly from heart problems,” she commented.

       Pearl looked at her cousin.  “Yes, I know.  But as I said, I had stopped listening.  Last year a number of healers came here for a conference about the Healer’s Garden near the Three-Farthing Stone, the one commissioned by Frodo, and of course they began discussing Frodo himself and his condition there at the end.  Drolan Chubbs, whose family saw to the needs of Bilbo and Frodo for years, discussed the records his grandmother Laurel left in which she explained she’d examined Frodo extensively during the time he was so sick, there just after he went to live with Bilbo at Bag End, and she was convinced that he’d outgrown the whispering of his heart.  Several others discussed how often it is that children born with such manage to grow up strong and healthy.  Budgie Smallfoot said that he was indeed ill and suffering from failure of the heart at the end, but that considering how badly hurt he was during the quest, he was more amazed he’d survived at all.  Just the starvation Fredegar had been through had caused him to suffer seizures of his heart; and what he survived was nothing compared to what Frodo went through, from what he would admit to. 

       “I asked Pippin, and at last he started listing all Frodo had been through, and I began to understand why Budgie said what he did.”

       “What was it?”

       “Are you certain you really want to know, Narcissa?  It was very lengthy, and was quite brutal.”

       Narcissa did not hesitate.  “Yes, I want to know, Pearl.”

       “If you are certain.  The worst woundings were on October sixth, March thirteenth, and March twenty-fifth.  October sixth was two weeks after they left Bag End.  The Nazgul--the Black Riders--caught up with them in the wilds of Eriador, between Bree and Rivendell.  Five of the Nine circled the camp where they rested the night beneath Amon Sul or Weathertop, a hill which had once held a watchtower built by Elendil.  One of them stabbed Frodo with a Morgul blade, a knife with a brittle, bespelled blade, designed to break off in the wound.  The splinter was bespelled to work its way to the heart, at which time the victim would cease to live properly, but would become a wraith like them, but under their domination.  If Frodo had been as tall as a Man perhaps they would have finished the job that night, but instead the blade caught him high in the left shoulder, just below the collarbone.  The splinter appeared to have traveled more slowly in Frodo than in others, for he bore it for seventeen days.  They had to make two tries to get it out--the first time they had to stop--he was too weak, and Aragorn, who was assisting Lord Elrond, collapsed from weariness.  They had to wait a few more days for Frodo to strengthen before they tried again, and this time they got it out and melted the shard.  They told Sam, Merry, and Pippin it was almost to the heart itself, and had they waited even three hours more it is likely it would have been too late.  Although once it was out Frodo appeared to recover very rapidly, Merry was advised by Lord Elrond that Frodo would never truly recover from it, that the wound could not properly heal, not as long as Frodo remained in Middle Earth.  After that whenever the Nazgul came within sensing distance Frodo would clutch at it in pain; as time passed and their Master came closer and closer to his goal of total domination they became stronger and those in the Fellowship could sense their presence from further and further away.  Sam said that whenever one flew overhead as they approached Mordor it was the same--Frodo would relive the stabbing, again and again, he’d go pale, he’d break out in a sweat, and clutch at the wound.  The Ring Itself would work on him then, seeking to force him to put It on and reveal himself and It to them.  Sam said he often had to take hold of Frodo’s hands to help him fight It.

       “Exactly what happened on the thirteenth and the twenty-fifth I’m not certain, for they all choke up on it, still; except that the Ring was destroyed on the twenty-fifth, and somehow in the doing of it Frodo lost his finger.  I think my parents know, but even they just shake their heads, saying it was very bad.  Something wounded him on the back of the neck, and I know he was captured briefly, and he was tightly bound.  Sam found him and rescued him, I’m told.

       “After the Ring was destroyed, Sam was able to somehow bring Frodo away from the Mountain and onto a knoll of some kind, and they could talk for a moment, then they passed out, overwhelmed by the gases and heat and weakness.  Gandalf and the Eagles found them there.

       “Between times, they were both apparently beaten by orcs, but I’m not certain of the details.  It does appear, however, that Frodo was hurt worse than Sam--perhaps because he was weaker.  Another time Frodo was hit by a spear, only the mail shirt turned it.  Then one of the others in the Fellowship, the Lord Boromir, tried to take the Ring.  Much of the time Frodo was only a step from total exhaustion.  Both he and Sam fell repeatedly as they went through Mordor, and both had cuts where they fell or crawled over sharp stones.  And there was a deep scar, Uncle Saradoc says, around Frodo’s neck where the chain the Ring hung from cut into his shoulders and neck, for It became heavier as they went deeper into Mordor.  

       “There, I think that is it.  Pretty awful, isn’t it?”

       “How do they know what days these things happened on?”

       “The Men knew what day it was when the Ring went into the Fire because they were outside Mordor fighting Sauron’s army when It was destroyed, and suddenly all the orcs and trolls turned and ran away, and the Men in Sauron’s army found themselves abandoned.  All saw the Tower of Barad-dur collapse, and the shape of Sauron rear into the sky, where it was blown apart by a West Wind.  The earth itself opened up and swallowed up all other signs of Mordor’s might--the Black Gate, the Towers, much of the armies....  Pippin said it was the most amazing thing anyone could see, from what he was told.  He didn’t see that part, for he’d stabbed a troll which fell on him as it died, crushing him and a few others beneath its body.  Gimli finally found him and brought his broken body to Aragorn.  Gandalf apparently was able to work out when the other wounding happened from what Sam and Lord Faramir told him.

       “And on the anniversaries of those three days Frodo would have assaults of the memories, so strong it was as if he were reliving them.  And he could barely eat at all.”

       “Yes, he told me about that--and I could see it, too.  We shared a table in the Green Dragon, and all he could get down was half a pastie, a small mug of light ale, and a cup of tea.”

       “The few times he came here it was the same, not that Mum and Da were making it easy for him.  They were not wanting to really hear what happened, and every time anyone tried to tell them, they’d twist the questions and answers all around and drive them crazy.  No wonder Pippin had to move into the house in Crickhollow with Merry.  Merry’s folks were willing to believe them--what they could tell of it, at least--but they were then trying to baby Merry after.

       “All had horrible nightmares based on what they’d been through.  It was very hard on all of them.”

       “And,” Narcissa said quietly, “especially Frodo.”

       “Yes, exactly,” Pearl agreed.  Finally she added, “It is so odd to see these two now, so very like him and yet unlike him at the same time.”

       “I know.  It’s almost as if they were his children, you know.  But, then, they are his cousins, after all.”

       Pearl smiled.  “New cousins that no one knew he had--save Frodo himself--the sly Hobbit.”

       After a time Narcissa asked, “Do you regret having thrown Frodo over, Pearl?”

       Pearl considered for some moments.  “I’ve never stopped loving him, I think, but it’s not the same as what I know for Bard.  I can’t imagine now actually having married Frodo instead, and I know I’d have felt out of place at Bag End and in Hobbiton.  It would have felt terribly out-of-the-way, I think, being hours away from the Great Smial and my family.  To not have Pansy and Isumbrand, but to have other children instead?  And I know I’d have been mortified to have the neighbors in and have them discover Frodo and the children had filled the windowsills with jars of his water worms and boxes of caterpillars and leaves.”

       “But you grew up on a farm....”

       Pearl shrugged.  “Yes, I grew up on a farm, but I came of age here in the Great Smial.  I find I rather like feeling elegant more than I like raising chickens and milking cows.”

       Suddenly Narcissa found herself doing something she’d never in her wildest dreams have imagined--she was giggling along with Pearl Took.

       From the Great Smial they went to Budgeford, and then on to Buckland and Brandy Hall.  Always the three of them were greeted with courtesy and curiosity.  They were greeted at Brandy Hall by the Master and his wife and heir and heir’s wife, attended by Brendilac Brandybuck as well as the Master’s brother and closer cousins.

       “I understand,” Estella said once they’d been settled in their rooms in the guest wing and had returned to the library, “that you have just come from seeing my parents and my brother and Melilot.”

       “Yes,” Fosco replied, “and they send their greetings.  They all appear happy and well, and were very welcoming to us.”

       “It does feel very familiar,” Master Saradoc said, “welcoming a Baggins here--for our side of it, at least.  We’ve all seen you, after all, over the past two years dancing the Husbandmen’s Dance at the Free Fair.  I suppose Frodo himself taught you?”

       “Yes, he did.”

       “And Forsythia, you were fantastic in the Springlering.”

       She flushed slightly.  “Thank you, Master Saradoc.”

       “We are having a party in three days’ time, and I hope the two of you will join in the festivities.  How did you enjoy our jaunt out to Bree last year?”

       “It was most interesting,” Fosco said.  “The Gravellies were able to commit to a fair amount, but our Baggins family has little enough to trade now that there are so few of us--only four other males of the name throughout the Shire, one of them a babe in arms, his brother and grandfather, and Uncle Ponto and me.  But Forsythia and I were able meet some of those of whom Cousin Frodo had told us, and see how the Shire is now coming into awareness of the rest of Arnor and Gondor.”

       “What was your impression of the Lord Steward Halladan?”

       “He is a very courteous and intelligent individual, and I certainly wouldn’t wish to lie to him.  I have the feeling he’d see right through it.  And if he is the King’s cousin, I find myself wondering what the Lord Aragorn is like to meet in person.  Certainly Iorhael had only good things to say of him.”

       Merry smiled.  “He didn’t speak, then, of Strider’s tendency to insist we not indulge our sense of comfort or curiosity at the risk of safety?  Of how annoyed he’d become when Strider would ask Pippin to take on himself some duty which Frodo was certain was inappropriate to one not quite of age as yet?  Or when Strider would question the rest of us but not him when gathering information when a decision needed to be made?  Of course, when he got to that point Frodo was pretty ill, but it would still annoy him.”

       “No,” Forsythia said.  “He never spoke of things like that, but then after his return we saw a good deal less of him--he simply wasn’t up to traveling to Westhall.”

       “I know,” Mistress Esmeralda said, her eyes sad.  “The few times he came here it was almost more than he could do.”

       “I can imagine,” Fosco said.  “He was so weak when we saw him at the Free Fair that last time.  Is it true that Pando Proudfoot has gone to Gondor?”

       “You’ve met young Pando?”

       “Yes, in Hobbiton during one of our visits with Daisy and Griffo.  We met Pando and his sister Cyclamen.”

       “Yes, he’s gone to study working with clay.  Master Ruvemir appears to believe he is quite gifted.”

       “Which reminds me,” Merry said, “I intercepted a letter to you from Folco, Narcissa.”  He left the room, and returned shortly with a packet which he handed to her.  “Otherwise you’d not have received it until you returned home,” he said as she examined the address.

       The packet contained a lovely light shawl which was beautifully embroidered with flowers.  “Ah, Mistress Miriel’s work,” said Esmeralda as she received it to examine it.  “How wonderful.  Now almost all of us have samples of her embroidery.”

       Under the shawl she found a large folded leather frame containing a portrait of Folco and a second of the mannikin woman she’d seen at Yule.  Yes, she could see what Folco had meant about her lovely eyes, for they were that.  And no question both faces in the portraits appeared happy.  She examined them closely, then passed them around.  Under that was another of a woman, her eyes shining with delight, dressed as a bride with bridal wreath on her brow and a sheaf of flowers in her arms, in a beautifully embroidered cream-colored gown, her long hair loose around her shoulders.  With it was another portrait done by another hand of the mannikin Man himself, in a blue mantle over blue shirt and surcoat and black trousers, with a green wreath on his head, his face alight with joy.

       These were now being passed around, and Estella examined the portrait of Ruvemir and smiled.  “So, Mistress Miriel is able to do portraits as well as flowers and greenery.  This is an excellent depiction of Master Ruvemir, is it not, Merry?”

       Merry took it next and smiled.  “Oh, no question, my love.  So, finally we get to see the face of the Lady Elise.  How happy she appears.”

       Master Saradoc laughed.  “She’d best be happy, if she’s married to Master Ruvemir.  He’s a delight to know--there can be no dissension on that matter.”

       “I hope when they return north once the monument is done they will come here again,” Esmeralda said.  “Ah, yes, she’s a lovely thing indeed.  No wonder his face lit so when speaking of her.”

       There was one more portrait, of King, Queen, and infant daughter, the King seated holding the child, wife standing beside him, their faces alight with tenderness.

       “No question,” Narcissa said quietly as she looked at the picture of the Queen, “that she is of Elvish blood.”  She handed it to Brendilac.

       The lawyer examined it closely.  “Strong resemblance to the Elves who sang here that time.”

       Merry nodded.  “She is their sister, after all.  Lords Elladan and Elrohir are so deeply caring of her as well.  I am glad they were allowed to linger after their father’s going.”

       “Why do you suppose the Valar allowed that?” asked his wife.

       He shrugged.  “I suppose it must have been for Arwen’s sake,” he finally said as Brendilac handed the portrait to him.  “When the time comes for Aragorn to die at last, it will be quite a shock to her, I fear.  For all she’s embraced mortality, that’s going to be extremely hard for her to deal with, the loss of the one to whom she’s finally given her heart.”  He examined the infant.  “But it appears that the Lady Melian will be as beautiful as her mother and great grandmother.”

       “The Queen’s grandmother is still alive?” asked Forsythia.

       Merry smiled up at her.  “Alive?  Ah, but the Lady Galadriel has been alive for a very, very long time.  I’m so glad she was there at Frodo’s side when they left.  Her presence must have made it easier for him.  Plus, it would mean a good deal to him to be present at the time her banishment was finally officially over, to see her welcomed back to Aman at the last.  And she must have been delighted to be reunited not only with the kin she left behind when she came to Middle Earth, but with her daughter as well, and to see Celebrían reunited with her husband.”

       Under all was the letter.

Dearest Narcissa,

       It has been a time since I could write before.  We had more of an adventure traveling South to Lebennin than we’d thought to, for our party was being sought for, we learned, by parties intent on disrupting the peace between Gondor and Rhun.  I am told the King himself left the fighting in Rhun to go to Umbar with his cousin Hardorn to deal with the one at the heart of the problem, and I hope that the situation is at an end.  Now, if he can settle out the problems between Rhun and the Wainriders with as little bloodshed as possible, I think he will be happy.

       The farm here is beautiful, and the soil deep and rich.  I am already happy here, and Rupter, the herd bull, follows me about like a puppy.

       There are four dogs here now, a guard dog and one to give tongue when problems are about, Ririon’s dog Joy, who has learned to guard his steps for him, and now a small lapdog named Bella given to Miriel by Master Faragil as a wedding gift.  Bella is a small, fluffy dog with a warm and loving disposition who follows Miriel everywhere and gently abides the attention heaped on her by small Lanrion.

       Lorieth and Lanril are such lovely children, and appear to be very happy.  Lorieth has fallen in love with one of Uncle Bilbo’s songs, the one about “Around the corner there may wait / A standing stone or secret gate.”  She sings it often, and between her and Miriel and Elise on our way south made up a game in which we must imagine what stands behind the secret gate.  “When we open the secret gate we will see...” has become quite the game played here.  She and Ririon will play it by the hour as he is shaping one of his figures.  The object is to remember all the other items to be found there that have already been said, and to add one more.  Both have good heads for the game, and can get to quite lengthy lists before one or the other makes a mistake and must start over again.

       We are told that Ruvemir is finally working in earnest on the monument once more, although he’s been much distracted by his other new duties.  He’s now taken over the workshop of the former master for the apprentice Celebgil plus his apprentices and current commissions, said Master having been imprisoned for shocking improprieties.  Master Faragil has returned to the capitol, for it appears he is attracted to Mistress Idril, grandmother to Ruvemir’s wife Elise, and finds it difficult courting her by letter.  He is assisting with the workshop and the apprentices, allowing Ruvemir more time with the King’s commission.  As for my father-in-love, he, too, is pursuing a courtship, and with Elise’s mother who was widowed when Elise and her sister were small by an accident in the First Circle.  As for Dorieth, Elise’s sister--she has caught the interest of young Celebgil, and I would not be in the least surprised, once Celebgil has been accepted as a sculptor in his own right, to see the two of them wed.  It appears the entire family is drawn to those of artistic temperament.

       Anyway, the monument is progressing once more.  Will you and the twins consider coming for the unveiling when that time comes?  I hope you will, and I think you will find it very heartening.  I suspect that Merry, Pippin, Sam and their brides will be prevailed upon to come for it.  And believe me, Ruvemir will capture them for certain.  

       I send pictures so that all can see my bride and Ruvemir’s and the new Princess Melian.  She is a delightful infant, and is so well beloved by her parents.

       What is the name given to Sam and Rosie’s new child?  I am told the King has seen that it is a daughter.

       My love to all, and may the Valar protect and guide you ever.

                            Your cousin,
                            Folco

       Narcissa read this aloud, and all listened with interest.  “How would the King have seen that Sam and Rosie’s child is a daughter?” asked Esmeralda.

       Merry laughed.  “Probably through the use of one of the two Palantiri he has.  The last two remaining in Middle Earth, from what we know.  I suspect that after Melian was safely born he slipped away and checked to see whether or not Sam’s child had been born yet.  Or it might simply be the result of his or the Lady Arwen’s family gift of foresight.  Both are given to it, after all.”  

       Narcissa considered the letter that night.  Would she wish to go south to see  the unveiling when the time came?  Or would the pain of seeing Frodo’s image in stone be such that it would bring back the overwhelming feelings of loss she’d known?  She’d have to think on it, she decided.

Journey South

       “Go South?” objected Emro Gravelly.  “Absolutely not!”

       “But, Da--” Fosco began.

       “There is no way in Middle Earth I’d give my permission for that,” his foster father continued hotly.  “It’s bad enough you gadding all over the Shire visiting all these folk who never cared two pins for you while you were growing up....”

       “And whose fault was that?” Forsythia asked, her own anger equal to that of her foster father.  “It certainly wasn’t due to lack of family feeling, you know.  Now that they do know of us they pay us proper attention, at least.”

       “Do they indeed?  Are they truly interested in you, or in your inheritance?”

       The twins and Narcissa were all three shocked.  “Our inheritance?” Forsythia finally spluttered.  “What do they care for our inheritance?  Most of those who are related to us have more than enough themselves to keep them busy, and don’t care that much about what we might look to inherit, and particularly what is here in Westhall, as far out of the way as it is seen to be.  The farm here is our home and always has been, and we love it.  But it is not of much interest to anyone else but other Gravellies, just as Griffo’s and Daisy’s farm is mostly of interest only to other Boffins and us as their sister and brother.”

       Brendilac Brandybuck agreed.  “Those who have come to care for the twins have come to do so for Frodo’s and their own sake, certainly not because of any hint of any inheritance.”

       Emro didn’t look any too convinced, and pointedly ignored the lawyer.  “I still will not agree to you two leaving the Shire to go South.  I don’t like you going out of the Shire to begin with, no matter what your Cousin Frodo foresaw.  But, as your Mum and I agreed to it, there isn’t much we can do when folk go out here in Arnor.  But I’m not giving my permission to go to Gondor and that’s flat.  We have nothing down there.”

       “Our cousin Folco Boffin is down there, as you put it, as is Pando Proudfoot, who is another cousin,” Fosco pointed out.

       But no argument would sway Emro.

       As Narcissa and Brendilac started to leave, the twins walked out to the waiting cart with them.  “We want you to go, Narcissa,” Forsythia said.  “We want you to go and to come back and tell us about it.”

       Narcissa wouldn’t commit herself, but agreed she’d consider the project.

       As they drove away, Brendilac looked briefly back over his shoulder at the two dejected looking tweens waiting in the winter twilight.  “They’d give anything to go themselves,” he sighed.

       “I know,” Narcissa agreed.

       He continued, “But here he has every right to say no.”

       She nodded.  He drove her back to Overhill and dropped her off at her smial, wished her a happy Yule, and drove back toward the Road, heading East back to Buckland.  She watched after him, not really realizing how sad she was to see him go.

       She went into Hobbiton a couple days after her return to do some marketing, and heard sobbing as she walked past the Ivy Bush.  Following the sound of the crying, she walked around the inn to find young Cyclamen Proudfoot leaning against the building behind a bare lilac, her attitude one of abject grief.

       “Cyclamen, what is it?” she asked, reaching out and taking the lass into her arms.

       “Mum and Dad don’t want me to go to Minas Tirith!” the child managed to sob out.

       “Well, I can see their point,” Narcissa said.

       “But Pando’s going to come back up to the capitol for the unveiling of the monument, and I want so to see him again.  Oh, I want to see him, and I want to see the monument and the city as well.  I miss him so, Narcissa!  It’s been so long.”

       “What would it take to get them to give you permission, do you think?”

       “Someone to take care of me.  They can’t go now.  Dad is dying to go himself, really, but he can’t afford to.  He’s the only carter within twenty miles, and he already has jobs set for March and April.  Mum would go if Dad went, too, but wouldn’t think of going without him.  And they don’t want me to go without someone who would only think to care for me.  Of course, once we’re there I wouldn’t be alone, because Pando would be there for me, you know.  But on the way....”

       The word had come that the memorial to the four Travelers would be unveiled on the New Year for the outer world, which was March twenty-fifth.  Forsythia and Fosco couldn’t attend, not without Emro’s permission; but suddenly Narcissa found herself deciding she would see to it that Cyclamen got to go.  She knew how much Frodo had meant to the child, and had an idea of how much she already knew about Gondor from the stories she’d heard from Frodo, Sam Gamgee, and now her brother’s letters. 

       That night Narcissa considered all the reasons why she ought not to go to Gondor, and the next day she went to Number Five, New Row, and had a long talk with Angelica and Sancho Proudfoot.  The argument went on for hours, but at last they agreed, and Cyclamen was almost floating around the room in her delight.

       The next one to approach was Cousin Fredegar, who had let Merry know he would be going and taking the family coach and that Ferdibrand Took intended to travel with him, neither wife wishing at this time to go.  Would Freddie accept two more passengers, she wondered?  Well, she would at least ask.

       She rented a cart from the Green Dragon and drove to Budgeford.  Melilot was surprised she’d consider going at all, but supported her arguments with Freddie, who agreed that he’d be willing to allow Cyclamen and Narcissa as two more passengers in the coach, as long as they paid their own way at whatever inns they might stay in.  She agreed and headed back to Hobbiton, and together she and Angelica Proudfoot did their best to figure out how much might be needed.  Narcissa and Cyclamen composed a letter to the Lord Steward Halladan, who responded within two weeks, and with the amount he suggested in mind, the Proudfoots prepared for their daughter to attend the unveiling of the monument.

       Brendilac came to Overhill in mid-January, two weeks before they were to leave, and reviewed the plans with Narcissa.

       “You have the money to pay for inns,” he asked.

       She brought forth Lord Halladan’s letter and indicated she had enough, and would change it for King’s coinage in Bree.

       “You have your clothing all packed?”

       “All but my nightwear and two dresses I intend to wear between now and then, and which will be laundered before I pack them.”

       “Any books you intend to take?”

       “They are already in the trunk.”

       “A journal?”

       “Yes, I’ve packed two and will carry one--plus pens and ink in travel bottles, a stick of graphite Frodo sent me for the last Yule he spent here, and a ball of gum.”

       “Brush, comb, and mirror?”

       “Ready to pack at the last moment.”

       “Combs and ribbons?”

       “Already packed.”

       “Reticule?”

       “I’ll carry that.”

       “Letter paper?”

       “Ready to go into my personal satchel.”

       “Extra towels?”

       “Have them ready.”

       “Blanket roll in case of emergency?”

       “Freddie has indicated he will bring five.”

       “Extra cloak?”

       “In the trunk already.”

       “Travel kit?”

       “In my personal satchel already.”

       She was becoming amused.  Just how much did he feel he ought to be responsible for what she took?  Certainly he seemed to feel that he needed to make certain she wanted for nothing once she arrived in the city.  He went through the entire list of what he seemed to think would be necessary for a Hobbitess to take with her for a trip to Gondor, and could not find her wanting on any point.  Finally he sighed. 

       “It appears you are indeed ready for the trip,” he said.

       “Why don’t you come along as well?”

       “I am greatly tempted, I must admit.  However, I have had some appointments for March and April committed to since last year, and cannot easily change them.”

       “You might try.”

       “I might.  However, among other things, I feel I need to stay and keep an eye on the twins and Emro.  I have a feeling something is happening there that we are not being made privy to, and I intend to make certain they are not given an unwanted surprise while you are gone.”

       “You don’t think Emro would do any such thing, do you?”

       “He’s becoming increasingly resentful of their growing connections outside Westhall.”

       “I know, but----”

       “Don’t worry, Narcissa.  I’ll keep an eye on their best interests.”

       She smiled.  “Thank you, Brendilac.  I’ll count on that.”

       He left a couple hours after sunset to head for the Green Dragon where he was to stay the night, and she watched him drive away.  She was glad he would not be going on the journey, and sorry at the same time.  At least she knew him and they had a good deal in common, including Forsythia and Fosco.

*******

       The journey began in early February.  Brendilac drove a small wagon to Bywater three days before all were to leave the Shire, stayed the night at the Green Dragon, picked up Narcissa, drove to Bag End where Sam and Rosie carefully loaded their baggage, Elanor and Frodo-Lad, they were joined by Cyclamen with her small trunk, and finally mounting their ponies they followed behind the wagon first to Frogmorton for the first night and then to Brandy Hall, the parents taking it in turn to carry Rosie-lass under their cloaks as they rode.  Fredegar Bolger arrived in the Bolger carriage with Ferdibrand not long after, their carriage followed closely by Pippin and Diamond.  They spent that night at Brandy Hall, and in the morning all prepared to ride out.  Each pony carried saddlebags which were full, and each party fastened a single small trunk on the roof of the carriage.  Cyclamen and Narcissa were to occasionally exchange places with those ladies riding the ponies, but they started inside the coach holding Rosie-lass and Frodo-Lad, today Elanor riding before her Sam-Dad looking out through his cloak, feeling very grown up.  Brendilac handed Narcissa and Cyclamen into the coach, giving each a chaste kiss on the cheek, then handed in the two small Hobbits, Rosie-lass full from her early breakfast and intent on going back to sleep.  Narcissa held the small lass gently as she slept, and watched out the window as Budgie Smallfoot set the team in motion, while Cyclamen waved at Brendilac and those who’d risen to see them off.

       They spent the night in the Prancing Pony, Butterbur greeting his friends from the Shire with respect, meeting wives and Sam’s children for the first time.  They managed to fill his rooms for Hobbits, which was something he’d never had happen before during his tenure as innkeeper.  Shortly after the arrival of the Hobbits came a riding from the North, and he found himself scrambling to settle a group from the Northern capitol.  The Rangers had, since the news the King had come again, become less ragged and disreputable in appearance, and there had been several times he’d found himself hosting the one known as Lord Halladan, the Steward.  This time there could be no question that these were indeed officials of Arnor, for their horses were groomed carefully, their cloaks pristine, their clothing, which had always been of excellent make if well worn and long used, was now new, the silver stars on their shoulders having been carefully polished.  Sword hilts and sheaths might each be unique, but clothing itself was more uniform, and riding leathers were new yet supple.

       Behind the riding was a single wagon with a raised tarp over it.  Into this the trunks from the carriage were transferred, save for the food chest which the Hobbits would have carefully filled in the morning.  Once all were arrived, they repaired to the common room where a party of Dwarves already were eating their evening meal, drinking more temperately than most such parties Butterbur had seen.  As the Hobbits and Rangers entered, the leader of the group of Dwarves rose.  “Welcome, Lord Halladan,” said that one.  “Honor to be riding with you!”

       “And you, Master Gloin,” the Steward said, bowing deeply.  “May your beard grow ever thicker and longer.”

       The Hobbits also bowed deeply, and then were greeting a few among the Dwarves they recognized and being introduced to the others.  Barliman was flabbergasted.  As he said to Jape next morning after they’d seen the cavalcade off, “Now, if that don’t beat all.  All it wanted was a few Elves to fill it out, like.” 

       The locals filled the common room that night, looking at the mixed party with interest and curiosity.  A few Rangers on patrol came in, greeted Halladan, had a few quiet words for him, enjoyed a drink of ale and a small plate of food, then left to return to their duties, each bowing deeply to those in the party of Hobbits as they passed their tables.

       One of the local Hobbits stopped by Sam.  “Hullo, Master Gamgee,” he said.  “I don’t know as you’d remember me, but I’m Ned Underhill of here in Bree.  Was wondering about your friend, the one as was writing a book.  Did he ever get it written?”

       Sam rose and indicated he might join them if he liked.  “Yes, he did,” he said, when Ned Underhill politely declined.  “He did write it, and he did a full reporting of the odd business here in Bree, he did, noting the courage of the Big and Little folk of Bree in facing down the brigands as tried to take your land over.  It made him proud to report it, sir.”

       “He’s not with you, then?”

       “No, sir, he left us three years past.”

       Noting the sad pride to be seen in the eyes of the entire party, Ned nodded with sympathy.  “I’m right sorry as he’s gone, then.  Wanted to give a kinsman my respects, don’t you know.”

       “Thank you, Master Underhill.  We’re honored you remember him.” 

       Glad to bear such a report back to his fellows, Ned withdrew to his own table, and soon a round of drinks was brought by Jape himself to the Shire Hobbits’ table with respects from the locals.  Mr. Brandybuck acknowledged receipt with many thanks, and those at the table rose to bow respectfully toward the locals’ table, which made hearts fill with pride.

       None stayed late in the Common Room.  Early in the morning they had a filling first breakfast, accepted the filled food chest and saw it stowed in the coach, and soon all were ready to ride out.

       They rode steadily through the day, and at sunset found themselves approaching a pavilion raised in the forest at the edge of the trees.  Narcissa was amazed to find their party being greeted by bowing Elves, and soon they were being led within.  The bedrolls brought by all were laid on prepared pallets of early greenery, a meal was already prepared and was swiftly consumed, and soon all were preparing for sleep within the bower, save for the three Travelers, the Elves, and three of the Rangers, who walked out to watch the stars and talk for a time.  Merry stayed up on watch for a time, and later in the night Pippin spelled one of the Rangers.  Narcissa, who slept lightly in such surroundings, realized that none of the Men were protesting about the Hobbits sharing their duties, and she realized this underscored the fact they saw Merry and Pippin as their equals in this, at least.

       They traveled steadily, and as all became more hardened to travel each ride grew longer, as did the days.  Each day at least one Man and two Elves would ride ahead as scouts and hunters, each evening the Elves would set up the pavilion, and Elves and Hobbits would share the task of cooking for the party.  They broke in Tharbad for a day, and all the Hobbits and Men bathed and had their clothes laundered; then they were back on the road once more.

       They often passed parties of Men working on the road, smoothing and in some cases paving it with blocks of stone, removing ruts and boulders and lifted tree roots.  Lord Halladan explained that many of these groups were made up of captured brigands who had been judged worthy of the chance for reformation.  They were expected to work hard, but not slavishly, and as they grew more skilled were given more and more responsibilities and the opportunity to make informed decisions.  After their terms of servitude were up they would be freed and paid the wages saved for them, and given the right to settle where they desired and make a clean start.  If any reoffended, however, then they would most likely be hanged.  Narcissa watched carefully after that, and was not particularly surprised when she spotted a small figure in one of the gangs.  She looked to Sam and noted he’d seen the figure, also, and recognized Timono Bracegirdle among those they’d just passed.

       After they’d passed this group a rider rode forward to join their party.  He was a young Man followed by two great hounds.  He approached the Steward and raised his hand in salute.  “My Lord Cousin,” he called, “I give you greetings.”

       “Welcome, Eregiel,” Lord Halladan replied.  “Have you finished gathering the reports?”

       “Just received the last one now, sir,” the younger Ranger said.  Then he looked on the party, smiled, and bowed as deeply as one on horseback could.  “My Lord Samwise, Captain Peregrin, Sir Meriadoc--I give you welcome to Southern Eriador and greet you and your party with pleasure.  It is a great honor to meet you this day.”  He turned to the Elves then.  “Lord Celeborn, Haldir.  I greet you with greatest joy.”  His hand to his breast, he bowed deeply a second time.

       “We thank you,” Pippin said, “although I fear I don’t recognize you.”

       “I am Eregiel son of Miringlor of Annúminas, still another of our Lord King’s kinsmen.  During the war I was serving on the northern borders and could not come to his side.  I accompanied Master Ruvemir and his party south, so came to know Master Folco and young Pando.  I have seen your pictures often enough, I must say, and so had no difficulty in recognizing the three of you.  These are your family and more of the Ringbearer’s kin?”

       Introductions were quickly given, and Eregiel and his two hounds joined the cavalcade.  “I’m surprised you’ve stopped at two,” Halladan said, yet he smiled as he said it.

       Eregiel laughed.  “My mother would be most troubled had she none of the hounds to care for,” he said, smiling broadly.  “And as much as our Lady Queen appreciates Artos, I doubt she would welcome my full kennel.”

       The hounds were very well behaved, and although at night Artos always stayed around wherever his master was, Gwynhumara would most generally set herself in care for the smaller Hobbits.  The four young ones became inured to the trip quickly, but during the stops the three littlest ones were quick to stretch legs and run about hurriedly, checking out the wonders surrounding the camp.  Here the sweet-tempered dog would watch over them as if they were busy pups of her own, often turning Frodo-Lad back toward his parents if she felt he was straying too far.  She and Cyclamen developed a warm bond as the two gave the older Hobbits a break
from their constant watchfulness.

       The day they reached the Gap of Rohan Merry and Pippin were extremely watchful, keeping an eye out for signs of Ents.  In late afternoon as they came in sight of the Tower of Orthanc on top of its rocky islet in the midst of the shallow lake which had taken the place of the Vale of Isengard, they finally saw what they sought.  Three Ents and what appeared to be a tall Man clad in flowing brown robes approached them. 

       “It’s Treebeard and Quickbeam!” announced Merry.  “How wonderful!”

       They stopped the group, and at a sign from Lord Halladan he rode forward accompanied only by the Hobbits and Lord Celeborn.  Merry and Pippin dismounted, leading Stybba and Jewel forward.  They bowed deeply, and the three Ents and tall Man bowed back.  

       “Boom haruum.  I must say,” Treebeard said, his eyes sparkling with pleasure, “that it is a good feeling to see you two young things at the last.  And how are you?”

       “Very good, Treebeard,” Merry said.  “We received word of your greetings sent by way of Master Ruvemir, and were grateful for your welcome to him.”

       “An interesting soul,” the old Ent said.  “Hoom.  Now, let me see the families you have made, for I am told they are well worth the knowing.”

       Those in the coach were beckoned out, and as they were introduced they found the deep gaze of the three Ents examining them with approval.  Narcissa was shocked almost to speechlessness--never had she imagined anything such as these.

       The one who was called Quickbeam examined her with interest.  “You are a kinswoman to the Ringbearer, then?” he asked.

       “Yes, we were second cousins once removed,” she explained.  “And I am one of those appointed guardians of his first cousins as well until they come of age.”

       “A gentle one he was, and very hard stricken by what he had endured,” Quickbeam said gently.  “We are grateful he has been granted healing in the West, for if he hadn’t prevailed at the last I fear our long watch over the forests would have come to naught in the end.”

       “Thank you,” Narcissa said.

       The figure in brown robes bowed to Sam.  “I passed through the Shire just ere you returned there, and again a few months back on my way here.  It had been told me that you had used the gift given you by the Lady Galadriel well indeed, and I have seen with my own eyes this is true.  The young trees you have set to grow in the place of those murdered by Saruman rejoice to grow for you, and the gardens sing to find the sunlight.”

       “My Lord Radagast?” asked Sam, making an educated guess at the identity of this one.  “I’m glad as not all the Wizards is gone as yet.”

       He smiled.  “My brother Gandalf has returned to the West, for his part in the business is complete.  I linger yet for a time, seeing that the lands damaged by Sauron’s horror come alive again as they were meant to do before I, too, go to the Havens and back to my own place.”

       “What has become of Mordor, then?” asked Sam.  “So deeply as he scorched it, I wondered if ought other than the Ring Itself could bring it to life again.”

       Radagast shook his head, and a mixed flock of birds flew about him, a magpie lighting on his shoulder.  “Mordor was meant to be a desert land, yet you will learn that it, too, has its own beauty, one to which you, as one born to verdant fields, are perhaps not attuned.  The rains proper to it now water it as they were intended, and in the season of growing life now fills what appear to be wastes the rest of the time.  Small lizards, toads, serpents, and other small creatures fit for such places now know its beauty and its spareness and its surprising bounty.”

       Sam nodded.  “I’m glad to hear of it, sir, for I’m shamed to member what the Ring made me to think as I could do with it.  Wouldn’t of been the same at all, it wouldn’t.”

       Radagast smiled, then looked around them.  “I’m pleased at what has occurred here.  Saruman did very badly to seek to emulate Sauron and to make this into a small copy of Mordor.  This is more in keeping with the intent given its forming.  The Ents have done very well, and their stewardship is well received.”

       Treebeard bowed stiffly.  “That is a great honor from you, sir.  A sad day when you, too, return to your brethren.”

       “Yet for me it will not be sad,” the brown Wizard smiled.  He looked again at Sam.  “Rejoice, for your hope will be met at the proper time,” he said, and he bowed deeply.  Then he looked at Halladan.  “Now, if we could only teach your folk the proper husbanding of the bounty of Arda,” he said, sighing.  “True, the Dúnedain and the Rohirrim tend to be better stewards of the Creator’s gifts than most of Mankind; but the fact remains that all too often Men misuse and seek to blindly exploit the riches offered.”

       “I grieve this is so,” Halladan said, bowing deeply, “and I will bear your warnings to my Lord Cousin.”

       At last the line reformed, and with last bows of respect to the Wizard and the Ents, they resumed their journey to Gondor.

King and Sculptor

       Narcissa knew that Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin loved the King dearly; but even knowing that, seeing the Lord Aragorn Elessar and his greeting of the three who’d returned to his city was a shock.  He did not greet them formally, but with the joy of family, kneeling in the midst of them, exchanging children, hugging and being hugged.  The sight of the tall Man kneeling on the ground outside the great Gates to the city, one arm around Sam and with Sam’s arm around his chest in return, Frodo-Lad on his other arm, would remain in her memory as the defining moment of knowing the nature of their King.  This was not a distant Lord, but a present individual who truly loved these three.  That he was King of Gondor and Arnor was totally secondary to his love of his companions.  Only at the end did he rise to greet kinsmen from the North and the Lord Celeborn and the Galadhrim.

       Then she’d seen the small sculptor being greeted by Sam, Merry, Pippin, Rosie, Estella, Cyclamen and Elanor, and the King’s pleasure as he watched that greeting as well.  Now the sculptor was back on his pony, riding while the others walked, carrying Elanor before him as he rode by Merry, who carried the King’s own daughter in his arms.  She watched him with interest, then looked about herself.  She felt overwhelmed by the size of the city, by the crowds that stood by the way, the singing and the calls of greetings, the enormity of the gates, the height of the surrounding buildings, the mountain rising up on one side.  The way through the city rose ever before them and they went first one way, and then turned to walk back the other, climbing ever higher past more and more crowds of people.

       At one point a Man and his wife approached them, and the Man looked disappointed as he looked in vain for one who was not there, and she realized he’d hoped against hope to see Frodo.  A Man, desiring to see Frodo?  And she realized that, yes, Frodo and the others had indeed been here, stayed here for a time, had met people here, even Men--especially Men, for this was, after all, a city of Men.  The King spoke gently to him, explained Frodo had been too badly hurt to remain, and had needed far more healing than could be offered him in Middle Earth.  The Man was grieved, but stood proudly before the King, smiled up into the clear grey eyes that searched his own, presented his wife and child, accepted the King’s acknowledgment.

       A woman came forward in one of the marketplaces and presented each of the womenfolk among the Hobbits with a strand of beautiful glass beads, each bead unique, each full of delicate colors.  Narcissa looked at hers with awe, then realized she knew who the woman was.  She nodded to her, promised herself she’d come back to the market and seek her out and speak to her.

       As they went through yet another gate, she looked at the sculptor, who was speaking with Merry.  Then he pulled away from Merry and came to her, introducing himself and inviting her to stay with him and his wife.  Was he just being kind? she wondered.  Perhaps.  She made no promises--not yet, at least, but would consider the offer.  She saw the wife turn about and catch his eye and smile, then turn back to Sam and Rosie, laughing at what they were saying.

       The young ones who followed after and about him were briefly introduced as his apprentices.  She saw the tall youth who’d accompanied him to the Shire, who was even taller now; and saw how he walked amongst the others, one hand on his dog’s rump and the other using a staff to feel expertly for anything lying in his path.  On the other side walked Fredegar Bolger leading Ferdibrand Took, who was speaking animatedly with the lad.  She could sense the respect the apprentices felt for the sculptor, the caring he had for them in return.  His descriptions of the city were fascinating, yet she found herself glad that they were almost at the top, for she was beginning to feel fatigued.  She looked to the outside of the city, thinking to see the walls, but instead she found herself still surrounded by houses and businesses, gardens and stalls, even an inn or some such business there to the right.  She could barely see the mountain still rising on one side, the hint of open sky to the south, the tall ridge of rock with its archway now just behind them.  Then finally they went through the sixth gate and they found themselves in a much quieter circle of the city.

       Frodo, Merry, Pippin, and Sam had lived here, in this circle, in what had been a guesthouse for the city.  Now Ruvemir and his wife lived in that same house.  There was one more level to climb to, one more level above them.  How had Frodo liked living here, she wondered?  Had he been overwhelmed by the height of the city as she was feeling now?  Or perhaps had this seemed little enough after what else he’d seen in the world?

       Then the sculptor Ruvemir was alighting from his pony, giving it over to tall grooms who smiled at his courteous thanks, and they were standing at the bottom of the ramp to the top level....

       Narcissa Boffin found herself totally bespelled by the Lady Arwen Undomiel.  Never, ever in her life had she known such amazement looking into the eyes of another as when she looked up into those of the Queen of Gondor and Arnor.  To be examined, to have her love for Frodo so clearly recognized and understood--and then to have her tears of grief, loss, and release wiped away with such gentleness--never, never had she known such tenderness in her life, not even from her own mother, who had loved her so dearly and whom she’d loved so in return.  She found herself wondering just how old the Queen was, then found herself wondering if perhaps she might truly not wish to know.  She was an Elf, was most likely at least an age old already.  What must it be like for the King, to look into eyes which had seen those of his father, and grandfather, and who knew how many generations before him, and yet looked now into his own with the love of wife for husband?  Merry had told her when she’d visited Brandy Hall with Fosco and Forsythia that the Lord Elrond had fostered all the descendents of Isildur in Rivendell, after all.

       Then they were going into a great hall to eat, the Feasting Hall of Merethrond, Folco was telling her.  They sat at the far end of that hall, clustered about the King and Queen, laughing and joking, smiling and rejoicing.  And once he was done eating, as they talked and shared news the King held one or another of Sam and Rosie’s children on his lap alongside his own daughter, tenderly sharing his love with the children of Hobbits.

       After the meal the ladies from among the Hobbits were brought to a room where they were told they might rest if they desired, bathe and change their clothing, and dress their hair.  There were a number of low couches about the room, and at one end a bathing room with the largest bathtub any had ever seen in it.

       There was a knock at the main door, and a tall woman with long hair the color of fields in autumn entered, followed by others carrying what appeared to be garments of various sorts.

       “I welcome you to the Citadel,” the woman with golden hair said.  “I am the Lady Éowyn, sister to Éomer King of Rohan, and wife to Faramir, the Lord Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien.  I have been sent to bring you gifts prepared for you by the Lady Arwen and Mistress Miriel of Lebennin.  We hope that you will find them comfortable.

       “Mistress Rose, we will have a pallet in a moment on which the children may rest if they are ready to nap.  And we hope you will find the bathing tub comfortable.  There are plenty of fresh towels stacked in the chest.”

       A young page entered carrying a rolled mattress and blankets which he carefully laid flat in a corner.  The garments were gently laid out on one of the low couches.  A maid entered with a large tray on which lay bowls of fruit and plates of rolls, and set them out on the low table in the center of the room.  She curtsied and left, and another entered with a tray of goblets and decanters of juice.

       Finally the only one left was the Lady Éowyn, who smiled as the Hobbitesses clustered about the couch.  Rosie reached out to lift up the topmost garment, and found it was a dress of Hobbit design, but of materials and a color such as none had seen in the Shire.  It was a dusky rose color with a cream-colored bodice heavily embroidered with a spray of rose blossoms.  Éowyn smiled.  “I do believe, Mistress Rose, that this was intended for you.  Miriel was able to give us some ideas of the proper colors for you, and I believe your husband gave her some aid in gaining the necessary measurements from dresses from your wardrobe.”

       In Estella’s and Diamond’s cases it was the same--their husbands had been asked to do certain measurements from their favorites of their wives’ gowns, and Miriel had made suggestions for fabrics and colors.  There had been several garments intended for each, and a couple of extras.  Rosie suddenly looked at a gown of a deep and rich blue, and smiled, then looked at Narcissa.  “This,” she said with conviction, “is a perfect color for you.”  It was embroidered with white blossoms and silver stars, and was quite the most stunning dress Narcissa had ever seen.  Rosie lifted it up and examined it thoroughly, and the others with her, then all looked at Narcissa and nodded in concert. 

       “But they didn’t even expect me to be here!” Narcissa protested.

       “The Lady Arwen herself made that one,” Éowyn said.  “I suspect you will find it will fit none of the others as well as it does you.  You may lay responsibility on her gift of foresight, if you desire.  These were prepared for you to make choices from for tomorrow’s ceremony, although you may wear any you choose tonight if you wish.  The Lady Arwen is ever glad for a reason to craft new garments, you will find.”

       They rested, bathed, refreshed themselves, dressed one another’s hair, and when the word came that the Rohirrim were come at last they came out to wait at the top of the ramp, all dressed in new gowns that caused the guards’ eyes to look at them with great admiration, and Miriel and the Queen to smile in approval.  Sam’s eyes as he looked at Rosie were lit with interest, while Folco’s eyebrows lifted with pleasure as he smiled at Narcissa.

       The evening meal was excellent, and Narcissa found she was enjoying herself thoroughly.  Men, Elves, Dwarves, and Hobbits mixed freely, and she saw Men from several lands represented--those who had come from Rohan behind their young king, many from Rhun and their Shkatha, the ambassador from Harad, and envoys from the Dunlendings and from Tharbad as well as Dúnedain from both Gondor and Arnor.  She was told this was not a formal feast, for all it was being held in the feasting hall; the formal feast would be here also, but tomorrow night.  After the meal they remained in the hall to talk and sing, laugh and share stories.  A Rhunish couple had a daughter with absurdly short arms, and she saw how lovingly the husband cut up the portions for the child.  Afterwards the girl and Elanor accepted the gift of a soft cloth ball given them by the lady of one of the lords present, and began to play with it in the area usually reserved for dancing and entertainments.  Cyclamen and Pando and some of the younger apprentices joined them, and soon Frodo-Lad was joining in as well, young Owain helping him to catch and throw the ball.  Melian and Rosie-Lass now each sat on one of the King’s knees as he and various lords and Hobbits played at Peep-and-See-Me with them, galloped them on knees, and generally kept them giggling and smiling together.  Now and then someone would start a song.  Pippin, Merry, and the King together sang one of Bilbo’s more questionable drinking songs that the old Hobbit had written, one which had them all laughing and blushing somewhat.  That was followed by a far gentler and more haunting melody as the King and his wife sang in Sindarin the Lay of Amroth and Nimrodel.  Then the folk of Rhun began a song which apparently the King recognized, for after the first verse he joined in, adding a deep harmony to the exotic tune.  One of the Rohirrim then began a question and answer song in which he sang the question and the King the responses. 

       Finally Pippin pulled out the flute he’d been given by Diamond and began playing a shepherd’s melody; when he was done, Folco began to call for the Springlering.  Somewhere bells were brought out, and Narcissa found herself brought forward to dance it with him.  It had been years since she’d danced it last, but she found she could still keep up; and with Estella partnered by her husband and Cyclamen and Pando as a third couple they put on an exhibition of the dance for the party. 

       Freddie suggested the Husbandmen’s Dance; however, the rest shook their heads.  “No,” Merry said decisively, “that takes someone of the skill of Bilbo or Frodo or Fosco or Isumbard or Brendilac to present properly, and we simply don’t have anyone here save Folco who could keep up for the full seven rounds.”

       Budgie laughed.  “Or do you intend to dance this yourself?  Not that I’d recommend it.  The Took Reel is about as involved as I’d wish to see you.”

       The King nodded.  “Frodo danced it once for us here in this hall, although I suspect it was more rigorous than he perhaps ought to have tried at the time.  I have tried to imagine it danced properly by the lines of menfolk, and suspect it is quite a marvelous thing to watch.”

       Pippin’s face became solemn.  “That was the last time I know of he danced it, Aragorn.  He was simply not in good enough health when we returned to the Shire.”  The faces of many became solemn as they remembered how he had danced it when younger.
 
       Estella laughed.  “How we used to moon over him.  Do you remember, Narcissa?  He’d dance with the menfolk, and then we lasses would go to the Council Hole and recount how well he had done, how graceful he was, how that smile he’d always give at the end would touch our hearts.”

       Rosie nodded.  “I was but a little one the first time, seven years or so, when he danced with his uncle Bilbo and Isumbard and all.  It was a sight to see.  Bilbo was in his late nineties but could still keep ahead of most of the younger gentlehobbits, he could.  And Master Frodo----”  She gave a deep sigh.

       Folco smiled in memory, then gave a significant look at Narcissa.  “It was the year before that, though, my fair cousin, that you first lost your heart to him, the time he danced it behind the ale tent with Ferdibrand, Brendilac, Isumbard, Lotho and all, and he won the wager.”

       “What wager was that?” Aragorn asked, leaning forward with interest, his arms around his daughter and Rosie-Lass.

       Ferdibrand laughed aloud.  “How could I have forgotten?  Yet I had.  Oh, yes.  Lotho and Isumbard, whose great-grandfather Isembold was one of the Old Took’s older sons, got into an argument as to which was the better dancer.  Isumbard was the elder by two years and was quite good at it in practice, and then Frodo came around the tent and heard Lotho indicating Uncle Bilbo was too old to dance it any more.  Well, no one said anything against Bilbo within Frodo’s hearing, of course.  Lotho had no idea who Frodo was, for it was the year before Bilbo took him as ward.  Next thing anyone knew the three were making a wager as to who could dance it best.  Isumbard was spot on about Lotho--didn’t make it through three rounds.  Isumbard kept up but did have a couple stumbles in the seventh round.  Frodo won two pocketknives, and at least two hearts.  Narcissa and Pearl were both looking after him with longing as he strolled off, totally unaware of them as only a young tween lad could be.”

       Narcissa found herself blushing.  “Well, at least he was able to teach young Fosco, who dances it fully as well as Frodo did.”

       “Does he have the same smile at the end?”

       “No, he doesn’t--Fosco’s smile is strictly his own.  But I’ve seen the lasses watch him as he walks away with his sister and his da.”

       “At least he has an excuse for not noticing their moon eyes, though,” Ferdi said, smiling.

       “You used to dance it.  You could perhaps dance it tonight,” Merry suggested.  “And you can’t use your vision as an excuse, you know.”

       “I’m not as coordinated as I was before I was imprisoned, though,” Ferdi said, his face becoming solemn.  “More than my vision was lost when they kicked me.  My balance was also damaged a bit, although I’ve learned to overcome it.  I’d probably start to slap the sole of my foot and fall over sideways.”

       Narcissa smiled at her cousin.  “You could dance it, you know, Folco.”

       “No, too out of practice.  Wouldn’t want to dance it alone in any case.  Frodo taught me, you know, after he came to Bag End.  Bilbo caught us practicing and gave me some pointers as well.  I always wondered why they stopped asking Frodo to dance with the others after he turned forty-two.”

       The Queen noticed how Narcissa Boffin’s face flushed when this was asked, but decided to ask her about the reason later.
      
       At last the party quieted and people began to think of going to bed.  Many of the womenfolk had napped in the afternoon, but their husbands had not, and Pippin and Merry were to rise early to attend on their lords.  Servants who were to prepare the Hall for the proper feast the next evening also desired to have time to see it properly cleaned and prepared, and were looking in concerned from the doors.  The King at last reluctantly wished his guests a good night, embraced his friends one last time, saw Sam and Rosie in possession of their children at the last, and saw them to the top of the ramp.

       Narcissa walked alongside the small sculptor and his wife as they went down the ramp, spoke quietly of life in the city.  A pony cart waited, she saw, to carry Ferdibrand, Freddie, Budgie, and Mistress Idril down to the lower levels of the city.  “I shall return to the Sixth Circle in three hours,” the carter explained to Miriel and Folco.

       “We will be ready.  And we thank you.”

       “It is but a pleasure to have you back in the city, although our Lord has let the populace know they may apply to him for the right to use the services of myself and my fellows to go up and down through the levels of Minas Anor if they are weakened, ill, or unable to do so without endangering their health.  Once he becomes aware of a need, our Lord King seeks ever to see it fulfilled.  And this is more pleasant duty than standing on guard for hours on end--it is certainly more stimulating.”

       Narcissa had taken a quick bathe in the chamber to which they were shown, but had not washed her hair, and gladly accepted the chance to bathe again once they reached the house where the small sculptor lived.  This bathing room was more familiar and not as overwhelming, its proportions more manageable than the great tub in the room to which they’d been shown.  Ruvemir and Folco were out on the balcony once she was done, Ruvemir carving, Folco smoking his pipe, a small lantern giving sufficient light for Ruvemir’s work.  She’d dressed in one of her own familiar dresses after her bath, sat brushing her hair and getting the feel for the household, watched the four apprentices present and the two children being fostered by Miriel and Folco, both of whom sat raptly as a story was read to them.  Tomorrow she would see the unveiling, and look once more on the image of Frodo.  Would it help, she wondered, to lay the grief she still felt over his going, over his inability to care for her in return for the caring she’d showered on him all these years?  Finally she went out onto the balcony herself, and asked for the details even Freddie hadn’t been able to give, of what had happened at the last to Frodo to complete the change to him, and to rob him of his finger. 

       Ruvemir told it, with gentleness and deep compassion.  He cared, she realized, for all four of those who had made the journey, who had left their land in innocence to draw evil from it and had found themselves fighting worse down here.  She listened, weeping gently for what Frodo and Sam had endured, realizing that it was there that Frodo’s health had finally been broken, as he woke in the tower at the top of the pass, still sick with the poison from the great spider, as he walked through the devastation of Mordor, as he collapsed on the side of the great volcano, as he was robbed of his finger and the evil which had taken him by Gollum, as he lost consciousness alongside Sam on the knoll.  She felt the compassion shown her by her host and hostess, and accepted the kerchief given her to wipe her eyes.

       “No wonder he could not eat properly after,” she said quietly during the late dinner provided for her and Folco and the apprentices.  Miriel, Ruvemir, and Elise sat with cups of juice and a plate of small biscuits to keep those who ate company.  “The day I sat by him in the Green Dragon he looked so very frustrated as he picked at his pastie.”

       “His digestion was still bad?” Ruvemir asked.

       She nodded.  “He could eat only half of it, and Isumbard has told us that much of the time he had to be given only small amounts at a time of anything, or he would simply lose it all.  Trying to explain to those who prepared dinners to which he was invited as deputy Mayor that he was not insulting their cooking but simply could not eat properly any more became an obsession with Isumbard, who felt quite protective of him.”

       The sculptor indicated his understanding.  “Isumbard...that is the one who married Pearl Took, is it not?”

       “Yes.  He, Folco, and I are all the great grandchildren of Isembold Took--along with a number of others, of course.  Isembold was almost as prolific as the Old Took himself, who was, after all, his father.”

       “It appears that even after his return to the Shire Frodo still drew to him the caring of those who came close under his influence.”

       “Yes.  They’d been rivals, Isumbard and Frodo; but Isumbard was too good a Hobbit to bear a grudge.  He, Folco, and Reginard made certain a place was kept in memory of Frodo during the presentation of the Husbandmen’s Dance at the Free Fair, but now Fosco dances there, which is memorial enough, I suppose.”

       “Who is Fosco?”

       Folco grinned.  “Frodo’s first cousin, the son of his uncle Dudo from Dudo’s old age and second marriage.  Fosco and Forsythia have proven quite the surprise to all within the Shire.  I’m surprised they didn’t come with you, Narcissa.”

       She shook her head.  “Emro’s suddenly become difficult.”  She turned to her host and explained, “After the death of his first wife and the loss of their son, Dudo withdrew from society, and moved to an obscure little village called Westhall.  He would return for the Free Fair, but the rest of the year basically ignored us all.  He remarried Emerald Boffin, who was granddaughter to the Old Took through his second daughter Donnamira.  Suddenly, after Dudo’s daughter Daisy by Camellia was married to Griffo Boffin and settled in Hobbiton, Emerald found herself, at long last, pregnant.  They had twins!  Twins are almost unheard of among Hobbits, although I understand they are common enough among Elves and Men. 

       “Dudo died shortly after the birth of the bairns, and Emerald, who was no longer young, was quite overwhelmed.  She accepted the aid of Emro and Lilac Gravelly, who had been partners in the farm they jointly owned.  Lilac already knew she could have no children of her own, so she took care to hide from the rest of the Shire the news of the twins’ birth.  It appears about the only one to know about their birth was Frodo himself, who as family head for the Bagginses had been advised by the village headman.”

       Briefly she described the history of Forsythia and Fosco Baggins and their dealings with their cousin as they grew.

       “He had them call him Iorhael, did he?  Interesting.  I’m surprised no one told me of this before.”

       Folco laughed.  “Sam, Merry, and Pippin knew little enough about it, for this is Baggins and Boffin family business, after all.  Took, too, of course, but less that than Baggins and Boffin.  Now the affair is far better known throughout the Shire, of course, but Frodo did his best not to cause too much stress on the Gravellies, or too much notoriety on the children.  He knew all too well what Lobelia was likely to do if she knew about them, of course.  Wasn’t till after he left the Shire most of us had any idea they existed, although he told Daisy that first summer he was back.  She says he was quite exhausted, and drifted off into a doze while they discussed the case.”

       “And he left you their independent guardian, did he?  It appears he made a good choice,” Ruvemir said to Narcissa.

       She flushed, and Ruvemir smiled.  “I like to see a beautiful woman color, you know,” he said, his eyes alight with laughter.  “Are you done with your dinner?  Would you like to see the other pictures, then?”

       One last glance she gave the drawing of the Citadel and White Tree with the Queen’s face hidden amongst its branches, and then she followed Ruvemir into the room where Merry and Pippin had slept and which he now used as a studio to look at the picture of Master Iorhael.  He then led her through the day room and the small parlor in which she would sleep and showed her the picture Frodo had done of Bag End.  She immediately saw and recognized Pearl Took’s face caught in the flowers, then that of Rosie Cotton, and then that of the third, unknown Shire lady who yet appeared familiar.  Then she saw her own there, right by the door to Bag End, her own face caught by the talented hands of Frodo Baggins as an artist.  Her own face, there in his picture of his beloved home.  She stood stunned, her face pale, her eyes glowing.  Finally she turned to look at the artist who stood there, saw that he, too, saw her face in the picture.

       “He put me there, Master Ruvemir--put me there alongside Rosie, Pearl, and that other one.  Do you know who she is?”

       He nodded.  “Yes, I do--the third was his mother.”

       “But he barely even spoke to me, except at Bilbo’s party--he danced with me several times that night.”

       He smiled, although he looked as if he were on the verge of tears.  “I think he did notice your regard, and treasured its memory, Mistress Narcissa.”

       She looked back at the picture.  “I’d forgotten how good an artist he was.  And although he told me, before he left, that he saw me as beautiful, I couldn’t believe he truly saw me that way, not until now, when I saw myself there.  To have such proof that--that he was capable of caring for me in--in that way--it means so much.”

       “Yes, I can imagine.”

       She thanked him, then indicated she thought she would go to bed.  “It has been a confusing day, and a full one.  If I’m to be up to attending the unveiling tomorrow, I’d best sleep now.”

       “We will be as quiet as we can be passing through to here, Mistress Narcissa.”

       “Thank you.”

Morning Encounters

       In the morning she found there were platters of fruit, baskets of rolls, and ewers of juice on the table in the dining room along with stacks of plates and goblets.  She got herself a light first breakfast and let herself out of the house, and made her way up the ramp to the seventh level, then turned to walk out on the pier of rock that thrust out from the mountain.  She heard him before she saw him--he was singing softly as he sat on the wall, looking to the East, although as his song progressed it became louder and clearer.  She found herself smiling as she came to stand near him, listening with pleasure.

       At last he was done, and for a few moments he continued to stare Eastward, then looked at her and smiled.  “Welcome, Mistress Narcissa,” he said.  “You rise early for a Hobbit--or, at least, compared to the Hobbits I’ve known best.”

       She smiled in return.  “My dad told me you were a good singer, and I learned last night that he did not lie or exaggerate.  But this morning, it was just as he had described hearing you sing so long ago.”

       The King Aragorn Elessar looked down at her with surprise.  “Your father heard me sing?” he asked.  “When was this?”

       “As I said, it was years ago.  Of course, I don’t know how many single Hobbits you and your Rangers accompanied from the Bridge to the gates of Bree....”

       He laughed with pleasure.  “That was your father?  Was he part Took, then?”

       “Oh, yes.  His mother Ermengarde was daughter to Isembold and granddaughter----”

       “Granddaughter to the Old Took himself, then.  Of course!”  He shook his head.  “I ought to have known.  I ought to have known.”  His smile, she found, was infectious.  “It was so unusual to see a Hobbit of the Shire riding out of it alone.  We worried for him, for there were a fair number of highwaymen and brigands and landless Men about then, driven North by the fear growing in the South.”  He examined her more closely.  “He knew me as Strider.  How did you learn Strider and the King were the same person?”

       “Frodo told me.  I was telling him of my father realizing the Rangers of the North protected the Shire when they would ride by him as he drove to Bree, and that his favorite was one named Strider....”

       Again he laughed.  “Oh, I can imagine.  He’d lift his chin--” he said, lifting his own to demonstrate, “--and smile and say, ‘Mine, too.’”

       Her own smile widened.  “Yes, that was precisely how he said it.”

       His face grew solemn.  “I grieve so I could do no more to ease him.  I could relieve a good deal of the pain, and I know he grew stronger while he was here, but none of us could make it as he had been before.  He would not tell me or allow the others to tell me openly how it was with him most of the time, but I know he often went days barely able to keep his food down.  Then, on the days when he could eat, if he tried to eat more than a little at a time he’d lose it again.  The healers in the Houses of Healing sought to aid him, but their draughts did little to help; and when I became aware of just how hard it was for him and sent draughts of my own, he would not drink them, certain they would not assist him either.  Adar sent me word on his arrival in Rivendell that he, also, had not been able to get him to accept most draughts along the way, even the ones he and I were most certain would ease and strengthen him.  Finally there in Rivendell Adar told him that it was tea he was being served, and Frodo finally began to accept them.  Serve it to him out of a teapot, and he’d drink it.”  He put his right hand to his eyes.  “He was a stubborn one.”

       “Yes, I know.”

       After a time of silence, he said quietly, “From what the others told me he preferred to sleep late, but loved to sleep under the stars, and to do walking trips about the Shire.”

       “Yes, that was true.”

       “He would have nights here when he did not sleep well, when the nightmares were more than he could abide.  He’d sometimes walk outside and sit or stand watching the stars on such nights, although when he did usually Sam would insist on following him.  I would try to be out on the nights when I feared they were returning so that I could be with him, for then Sam would agree to go back to bed.”

       At that moment a bell rang.  They heard an exchange further down the wall, and turned to watch.

       “Captain Peregrin come to relieve you, sir,” Pippin was saying to a grey-cloaked figure Narcissa had not noticed in the dawn light.  The tall Man had a bow in one hand, an arrow in the other.  He slipped the arrow back into the quiver he wore on his back, gave a salute and bow.  “It’s an honor to see you again, Lord Hardorn,” Pippin continued.

       “And one for me to greet you as well, Captain Peregrin,” the Man returned.  The two exchanged a few more quiet words, and Pippin nodded, then saluted again and turned to approach Narcissa and the King, bowed low, turned, drew his sword, and stood at the ready.  The Man bowed also to his Lord.  “I will see you later in the morning, then, my Lord Cousin,” he said.

       “Get some sleep, Hardorn.  You can trust this one will allow no one to threaten my safety,” the King returned.  “And don’t try to avoid sleeping by getting involved in discussions with your brother, for I’ve already warned him to say nothing to you until you’ve rested.”

       The Man made a wry face.  “And a good day to you also, Mistress,” he said, and then he turned and walked to the ramp and went down it.

       “Lord Cousin?” she asked.

       “Yes, for his father was brother to my mother.  His brother is Lord Halladan, my Steward in Arnor.  Their elder brother was Halbarad, whom I made Steward after their father’s death, for he was Steward from the time of my father’s death.  Halbarad was my dearest friend among Men from the time I came of age.”

       “He died in the battle out there?”  Narcissa indicated the land below, beyond the outer wall of the city.

       “Yes.  We lost so many there.”

       She looked down, surprised she didn’t feel particularly giddy.  After a moment she asked, “The two areas with the little fences, what are they?”

       “The grassy hillock was where Snowmane, the horse on which rode the Lord Théoden, who was King of Rohan before his nephew, was buried.  The bare spot was where the body of the horrible creature on which the Lord of the Nazgul rode was burnt.  Nothing will grow there.”

       She looked again.  “Is that--is that where Merry and the Lady Éowyn stabbed it, then?”

       He gave her an evaluative look, and smiled gently.  “Yes, that is where they faced it and stabbed it.  They served to rid the world of a great evil.”

       Sam was coming to join them now.  He nodded to Pippin as he passed him and came to their side.  “Mornin’, Strider, Miss Narcissa.”  He looked back to where Pippin stood so still.  “The new uniform fits him nicely, it does.  The old one was showing the wear.  He’d simply not thought that he couldn’t fit his old clothing no more, so he about wore it and the one suit he took home with him out afore he thought to have more made.  Rather foolish of him, I always thought.”  He smiled up at the King.  “Did the Queen make that, or the uniform Mistress?”

       “My beloved wife.  She has been industriously sewing and embroidering ever since it was realized the memorial would be unveiled today.  The Lady Miriel has made some of the clothing for you gentlehobbits and the ladies among you, and she helped choose colors for those garments she did not make; mostly, however, she has been busy making new outfits for her brother and his wife and Pando and Folco and the children and Ririon and all.  Both have been very busy.”

       Sam nodded as if this was precisely what he’d thought to hear.  “Rosie is feeding the bairns and chased me out.  No time for menfolk for her this morning.  Said I could go find a spot of garden to tend to, if I could do so and not get myself dirty.”

       The King laughed.  “I will be going down to the Houses shortly.  Would the two of you wish to accompany me?”

       “Gladly, Strider.  It would be an honor.  Did you tell your cousin the Lord Hardorn to rest or something?”

       “Was he grumbling as he went down to his house?”

       “Yes.  Was muttering as some folks was fine ones to tell others to rest, seeing as they would push themselves to exhaustion if they wasn’t watched.”

       “I have a mind to see him married.  I hope that the Lady Lothiriel has brought with her some strongminded maids.”

       “There were five women who came with us among the Dúnedain,” Narcissa said.  “Or are they not strongminded enough?”

       “Two are already married, one is to marry next year, and the other two are too close to our own family for him to marry.”  He looked down at her.  “Now, you appear to be strongminded enough, but are needed back in the Shire, apparently.”  She saw the twinkle in his eye and realized he was teasing her.  “Ah, well.  Perhaps I ought to send him to Dol Amroth and let him fall in love with one of the cousins of Prince Imrahil as did Gilthor.”

       “Gilthor?” asked Sam.

       “A cousin to my father.  He served here in the armies of Gondor, until he fell in love with a cousin to Prince Imrahil’s father.  He was dismissed from the service of Dol Amroth and headed north, but she followed after.  On learning she had left to follow him, Gilthor wrote a letter resigning his commission as an officer in the armies of Gondor, went back south in search of her, then carried her home to Eriador on his saddlebow, where they were married by my father.  You will meet their son Gilfileg tonight, probably.  He was at the meals yesterday, but spoke more to those from Rhun than he did most others.  Are you ready to go down to the Houses?” 

       At their nods he straightened and led the way to the ramp, Pippin sheathing his sword and moving before, his hand on his weapon’s hilt.  Four more fell into step, Pippin checking their faces as if assuring himself he recognized them before turning to go first down the ramp.

        As they walked, Sam asked, “Was it you as set the Elves to guard us, or did they think of that theirselves?”

       The King looked to one side to catch the eyes of an Elf who seemed to Narcissa to have appeared out of nowhere.  “Would you care to answer that one, Lord Glorfindel?” he asked.

       The tall, golden-haired Elf smiled.  “It was our decision, Master Samwise.  There are those now who have realized how deeply Estel cares for you and your folk, and we would prefer they not use your safety as a means of attempting to force him to their will.”

       “You think as that would happen here in the King’s own city?” Sam asked, his eyes interested.  “Aren’t folks here more civilized than that?”

       The King’s face hardened.  “There is no one so capable of refined viciousness,” he said bitterly, “as someone who believes himself to be fully civilized and who has convinced himself--or herself--that the one to be dealt with is not.  It becomes then a matter of honor to be far worse in behavior toward the barbarian than the barbarian is believed to act.”

       “I see,” Sam said thoughtfully. 

       At the bottom of the ramp they turned away from the direction of Ruvemir’s house toward the southern side of the Sixth Circle until they went through a gate and down a walk shaded by intertwined trees to the door of a large building.  The door stood open, and inside a young Man rose from his seat and bowed deeply  to the King.  “My Lord King,” he said.  “The Warden is in conference with your brothers at the moment.”  He indicated a doorway.  With a respectful bow, the King went through the doorway, indicating Sam and Narcissa should go with him.  The rest of the guards had remained outside the Houses, while Pippin turned at the doorway, again on guard.

       Neither Sam nor Narcissa understood all that was said in the conference, which appeared to be focused on the case of a young Man who had been badly burned.  After discussing the case, the four of them and a healer who was part of the conference went to the room where burned patients were housed.  They watched through the gauze curtain that protected the room as Aragorn, Elladan, and Elrohir, now masked and their hands cleansed, entered and examined the young Man, placed their hands over him, and together sang the Invocation, feeling the depth of his injuries, letting the healing power granted to them work to the needs of the injured youth.

       An older Man and woman came to stand by them and watch as the King and his brothers began to cleanse the burns, then treat and bandage them.

       “Your son?” asked Sam softly.

       The Man nodded his head.  “It was an accident, just yesterday.  He was assisting in the shoeing of a horse, working the bellows.  The horse kicked over the portable forge, and he was burned.  They brought him here.”

       “The King and his brothers will help him if anyone can,” Sam said.

       “What are they singing?” asked the woman.

       “It’s an invocation to the Valar to assist and protect and heal.”

       Narcissa asked, “You recognize it, Sam?”

       “Oh, yes, I recognize it.  I’ve said the words plenty myself.”  His face was solemn.  “He sang it over all of us, one time or another.”

       The woman asked, “The King sang over you?”

       “Yes, the King and the Lords Elladan and Elrohir there, and probably a good few others as well.”

       “How were you hurt?”

       Sam shook his head.  “We was at the point of death when they found us and brought us to him, my Master and me.”

       “And you recovered?”

       “Mostly.”

       “And your master?”

       “He’s most like still healing.”  He looked up at them.  “I spect your lad there will do well.  It’s not been too long, and the sooner they can get to the healing the better it tends to work.  Now, if you’ll pardon me, I wish to go out and see the gardens.”  The King looked out through the gauze curtain and exchanged nods with Sam, and Sam gave a slight bow and turned away.  Narcissa followed after him.

       Outside they found Lord Glorfindel in the herb garden with two other Elves and a woman, examining a row of plants that was growing along the edge of the plot.  Sam smiled broadly as they approached.  “Good to see you, Legolas, my Lord Tharen.”  Again he gave a slight bow. 

       “You are looking well this morning, Sam,” Legolas said.  “Mistress, welcome to Gondor.”

       “Thank you,” Narcissa said.

       Sam crouched down, examining the plants.  “Aloe.  Any difficulty with the way as they’re growing?”

       “Other than that they need to be thinned somewhat, no.  Do you need any more starts on aloe?”

       “Actually, yes.  Always had it growing in the garden at Bag End, but it was one of the plants as Sharkey’s Big Men flat killed.  Could do with a few starts for there and for the Healers’ Garden at the Three Farthing Stone.”

       “Then we will make certain they are carefully prepared for you to take home with you.”

       Sam thanked them and went on with his inspection of the garden, now and then reaching down to dig his fingers into the soil, other times asking questions of the woman.  He found a row of wintergreen and smiled.  “Frodo and I started this row, we did.”  He gently touched a leaf and examined it.  “It’s doing well, it is.”

       The woman’s eyes were wide with awe.  “You are the Lord Samwise, then?”

       His smile faded.  “I was only named that cuz of him, and I certainly don’t feel like no lord without him.  I’ve always been a gardener, like you.”  He pointedly continued his examination of the garden.

       He’d begun weeding a section where garlic had been planted when the King came forth accompanied by Lord Elrohir and the parents of the young Man he’d treated earlier.  He saw the group in the herb garden and came near to stand over Sam, stooped down and put his hand on the Hobbit’s shoulder.  “It’s time to go and get ready, Sam,” he said softly.

       Sam looked up, dusted off his hands as he nodded and rose, looked at the Elf who’d come out with the King.  “The Lord Elladan will stay here for a time, then?”

       “Yes, he’ll stay a time longer with Bornion.”

       “Won’t leave him much time to prepare for the unveiling.”

       Aragorn laughed.  “He won’t need a great deal of time.  I’ve seen the two of these come directly from a prolonged fight with orcs and wargs, and shortly after be ready to attend a formal feast, looking as if they hadn’t stirred from Imladris for weeks.  Elves have a distinct advantage over us mortals when it comes to looking elegant.” 

       Elrohir gave his foster brother a cool stare.  “We have had time, Estel, to learn to dress ourselves efficiently.”

       Sam smiled, then looked at his fingernails.  “Rosie’ll have things to say about these, she will, once she sees them.”

       The young Man’s parents took their leave of the King, suddenly aware that the one they’d spoken with earlier was the Lord Samwise, promising to come up to the unveiling of the monument just ere noon.  The King nodded and smiled, advising them their son was doing well and would respond well to their visits.  Sam was still quiet and thoughtful, his face particularly solemn.

       As they walked back to the ramp preceded by Pippin and accompanied by the other four, Aragorn asked quietly, “You are missing him a good deal today?”

       Sam nodded.  “Oh, yes, I am.  He is the most dearest of all I ever knew, and I miss him terribly.  You?”

       After a moment of thought, the King answered, still quietly, “Yes, I’m missing him terribly today, also.  Although I did pray that as I must lose him, one way or the other, that he would choose to go via Tol Eressëa that he might know easing and a level of joy once again ere he finally goes through the Gates.”

       Sam nodded, and Hobbit and Man took one another’s hand, squeezing them in mutual assurance.

       Waiting near the top of the ramp stood the small sculptor accompanied by two of his apprentices, his face compassionate as he looked on his King and on the Hobbit of the Shire he’d come to love most of those he’d met.  Narcissa was glad he was there for both Sam and the King today.

Memorials

       Most of the Hobbits went out upon the Pelennor after the unveiling of the memorial to enjoy the day of carnival and entertainment that was begun.  The Lord King himself and his wife, child, and foreign guests accompanied them, and all enjoyed themselves thoroughly.  Narcissa was overwhelmed and perhaps somewhat overstimulated as well.  She ate a luncheon purchased from one of the food tents, wandered about with Merry, Estella, Diamond, Folco and Miriel for a time, keeping an eye on Cyclamen and Pando as they followed Ririon and the apprentice Armanthol with the one introduced as Lord Gilfileg.  Finally, three hours after noon she excused herself and returned to the Sixth Circle where Ruvemir himself met her at the door, serving her with a light meal and seeing her into her room after where she rested until it was time for Elanor’s birthday party, about an hour and a half ere sunset.

       After the party, which was rather short in deference to the feast to come, all went together to the Court of the White Tree to look once more on the memorial.  This time all looked on it more calmly, and Narcissa felt strangely at peace as she looked at it, at Frodo’s sad, challenging expression.  Sam was looking at the clothing which was depicted on his own figure and that of his Master with great interest.

       “Yes, that’s much as we looked just as we prepared to enter the spider’s lair,” he said, “with his clothing just like that, even the tear in the knee as he got as he slipped on a steep part of the stairs.”  He looked at Ruvemir, who now stood holding Rosie-Lass in his arms, young Angara, step-daughter to the Rhunim scribe, beside them.  “How’d you come to know as what the clothes looked like so exact?”

       “I’ve seen them, you know.  They have been carefully preserved and placed in the Hall of Memorials, displayed in crystal frames crafted by the Dwarves.”

       Sam’s flush could be seen even in the twilight that was beginning to darken in the sky.  “Gandalf had said as this would be so, but I still find as it’s hard to accept, that anyone would want as to look at such rags as we wore there at the end.  We was quite the sight.”

       “My beloved Lord Samwise, the two of you were supported, guarded, and guided by the Valar and the Creator Himself at the end.  All would have perished had the two of you not continued on, knowing that you were unlikely to return; and They granted the two of you the grace of rescue and the chance of healing.  All that is reminiscent of that journey is considered blest.”

       Sam looked again at Frodo’s statue.  “At least you didn’t show him wrapped only in my Elven cloak,” he said.  “I don’t know as how it was mended as well as it was, for it was clean when Gandalf give it back to me, and its holes so well healed I still have to look close as to tell where it was ripped and torn from the falls as he took there in Mordor.  It means the more to me, don’t you know, knowing it was what he had about him then.  Seems to bear a bit of his scent even now, which is comforting somehow.”

       “Then how were his clothes preserved if he didn’t have them when you were found?” asked Narcissa.

       It was Pippin who answered.  “When we came to the Black Gate, Aragorn and Gandalf rode forward with Lord Halladan as his standard bearer, King Éomer, Legolas, Gimli, Prince Imrahil, Lords Elladan and Elrohir, and myself.”  His face had begun to pale, Narcissa noted.  “The rest of the army stayed back.  Gandalf as the Lords’ Herald called out the challenge for Sauron to come out and surrender himself, which we all knew was mere words for show.

       “Then the Gates opened, and out rode--out rode a figure attended by Sauron’s war captains.  He was Sauron’s Herald, I suppose.  They called him the Mouth of Sauron, at least.  What he might have looked like once I have no idea.  I suspect he had been born a Man, but his long service for Sauron had twisted him, made him fell and dark, as though his blood had somehow congealed within him, as if he were being transformed somehow into something else--perhaps a particularly Man-like orc or something.  Yet, he didn’t truly look like an orc, either.

       “They brought with them a bulky bundle wrapped in black cloth.  After showering us with insults and calling Aragorn a piece of Elvish glass, he said he had been given tokens he was to show particularly to Gandalf, if he was one of the party come to the parley.  He took the bundle and opened it, showed it forth.  It had Frodo’s clothing, all of it, even his undergarments, ragged and bloody, all save the leather shirt he’d worn under the mithril shirt--that was missing.  The mithril shirt was there, too, and the crystal belt--and Sam’s sword.  That was so odd--to see Sam’s sword and not Sting.  I think it was due to that oddity Aragorn and Gandalf realized it was a bluff.  And they’d not have stripped only Frodo.  So, where were Sting and Sam’s clothing?  And he spoke of only one prisoner. 

       “At first Gandalf blanched, but then his attention was fixed on the sword, and something changed.  He rode forward and snatched it all out of the--the thing’s hands, wrapped it hastily in Frodo’s cloak from Lothlorien, let the black cloth they’d wrapped it in fall.  He said he took it as mementos of the one we’d lost, but that we would not trade all of the free lands and the safety of their peoples for the life of only one individual.  And we rode back.

       “While Aragorn was ordering the forces on the sides of the two hills on which we stood at the last, Gandalf tied that bundle to the pommel of the saddle Aragorn’s horse Roheryn bore, spoke into its ear and the ear of his own horse Shadowfax.  He gave orders to those who had ridden to dismount and tie their reins to their pommels and let them go.  All the horses followed after Shadowfax as he led them away from the battleground, just before the army of Mordor came close enough to stop their escape.”

       “Yes,” said the Lord Steward Faramir, who had come back up from the party with the Hobbits, “both Mithrandir and the King said the same thing, that at first both were shocked and certain Frodo must indeed lie in the dungeons of Barad-dur, until they both looked at the oddity of the sheath and sword brought.  The hangers on Sam’s sheath didn’t quite fit on the glittering belt as did the hangers for Sting’s sheath.  And it appears that none in Mordor appeared to appreciate the fact that this indicated two Pheriannath and not one.  No, if they held Frodo, they must hold only his corpse--that was obvious.  At least Sam was still free; and there was not the feeling of completeness to the horror they felt that would indicate Sauron was now in possession of the Ring.”

       There was movement from the Citadel, and the Lady Éowyn and her brother and his wife, Éomer attended by Merry, came out to join them.

       “The feast will be starting soon,” Éowyn advised the party as her husband reached out his arms to embrace her.  There were other groups coming up the ramp from the lower city, and the Shkatha of Rhun came forward with his brothers and guard so that the Lord Shefti could retrieve his daughter from the company of the Halflings.  Elanor looked at the removal of her playmate with sadness in her eyes.

       “Do not worry, little one,” said the Lord Ifram, “for she will be at the feast also.  There will be no time to play at the first as we prepare for the meal and eat; afterwards there will be some time, I suspect.”

       The Ambassador from Rhun and Master Ruvemir shared a smile with one another as the bell tolled to call them to the Hall of Merethrond.

*******

       Ah, Minas Anor--what a dramatic city!  After a few days Narcissa felt comfortable to wander through it freely.  She was shadowed, she noted, by an Elf or two wherever she might go, and she found herself grateful.  When she saw them she’d nod an acknowledgment of their presence, and they’d incline their heads gracefully in return.  But as no one in all of the city offered her any threat she had no need of their defense.

       She explored from the Fields of the Pelennor to the heights of the Citadel, and together she, Diamond, Estella, Rosie, and Mistress Miriel found shops and secret squares none had dreamed or known of before.  When she could get away from her own duties Elise would join them, and often her sister Dorieth would accompany them as well as Pando, Cyclamen, Ririon, and Celebgil.  They were often presented gifts of flowers and greenery by those they passed, and would be offered glasses of water, juice, cider, or wine, and sometimes food as well.  The sacrifices offered by the four Travelers were deeply honored by the people of Gondor and Minas Anor, Narcissa had come to realize.

       On their fourth day in the city Ruvemir led them and Lord Rustovrid and his party from Harad into the portion of the Citadel where the Hall of Memorials stood.  Here were kept tokens from many of the battles fought by Gondor and its allies, and they saw the armor worn by King Anárion, the helmet of Elendil the Tall, the standard of Eorl the Young, broken swords and cleft shields and horns which had been carried by the greatest defenders of Gondor’s long history.  On one wall hung two crystal cases holding the clothing which had been worn by Frodo and Sam from the time they left the rest of the Fellowship at Amon Hen onward.  Narcissa and Ruvemir went together to look up at it.  She certainly recognized Frodo’s, for the trousers were ones he’d worn on his walking trips for years, although now they were so worn it was difficult to tell what color they’d once been; and the shirt was the one he’d preferred to wear when marketing.  Now they hung here in Minas Anor, treated with greatest respect.

       “Sam and the King have both told me that for most of the trip through Mordor itself Frodo wore only Sam’s cloak from Lothlorien belted about with a length of rope, for they had stripped him in the tower of Cirith Ungol,” Ruvemir told her when they stood alone together before the frame holding Frodo’s garb.  “He wore some orc gear for a time, but could not bear it any more after a few days, and would not wear it further.  Sam continued to wear some of the orc clothing over his own clothing, in case he needed to search for water along the orc roads so he wouldn’t be recognized easily as a stranger to the land.  But Frodo had little strength and got to the point he could not bear the touch of the cloth of the servants of Mordor, much less their helmets and other gear.” 

       The guards on duty in this room stood tall and proud, honoring the memory of those who had fought for the realm of Gondor over the centuries.  They were shown swords and spears of many, and the cloven horn which had been borne by Boromir son of Denethor, and the hilts of the swords which had been carried by Merry and the Lady Éowyn.  In one box sat a horrible blackened crown.  “That was worn by the Lord of the Nazgul,” explained Ruvemir with a shudder.  “Quite a contrast to that one,” he added, pointing to a gold circlet over a gilded helmet that sat nearby.  “That was worn by King Théoden.  They buried him with the helmet he wore when he was younger, allowed this one to remain here.”

       He then indicated a small shield, one which had obviously been crumpled and carefully straightened, that stood nearby.  “And that was borne by Pippin to the Black Gate, was found beneath the body of the troll he slew.”

       Before they finally left the room of memorial, Narcissa went back once more accompanied by Cyclamen to look at the clothing Frodo had worn.  She examined it closely, saw how buttons had been torn away, shirt studs lost, the knee ripped, hems worn and frayed.  Below the frame on a laquered stand was a vase of colored glass similar to the beads the woman had given her when she’d entered the city the first time, a vase filled with white blossoms and green sprays.  Beneath the frame containing Sam’s clothing stood a matching vase, filled with herbs and flowers of many colors.  She nodded, feeling this was right somehow.

       After they left the room they went out to the Court of the White Tree, and sitting on the grass around the fountain they shared memories of Frodo from their earliest encounters with him.  Sam found himself mentioning the first time he’d gone to the Free Fair with Frodo, and of the wooden bird figure Frodo had looked at repeatedly.  “I remember that,” Narcissa said, “for I was shadowing him all over the fairgrounds that day.  He spent such a long time looking at that bird.”

       “He always loved birds and flying things--and stars,” Folco said.  “How many times I’d come to spend the night at Bag End and we’d sleep out on top of the Hill and he’d tell me the names of the stars and the constellations.  And he never went birdnesting, for he said he didn’t wish a bird not to be born due to him.  One sparrow, one summer there, came to trust him, and he’d hold out buttered bread on his hand and it would fly down and light on it, and would peck at the bread.  I had to stand away from him behind the oak tree, for I couldn’t stand still long enough for the bird to come to trust me and fly down to him if I stood by him.”

       “I’d forgotten that, I had,” Sam said.  “Yes, now I member that bird.  I think as I still have a picture he done of that sparrow.  He’d build boxes for the sparrows and the finches, he would, and would hang them each spring in the trees of the orchard and the Party Tree.”

       “He’d get so frustrated with me,” Pippin said, “for teasing the birds in his nest boxes.  I certainly remember the stars, how one night about eight of us slept up there on top of the hill, all watching the stars and making up new names for constellations and all.”

       Fredegar Bolger laughed.  “What we were not doing that night was sleeping, or at least not much of it.  Berilac had come with Merry from Buckland, and Ferdibrand had brought you, Pippin, and the Gaffer had grudgingly allowed Sam to join us.  We were as giddy as any group of lasses as ever got together to dress one another’s hair.  Folco had brought a bottle of Ponto’s home brew and we were all sampling it, even you, Pippin, when we thought Frodo wasn’t looking.”

       The King joined them then, after spending a moment in communion with the White Tree.  Sam looked up at him.  “Meeting with the embassy from Umbar go all right?” he asked.

       “More pleasantly than the last one, I must say,” he said, settling down on one elbow in the grass.  He pulled out his pipe, accepted some pipeweed from Folco, and lit it, drawing on the smoke with contentment.  Elise and Melian, accompanied by Elanor, Angarra, and Frodo-Lad, came from around the side of the Citadel from the gardens area.  After them came the Lady Arwen with Éowyn and Lothiriel and a few of their maids, Miriel carrying Rosie-Lass and followed by Lorieth and Lanril, and Lord Hardorn. 

       Narcissa smiled, for indeed one of the Rohirrim maids was hanging back to speak with the King’s cousin.  “Your plan to see him married appears to be going forward, Lord King,” she said. 

       “Oh, a plot is it?” asked Pippin, a broad grin on his face.  “So that’s what the three of you were hatching on the morning of the unveiling!  Is that why he’s been assigned more to the guarding of the Queen?”  He looked over at where Eregiel and Artos stood today on guard for Aragorn, then back at Hardorn’s approach behind the Queen as he tried to simultaneously look out at all sides and yet remain courteous to the lady.  There was soft laughter throughout the party as the Queen joined them and the children hurried forward to all flop down comfortably about Samwise Gamgee.  Then all perked up as behind the Queen came servants from the kitchens with blankets, and baskets and trays of food and drink for luncheon. 

       As Hardorn approached he gave a sketchy bow and salute to his King, along with a searching look.  From his position, reclining on his side in the grass beneath the Tree, Aragorn simply smiled back at him, saluting him with his pipe.

*******

       They’d been there nine days before several of the Hobbit ladies made the journey down to the Fourth Circle to seek out the young woman who’d given them the strings of beads.  They finally found her.

       “Mistress Linneth?” asked Estella.

       “Yes, although I am surprised you know my name,” she said.

       “Frodo remembered it and told us of you and your father.  We recognized who you must be by the descriptions Frodo gave of your father’s work and the beauty of the beads you gave us.  He always remembered the wonder of how the devastation of the Mountain had nevertheless brought forth such beauty from your father’s hearth.”

       “Lord Frodo himself made a strong impression on us, on my father and me,” Linneth responded.  “He was fascinated by my father’s work and spent three days with him in his workshop.  Would you like to meet him?”

       The workshop of Celebrion son of Celebmir was hot from the fire of its furnace, yet full of a feeling of light and space.  Shelves about the room held the results of his work--bowls, pitchers, vases, goblets, figures, ewers, cups.  He was putting the final touches of a bowl of cased glass when they arrived, and all were taken with its beauty.  Much of his work was etherial in appearance, but this was very solid and rich, a deep cobalt blue within, then a layer in which flecks of silver were embedded, and a clear layer over all.  Diamond especially looked on it
entranced.

       “Oh,” she said, “I would love to have such a work in those colors, but in a pitcher rather than a bowl.”

       Finishing his work at last, Master Celebrion turned to see the guests his daughter had admitted, and stopped, surprised and amazed.  “Pheriannath?  But you are the ones come to the unveiling of the memorial.  It is a great honor!”

       They spent all of the afternoon in the workshop looking at his work and listening to his tales.  He’d traveled once to Far Harad, and there he’d been taught the use of volcanic ash to bring a special play of light to the glass’s surface, and had thought to gather as much ash as possible after the coronation of the King so as to allow himself a goodly stock likely to last many years.  Yet, he indicated, he enjoyed experimenting with many techniques and colors, and proudly showed off his workmanship.  Cased glass, simple crystal, much in the way of the volcano glass with its play of colors, similar work done with various salts, cased glass with designs carved through the colors, cut glass, etched glass, enamelled glass--he had examples of each. 

       In the end each ended up purchasing or commissioning items from him, starting with the pitcher in the cased blue, flecks of silver, and clear glass desired by Diamond.  Narcissa found a blue bird with enameled stars on its base that reminded her of the figure that long ago Frodo had admired at the Free Fair, just after he came to live at Bag End, and she purchased that.

       The next day she went alone to the Hall of Memorials in the Citadel, and placed it there by the vase in which the white blossoms stood before the frame holding Frodo’s garb from the quest.  She was preparing to leave when Sam came in with Rosie and the children, including Lorieth and Lanrion, Cyclamen and Pando.  He smiled at her, then paused as he spotted the figure she’d just set by the vase.  He flushed and then looked back up into her face.

       “You thought about that bird, too?” he asked.  When she nodded, he continued, “I’d saved up some of my own money, went back to see if I could buy that bird for Frodo.  I didn’t have enough, but Master Stock give it to me for what I had anyway.  I gave it to him for my birthday the next spring.  He took it with him on the ship.”

       “Oh, I am so glad,” she said.  “I am so glad.”  They shared a smile.  Pando carried a small box, and out of it he lifted a carefully formed ceramic bird, delicately painted, and set it by the glass bird she’d set there, and Lorieth set there a wooden bird. 

       “Ririon carved this one,” she said.  “After Master Sam had told us of the bird Lord Frodo took with him, we wanted to leave these here, too.”

       They shared smiles with one another.  “Yes,” Sam said, “it appears we all had the same idea.”  He set down a bird woven of golden straw.  Rosie laughed, and pulled out of the pocket of her skirt a pair of enamelled shirt studs in the shapes of birds against stars and set them there with the rest.  Together they nodded once more, then finally left the room together. 

       When the day was done, one of the guards went to bring the King, who looked at the small offerings and smiled, tears filling his eyes.  He looked up at the torn clothing so carefully preserved and displayed, and said softly, “You’ve flown away, my friend, but not so far the heart can’t wish to bridge the gap.”  The next day he brought a pen made of a sea bird’s plume, one which had not been stripped of its fibrils, and set it by the birds.  Elladan and Elrohir were with him when he set it there, and nodded. 

       “Very fitting,” Elrohir said. 

       Elladan smiled.  Gently he added one final gift, a small flute carved in the shape of a bird.

       “You found my bird flute?” asked Aragorn.

       “Yes, when we cleaned out the garden beneath what had been your room’s balcony--we found it there in the soil.  We were going to give it to you, although it no longer brings forth music when blown into; but felt this was a better place to leave it.”

       Aragorn looked at it and at the other figures that stood there already.  “Adar gave it to me when I was so young, told me it had been played by my father.  I was heartbroken when it went missing.  But it is the right place for it, to sit here with the others.”

       That evening with Pippin on duty, he went out to the White Tree, then to look on the memorial, and looked long into the face of his friend, then began to sing, in Quenya, a lament for friends sundered by the seas.  Pippin stood by, his sword drawn, looking so much as his figure did in the memorial, listening to the grief and hope expressed in that song, one made for other sunderings endured ages past but certainly appropriate for this time.  Narcissa, who sat quietly with Cyclamen and Pando under the Tree, listened also, and came to understand why the four of them so loved the Lord King Aragorn Elessar.  After a time a white figure moved out of the shadows and joined him, and Aragorn kissed his wife gently, then finally went back to the Citadel with her, holding her closely to his side.

Impressions

       The Hobbits rode out on a Highday to the memorials upon the Pelennor with the King, Queen, and their foreign guests, heard the battle described by those who had seen it and fought in it.  They all went down together one night to the Dragon’s Claw and ate there, feasting on mushrooms dipped in batter and fried in fat, roast lamb, mashed parsnips, and greens in a marvelous salad into which mushrooms of a sort they’d not seen before had been sliced.  They attended audiences, and several times Sam, Merry, and Pippin were asked to attend Council meetings.  They attended the weapons practices in which Pippin and Merry regularly took part, and saw Pippin giving instruction on unusual techniques to some of the younger recruits.

       Narcissa went several times with the King and Budgie Smallfoot to the Houses of Healing, and watched the recovery of the youth Borion.  One day when they arrived they found Lorieth and Miriel were there, Lorieth holding her hair out of the way to show the scars on her face and shoulder, and describing how they were on her side as well.  The young Man treated her with great kindness, and she smiled back up at him.  “You won’t be as scarred as me,” she said reassuringly.  “And mine aren’t so bad as they were.”

       Folco went often to one or another of the gardens in the upper levels of the city alongside Sam, and he described the farm in Lebennin and his work there and the flourishing of the gardens and fields.  Narcissa saw the happiness in the face of each as Folco and Miriel would see one another after an absence even of so short a time as an  hour or so, and was reassured that her cousin had chosen well in marrying this woman from among Men. 

       The Dwarves held a feast one night and invited the Hobbits to it, and all sat on low benches and ate and drank heavily, laughing and hearing the songs of the Dwarves sung, with their images of gold and jewels and defiance of dragons.  At one point a number of the Dwarves, including Gloin, Gimli, Dorlin, and Orin, performed a dance of their people, one that was particularly moving.  Among the guests, besides the Hobbits, were Ruvemir and Legolas Thranduilion, who watched with respect and delight this exhibition.  In return Merry, Pippin, Gimli, and Legolas sang a song that Bilbo had once written about Smaug the dragon, and all applauded happily.

       One night a number of the Elves from Eryn Lasgolen, Lothlorien, and Rivendell gathered in the gardens about the Houses of Healing and began singing.  From all over the Sixth Circle and the level of the Citadel folk gathered to listen, songs humorous and sad, stirring and soothing, mysterious and joyful, reflecting longing and fellowship, shining like Varda’s stars and glinting like their reflections on the waves of the Sea.  Narcissa had never heard such beauty in her life.

       On a night of rain the Hobbits joined the King and Queen in their own chambers, and there they saw the great bowl which Frodo had given them before he left Gondor to return to the Shire, and the small figure Ruvemir had carved of Frodo on the bench before Bag End, his pipe in his hand.

       “He never smoked after we was saved,” Sam said sadly.  “His lungs couldn’t tolerate it none, not after what we went through.  Although,” he added after further thought, “I suspect that the smell of smoke often brought back the darkness of Mordor for him.”  The King nodded his understanding.  “But it’s good to member that at one time he did smoke and enjoyed it, that it meant he was indeed a Hobbit of the Shire.”  He looked at the smiling face of the figure and smiled in return, stroked its head with his finger.  Then the talk turned to the Shire schools and the progress there, their growing acceptance throughout the four Farthings and Buckland.

       Another night they dined in the house of Mistress Idril, saw Master Ruvemir and Mistress Miriel with their father and Master Faragil and Mistress Lisbet, the joy of the family, the pleasure and respect all felt toward Folco and the love all felt for the children.  Stories were told of growing up in the city and in the countryside of Lebennin, then contrasted with stories of the farms of the Marish and life in Hobbiton and the Tooklands.  Weddings were described, in Michel Delving, in Buckland, at Bag End, on the farm in Lebennin, at the Inn of the King’s Head, in the Citadel of the city, in Edoras.  Their favorite books were discussed, and the Hobbits were all amazed at how much more extensive their own libraries were than that of Mistress Idril, which was considered quite large, they learned, within Gondor.

*******

       Ferdibrand Took and Narcissa stood near the end of the pier of rock, Narcissa describing what she saw below them, the wind from the Sea to the South blowing their hair behind them as they faced into it.  They were joined by the Lady Arwen, who stood quietly listening as Narcissa finished her description.  Ferdibrand turned slightly, seemed to be listening carefully, then asked, “My Lady Queen, am I right in thinking it is you there?”

       “Yes, Master Ferdibrand.”

       He smiled.  “I am beginning to perceive your Light now, I think.  That of the King I always see now, as I did Frodo’s.  And I can certainly tell that of Lord Celeborn and Lord Glorfindel now.”

       “Your heart sees truly, my friend,” she said quietly.

       He ducked his head slightly in response.  “I am even realizing I’ve seen Sam’s Light for years, and have no idea how I could have missed paying attention to it all this time.”

       “Perhaps he stood for too long beside Frodo, and so you saw only that of the one you knew better and loved as friend and kinsman.”

       “That is very probable,” he agreed.  “Also, I never allowed myself to truly know him before, for before I saw Frodo first and Sam second to him, as if he were only part of Frodo instead of the wonderful Hobbit he is in his own right.”  He straightened, and Narcissa realized that he did so the same way that Frodo had done.  “I have been having different people tell me what they see from here, for each seems to see different things and describes it differently.  Would you mind telling me what you see from here?”

       Her eyebrows rose in response to the request, but she smiled and knelt down beside him and looked out.  After a moment of silence she began to speak.  “Far to the South is the shining of the Sundering Sea, the gold of the lowering Sun reflected in pale glory from its waters, the dark of the River Anduin, which twists by the city to the left and across the path of vision before us, running into its light and losing its darkness at the last.”

       Narcissa stood, fascinated, listening to the lyrical description the Queen gave, giving majesty and character to all which her eyes saw, and a small smile of delight sat on Ferdibrand’s face as the description unfolded.  The King came out to join the three of them after a time, and he, too, leaned on the parapet and listened, his eyes shining with delight, his smile almost matching that of the Hobbit for whom his wife described the view.  Ferdibrand turned toward him briefly, gave a bow, then turned back to attend more closely to the Queen’s words. 

       Finally she paused.  “There is so much I can see with my eyes, more than there is time to tell of,” she said quietly.

       “It is enough, my Lady,” he answered.  “Each one who’s described it to me has told different things from the others, and from them all I am developing a more full idea of what all there is to be seen.  But you see further than the others do, and there is more of light and darkness in what you have to tell.

       “I miss seeing faces the most, but also I miss the lie of the land.  What is described here is so different from what I remember of the Shire.  The tall, dark mountains there--” he pointed off to the left, east across the river, “--are so much greater and more frightening than the hills and ridges I’ve known in my homeland.  I thought the ridges above Long Cleeves in the Northfarthing were the highest and most formidable heights I could ever know; but then I have not seen true mountains save through the eyes of others.  Then there are the mountains to the west and north of us, which reflect the light where those on the other side absorb it, and I begin to understand why Sauron was referred to as the Dark Lord.”

       “An interesting observation,” the Queen replied.  Then she turned to Narcissa.  “Mistress Narcissa,” she began, “there is a question I would ask you, now that there is only one other here whom I know to be discrete.  On the evening we discussed dancing, it was noted that although Frodo had danced the Husbandmen’s Dance for many years, they stopped asking him to do so.  At the time, you flushed.  Do you know why this happened?”

       Narcissa dropped her gaze, feeling her face flush once more, feeling like an errant child caught stealing from the pantry.  “Yes, my Lady.  My mother told me the reason when I demanded to know why he didn’t dance that year.”

       “Will you please tell us?”

       She wished she could sink into the stone on which she stood.  “It was because of me,” she said, her voice not much above a whisper.  “Well, not only me, but mostly because of me.”

       The Lady set a finger beneath Narcissa’s chin and raised her face to her own.  “Please tell us,” she said softly.

       Narcissa sighed, and explained.  She saw the grief grow on the King’s face, but on both she also saw understanding.  When she was done, Ferdibrand said, “So, that was it, then?  I’d wondered also.”

       The Lord Aragorn Elessar looked off to the West, his face saddened.  As he turned back he sighed, “Another joy the Ring stole from him.  Nay, small Lady, do not blame yourself.  The Ring may have been mostly asleep, but It was wakening, and would have delighted to deprive Its bearer of the ability to express joy and the skill of his body.  I suspect It also helped the envy felt by his cousin Lotho to increase to the point he would seek to deprive him of all that had formerly given him pleasure and balance in his life as well.  The Ring was ever vindictive when Its bearers did not bring It closer to Its master.”

       “Did you feel Its influence, my Lord King?” she asked.

       He straightened and nodded, looked off Eastward at the former realm of Sauron.  “Oh, yes, I did.  I had to close my mind to Its call, for It would have delighted to catch such as me.  Often I felt the demand as Frodo slept to come and take It from him, the assurance that It was destroying him, depriving him of his ability to know happiness.  It realized It could capture my attention through my love and pity for him.  Gandalf told me ere we parted that It was the same for him.”

       “The Ring would have sought to take a Wizard?”  Narcissa was shocked.

       “It sought to take Saruman, and he at the time was the head of the White Council.  And It called to him from across Middle Earth.  Oh, yes, if It could have corrupted Gandalf as well, It would have been well pleased.”

       Ferdibrand sighed.  “Merry and Pippin have denied feeling It calling to them.  As Sam wore it, I understand how he became aware of Its influence.  Do you know if Gimli and Legolas felt It?”

       “I have been reluctant to ask them and intrude on their privacy in this matter.  Not,” he said, seeing Narcissa begin to blush again, “that I regret you asked me.  You have done no discourtesy, my Lady.”

       Ferdibrand again straightened and stretched some.  “My Lord Aragorn,” he said, turning toward the Man, “would you like to share a pipe with me?” 

       “Gladly, Master Ferdibrand.”  The King brought out his pipe and pouch, and taking the Hobbit’s pipe filled it with crumbled leaf, then filled his own.  Ferdi brought out his striker and quickly had his pipe lit, then offered it to the King.  Aragorn smiled, murmured his thanks, lit his own and held out the striker, which Ferdibrand reached for unerringly.  For a moment the King examined his guest, then commented, “I know you cannot hear my changes of position all that well in this breeze, yet you seem to have no difficulty in following my movements.”

       “It is your Light, my Lord,” the Hobbit smiled.  “It keeps me apprised of where you are, and when you are near to me, of what you are doing.”

       “Could you do the same with Frodo’s Light?” asked Aragorn.

       “At the last I could.  I had to learn to understand what it was I saw.”

       “I see.  I’d not thought before of being perceived myself in terms of Light, yet it seems to be almost as common among the Hobbits I have met as it is in the Elves.”

       “Do you see the Light of Being in others yourself?”

       “In the Elves I know, yes, and immediately in Frodo, from the moment I first saw him.  It was disconcerting.  Sam’s was not as quickly seen, but it grows ever clearer the longer I have known him.  And I don’t think it is because his is growing greater as much as my own ability to perceive and appreciate it has grown.”

       Ferdibrand laughed.  “So, it is basically the same for both of us.  We’ve had to learn to appreciate Sam to truly perceive and treasure his Light.”

       “Apparently so, Master Ferdi.  Now, tell me, what do you see to the West?”

       Ferdibrand smiled and turned west, then looked a bit troubled, then looked down, then seemed to be focused on the Citadel.  “There is another Light in the way, my Lord, and not like the ones I’ve seen in Elves, you, or other Hobbits.  It is there,” and he pointed at the Tree.  “I’ve noted it several times going through this level, and at times it’s as if I see a--a reflection of Frodo’s Light beneath it.  His Light isn’t there now, though.  Yet I’ve felt it there at times.”

       “What does the Light you perceive there now remind you of?”

       “I hope you don’t laugh, but it reminds me of a tree, such as the tree that was shaped in the firework of Gandalf’s that Pippin lit on his birthday as Master Ruvemir described it to me.”

       King, Queen, and Narcissa shared looks.  “Well, the White Tree stands there, and there is no question it has a Light of Being to it.  And there is its ancestor standing, it is said, on Tol Eressëa.  And I will tell you this:  often when I touch it in greeting, I seem to feel Frodo as if he stood or sat beneath it.  I have a strong feeling that he spends a good deal of time beneath the White Tree there, and that Bilbo did the same.  However, I believe Bilbo is no longer on the island there, that he has gone on.”

       “I do not see Bilbo’s Light when I look that way,” Ferdibrand said quietly.  “If Frodo spends a good deal of time there, I suspect it indicates he still thinks a good deal of us here, and particularly you.”

       Aragorn laid one hand on Ferdibrand’s shoulder as the two puffed on their pipes.  Both appeared to have taken comfort in this exchange, Narcissa realized.

       She looked to the Queen in question, and the Lady Arwen nodded in agreement.

Taking Leave

       The final meal with the Lord and Lady of Gondor and Arnor was subdued.  All the Hobbits were experiencing mixed feelings, hating the thought of leaving the presence of Aragorn and Arwen, and wishing strongly to be home again, in their own houses or holes, where things were proper Hobbit-size, where they would sleep on or near ground level, where they weren’t surrounded by so many strange if friendly folk so many times their own size.  Aragorn’s attitude was also quiet, and he spent much of his time looking at his guests as if memorizing each face and form and nature.  Melian and Rosie-Lass sat side by side, the two of them keeping watch on one another from the sides of their eyes as if afraid one or both would suddenly disappear.  Elanor and Frodo-Lad sat by their father, leaning into him, although it was unclear whether it was to comfort him or themselves--or both.  They ate in the large dining hall within the Citadel tonight rather than in the feast hall, and other than Pando, Ruvemir, Elise, and Ruvemir’s apprentice Armanthol there were no other guests. 

       “I will be there in the summer,” Aragorn said quietly, “for there is the conference on security of borders and coordinating coinage which will be held in Rivendell.”

       “That’s not a long time,” Sam noted.  “Twice in a year to see you may seem a bit overwhelming though.”  His smile was quickly mirrored by one from the King.  “Will you be coming alone?”

       “No, Prince Faramir will be accompanying me, and I hope Arwen and Melian as well.”

       “Who will serve as Steward here, then?  The Lord Prince Imrahil?”

       “Yes.  After all, Halladan has certainly had his share of trips here to Minas Anor where he has had to leave the Seneschal or Gilfileg in charge.”

        “I’m surprised you haven’t had them here with us as well.”

       “I see a great deal more of my cousin and Steward than I do of you folk, and we had our final meal together at luncheon, along with the rest who will be heading north again.  He wished to spend the evening with Prince Imrahil and his brother and some of our other cousins tonight.”

       Ferdibrand asked, “Did it seem odd, going from growing up in Rivendell as if you were Lord Elrond’s son to living and serving among your kinsmen among Men and becoming the chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain and the captain of the Rangers?”

       Aragorn thought for a moment, his eyes observing the blind Hobbit as he felt surreptitiously on his plate with his finger to find what food was left.  “Yes, in many ways it did.  For eighteen years I had lived primarily among Elves, and to see so few now with the familiar grace and ears was rather a shock.  The voices were deeper, more likely to be rough; there were the beards to experience; decisions tended to be hastier and less considered.  I’d not yet begun to grow a beard myself--it didn’t really begin to grow until I was about twenty-four; alongside my fellows I looked like a youth, although I was as old as fully half of those in my troop and taller than all.  Most didn’t know who I was at first, for I’d asked to start as any new Ranger would so that I know what those coming in experienced.  Only four in my first troop knew my identity, and they did not differentiate between me and the other new recruits.  It took many by complete surprise the first time we encountered orcs, for none expected me to be as able with sword and bow as I was.  Most thought I was several years younger than I was due to my lack of a beard shadow, and had not expected me to have had long practice with weapons.  None save my commander knew I’d ridden out against orcs with Eladdan and Elrohir since I was seventeen. 

       “When Halbarad lost his sword I was able to put myself between him and the orcs who had attacked him and hold them off long enough for the others to pull him to safety.  When afterwards I took over and stitched his wound and saw the bandages on, they looked on me as if I were a legend come to life.  Halbarad said I had such an Elvish air as I worked over him, far different from those who served as surgeons among our forces; and one of the older youths who had taunted me for leaving my mother’s hearth to die yet a child made great apologies.  By the end of our three-month patrol no one was treating me as a child any longer, at least.”

       He sipped at his goblet of wine, and finally continued.  “It was not always comfortable, yet there was a feeling of rightness to it, if you can understand it.  I was among those whose heart beat as mine did, who didn’t see and hear better than I did for a change, whose awareness we all might die in the next assault was as strong as my own.  I kept my own counsel for the most part, watched, listened, and learned.  I was often homesick for Rivendell, but at the same time I had a feeling of homecoming.”

       “Among your own kind, then?” asked Fredegar Bolger.

       “Among my own kind?  Perhaps--as much as such as I am has an own kind.”  He thought some more.  “Raised among Elves, yet a Man.  I thought in Sindarin primarily, although I was raised to speak Westron and Adunaic as well as Quenya at the same time.  I was serving alongside Adar in the healing arts from childhood, and here, because I bore the healing hands of the King expectations were very high.  I was not exposed to many children, and knew little of how normal children grow--even then there had been no Elflings born in Rivendell for centuries.  I grew up hearing the tales told and songs sung in the Hall of Fire.  Hearing the rougher songs and tales told among the Men of my troop was disconcerting, and even more so when I found myself understanding them at the last.  The sense of humor among Elves is far different than that borne by mortals, and I had to learn to know my own mortality that I might understand the jokes and jibes I heard among my fellows.  To find myself among a good many who had never learned to read and write was a shock.  Denied companionship of my own age as a child, I had turned to books as my companions, and so knew more of Túrin and Turgon and the tales of the First and Second Ages than I did of the pursuits of childhood.

       “Of course, my brothers and Adar and Naneth raised me aware of the world of nature around me, but it hurt not to be able to hear the communications of the trees as they did.  Elladan and Elrohir did teach me to track, however, which certainly stood me in good stead in my new position.  I was taught how to hide as well, for such is often necessary for Rangers to know.  The day I managed to hide so well that Elladan could not find me they celebrated my mastery of that art.”

       “They celebrated?” asked Pippin.

       Aragorn laughed.  “Oh, yes, they celebrated, for I had not thought ahead of time to work out with them how long I ought to stay hidden before I accepted they had given up on me.  I returned two days after I left, stiff from having stayed so still for so long.  They were beginning to become worried by that time, but Adar let them know I was well enough and would return when I’d finally realized that the hunt had been given over.” 

       Again he sipped from his cup, then put it down.  “I was a puzzle to my fellows when I began my work among the Rangers, with my solemn demeanor, my quietness, my lack of understanding of their humor, my lack of familiarity with so many of the ways and traditions of our folk--yet they realized I knew far more of the history of both Gondor and Arnor than they did, and far more of the nature of the Enemy and his creatures.  A few of them referred to me as the Elf Princeling, addressing me as ‘my Elvish Lord’ and other such foolishness.  Our troop’s captain allowed this, warning me that he would do so.  ‘You must understand how they see you,’ he told me.  ‘You must prove your skills and your leadership with them.  The name does no harm to you, and reflects in truth a deal of respect in spite of being intended as a taunt.  Show them that you are mortal, but also show them that there is truth in the title, for you are indeed Elvish in nature, and rightly so.  Let them come slowly to the realization of just who you truly are, and they will at the proper time follow you where you must lead them.  Just make certain that when you lead them, it is indeed the proper time to take them to the specific place that is your goal.’  

       “There was a good deal more of such advice, and I followed it.  As they saw me wield sword and bow, as they realized I could track almost any creature, as they realized I was a skilled healer in spite of my apparent youth, as they realized I had been taught a full understanding of our foes and used it well--a few began to realize who I must be.  Then came the day when Orimirion found Narsil in my equipment....”

       He went quiet for some time, a half smile on his lips.

       Finally Pippin prompted him, “What happened then?”

       The King straightened, looked at his Captain from among the Periannath, and his smile became rueful.  “He had the unfortunate habit of borrowing from other people’s stores without asking.  He’d torn his own cloak and knew I carried two extra, one given me by Adar that had been sent from Lothlorien for his use, but that he’d not had the heart to wear since the Lady Celebrían sailed for the Undying Lands.  He was looking through my goods to find one of the extras and found the sheath and brought it out, calling out, ‘Look, all--the Princeling is so wealthy he can afford to carry two swords at the same time!  What is this one, one left by an uncle or some such?’ and then he sought to draw it. 

       “I must have gone stark white with fury, for he stopped and paled, and let his hands drop.  In doing so he turned the sheath, and the hilt spilled out upon the ground.  He looked down upon it, and the paling grew profound as the realization of what he’d done and what sword this was struck him, and what that indicated about me.  He went upon his knees and held out the sheath to me, struck dumb with shock.”

       Merry was shaking his head.  “It must indeed have been a shock, particularly as you’ve said that it had been told to your people you’d died of a fever as a child.”

       The King nodded.  “Yes, it was.  I reached inside my shirt and drew out the chain on which I carry the ring of Barahir when I do not wear it, unfastened it, and put the ring upon my hand.  I did not say another word.  I gently took the sheath from his hand, respectfully lifted the hilt from the ground and placed it where it belonged, and then I simply looked at him.  Finally he murmured, ‘I apologize for my lack of respect, my Lord,’ and that was the end of the affair.  But in that moment I lost my place among them as their fellow, for I was plainly not that.  It is lonely, being born to wear such as this,” and he raised his hand to look on the ring he wore.

       Sam was nodding his head with sympathy and understanding in his eyes.  “So it was you understood the better what is was like for my Master, having to carry the one as he bore.”

       The King dropped his eyes to the table top, then raised them to meet the Hobbit’s.  “Yes.  Not that any of us, save you, Sam, has any true idea of how it was to carry that.  Not that even you can know truly how it worked on him.”

       Sam dropped his own eyes and shrugged.  Elanor looked up at her father and smiled, and his own face softened into a smile in response.

       Merry cleared his throat.  “We will all miss you, Aragorn, my Lady Arwen.  But it is time for us to return home.”

       “We will miss you as well,” the Queen said softly.  “And we look forward to seeing you again in a few months in the North.  That you agreed to come to the unveiling for the memorial--that you agreed to it to begin with, has meant such a great deal to all of us here.”

       After the meal was done, the King asked if they would walk out with him to the White Tree.  Together they did so, Aragorn carrying both Melian and Rosie-Lass, speaking softly with each as they went, both of them reduced quickly to giggles at whatever it was he was saying.  Sam carried his son on his left hip, and Elanor walked alongside him.  Folco and Miriel, they found, were sitting on one of the benches that looked on the Tree, their arms about one another. 

       “Where’s the bairns?” Sam asked.

       “With my father and Naneth Lisbet,” Miriel answered.

       “We’ll miss you so, both of you and your whole family, Folco and Mistress Miriel, and Mistress Elise and Master Ruvemir as well.  I regret now fully that I did not come to your wedding,” Narcissa said.

       The King was standing beside Ferdibrand, and leaned down to ask him something privately.  The blind Hobbit turned toward the Tree as if examining it, and his face lit up with a smile.  “Yes, my Lord Aragorn, I see the reflection there now.”

       Aragorn smiled broadly.  “Good then.  Well, my friends, shall we pay our respects to the White Tree of Gondor, to the one which gave birth to it, and to all those who may rest for a time beneath that one?”

       Sam looked up to the King for clarification, but Pippin, with a moment’s thought broke out into a wide grin and stepped forward, bowed, then placed his hand against the shining trunk.  “As one who is now a son of Gondor I salute you, and your ancestor, and the one I hope is there with your ancestor now.  I’m doing well, Frodo.  Wish you could see the beauty of my wife.”

       He stepped back, and Merry took his place.  “So, that’s what this is about.”  His eyes closed as if bringing to mind a particular scene, and at last, with a smile he ducked his head and stepped back, then bowed to the Tree.

       Folco looked at the others, then took his own place at the Tree, reaching out to his cousin, expressing his love for him, and finally retreated and bowed to the Tree as had Merry.  He was followed by Fredegar and Ferdi.  “Well, old Cousin,” Freddie whispered, “I’ve found my courage at the last, and I think you’d feel proud of me if you could only see me now.”  Ferdi said nothing, only kept both palms to the bole of the Tree for some moments, a smile growing larger across his face as he stood there.  At last he nodded and stepped back, and Freddie followed suit, taking his arm to steady him.  Both gave bows to the Tree, Ferdi’s quite profound.

       Budgie looked embarrassed, but straightened and stepped up to the Tree decidedly, deliberately set his hand against its bark.  His expression turned from decision to delighted surprise, then a gentle smile, as if he were able to hear the voice of one he remembered with longing.  At last he, too, stepped away and gave a bow.  “I’d never thought of honoring a Tree before,” he murmured, “but I find more of my beliefs about the world have been changed.  Thank you.”

       Sam looked at Pando and Cyclamen, and together they stepped forward, both smiling proudly.  They were followed by Miriel, Diamond, and Estella.  “I feel a bit embarrassed,” Diamond said.  “Yes, I saw him dancing at the Free Fair, and even danced with him once when I was but a lass, but it’s not as if I truly knew him as you all did.”

       “And I never met him at all,” Miriel said.

       “Doesn’t matter,” Sam said with quiet authority.  “You’re family now.” 

       “He’d be delighted to see the wonderful lady you’ve become, and to know the one Folco has come to love,” Estella said encouragingly.  “On the count of three?”  At Diamond’s nod, she counted.

       “Oh!” Diamond said, then smiled.  Miriel’s face was full of soft pleasure.  After a moment the three of them pulled away, all smiling through tears.

       Narcissa bowed to the Tree as she approached it, then placed her own hand on the trunk, felt the thrill of the Life that ran through the Tree it encased, the joy of Life it embodied.  She closed her eyes and tried to envision Frodo there, standing also under his own Tree, and seemed to see him indeed, a shimmering figure in the starlight, his face full of delight and awe to equal theirs as his hand touched the bark of a Tree far taller than the one before her, far taller and far older, yet just as lovely.  I want to thank you, she framed the thought she wished to share with him.  Thank you for teaching me how to love.  I so hope you are happy also.  And you were right--your friend Aragorn the King is indeed well worth the loving.

       She had the experience of surprise, delighted surprise.  Narcissa?  How wonderful!  May you know Joy!  There was no regret in that communication.  Tears of pleasure spilling from her eyes, she stepped back, bowed again to the Tree, thanking it.  She seemed to feel amusement and compassion.

       Sam and his family stepped up all at the same time, Rosie now carrying Rosie-Lass, and Frodo-Lad now following his dad and sister.  Sam bowed deeply to the Tree, and Elanor and Frodo-Lad both copied him.  Then, at his nod they all gently laid their hands on its bark.  None said anything, and all stood still there for several moments, a smile of delight filling Elanor’s features, Rosie-Lass and Frodo-Lad looking a bit surprised, a look of intense, gentle pride filling the face of Rosie, and a great tenderness shining on Sam’s.  Rosie pulled away first, touched her husband’s arm, and he looked up at her, nodding and smiling through his own tears, and he pulled away also, murmuring, “Keep well there, Frodo,” as he did so.  Together the family stepped backwards, and bowed again.

      Ruvemir and Elise stepped forward then with Armanthol.  All three gave bows of respect, then looked to one another’s eyes.  At a nod from the sculptor they reached forward together, offered their respects, and stepped back.

       At last Aragorn and Arwen, Melian held in her father’s arms, stepped forward and reverenced the Tree.  With authority Aragorn reached forward to touch it gently, giving his first thought to it and its forebears, feeling the respect it held for him in return.  He stepped closer so his daughter could reach the bark, and at last Arwen also reached forward.  They stood quietly in communion with Tree and the other for some time, then gently stepped away.  “May you know Joy, my brother,” the King could be heard whispering softly.  He was weeping, but not with sorrow. 

       Together the group moved away, then together went to the memorial.  Ferdibrand reached forward and gently ran his hands over each of the four figures, starting with that of Sam and ending with Frodo’s.

       “I’m glad, so glad, that I came,” he said quietly.  “And you were right, our Lord King, this memorial was needed--needed by all of us.”

       The King smiled, and gave a look of question to Ruvemir, who nodded.

       The sculptor had brought a box with him to the dinner, and had carried it away with him as well.  “The King and I both felt, Master Ferdibrand, that this should go to you.  I hope it brings you comfort and pleasure over the years.”

       Ferdi accepted it carefully, felt the box’s structure, finally lifted away the lid.  He handed the lid to Freddie, reached inside with one finger.  Most of the box was full of fleece, but on lifting off the top layer, he felt four rounded shapes.  “The model?” he asked, startled.

       “Yes, the model.  It belongs there in the Shire.”

       Gently Ferdi replaced the fleece on the top, held out his hand for the lid and replaced it as well.  “It is a great honor.  A great honor.”  He turned back toward the Tree, and smiled, clutching at the box with both hands.  “His Light is still reflected there, and it is shining more brightly than ever,” he reported softly.

       The Lady Arwen looked down on their guests from the Shire, then at her husband.  She was so glad he had these in his friendship, as well as Master Ruvemir.  It was good to have friends who held no thoughts of dignity and honor owed to them, but who bestowed it so naturally in return.  Seldom did she see her Estel so at ease as he was now, so at one with the entire group.  He wasn’t the King first with them--he was accepted as being part of their family.  It was good to know he had this family as well as their own to reinforce his sense of balance and pleasure.  She gave her own private thanks to the Tree, the Valar, and the One for the gift of this visit.

Interlude

       “You are looking quite bright with pleasure tonight, Iorhael,” Olórin said with a smile as he came on Frodo standing beneath the White Tree of Tol Eressëa, looking off to the East, his face particularly alight this night.

       The Hobbit looked up at him, his whole body full of joyous surprise.  “They are all there, Gandalf,” he said.

       “All of whom, and where?” asked the Maia.

       “Pippin, Merry, Sam, Ferdibrand, Freddie, Folco, Estella, Rosie, Elanor, Budgie Smallfoot, I think Frodo-Lad and Rosie-Lass, another Hobbit lass I think I must have met but don’t really know, Pando and Cyclamen Proudfoot, a woman and Man I don’t know, the Lady Arwen, Aragorn, and I believe their daughter--and Narcissa Boffin.   They are all in Minas Tirith now, and all just came to the White Tree, and greeted it and me!  I’ve never felt anything like it!  They are happy, Gandalf.  Merry has married Estella, and I think Pippin is married, too, to the other lass who was there.  They wanted me to know.  They wanted me to know they think of me, and miss me.  They all wished me joy.”  He shook his curls out of his face.  “What are Pando and Cyclamen doing in Gondor?” he asked.

       The Maia laughed, and gave a questioning look.  Finally he spoke.  “I’m not fully certain,” he said, “but they are there with Elessar tonight indeed.  And I’m told Sam is especially comforted.”

       “I am so glad,” Frodo said, looking Eastward again.  “Oh, how I wish each and every one of them joy.”  

       Seeing Iorhael himself suffused with Joy, the Maia smiled. 

Into the Westfarthing

       It seemed so odd to find herself once again in her own home rather than on the road or in Ruvemir’s comfortable home in Minas Anor.  She carefully hung her traveling cloak on the hook by the door and set her personal satchel on the hall table, then turned to allow Pippin and Budgie to carry her trunk into the smial and place it in the parlor.  “Thank you so very much!” she said at last.  “Four months since we left--it barely seems possible!”

       Pippin nodded.  “We made the journey much more quickly than we did before--of course, before we were having to remain hidden, and were walking almost the entire way as well, save for the few days we sailed down the Anduin from Lothlorien to Amon Hen.  But then we were also going far more round about, also.”

       “And it’s almost the end of May.  It will be Midsummer and the Free Fair before we know it,” she said.  “I’ll have a great deal to tell Fosco and Sythie.”

       “Well, now that you’re situated, we will leave and head back to Budgeford and the Great Smial.  The Thain will be pleased I haven’t grown again.”

       She smiled and saw the two of them out, then went into the kitchen to see about making herself some tea.  A letter lay on the table there.  She saw the room was clean, wood had been carefully laid in the stove ready to be lit, and a vase of flowers had been set on the windowsill.  She got the fire going and filled the kettle, and then took the letter, opened it, and began to read.

Dearest Narcissa,

       An Elf came to Brandy Hall to let us know you would be home in a day or two, so I took the liberty of coming to your hole to see all aired and readied for you.  However, I hope you will come to Westhall as soon as you can, as I have the distinct feeling that Emro has some mischief in mind, and I’ve gone ahead to check things out and to see if there is anything I can do until you arrive.

                                   Yours,
                                   Brendilac Brandybuck

P.S.  I hope the journey was well worth it.  BB

       Now what is the Hobbit up to? she wondered as she got out the teapot and caddie, checking to see that all smelled to be fresh enough to make a good cup or two.  She noted that there was a loaf of bread in the box, only a couple days from freshly baked, cut a couple slices and prepared to toast them, and got the cheese from the cold room to slice it to go with the bread.  She’d need to market on the morrow, she noted, for there was little in the hole fresh to eat.

       She finally scalded the teapot, spooned in the tea, filled the pot and set it to steep.  She went back into the parlor while it steeped and picked up her personal satchel to take it back to her bedroom.  She was reaching for the doorknob when she heard a sound within, then went still with shock.  Someone was in her hole!  Slowly, she turned the knob and pushed it open, then peered into the room.  A huddled shape lay on her bed, apparently sobbing into her pillow.  Narcissa entered slowly and looked down with surprise. 

       “Forsythia?” she asked.  “What are you doing here?”

       The lass raised her head, her eyes swollen with crying.  “You’re home!” she exclaimed.  “Oh, Narcissa--you’re home at last!”

       “Yes, I’m home, and that’s where you are supposed to be as well.  What are you doing here?”

       “I had to run away!”

       “Why?”

       “Because--because Da says--says I must marry Beasty!”

       “What?!  You must marry whom?”

       She must have had a strange look on her face, for in spite of herself Forsythia started to laugh.  “He says I must marry Beasty Bracegirdle--Bedro Bracegirdle.”

       Narcissa couldn’t quite understand.  “Wasn’t Bedro Bracegirdle one of the former Shiriffs who ended up in the trial?”

       “Yes--he was perfectly awful in the way he treated folk near Buckland during the Time of Troubles.”

       “Then why on earth would Emro think to try to force you to marry him?”

       “His da wants me to marry him.  Beasty has a lot of reparations he still has to pay, and his da realized that I was likely to get a good dowry in a marriage, so began to push Beasty to court me so as to get the dowry and pay it off.  And--and they’ve gotten Da to gamble with them, apparently.”

       “But a bride’s dowry isn’t supposed to be used to pay off the groom’s debts.”

       “It isn’t?”

       Narcissa shook her head.  “No, the dowry is to help the new couple set up on their own, and is supposed to be invested in things that will help the bride if something happens to her husband.  Do you like Beasty?  No, wait, if you’re calling him Beasty it is obvious that you don’t.”

       Forsythia shook her own head.  “Everybody calls him Beasty except his da.  Not that anyone likes Bigelow Bracegirdle, either.  I wonder sometimes how any Bracegirdles ever get married, as all the ones I’ve seen or heard tell of tend to be terribly liverish.”

       Narcissa laughed.  “I don’t know about liverish, but I do know they tend to be very self-centered and grasping.  What on earth would ever convince your Da that he ought to even consider such a proposal?”

       “I don’t know for certain.  He seems to have become drinking partners with Beasty’s da.”

       Narcissa thought deeply.  “Your da never used to drink much.

       “He drinks more since Mum died.”

       “I see.”  Narcissa sighed.  “Where is Fosco?”

       “He stayed in Westhall.  He is furious.”

       “I can imagine.”  She thought again.  “Was Brendilac there when you came here?”

       Forsythia became more hopeful.  “No, he wasn’t.  Was he on his way there?”

       Narcissa nodded.  “He left me a note saying this, and that he was worried Emro was up to something.  Apparently he is more sensitive to conspiracies than I am.”  She looked at the younger lass and considered their next move.  “I think we need to go to the Great Smial and see the Thain--maybe Will Whitfoot as well.  They’ll be able to convince your da that your dowry can’t be legally used to pay your husband’s debts, and that forcing a marriage between a couple who are not in love is equally wrong.  You aren’t in love with him, are you?”

       “Like you said--I wouldn’t call him Beasty if I were.  No--he’s done nothing except to chase us and tease us and threaten us and beat up on Fosco since Fosco and I were tiny.  Why would I ever fall in love with someone like that now?”

       “Good question.  Well, let’s have some tea and then head to Bywater and rent the pony cart, shall we?”

       They were on their way out the door to Bywater, Narcissa with her personal satchell ready for a couple nights and Forsythia with the bag of items she’d brought with her, when a wagon came even with them.  Inside sat Sancho Proudfoot and Cyclamen.  “Hello, Narcissa.  It appears that you are being sought as we speak, along with a lass from Westhall.  Is this the one, then?”

       “Yes, I found her in the smial when I got home.  And who is it who seeks us, and why?”

       Sancho laughed.  “We have a brace of Bracegirdles waiting at the stable at the Green Dragon and another one in Hobbiton at the Ivy Bush, looking for the two of you to come rent a pony cart or pair of ponies.”

       Cyclamen smiled.  “It’s quite exciting, isn’t it, Narcissa?  Hello, Forsythia.  This is about you, then?”

       Her father looked down at her.  “You know this one?”

       “Yes, Da,” she said as she looked up into her dad’s eyes.  “She’s our cousin Forsythia Baggins.”

       Sancho sat up straight with surprise.  “Baggins?” he asked.

       “I’m Dudo and Emerald’s daughter,” Forsythia explained, feeling a bit embarrassed.

       “I see.  And what do the Bracegirdles want with you?”

       “To marry me off to their cousin Bedro.”

       Sancho laughed.  “And do they truly think that since Lobelia’s day we want another of their clan in the family?”  He shook his head.  “Well, then I obviously am going to have to help you get somewhere other than into their clutches.”

       “Well, we’d decided to head to the Great Smial first,” Narcissa said.  “As Forsythia’s mother was born there and she’s a great granddaughter to the Old Took, I believe we can call on the Thain for aid.”

       “Then shall we give you a lift?”

       “Glad to accept it, although I’d not thought I’d get home only to head out for Tuckborough almost immediately.”  She saw Forsythia into the wagon and turned to lock the door, then joined Sancho on the box.

       In moments they were on the way to Tuckborough via Whitwell.  “Thought they’d pay less attention to this way, if they were to realize someone had given you a lift,” Sancho said.  “Griffo and Daisy were visited by Brendilac Brandybuck the day before yesterday, and he and they left for Westhall yesterday morning, Griffo stopping by to speak with me quietly as they left the village.  He told me there was some problem that might involve you as soon as you got home, and asked if I could keep an eye out for you.  I checked yesterday and saw no sign of you, so as soon as Cyclamen came in the door we come to get you and hopefully find out what is going on.  I know I am not going to allow anyone to push my cousins into unwanted marriages.”  He looked over his shoulder at Forsythia.  “You’re not even twenty-five yet, are you?”

       She shook her head.  “Only twenty-three.  Even if Da signed for it, it wouldn’t be legal--at least I don’t think it would.”

       Sancho looked at her consideringly.  “No, we at least were twenty-five, Angelica and me.  Course, if Frodo hadn’t spoken for us, perhaps we wouldn’t be married now; but he saw how much we loved each other and got our folks calmed down and on our side.”  He turned his eyes back forward, a wave of sadness for a moment reflected on his face.  “May the Valar ease him,” he murmured softly.

       Just as softly, Narcissa responded, “I believe they are doing so, Sancho.”  He looked at her questioningly, and she smiled, then looked over her shoulder at Sancho’s daughter.  “Cyclamen, did you tell your dad about the White Tree yet?”

       “The White Tree?  Oh, yes, Dad, you can’t believe how beautiful it is, growing there before the Citadel of Minas Tirith--except they call it Minas Anor once again....”

       By the time they arrived at the door to the Great Smial Cyclamen had told her father the story of the White Tree from the gift of a seedling from Elvenhome to Númenor, the smuggling of a seedling away by Isildur and its eventual planting in Minas Anor, the death of the last White Tree as the Line of Kings waned in Gondor, of the finding of the new one up in the Hallows on the mountain as described by the King himself, of its replanting, of seeing the old one where it had been laid to rest in the Rath Dinen, and finally of the last night with the King, going out to the Tree to offer it and its ancestor in Elvenhome greeting, and feeling as if, for a moment, Frodo were there, too, and that he was happy.

       Sancho looked over his shoulder at his daughter, and saw that the pleasure in her was too deep and solemn to be only imagination.  No, she truly believed she’d felt Frodo’s presence.  He looked at Narcissa beside him, and she, too, nodded.  “We all felt as if he were there, somehow there, beneath the other Tree, aware of us as we were aware of him.  And the expression on the King’s face--it was so gentle, so tender.  Frodo was happy, Sancho, very happy, and I think surprised, to feel our awareness of him.”

       The look on the young carter’s face was well worth the length of story.  “I so hope he is happy, Narcissa,” he said gently.  “I so hope he is.  He has done so much for us all, he deserves all the happiness he can get.”

       “We know.  And now--we now understand better what all four of them did and what it cost all of them, how very close we all came to being in a new age of darkness.  I wish you and Angelica could have gone with us, Sancho.  I so wish it.”

       He smiled as he set the brake on the wagon and got down to help the three lasses out.  At the same time the door opened and one of the housekeepers came out.

       “Yes, may we help you?” she asked, giving the freight wagon a sidelong glance.

       Narcissa straightened.  “Hello, Willa.  We need to speak with the Thain and his heir, if they are available.”

       Willa recognized her.  “Mistress Narcissa?  Miss Forsythia?  I see.  If you will come in I will see if the Thain is available at the moment.  He and the Mistress were having tea with the Mayor and Master Peregrin and Mistress Diamond, for they’ve only just returned home very shortly ago.”

       “Yes, I know,” Narcissa said, smiling.  “This is Master Sancho Proudfoot, one of Frodo’s cousins from Hobbiton, and his daughter Cyclamen.” 

       Willa’s face broke into a smile.  “Oh we are always glad to host Frodo’s other kin, sir.  Welcome.”  She led them into one of the front day rooms.  Many of the gammers who’d gathered there to enjoy the sun turned to look at them with interest as Willa headed off to the Thain’s private dining room.

       She was back very shortly and led them to the door and bowed them in, as a maid set out cups and plates and utensils for the three of them.  

       Paladin rose with pleasure.  “Welcome back, Narcissa.  Sancho, Cyclamen, Forsythia.  Would not have expected to see you this soon, I must say.  Did you come home to find a situation that needs to be dealt with immediately, Narcissa?”

       Narcissa nodded and explained what she’d found in her smial on her return and the circumstances surrounding the apparent marriage proposal.  The Thain, the Mayor, and Pippin looked to one another, their faces grim.  “Did you lock your doors when you left?” Paladin asked.

       “Yes, I did.”

       “Good.  I’ll send Bard, Tolly, and Hildibrand over immediately to check things out in Hobbiton, Bywater, and Overhill.  I think Peregrin, Reginard, Coridin and I will accompany the two of you up to Westhall to see to the situation there.  What do you think, Will?”

       “It sounds like a good plan,” the Mayor answered.  “You aren’t twenty-five yet, are you, Forsythia?”

       “No, sir, not for almost two more years.”

       “Then even if he were your real da and he signed permission the marriage wouldn’t be legal.  As it is, the number of signatures required even if you were twenty-five is pretty intimidating in itself, if you remember from when we signed the fostering agreement.”

       Paladin smiled, and agreed to bring his copy of the agreement with them.  “Do you wish to come with us, Will?”

       Will sighed and thought.  Finally he answered, “Probably better if I don’t, if Bedro Bracegirdle is involved.   This will require another public hearing, and it will be better for my appearance of neutrality if I don’t take part.  How about the other Bracegirdles that are supporting Bedro in this? Do you know which Bracegirdles are involved, Sancho?”

       “I recognized Largo, Bongo, and Borano when they arrived in Hobbiton.”

       “Bartolo doesn’t appear to be involved?”

       The carter shook his head.  “No, sir.  Or, at least not here in our area he isn’t.”

       “Good.  Would hate to see him involved in this, for Delphie’s sake.  I’m certain Bigelow will be into it up to his eyebrows--he’s getting more and more heavily into drinking as the years pass, and am not certain how his liver is holding up to it all.” 

       Paladin turned to Eglantine.  “I hope you don’t mind just having Pippin arrive home and going off again, but we ought to be back in three days’ time.  Can you spare your husband, do you think, Diamond?”

       Diamond sighed and nodded, while Eglantine commented, “It’s part of being the Thain, after all.  No, just go on with you.” 

       Pippin smiled and leaned over his mother.  “I’ll be back as quick as I can, Mum,” he said, kissing her cheek gently.  “Enjoy the brooch.”

       “It is lovely, dearling.  And you do look so good, so much--”

       “So much better than the last time?  Yes, I’m certain I do.  It was very reassuring.  And the King and the Lady Arwen send their greetings.”

       “Did you have to stand guard much?”

       “About two days out of three, Mum.”

       “Well, you’d best get ready.  Is Jewel up to the ride, do you think?”

       “I’ll ride Musa, Mum.  I’m certain she’ll be ready for a good outing.”

       “Be careful then, the both of you.  Diamond can tell me more of the details while you are gone.”

       “I will be glad to, Mum Lanti,” Diamond said.

       Pippin nodded, turned to his wife and gave her a hug and a kiss.  “You keep care of yourself, beloved,” he murmured.

       “And don’t let them give you any sauce, Pippin.” 

       Pippin smiled and kissed her again, then left to ready himself. 

       A half hour later Sancho and Cyclamen were on their way home accompanied by the three Tooks sent that way by the Thain while the second proposed party was on its way to Westhall, arriving at the Jumping Cricket in Bedlinger an hour after sunset.  The Thain took rooms for them at the inn, and in the morning they rode the rest of the way to Westhall and the Gravellies’ farm.  Pippin wore his new uniform, his sword at his belt, while Reginard and Coridin each prominently carried his bow and quiver.  The Thain himself drove the pony cart in which he, Narcissa, and Forsythia rode.  As they drove they discussed strategy, settling on a plan as they finally approached Westhall shortly before noon. 

       As they drove past the inn there Narcissa looked for signs of the Brandybuck’s presence.  As they passed through the village common Narcissa said, “I wonder where Brendilac is?  He left a note that he was coming up to see what was going on, and Sancho said he left Hobbiton with Daisy and Griffo.  He’s had a feeling something was brewing here since before we left for Gondor.”

       “Brendilac is supposed to be here, then?  He’s a remarkably sensible Hobbit--I’m certain he would be circumspect.”

       Narcissa nodded, but felt uncomfortable.

       There were two other carts and a single pony in the drive when they arrived.  Paladin looked at the situation with interest, while Pippin loosened his sword in its sheath and Reginard made certain his bow was properly strung.  

       “Neither of the carts is the one Brendi usually drives or Griffo’s rig, although the single pony looks familiar--I’m certain I’ve seen it in the Hobbiton area,” Narcissa commented.  Together they dismounted and approached the door.  Reginard knocked heavily, and after a moment they could hear movement behind it.  

       “Who’s there?” called a voice.

       “Paladin and Peregrin Took,” Reginard answered.

       The door opened enough to assure these two were indeed there, then opened reluctantly the rest of the way.  Bigelow Bracegirdle stood inside, his eyes suspicious, then lighting up to see that Forsythia was there with the Thain and his heir.

       “So,” he said, “you’ve returned the bride to her home, have you?”

       “We heard the news that there was a wedding in the offing,” Paladin said pleasantly, “and thought we would escort her back for it.  Found her in Overhill.”  Forsythia found she did not need to pretend to look apprehensive.

       “We will take her now,” Bigelow said, reaching for her.

       “Not so fast, Bigelow,” the Thain said.  “She is one of my kin, after all, and I’ve a mind to see the marriage contract you’ve written up.”

       Bigelow’s face became concerned, and he looked behind him at whoever was also in the entryway.  “I’m certain there’s no need for that,” he said hurriedly.  “Lothario himself has reviewed it....”  They heard a noise as if someone were headed  back into the passage to the back of the farmhouse.

       “Lothario?” interrupted Paladin.  “Interesting.  Who is to perform the wedding?  I’m certain that Gander wouldn’t agree, for he has routinely refused to marry underage Hobbits.”

       “Oh, now, not Gander--we’re to go back to Hardbottle.”

       “You won’t be going right this moment,” the Took commented in a voice of steel.  “And until I see the marriage contract, no one is going anywhere.”  He nodded to his son and his cousins who had ridden escort, and the three pushed their way into the house.  Pippin went through the entry and down the passage followed by Coridin, his face set.  Reginard stood aside to let the Thain and Narcissa enter on either side of Forsythia.  “You see,” the Thain continued, “I was there when the fostering agreement was written and signed, and I am completely aware of its requirements.  Until Forsythia and Fosco come of age, they cannot marry without the agreement of the village headman here in Westhall, the Mayor of the Shire, the head of the Boffin family, the head of the Took family--which, strangely enough, is myself; and Mistress Narcissa here as their independent guardian, as well as that of Emro as their physical guardian.  Any contract you have, therefore, as I know I have not agreed as yet to any match, will be invalid.”

       “But----”  Bigelow Bracegirdle had gone white.

       There was a noise of argument from further back in the house, and Paladin Took looked that way with interest.  “I hope no one is trying to obstruct my son’s way,” he said quietly.  “He is rather good with that sword of his, you know.”

       After some time further Pippin returned, herding before him Emro Gravelly, who was distinctly drunk, Bedro Bracegirdle, Ted Sandyman, and another Bracegirdle that Narcissa didn’t know.  “Fosco isn’t here, and they deny knowing anything about Griffo, Daisy, or Brendilac, although Brendi’s document case is in the kitchen,” Pippin said.  He looked to Forsythia.  “Any place they might be hiding any of them or their buggy?”

       “I’ll go check,” the lass said.

       Narcissa looked at the five the Thain and his heir now confronted.  “I’ll go with her.”  Together they went through the house and out the back door, Coridin joining them; and Forsythia led the way to the known bolt holes, sheds, and storage holes.  They found the Brandybuck pony cart in the larger byre, and the ponies in a stall in the smaller one.  But after searching high and low they found no sign of the lawyer or the others.

       Climbing down out of the hayloft in the larger byre, Forsythia was almost in tears.  “They’re not up there, either.  Nor are they in the root cellar or the cool storage.”

       Coridin looked from one to the other.  “Is there anywhere else they and Fosco might be, somewhere they might have escaped to?”

       “There’s the hideout where we used to meet with Iorhael,” she said.  He looked at her blankly.  “It’s what Cousin Frodo had us call him when we first met him,” she said in explanation.  “It’s a cave we found when we were ten.”  Together she led them off to the northwest where there was a hillier area of the farm covered by trees.

       “We are so glad that the Big Men didn’t come here and cut down trees, or they would have found it, I’m sure,” Forsythia explained as they worked their way through brush and shrubs and brambles to a steeper area on the hillside.  An outcrop of the rock cast a deep shadow on the face of the bare rock here, and she led her way toward the shaded area, singing out a few lines of what Narcissa recognized as one of Bilbo’s walking songs.  In a moment she led the way in through the barely discernible mouth to a small cave, not a great deal more than a shallow room barely big enough for a couple of Hobbit children to find comfortable to sleep in.  She turned to the side where she and Fosco always kept candles and a striker in a niche, and quickly had one of them lit.  Brendilac Brandybuck lay on the floor wrapped in a bedroll, his face white with pain, and Fosco sat beside him, a water skin and small horn cup at hand.  Fosco looked up at them with concern.

       “Sythie?” he asked.  “Sythie?  Are you back?  Has Narcissa returned home yet?”

       “Yes,” his sister answered him, “Cousin Narcissa just returned yesterday, and we came here together.  Mr. Coridin from the Great Smial is with me, too.”

       “You’re safe?” he asked.  “Mr. Coridin?  Is the Thain here, too, then?”

       “Yes, he and Pippin have things under control inside the house," Narcissa said. "What happened?”

       “Mr. Brendi arrived yesterday evening and demanded to see the marriage contract, saying he knew it was invalid.  There was a fight between him and Beasty, who hit him and knocked him down, then kicked him twice, very, very hard in the chest and side.  He couldn’t get up, was all bent over himself.  They put him into a room and locked him in, only I got him out last night and brought him here.  He’s badly hurt, and I don’t know what to do for him.  It was all he could do to come here.”

       Coridin examined him briefly, looked at Narcissa, and said, “Run for a healer--quickly.”

       “I’ll go with you,” Fosco said, rising, glad to give over the care of the lawyer to an adult.  Moments later Hobbit lady and lad were racing through the woods and then across the fields to Lyria Bottomly’s home, the lad holding Narcissa’s arm.

       Lyria heard the details and immediately sent Fosco next door to get the aid of the Sandheavers, who had three strapping lads.  They were headed back to the cave within minutes, Lyria with her healer’s kit over her arm and and the oldest Sandheaver lad with two poles while Narcissa carried two blankets.

       Coridin had been giving Brendilac small swallows of water at five minute intervals, calming and seeking to soothe him.  Not, however, until he heard Narcissa’s voice would the lawyer calm down.  “You are back!  You’re safe!” he whispered.

       “Yes, I’ve been safe the whole time, for our group was well guarded, between Merry, Pippin, and the Dúnedain who accompanied us.  I never thought, however, to be safer traveling than you here in the Shire!” 

       He smiled up at her through his pain.  Lyria examined him, and indicated, “We must get him into a proper bed where I can do proper treatments for his injuries.  I will need to do compresses and poultices and to strap his chest....”

       Soon the Sandheaver lads had one of the blankets carefully arranged around the poles to make a stretcher, Brendilac was wrapped in the other two and the one Fosco had brought, and together  Coridin, Fosco, and the youngest Sandheaver got him onto the stretcher, lying on his side.  With the twins on one side and Narcissa on the other, they headed back to the Gravellies’ farm.

Weighted Dice

       Lyria worked over Brendilac for two hours, and Pippin set kingsfoil to steep for him, singing the invocation he had learned from the King during his time on guard.  Lyria was uncertain about using the leaves in her ministrations, but changed her mind as she saw the Brandybuck begin to relax as the pain began to ease.  His brains were seriously rattled, and he had a cracked rib, but there was no sign of a punctured lung; he also had, however, serious bruising on his side and chest.  She strapped his chest over a poultice to reduce the bruising and swelling, then gave him willowbark and other herbs to ease the pain and further ease the swelling. 

       The Thain at the same time had sent Reginard to summon Dormo Gravelly and Emro’s brother and sister as well as Gander Proudfoot.  By the time Brendi had begun to fall asleep at last, those summoned had arrived, and the Thain began his official inquiry.  Bedro, his father, the other Bracegirdle and Ted Sandyman had been placed in an inner bedroom under guard.  Emro sat in a chair at the dining room table, being fed mugs of strong tea and slices of dry toast to help with the near stupor.  The Thain sat nearby, watching him closely as the last of the Gravellies was shown in by Fosco. 

       “And what is this one been up to?” asked Delko, Emro’s younger brother who shared in the working of the farm.

       “That is what we are here to determine,” Paladin Took said, sighing as he signed for Reginard and Pippin to bring the four from the bedroom.

       Dormo Gravelly, family head for the Gravellies, glared at Emro.  “I don’t know what’s been done that the Thain himself has to call me away from my luncheon, but it had best be worthwhile.  Lavender cooked a ham, and I’m not happy knowing I’ll get little enough of it once the rest of the family takes its share with me gone.”

       Emro looked at him out of the corner of his eye, then looked down at the floor.

       Reginard stood beside the Thain, his bow and an arrow loosely at the ready, reminding Narcissa strongly of the King’s cousin Lord Hardorn on duty guarding the King or Queen themselves.  Pippin and Coridin again herded those from the bedroom into the room, and indicated they were to line up across from where the Thain, Westhall’s headman, the Gravelly family head, Delko and Daylily Gravelly, Narcissa Boffin, and the twins sat.  Reginard raised his bow, apparently fully willing to aim it at the four whom Pippin and Coridin had brought into the room, while Pippin now stepped behind the line and stood, also ready to use his weapon if it should prove necessary, while Coridin stood on one end of the line and also watched.

       Paladin Took looked at the four opposite him with a growing level of disgust.  “I asked to see the marriage contract you had prepared for Bedro and Forsythia, and you were not precisely forthcoming with it, even after I explained I must sign such for it to be valid prior to Forsythia coming of age.  Now, do you have such a document, or do you not?”

       The others glared at Bigelow, who reluctantly produced it from a pocket.  Paladin looked at the folded document with distaste, and carefully opened it out and smoothed it, then read it through.  He at last shook his head as he straightened and put it in front of Gander Proudfoot.  “Lothario’s writing, definitely, although it reads as if Timono had written it.”  He looked at Emro Gravelly.  “What on earth convinced you to entertain a marriage between Forsythia and Bedro here?”

       Emro looked up at him under his brows, then looked again at his lap.  He mumbled something unintelligible.  The Took gave an impatient grunt.  “You’d best speak up and speak clearly, Emro,”  he warned him.

       Emro glanced at him again, then looked off toward the kitchen, then looked back.  “It was a wager.”

       All straightened, and Dormo Gravelly’s expression hardened.  “A wager?” the head to the Gravelly family demanded.  “How would your daughter’s marriage come to be the result of a wager?”

       Again Emro mumbled until Reginard kicked his chair.  He glared at the Thain’s escort, but again spoke more clearly.  “I’ve lost everything,” he said.  “Lilac’s jewelry, the furniture, the smial, the farm, and now Forsythia.”

       “Gambling?” asked Gander, shocked.

       “Yes, playing at dice.  I’d win at first, and then I started to lose.  Then I’d win some of it back....”

       Reginard gave a deep sigh and shook his head.  He looked to the Thain.  “Isn’t that why Bigelow had to leave Hardbottle, Paladin, because he had been gambling with weighted dice?”

       Emro straightened, his eyes wide with surprise.  His brother and sister, however, rounded on him.  “You can’t gamble away the farm and the smial!” Daylily shouted.  “You don’t own the deed outright, and you know it!  You utter, utter fool!”

       The Thain was shaking his own head as he stared at Bigelow and his son.  He turned to Coridin.  “Empty out their pockets, all of them,” he ordered.  Coridin gladly pushed first Bigelow forward and emptied out each of his pockets, finding a pair of dice in a trousers’ pocket; then ran his hands over the sleeves of his jacket, smiling with triumph as he dislodged a second pair from a secret pocket sewn into the right one’s cuff, then a third from the left sleeve.  Coridin set each pair in front of the Thain deliberately.  Experimentally Paladin Took threw each pair four times.  The one from the trousers appeared to be true, while the one from the left sleeve fell always on threes while the one from the right sleeve fell repeatedly in double sixes.  He passed them on to Dormo Gravelly, who tried each pair once and handed them to Gander.  He also tried each once, then set them out in very deliberately separate pairs toward the center of the table.

       Having emptied out Bigelow’s pockets, Coridin was now working on Bedro’s.  A rather nasty knife was found, along with a necklace and a bracelet.  Dormo straightened again, and looked at the Thain.  “Well, it appears we have some theft here, then,” he said.  “Remember the letter I sent you and Will two weeks past about the theft from Petro and Petunia Gravelly’s home?”

       The Thain straightened.  “A silver bracelet set with amethysts and a silver necklace to match, both with links shaped like starflowers, an amethyst in the center of each?” he hazarded.  Coridin reached across the table to hand these, also, to the Thain, and the two of them examined them closely.  At last they looked up at Bedro, whose face had gone very pale.  Paladin nodded.  “A crooked gambler and a thief we appear to have here, as well as a schemer and a Hobbiton fool.”  He looked keenly at Ted Sandyman.  “What are you doing here, Sandyman?”

       He shrugged uncomfortably.  “They said that they might need someone to help make certain as a wedding happened, and asked me to come along.”

       “And you came.”  Paladin shook his head in regret.  He looked to his son, who shrugged and looked back.  He looked at the third Bracegirdle.  “What do you have to say for yourself, Malco?”

       Malco wisely just shrugged and kept his mouth shut.  Coridin was invited with a look and a nod of the head to make a clean sweep of it.  Malco had only a dog chain in his pockets, other than a few odd coins.  Ted started to protest when he was searched, but thought better of it.  He had a change purse with a single silver Shire penny in it and a few brasses, and a pen knife that the Thain recognized well enough--long ago he’d given that pen knife to Frodo when he was a lad come to the farm for Paladin’s birthday.  Frodo had lost it not long after he came to Bag End, and now Paladin knew where it had disappeared to.  He took it and opened it, saw where the name engraved into its blade could still be barely made out, saw that the brass plate which he’d had engraved with FB had been carefully pried off.  He looked at it, pathetic evidence of the envy held for Frodo.  “Did you take this from Frodo, or did Lotho?” he asked. 

       Ted tried to brazen it out.  “I’ve had it since I was a tad, I have,” he blustered.

       “Since you were a teen at the earliest,” Paladin said.  “That was when it disappeared from Frodo’s coat pocket while he was swimming.  Not that it matters which of you pathetic fools took it, I suppose.”  

       There was little enough there besides that--some string and a piece of candle, a worn pouch for pipeweed, a pipe and a tinderbox--one which Paladin remembered seeing last in Ponto Baggins’s hands--yes, there was the PB still to be made out on the back of it under the deliberate scratches caused, probably, by someone rubbing it against rough stone or bricks to try to hide the evidence of theft.  The little singing bird was still there, though, that Iris had commissioned on the gift she’d had made for her husband.  He set the tinderbox beside the pen knife and the jewelry.  “Wonder who used to own the pipe?” Paladin commented aloud, and Ted glared at him. 

       “Well, Emro, it appears your losses are remitted to you, save for any money or goods you might have given into the hands of Bigelow that he’s disposed of.  I will have Pippin and a few Shiriffs go through the Bracegirdle house later today to see if there is anything else there that belongs to you.  Had you given them any of the items you listed, such as the jewelry?”

       “Yes,” Emro said, his eyes, full of hatred, fixed on the two Bracegirdles.

       “How much of it was the jewelry that belonged to our real mum?” asked Fosco, his face white.  Emro turned on him stupidly.  “Frodo told us that Mum had been seen wearing some of the jewelry that was on our real mum’s inventory, and that we could give it to her when we were twenty-five and considered old enough to make such decisions.  That jewelry was Forsythia’s, you know.”

       Emro looked away again, embarrassed.  “All of it was Forsythia’s, now.”

       “Yet you gambled with it.”

       After a long pause, Emro said, very quietly, “Yes.  Yes, I gambled it.”

       Paladin looked at the four before him.  “Well, it will be no simple matter of you moving elsewhere this time, Bigelow; nor you, Bedro--nor you, Ted.  Lothario will be summoned to the Great Smial as soon as we return home to answer his own charges.”  He sighed.  “I wonder if labor rebuilding the proper mills will get through your stupidity?  Or do we need to send you, also, to stand before the King’s Lord Steward?”  He looked at his son.  “Where is he likely to be at this time, by the way?”

       “If he didn’t break his journey at Bree, Lord Halladan will be between there and Lake Evendim.”

       The Thain of the Shire sighed.  “These four will be allowed to remain in the Lockhole cells used by Timono and his fellows, for now,” he said.  “We will have to make a full investigation.  Gander, can you summon about three of the Shiriffs to aid Pippin and stand witness for him?”  He had a thought and turned to Forsythia.  “Have you seen any evidence of things going missing in your folks’ smial?  I understand you visit it regularly.”

       “I had a feeling someone had been into it the last time I visited eight days ago, but couldn’t be certain.”

       “Gander, do you still have the inventory?” Paladin asked.

       “Yes, I do, and I’ll send one of the Sandheaver lads out to fetch three of the Shiriffs.”   He looked at Emro.  “Do you have some rope we can use on these?”

       The farmer nodded and rose heavily.  He stopped, part way to the door, and half turned.  “You going to take the bairns, then?”

       Paladin gave him a searching look.  “What do you think needs to be done, Emro?”

       “I think as I’d best find a smaller hole for me, and let Daylily or Delko have this place.  I think I don’t trust my own reasoning any more.”  He turned further to look at Bigelow.  “I thought as you understood, being a widower yourself,” he said, “and instead I find you was just taking advantage of me.  Gonna take everything as I had, and my daughter, too, and use it all up.  I ought to have known.”  He spat at the floor and left find the rope.

       Paladin Took and Gander looked after him with pity, but their look to one another indicated they felt he was right in what he ought to do now.  Gander rose and went out to speak to the Sandheaver lads.  Dormo looked after him and gave a great sigh.  He looked at the other two.  “Plain stupid, he was, but I don’t think lasting hurt’s been done.  Delko, you need a bigger place, now you have three and a fourth on the way.  You think you can hold down the farm here?  Maybe let him stay on, like?”

       Brother and sister looked to one another, then spoke quietly.  At last the two of them looked at their family head and nodded.  “Yes,” Delko said.  “I think as we could do that.  He oughtn’t to be alone, not for a time yet.  This is a big shock to him, and to all of us.  The bairns’ll keep him involved, and help him get his head straight.”  He looked at Fosco and Forsythia.  “I hate to make you leave what’s been your home, but it’s time, I think.  You is both Bagginses, after all, and not just farmers as we is.  You're lettered and all, and have another farm that’ll be yours one day, although you will keep your folks’ shares and Emro’s.  But we truly think as it’s time to make the break, to let yourselves be yourselves for a change.  Hope you understand.”

       Bedro looked at the two of them, and smirked at Fosco’s stricken face.  “So, you’ve gotta leave, then?  Poor little blind Baggins has to leave Westhall?”

       Fosco stood up and moved toward the older Hobbit.  “Actually, Beasty, you forget Forsythia and I own our own hole here.  Perhaps we will move away, or perhaps we’ll simply stay here and enjoy our own property with a guardian of our own choosing until we come of age.  And we retain our interests in the farm here as well.  We can even continue to work the farm alongside our aunts and uncles and da if we please and they agree.”  He came closer.  “Unlike you, we haven’t been found with stolen jewelry or weighted dice in our pockets.  You are the one who gets to leave Westhall, you know.”  He finally stood in front of Beasty.  “You have made yourself unpopular here all your life.  You’ve have done your best over the years to make the entire village hate you.”

       “You little....” said Bedro, drawing his arm back to strike Fosco--but Fosco was the faster.  In a trice Pippin was leaping sideways out of the way and Bedro Bracegirdle, for the second time in his career, was taken by a faster and surer punch than his own and fell backwards, hit the wall, and slid into a sitting position.  He looked up blearily, holding onto his stomach.

       Fosco looked down at his shape against the wall.  “Did I tell you about the lessons my cousin Frodo used to give me, Bedro?  He taught me how to fish, how to hunt mushrooms, how to cook over an open fire, and how to dance--and how to throw a telling punch.  Oh, and he taught me a few words of Elvish, too.  Just thought you might like to know.”  He stepped back, rubbing his knuckles. 

       Pippin smiled at him.  “Yes, I can see Frodo taught you well,” he said.  He looked up to meet his father’s eyes.  “That, sir, was similar to how Tolman Smallburrow was felled, save Tolman was struck on the cheek.”

       Gander Proudfoot looked on from the doorway as he paused on his return to the room.  “Hate to see beating used on any soul, but that one had it coming to him, and for a very long time.  But you did well to stop at the one blow, lad.”

       Fosco nodded.  “My cousin said the same--try to make it one blow, one blow that counts.”

*******

       Daisy and Griffo arrived as the three Bracegirdles and Ted Sandyman were led out of the hole, their hands tied behind them, to be lifted up into the farm’s wagon.  Delko and Emro were harnessing Bet and Dot to it, and Emro would be driving it to Michel Delving. 

       The two from Hobbiton had become worried when the innkeeper had told them that Brendilac hadn’t come back the previous evening, or that morning, either.  They’d finally gone to Gander’s house to ask his advice, only to learn from his eldest that he’d been called to the Gravelly’s farm over some kind of trouble out that way.  They watched bemused at the four prisoners were tied into place in the wagon.  Daisy looked at the Tooks present with interest.  “Tooks and Ted Sandyman and Malco Bracegirdle in Westhall?  What is this about?”

       Pippin smiled.  “Da is within, if you would wish to speak with him.”

       Intrigued with the further knowledge that the Thain himself was there, they approached the door, where Daylily Gravelly was on her way out.  “Have you come about the twins?” she asked.  “They are in the dining room with the Thain and Mistress Narcissa.”

       “Have you news of Brendilac Bracegirdle?” Daisy asked.

       “I’m more than a bit muddled as to what all has happened,” Daylily confessed, “except that those four did their best to cheat my foolish brother out of everything we own, and had him convinced he’d lost everything.  The Thain is sorting it out, and has shown how the trick was done.  He’s a decent Thain.  Go on in, then.”

       They proceeded into the house and down the passage, finally entering the dining room.  The Thain was sitting at the table, a fresh cup of tea before him, the twins and Narcissa opposite him, the others about the table all involved in a quiet discussion.  All paused and looked up as the two from Hobbiton entered, and the Thain smiled up at them. 

       “It appears we have almost all interested parties present,” he said.  “It won’t be official until we take it before Will, of course, but I think we can iron out the details now.”

       Griffo examined the party with interest, and said, “First things first--does anyone have news of Brendilac?”

       “He’s here in one of the guest rooms, and Lyria Bottomly is with him.  Bedro appears to have beaten him last evening, and he’s not in the best of condition.  He ought to recover well enough, however.”

       “What happened?”

       Fosco sighed.  “Just to Bedro or the whole story?”

       All looked to one another.  “The whole story,” the Thain decided.

       Forsythia began, “Since Mum died Da has been quiet.  About two months after she died he began going to the inn twice a week, then after about a month more often.  Then he stopped going at all for a time and seemed steadier around here.

       “Apparently last summer while we were gone he began going again.  When we got home, we found out he was spending most of his time there with Bigelow Bracegirdle, and no one could say why, because before he never seemed to like Bigelow at all.  He used to come home always a couple hours after sunset at the latest; now he wasn’t coming home until much later, and he wouldn’t tell us what he was doing.”

       “The first few weeks after we got back he was usually pretty happy when he got home, and was full of plans for how he was going to add to the farm and the house and all,” Fosco continued.  “But then one night he came home terribly drunk, and he seemed to be scared of something.  It got worse for about three nights, and then he came home relieved.  He stayed home for about four nights, then started going to the tavern again, especially when we were at Daisy’s.”

       “He didn’t want us to go to Daisy’s just before Yule,” Forsythia said.  “Was complaining about how much it cost to rent the pony trap from the stable at the Blue Belle, although he’s never complained about it before.  Then he told me I wasn’t to bake crumb bread or do a flaming pudding for Yule, and we always have those.  Said we couldn’t afford it this year.  Then, two days before Yule he came home with everything for the Yule feast, including the fixings to do the flaming pudding and crumb bread and more, and was pretending that what he’d said before was just a joke.”

       “We started letting Brendi know what was happening last fall,” Fosco continued.  “We were concerned about how Da would be so happy one day and so upset and worried the next.  And when he started talking about Sythie marrying we were shocked, and we let Brendi know right away.  Da had always told us that we were not to even consider getting married until we came of age, and that he held with Gander there, for Gander won’t agree to marry underage Hobbits unless it’s very special circumstances.  But a week ago he came home and announced that Sythie was getting married, and that things were changed around here.  We were pretty upset, and we sent another message to Brendi.  Then Bigelow and Beasty moved in five days ago, and we realized Beasty was to be the husband.  Sythie was insisting that she wouldn’t, so Da locked her in her room and me in mine.  Only, we know how to get out of the doors when they are locked--we figured that out when we were still little ones.  She took some things and went to Overhill to Cousin Narcissa’s, for we knew she was due home any time.  I stayed here and locked myself back into the bedroom so Da wouldn’t realize right away that Forsythia was gone.  I heard when Brendi got here, and he was demanding to see any marriage contract, and telling them that it wasn’t valid anyway because Sythie wasn’t of age.  Then I realized that Beasty was beating Brendi, and he kicked him, too; then they took him and locked him into Sythie’s room--they’d already realized she was gone.  I heard them talking about sending other Bracegirdles to Hobbiton, Bywater, and Overhill to find her and bring her back.  When they went outside I was able to get out of my room, open the other door, and get him out of there.  It was all I could do to get him out of there and to the hideout, but I was afraid to leave him here.  What if Beasty decided to hurt him again?”  Forsythia nodded agreement, and went out to the kitchen.

       The Thain certainly looked as if this were pretty much what he’d expected to hear.  “I think we have enough to go on.  Well, Dormo, was it worth missing luncheon for?”

       “I’ve a good deal to charge to Bigelow’s account.  Who is family head for the Bracegirdles now?”

       “Bartolo’s brother Benlo in Hardbottle.”

       “Sounds as if he ought to be called to Michel Delving same time as Lothario.”

       Paladin and Gander both nodded.  The Took looked up as Forsythia came in from the kitchen with a platter of cold meats and cheeses and vegetables and a freshly sliced loaf of bread.  Setting them on the table she disappeared back into the kitchen and returned with a tray with a pitcher of ale.  Narcissa went to the dresser and brought out plates and mugs and knives and forks and set them out for those who were there.

       “I hope,” Forsythia explained, “this helps make up for your missed luncheon.”

       Taking a slice of ham upon his plate and cutting himself a bite of it, Dormo smiled.  “As excellent as Lavender’s, Forsythia.  Your mum was a good teacher.”

       Gander looked at the twins with concern.  “Do you understand why it would be best if you two were to leave the farm?” he asked.

       Fosco and Forsythia looked one another, and Forsythia took her brother’s hand.  “We understand,” Fosco said quietly, “but it doesn’t mean we like it, or agree.”

       Forsythia sighed.  “We can’t remain, Fosco, if others are going to use us to manipulate Da.”

       He nodded reluctantly.  “I hate this, Sythie.”

       “I know.”  She looked to the Thain.  “Is it true that a dowry isn’t supposed to be used to pay the husband’s debts?”

       Gander answered the question, “Of course it’s not supposed to pay the husband’s debts.  The dowry is to assist the couple to set up well enough that if something happens to the husband, the wife will remain well provided for.  The husband’s debts don’t become the couple’s debts unless the wife has a hand in incurring them.”

       “So, first of all I’m too young to marry, even with permission.  Then too many people have to sign for me if I marry if I’m between twenty-five and thirty-three for them to have been able to force me to marry Bedro.  And finally he couldn’t legally use my dowry to pay his reparations because it doesn’t provide for me, too.”

       “Was that the reason for the proposed marriage?”

       “Yes, we heard them discussing it before I ran away.”

       “Wise lass,” the Thain said with approval.

       “Well,” Narcissa said, after several moments of silence, “what do we do now?  Can I offer to take them to live with me?”

       “Did you read the entire codicil that Frodo wrote?”

       “No, Oridon and Brendilac only described it to me briefly.”

       “He asked, that if something were to happen to Emro and Lilac, that you be considered as physical guardian first after them, and that I be considered after you.”

       Pippin came in at that moment.  “They are on their way, Da,” he said.  “Emro is driving, and from the expression on his face, I suspect they will keep on until they reach Michel Delving.  Now he realizes how they were feeding him drink and manipulating and cheating him, he is very angry.”

       “Good, then it will keep him wiser for the next time.  Anyone who believes the pronouncements of such as Bigelow Bracegirdle deserves to understand how gullible he’s been.”  He looked back at the twins and Narcissa.  “So, you are willing to take them on, are you?”

       Narcissa nodded, and the twins looked very relieved.  “The hole has seemed so empty since Mum died last year,” she said.  “It will be good to have some life in there alongside me--that is, of course, if you will agree to come to Overhill.  We could move into your parents’ hole here instead--or we could go back and forth some, if you wish.”

       The twins looked at one another, then turned back to her.  “For now, let’s go to Overhill, then talk to Da and Uncle Delko in a couple months about how we can still feel to be part of the farm,” Fosco suggested.

       The Thain smiled.  “Sounds as if we have a workable plan.”

       “We’ll stay for a few days at least,” Narcissa decided, “until Brendilac is ready to travel and Delko’s family is ready to move in.  It will give us the chance to pack and make plans with Delko and Daylily.”

       Gander nodded.  “That would be best--take care of what needs done while Emro is away and all.”

       With agreement all around, the Gravelly family head and Gander rose and prepared to leave.  “Glad to see you back, Narcissa,” Gander said.  “Seems that Emro and Lilac did teach these some sense, if Sythie came to you.”

       The twins saw all out the door, and  the Thain and Fosco went into Brendi’s room to consult with Lyria while Narcissa and Forsythia started clearing away.  Narcissa found herself looking at the lass beside her, and thought, Well, Frodo, it looks as if you have indeed given me a family.  And I find I am glad.

Guardianship

       It was five days before Emro returned to Westhall, during which time Delko and his wife Gladdie came in to rearrange the house, bring in some of their own goods, and decide which bedrooms would house whom.  Narcissa helped Fosco and Forsythia to care for the animals, and did a good amount of hoeing alongside Forsythia in between caring for Brendi while Fosco packed as much as he could during the day, with his sister and guardian aiding him in the evenings.

       Emro’s face was sad when he entered the house and saw the changes which had been made.  “I’ll have to see about finding a hole of my own,” he began, but he was interrupted by his brother’s wife.

       “Nonsense, Emro Gravelly.  You’ve been foolish--no question about that.  But you ain’t losing your home, not after you’ve lived here all your life.  No, you will stay on as long as you like.  True, the twins need to get away at least for a time, although they’ll be back in August to help with the late summer harvest and to plan for the orchard and all.  But this will stay your home.  We did think, however, you might be more comfortable in Fosco’s room--’twas yours when you was a lad, after all.”

       “We’ll stay at our real mum’s smial when we return, Da,” Fosco explained.  “We will be back to see you regular, you know.”

       Emro wiped away the one tear he couldn’t seem to marshal otherwise, then gave the two of them a hug.  “I’ll miss you two, right enough,” he murmured into Forsythia’s hair.  “But it’s time and past for you to start being Bagginses after all, I figure.  You two are far smarter’n me, far smarter’n I’ll ever dream of being.  You need more education than I can give you, even with that Took teacher you’ve had.  As long as you don’t forget the good as we taught you, Lilac and me.”

       “We won’t, Da,” Forsythia promised.

       In the dining room on the table lay those items that Pippin had found in the Bracegirdle house which had been identified as having come from the Gravelly farm and the Baggins smial.  A number of other items had been found which apparently had come from other homes in the village, and these had been taken to Gander’s home for identification and return.  Emro looked it over, gently pulled out all the jewelry, and offered it to Forsythia.  “All came from your mums,” he said.  “Ain’t right it ought to go to others.”

       Forsythia looked through the items, then removed two necklaces and a ring.  One of the necklaces and the ring she offered to Gladdie.  “You always loved these, Gladdie, and they will look more fitting on you than they will me,” she said.  “And both my mums would be glad to see you wearing them for their memory,” she added.  “The other ought to go to Daylily.”

       Delko nodded, smiling broadly.  “I’ll see as it gets to her, Sythie.  Now you pack up the rest of that, hear?”

       With a nod, the lass walked toward the pile of her own things near the door, carefully opened one of the bags and slipped the jewelry inside.  Narcissa murmured to her, “Properly speaking you weren’t supposed to do that for two more years, but I don’t think anyone will complain.”  The lass smiled back at her.

       Fosco said, “Any of the furniture that our dad made that came from the smial, keep it here.  It will comfort Da, I think, and we shan’t need it for some time.”

       Delko nodded his agreement.  “Will do, lad.  Now, once we’ve all eaten, you’d best get on your way.”

       Narcissa was going to check on Brendilac when he came out of the room where he’d stayed the last few days, his face pale and with a nasty bruise on his temple, but sound enough now.  “Did someone say something about a meal?” he asked.  “I do believe that I must be on the mend--I’m actually hungry.”

       All gathered one last time in the dining room for the farm house, and waited as Narcissa honored the Standing Silence, thinking on the Valar, the Elves, and Frodo Baggins, all of them now in the Undying Lands.  I’ll take good care of them, Iorhael, she found herself thinking.

*******

       The hearing was held two days before Midsummer, and many who were coming to Michel Delving for the Free Fair came early to see it.  Again Brendilac stood by the accused, although it was obvious that those were not particularly happy at this.  Bigelow Bracegirdle was given seven years servitude aiding in rebuilding mills and then serving in the roads details, and was told he must afterwards dwell in Michel Delving for the rest of his life, here where all knew of his tendency to use weighted dice.  He was also ordered to pay reparations to Emro and certain others whose goods had been found in his hole.  Malco and Lothario Bracegirdle were each given two year servitude, and Lothario was banned from writing contracts for the rest of his life.  The three who’d gone in search of Forsythia were all made to serve six months servitude in rebuilding the mills.  

       Those seated at the table examined Ted Sandyman with mutal disgust.  “Well, Ted,” Will Whitfoot said, “it appears you still haven’t learned your lesson.  Why you seem drawn to those least worthy of respect is a question I think we’ll continue to ponder for years.”

       Ted looked sideways at the Mayor, then pointedly away.  “Didn’t really do nothing,” he said.

       “Yet you stood by Bigelow and Bedro, and items stolen years ago from others were found in your pockets, and more have been found in the search of your home,” Will pointed out.  “Small things, and not particularly important, maybe; but still items that ought never to have ended up with you.  You have shown yourself to be a petty thief as well as a fool.  You are hereby ordered to help in the rebuilding of each of the proper mills for the Shire, and afterward to spend a full week each month serving whatever needs the headman for Bywater may have.  And each of the items must be returned to its owner or principal heir.”  A couple large boxes standing near the doors between a pair of Shiriffs were indicated.  Ted’s face darkened.  “Reparations to those who have suffered such losses will also be paid out of the wages due you for your servitude.”

       Beasty received special consideration.  Benlo Bracegirdle examined him with grave disgust.  “Twice now, Bedro, you’ve shamed the name of Bracegirdle, and this second time is too much.  We now cross your name out of the book, and cast you out of the family.  A fool, a thief, a brigand as much as any of those Lotho brought into the Shire--we have no more time nor patience with the likes of you.”

       Will nodded.  “We would send you to stand before Steward Halladan, save we hear that he will be attending the conference to be held in Rivendell--a conference which we are told the King himself will attend.  You, therefore, will go there, and learn first hand the nature of the King’s justice.  You are not welcome ever again within the borders of the Shire.  Do you understand?  And what possessions other than your clothing that have worth will be sold to pay reparations to those from whom you’ve stolen and whom you still owe.”

       Beasty nodded, his face pale but set.  But the anger in his eyes could be seen clearly as he glanced at Forsythia and Fosco as he was led past them on his way back to the Lockholes.

       Brendilac sighed and wiped his forehead as he finally saw the others led out.  “That went better for them than I’d expected, especially Bigelow,” he commented.  “I hope there are none others planning on getting into serious problems for a time.  I don’t know if I want to do this a third time.”  He sighed, then smiled at Narcissa and the twins.  “Well, at least I, too, will be able to meet this King of ours now, for I’ll be going with Bedro to Rivendell, at least.”

       “Frodo didn’t ask you to stand for these,” Master Saradoc commented quietly, having come to stand by him once the hearing was over. 

       “I know, sir,” Brendi answered, “but I don’t think Frodo would have seen any difference between these and the first time.”

       Saradoc sighed and shook his head.  “No, I think you have the right of it there.  Far too decent a Hobbit, Frodo was.”

       Narcissa gave a wry smile.  “Just look who taught him everything he knew about fairness and decency, though,” she said.

       The Master smiled.

*******

       Again Fosco Baggins danced the Husbandmen’s dance with the rest of the menfolk, and afterwards, after the greased pig race, most of the children attending gathered around the empty barrels outside the ale tent.  Sam took his place there this year.

       “I’m here to tell you the tale of a suit of clothing,” he said quietly.  “For years these clothes lay in drawers or hung in the wardrobe in Mr. Frodo’s room in Bag End.  Nice sturdy trousers, well woven and sewn together with neat, sturdy stitches by the Goodbodies of Hobbiton, and a shirt as was sewn by my sister May and embroidered by my sister Daisy.  There used to be a vest to it, too, but that was lost along the way--so much was lost along the way, for the way was hard, cruel hard.  The jacket was lost, too, somewhere in Ithilien, where we’d stopped one day to sup a bit on some stewed conies as old Sméagol had come up with one day when we was particular tired of lembas bread.”

       Narcissa and the twins listened to the tale of herbs and stewed rabbit with interest, then the story of how the small meal was followed by a glimpse of more of the Enemy’s forces and even an oliphant marching to join his army when they were ambushed by Captain Faramir’s archers.  He then described the capture of the two Hobbits by the Men of Gondor, the night spent behind the waterfall of Henneth Annun, and the release the following day to continue the journey toward Mordor.  All listened to the description of the glimpse of the head of the statue of the King that stood at the Crossroads, crowned with silver flowers and golden stonecrop and other lichens, and the awe inspired by this sight, there in that desolate land under the looming darkness of Mordor, sent out to make the way easier for Sauron’s orcs and trolls to march abroad, and to darken the hearts and counsels of the defenders of Minas Tirith and Gondor.

       “Not many have looked on the ruins of what was once the fairest of cities ever built by the survivors of Númenor,” he said.  “Don’t rightly know as how long the Enemy’s folks held it, but know it was a powerful long spate of years, it was.  Once shining with the reflected light of the summer Moon, now it stood glowing in a sickly manner, like dead things as one sees in the deepest, darkest, and dankest of woods where the hearts of the trees are filled with hatred and malice.  Ever Sauron and his folks sought to destroy what they couldn’t make themselves, and corrupted the rest as much as possible.  Isildur built it, but the Lord King Elessar, for all he  is Isildur’s Heir, wouldn’t set foot in the desecrated place.  Heard tell as it was thrown down to let the honest light of the Sun and Moon into the heart of it to cleanse away the shadows.”

       He then described the stairs of the Pass of Cirith Ungol, the winding stair and the straight one, of the exhaustion of climbing them, the concern as to what Gollum might be planning for them.  The description of the stop to sleep, of the true rest the Ringbearer was granted this time as opposed to the dreams of Eyes and Fire and Shadow which were more common to him, tugged at Narcissa’s heart; and the description of Sméagol as Sam awoke to see him, grieved her even more.  

       “At the time I thought as he was pawing at the Master, but I realized that, for the moment at least, he was seeing the Light of him shining, same as I’d seen it.  I’m shamed I spoke to him as I did, for I was short with him, I was.  But when I begged pardon he wasn’t having none of it--the malice was back, the longing for It, the anger at me.”

       When he spoke of the darkness and horror of the tunnel, all shivered; then he described the realization Gollum had abandoned them to whatever fate he’d planned for them.  He spoke of the growing knowledge something, concealed in the darkness, was watching them, planning on attacking them.  Then he spoke of the Ringbearer remembering the Phial of Galadriel, bringing it out and invoking the name of Eärendil, whose light was captured in the Starglass, and it shining to dispell the darkness, revealing the horror of the stalking Shelob.  All straightened as he described the fight between Frodo and the giant spider, her eventual retreat when her eye was stabbed and her claw damaged, the hurry through the rest of the tunnel.  He then told of the web of shadow which could only be cut by the blade of Sting, how he held the Starglass while Frodo hewed at it, and how Frodo then gave him the sword as well and ran ahead.

       “He was drunk with the thought of light after the darkness we’d passed through, and his heart hungered for the fresher air of the outer pass; and he begun to run ahead.  Only neither realized that that spider and Gollum was both stalking us.  I saw the spider creep out of a narrow crack after him, but as I started to call out the warning, I was grabbed from behind, for Gollum had decided to kill me hisself, he had.  But he spoke too soon, and I was able to fight him off, gave him a shallow gash with Sting, I did, and he let me go, fled away.

       “Shelob, the spider, had the Ringbearer, and was wrapping his limp body with her silk.  I fought her, fought her with Sting and the light of the Lady’s Starglass, and at last held the sword over me as she sought to crush me with her body, and she drove herself upon it, wounded herself  bad.  She pulled away in her agony, squeezed herself into a tiny crack, and I saw her not again.

       “She’d bitten the Ringbearer on the back of his neck, driven her poison into him.  I could hear no heartbeat, feel no breath.  I was certain as he was dead.  I cut the silk from his body, held him long in my grief.  Finally--finally, I knew as what I must do--I must take the Ring and go on myself to the Mountain and throw It into the volcano.  If he was dead, then all as was left to do what needed to be done was myself.  Don’t know as how long it was afore I finally realized all this, but I took It at the last, put the chain holding It around my own neck, took my own sword’s hangers off my belt, laid it aside him, took Sting’s sheath and hung it on my belt, sheathed Sting at the last, put the Starglass in my pocket, and started on the way.”

       Then he described realizing orcs were approaching, and how he’d put on the Ring to hide from them, and found that, wearing It, he could hear and understand the Orcs better.  He told of the discovery of the body, the realization the Ringbearer was actually still alive--just paralyzed with the spider’s poison; the realization they were taking the Ringbearer into their tower, and his further realization he must get back to him, must save him.

       “But the way they went they shut and barred after themselves, and I had to find another way.  Stunned myself trying to fling myself at the door they’d locked behind them; once I finally come to I had a long search, finally found the main gate, forced myself in using the Starglass to confound the evil watchers, started up into the guard tower, went higher and higher. 

       “The two platoons of orcs as was there had started to fight with one another--that’s the nature of orcs, after all--must fight with one another if they can’t find no one else to fight.  They’d fought over the mithril shirt as had been left on the Ringbearer, for the two leaders both wanted it, one to take to Sauron and the other for hisself.  Their fight had spread to all, and now there was only three still alive in the tower.  One killed one of the other two, and finally come down the stairs carrying a bundle, and I tried to stab it with Sting, but it used the bundle to fend me off, got by me, took that bundle away.  Bundle looked familiar, it did--but then it ought to of looked familiar--it was all of his clothes, all of them--and my sword.  When at last I found him, he had nothing on, had just awakened, his skin red with the results of the poison still in him, just starting to drain away from his neck.  The last orc broke his neck falling down a ladder in his surprise when he saw me.”

       He went quiet for a time.  “This one isn’t exactly about saving him, but I did, and we finally got out of there, both of us disguised in orc gear.  They’d torn his water bottle apart, shredded his pack looking for anything hidden.  Lucky they couldn’t bear the touch of the lembas as he’d carried there, for they just left it in a crumbled heap by the wall.  He was able to save most of it, and I put it in my own pack.

       “As we finally got near the mountain in our journey, he got so weak he couldn’t carry the weight of the orc armor no more, nor the sword I’d found for him.  I finally threw it all down a crack in the ground; my pans, too; anything of weight excepting only It, which he still carried on the chain about his neck.  We was sure we wouldn’t live by then, once the Ring was gone.  He couldn’t bear the touch of the orc clothing, neither, and he took it all off, and it, too, went down the crack.  Wrapped hisself in my cloak from Lorien, he did, and I belted it with a length of the hithlain rope.  When at last they found us, that’s how they found him--wrapped only in my cloak.

       “We was unconscious for almost two weeks--the King hisself tended to us, put us deep into healing sleep, saw to the caring for our bodies.  When at last we awoke we was first dressed in the rags we’d worn up the stairs to Cirith Ungol.  The emissary of Sauron had brought the bundle out to show the Captains of the West as they stood outside the Black Gate, and Gandalf had taken it from him. 

       “Gandalf told us those rags as we’d worn would be preserved.  After we was shown to the army of the West, he took us away again, dressed us in other gear as had been hastily made for us to wear, carefully wrapped our old rags up, told us again as it would all be preserved in honor.”

       He straightened.  “We just got home, you know, from a trip back to Gondor.  The King ordered a monument carved of the four Periannath as had come from the Shire to the aid of the West in the fight against Sauron, had it carved there in their capitol, there in the Court of the White Tree, there afore the Citadel itself, at the top of the city, there in its very heart.  That monument is finished now, and we went to its unveiling.

       “You’ve heard tell of the King’s own sculptor, the Mannikin named Ruvemir son of Mardil of Lebennin.  As fine a person as ever walked beneath Sun, Moon, and Stars he is, too.  He come here to see us, to learn of us, and to learn of the Ringbearer, so he could carve his figures for the monument.  Four figures are in it:  one of the Captain Peregrin Took of the Guard of the Citadel as he stands when he is on duty afore the King’s throne, his sword drawn and ready in case any threatens our King or any under his protection; one of Sir Meriadoc Brandybuck, Esquire to the King of Rohan and Knight of the Riddermark, leaning on his sword in honor; one of the one known as the Esquire to the Ringbearer, wearing his pack, holding Sting as he did when fighting Shelob in the Spider’s Pass; and one of the Ringbearer hisself, standing proud, holding the Ring on the palm of his hand, his face stern and sad, challenging all to look on this talisman of evil and think in themselves if they would of had the strength to destroy It.  These ain’t great statues the sizes of giants as so many statues are within Minas Tirith--they’re the size of us as we are--or at least, only just taller than we are as Hobbits of the Shire.  And the Esquire to the Ringbearer and the Ringbearer hisself are shown wearing the clothes as they was wearing as they climbed the stairs of the Pass of Cirith Ungol itself, as those clothes was when they was found, the Ringbearer’s in the bundle taken from the Mouth of Sauron, and the clothes of the Esquire as they was taken from his body when he was found, almost dead, on the side of the mountain after the Ring was destroyed.

       “The clothes themselves are preserved as Gandalf told us would happen, in crystal cases made by the Dwarves, hanging in the Hall of Memorials.  Master Ruvemir looked on them long, he told us, afore he completed the sculptures, to make certain as they was done right.  The knee of the trousers worn by the Ringbearer is torn from a slip on the stairs, one of the braces half loose from a missing button.  The studs was lost along the way, one on Amon Hen, the other between Ithilien and the stairs.  There was a rip in the shirt from climbing the ridge to look down on the Black Gate and another from falling into a pit in the desolation nearby; and more from the mat of brambles as we hid under after we left the Crossroads, afore we come to the secret stair.  The color of the pants, once a dark green almost black, is now a muddy grey.  The fine threads of the linked diamonds embroidered into the placket and cuffs of the shirt are torn and broken, and some of the stains from blood and other sources never come out.

       “Before the case as holds the clothes of the Ringbearer is a stand, and on that stand a vase of glass, glass such as you’ve never seen in your life.  The glassblower who blew that vase went about the city, gathering up the ash which fell on it released by Mount Doom itself; and he mixed the ash with the sand from which his glass was formed.  The glass shines and shimmers with many colors, or so it seems as you move about it or as the light of the torches and lamps as light the room flickers across it.  It is beautiful as you cannot believe.  They keep sprays of green leaves and white blossoms in that vase, changing them every other day, they tell me, through all seasons, membering how the one as wore these once was willing to sacrifice all that the Enemy never have the chance to regain possession of his Ring, to use It to enslave and destroy all of Middle Earth.  

       “Funny as how the clothes made here in the Shire have come to such a place in a hall as was made to help all member those as have done the most to protect the lands of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth.”

       He was starting to lean down to pick up Rosie-Lass from where she sat upon her sister’s lap, there in front of where he had sat on the barrel, when Fredegar Bolger called out from among the adults who stood around the audience of children, “And below the other case, is there not a similar stand there, too?”

       Sam flushed furiously, but answered softly, “Yes, sir, there is.”

       “And what sits on that stand, Sam?”

       Sam lifted his head, his face solemn.  “A vase.”

       “And is that vase not the mate to the other one?”

       “Yes, sir, it is.”

       “And what fills that vase, Samwise Gamgee?”

       “Flowers and herbs.”

       Fredegar nodded.  “Flowers and herbs of all colors, are they not, changed as regularly as those in the other vase?”

       Sam looked at him but did not answer.

       Fredegar smiled gently.  “Two of our own are honored there, equally, Sam, and with reason.  Let our children know about both.”  He then bowed deeply toward Sam, and the others who had made the journey to Gondor did the same while Sam continued to flush, but stood his ground. 

       Narcissa smiled, and called out herself, “Actually, two more are honored in that room, too, if you will remember, for the hilt of the sword first carried by Merry is also there, as is the shield which Pippin first carried.  Each of the four was found near to death after his labors against the Enemy, which is why all four are depicted in the memorial.”

       Sam suddenly smiled.  “Yes, they, too, fought the Enemy.  And I wish you all a good day.”  He leaned down deliberately to scoop up his younger daughter, and as the children began to rise and make way for him he carefully and deliberately stepped out of the circle, followed by Elanor and Frodo-Lad, joined his wife where she stood, smiling and delighted, and together they walked into the ale tent and sat down, the children with them.

       Fosco turned to look into Narcissa’s face, holding his own face near so as to examine her expression carefully.  “So, it is true, all four are heroes?”

       She smiled, her eyes filled with pride.  “Yes, they are all four heroes, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin.  Each and every one of them.”

       Fosco straightened in pride.  She led him and Forsythia together into the ale tent, and they sat at the table where Sam sat with his wife and children, where Merry and Pippin brought their wives as well.  Sam looked at Narcissa consideringly.  “Well, as long as Master Freddie was intent on making me important, too, I’m glad you spoke up about these,” he said, with sideways nods to Merry and Pippin.

       “Glad to oblige,” she said, smiling.  She watched as Ferdibrand approached, led by Pimpernel, carrying the box he’d been given by Master Ruvemir.  “Thank you, Ferdi,” she said as he sat down, “for bringing it.  I did want the twins to see it.”

       He smiled.  “Give me a moment, then,” he said, lifting off the lid and then the top layer of wool, then the four batches from the sides, and finally the section from the middle.  Carefully he lifted the model out of the box and set it on the table.  “Fosco?” he asked.

       “Here I am,” the younger Hobbit answered.

       The elder smiled as he carefully slid it over toward the younger.  “Here,” he said.  “Each figure comes out of the base, and Pippin can take them out if you’d like, then put them back.  He’s become quite experienced at it, really.”

       Gently Fosco examined the model, and at last he asked to see each small figure separately.  When all were finally replaced in the base, he straightened.  “It’s marvelous.  One day I will go to Minas Tirith and see the real memorial.”

       Forsythia was reaching down and gently stroking the model of Frodo with her index finger, tears in her eyes.  “No wonder he had to leave,” she said quietly.

       Sam said, gently, “Yes.  Cost him almost everything, it did.  But at least he’s happy now.”  He smiled at her.  “And I hope as the Lady Galadriel has her Mirror there and can show him how wonderful as you and your brother is growing.  He must be right proud of the both of you.”  He shook his head.  “And to think as he knew all along you was there, and didn’t tell me.  He was a sly one at times, you know.”

       Brendilac had come in during the examination, and now asked if he might look at the model.

       “Of course, Brendi,” Ferdibrand replied. 

       The lawyer raised the model, turning it carefully, examining it in detail.  “He wouldn’t tell me the details of what he did out there,” he said at last.  “But I’m glad to finally begin to know.”  He looked at his cousin Merry.  “I’m glad you were there, too, to represent our side of the family.” 

       Merry smiled back.  “I am, too, Brendi.  But I wish it hadn’t been necessary to begin with.”  His smile faded, then grew again.  “I’m so glad he has been granted healing at last.”  The rest nodded.  He took the model from Brendilac, and gently settled it once more into the box, gently replaced the wool, and finally put the lid on top.

The King’s Arrival

       “What of your things will you need to get from Buckland for the trip?” Narcissa asked her guest as he placed the freshly laundered clothing she’d just brought into the guestroom into the new pack that sat on his bed.

       “Well, I took only one extra outfit to Westhall so have only one here, so I should think I’d need a fair amount.  I’ll nead at least three more changes, don’t you think?  And I probably ought to take a cloak, for it may be warm here, but if it rains on the way....  But I’ll admit now--I spoke to Merry at the Free Fair, and he’s bringing my things to the Bridge with him so we won’t need to leave early.”

       “Did you remember to ask him to bring a blanket roll?”

       He laughed.  “Now who is it who’s making certain folk are ready for a trip?”

       Narcissa smiled.

       The trip this year would not be through the Shire, but out of it.  Once they returned from the Free Fair, the twins and Narcissa immediately threw themselves into packing for the trip to Rivendell.  Correspondence with the Lord Steward Halladan indicated the King and his party would be at the Brandywine Bridge five days after Midsummer, so there was little time to prepare.  

       Brendilac had returned to Overhill with them from Westhall, and had remained there for the last few weeks, recovering and assisting the twins to settle into the smial.  Together they had helped unpack not only their things brought from the farm and their parents’ smial, but also those items that Narcissa had brought back from her own journey.  Forsythia looked on the midnight blue gown embroidered with blossoms and stars with sheer awe as she pulled it from the second trunk Narcissa had brought home with her.  She finally tore her gaze from it and looked at her new guardian.  “This is the most beautiful gown I have ever, ever seen!” she said.  “You brought it back from Gondor with you?”

       Narcissa smiled.  “It was my welcome gift from the Queen.  She apparently made and embroidered it herself.  She is the most marvelous seamstress and embroiderer, and while we were there was inducted into their guild of seamstresses and tailors as a master embroiderer.  She and Mistress Miriel, the sister to Master Ruvemir and wife of my cousin Folco, made garments for all of us, husbands, wives, and children.”  She searched through her original trunk, finally drew out a strand of beads.  “Here--these are for you.”  Carefully she draped them around Forsythia’s neck.  “The glassblower who crafted these is the most wonderful Man, and these are made with the ash from Mount Orodruin, the volcano up which Frodo and Sam climbed in Mordor.”

       Forsythia looked down on them with even more awe.  “These are by the one Iorhael told us of,” she asked, “the last time at the Free Fair before he left the Shire?”

       “Yes,” Narcissa replied, nodding.  “As we entered the city and went through the Fourth Circle his daughter Linneth came to us from the marketplace there, and gave a strand to each of us, and to Mistress Miriel as well.  I purchased these for you, though, just before I returned home.  I wished to have a set intended specifically for you.  I will treasure the ones given to me forever, remembering how they were given us in memory of Frodo, whom her father honored greatly.”  She brought out a velvet bag and carefully slipped out her own strand, and donned it.  She then brought out a fine shawl of heavy woven silk in a warm, golden brown, fringed and embroidered in gold.  “This is for you, also.  Mistress Miriel embroidered it.”  Carefully she wrapped it around the lass’s shoulders.  “Yes, it flatters your hair most beautifully, and the golden blossoms make your skin glow.”

       Brendi now leaned in the doorway, a smile of approval on his face.  “It is beautiful, and becomes you well, Forsythia,” he said, and the lass glowed in his praise and admiration.

       For Fosco, who was sitting on the floor by the bed, she had brought a vest of green wool lined with a soft gold linen, embroidered with soaring birds.  “These are gulls such as fly up the River Anduin from the Mouths of the Sea,” she explained as he felt the patterns.  “The buttons were made by the glassmaker who does the volcano glass, and each appears to have a gull within it.  He made them specifically at the request of Mistress Miriel so she could use them on some of the garments she wished to make for gifts to the Shire folk and for Folco and the children.” 

       She also gave to him a figure of a bird carved of wood, a finch preening at its wing.  “Ririon, the ward to Master Ruvemir and his sister, carved this of cherry wood, then stained it.  It is one of the most realistic carvings I have ever seen.  He helped in the carving of the memorial, and did the design for the surround for its base.  He did another of a bird raising its wings to fly away, and it sits now on the stand below Frodo’s garments from the quest.  For all that his vision is now very poor, Ririon still is one of the most gifted carvers I have ever seen, and both his foster father and Master Mardil, the father of Ruvemir and Miriel, are very proud of him.”

       For Brendilac she’d brought back a book of the history of the city of Minas Anor, a tunic designed and embroidered by the Queen, and a silver flagon chased within with gold.  “This was made by the Dwarves.  Lord Gimli had intended to give it to Frodo, but then learned that Frodo had left Middle Earth.  He asked me if I knew any of Frodo’s kindred who would appreciate it in honor of him, and I suggested you.  When I explained how you had stood by Timono and the others at Frodo’s request, he was impressed, and asked that I give it to you, said that he admired your courage and your faithfulness to Frodo.”

       Brendi examined it carefully, the design on it of a bird in flight against stars.  “What kind of bird is this?” he asked.

       “It is a type of seabird called an albatross that flies over the waves by both day and night.  It is greatly beloved by many among the Elves, who see it as a guide to far destinations.  Gimli first began working it into his designs for the pleasure of his friend Legolas, who remains in Middle Earth now for his sake and for the sake of the Lord King Aragorn Elessar.”  She looked at it seriously.  “He had been told by Legolas that the Elves of Middle Earth had petitioned the Valar to allow Frodo to go to the Undying Lands for his easing, and he hoped this would help him to accept the grace; but he finished it too late.  He had already done flagons for Sam, Merry and Pippin, and did not wish to favor one over the others with this as a second.”

       “For his easing,” Brendilac sighed.  “If only he hadn’t needed such easing.”

       “The King grieves for him, and that he was unable to aid him to full healing,” Narcissa said sadly.  She brought out a framed picture, one in color of Frodo with Elanor on his lap, smiling down into her eyes.  “Master Ruvemir did this for me,” she said quietly, “and the Dwarves framed it.”

       “It is a good one of our lost cousin.”

       She nodded.  “I have so much to tell, and there isn’t yet time.  We will speak of it on the way.  These two and you will see the King this time.  And Frodo was very right--he is well worth the loving.”

*******

       This time they rented ponies, and each party brought a pack pony.  “The road to Rivendell,” Pippin explained, “isn’t a good one for wagons.”

       Rosie-Lass, Frodo-Lad, and Elanor were now experienced travelers, and took turns riding before various of those in the party.  Diamond and Estella were at ease riding alongside Narcissa and Rosie, while Melilot, Pimpernel, and Viola were a bit less certain.  Piper carried Drogo with him most of the time, and was thrilled to be allowed to go with the party.  Neither Pervinca nor Pearl chose to leave the Shire this time, although they came to the Bridge to see the King and Queen, but Isumbard and Reginard Took were among those serving as guards for Bedro Bracegirdle.  Even Will Whitfoot had agreed to come as far as the bridge, as had a number of others who had never been as far east as Frogmorton before.  It was quite the party that rode east from Michel Delving two days before the expected meeting and stayed the night at the Floating Log.

       They were still two miles short of the bridge when a strange pair could be seen riding toward them.  One of the Tooks who’d been riding ahead came back at a run.  “There is a true horse on the road,” young Levandoras reported, “with two riders upon it. The one in front is tall and has long golden hair, and the one behind....”

       “Legolas and Gimli!” called out Pippin, his face alight with joy.  “Who’s with me?”  And with that shout, he gave Jewel leave to gallop, and he sped forward out of the group, Narcissa and the twins and Brendilac right behind him, alongside a few others in the party.

        As they passed Sam, they heard him laughing.  “We’ll catch up,” Sam called after.  “Not going to rush my children, I’m not, not even for Strider hisself.”

       The ponies seemed to grow excited at the sight of Arod, who stopped still till they came up to them.  Legolas was laughing down at them, and Gimli smiled broadly.  “Is this all that’s coming?” the Dwarf called out.  “Aragorn will be most disappointed.”

       “The rest of the party are too sedate to hurry themselves,” Pippin called back, indicating the remaining cavalcade behind them.  “Ah, though it’s been such a short time this time, it is yet so good to see the two of you again.”

       Legolas laughed with pleasure.  “It’s long in the thinking of mortals since I was in Northwestern Eriador, and I thought I’d see if the forests were as green as my memories of them.  We’ve ridden far ahead, for the rest of our party had barely left Bree when we left them.”  He turned Arod around upon the track.  “Arod wished a good run, and we’ve given it to him.”  He looked about.  “The trees are young, very young, here along the Road within the Shire.  Saruman killed so very many?”

       Pippin became solemn.  “Yes, he did.  If he’d had any idea as to what Saruman was to do here, I suspect Treebeard would never have let him go as he did.  He and his folk murdered thousands of trees.”

       “I think Quickbeam would have gladly squashed him flat rather than that,” Gimli said grimly.  “We stopped to speak to the Ents, of course, although most have returned now to the depths of Fangorn.  Treebeard is eager now to return there himself, but I think Quickbeam will remain at Orthanc to guard the place.  His hatred for Saruman and his works is still smoldering in his heart.”  He gave a short laugh.  “Never thought I’d find myself in sympathy with a treeherder,” he commented.

       “These are glad to grow for the pleasure of the folk and for the joy of Samwise,” Legolas said.  “They rejoice to rise to the sun in such a place as this.”

       The rest of the party was catching up at last.  “Legolas!” Elanor was calling out.  “Legolas!  Gimli!”  Rosie-Lass was fairly bouncing with excitement as she rode before her father, and Frodo-Lad’s face was wreathed in smiles.  Eglantine and the Thain paused for a moment, then rode ahead of the rest of the party to come up alongside their son.

       “Prince Legolas, Lord Gimli,” Paladin Took greeted them, bowing as low as he could on pony back.

       “Legolas, Gimli, my father and mother, Paladin Took, Thain of the Shire, and Eglantine.  My sisters Pearl, Pervinca, and Pimpernel....”

       The introductions looked to go on for a time, and Legolas laughed.  “Let us be introduced as we ride, or I suspect the King’s party will reach the Bridge ere we do.  Shall we proceed, friends?”

       “One moment,” sighed Sam.  “Gimli, can you take this one afore she wriggles out of my arms in her excitement?  She is most insistent as she is to ride with her Uncle Gimli.”

       Pippin took Rosie-Lass from her father and handed her up to the Dwarf, who held her before him with pleasure on his face, and even Legolas appeared flattered.  At last they headed back toward the Bridge.

       The party from Buckland was there before them, alongside a great number of others who had ridden out to see the King this day.  Merry stood out from the rest of the party as he sat atop Stybba, and he rode forward some to greet the Elf and Dwarf.  “Already have Rosie-Lass riding with you, do you?” he asked.  “Seems the little ones cannot stay away from Gimli for long.”

       “Melian would have ridden ahead with us if her father had allowed it,” Legolas admitted.  “But he says that the edict holds for children as well, unless they accompany Master Ruvemir.”

       “He did not come with you?”

       “We caught up with him this side of Tharbad, for in the first few weeks he traveled more slowly than we.  He spent the night in Bree where he has met with the Lord Halladan’s party.  We camped just outside of Bree.  He was just joining the King’s party when we left.  While they were in Rohan Lord Éomer gave each member of his party a steed to follow behind the great wagon he drives.  It is quite a marvel.  However, they will come to the Bridge on horses and ponies.”

       “Folco and Miriel have gone back to Lebennin?” asked Narcissa.

       “Yes, although they both speak of coming north next summer.  It is possible that Master Mardil and Mistress Lisbet may come with them, along with Dorieth, of course.  Both wish to see the work Master Ruvemir will do.”

       “Did any hear from the Lord of the Mundolië as to how he liked the figure of him Ruvemir did?” asked Pippin.

       Gimli laughed.  “The Ghan was reportedly quite pleased with how well Ruvemir caught his seeming, and has had the statue erected in one of the few settled cities of their land.  Dispatch riders caught up with us with that news about the time we caught up with Master Ruvemir’s party.”

       All dismounted from their steeds, and a few Bucklanders took them to a fenced field, saw each unsaddled and groomed, then turned them loose for the night.  Those in the party saw to the disposition of their tack and luggage under a hastily raised pavilion, for all would camp just the other side of the Bridge tonight.  Once all was in order, Pippin, Merry, and Sam walked out upon the Bridge with Legolas and Gimli and the children of the party, and sat on the stools provided.  “I am getting too far along,” Sam said, as he sat upon his stool and pulled out his pipe, filled and lit it, “to feel completely comfortable sitting on the ground no more.”  The others laughed.  Soon they were followed by Thain, Master, and Mayor, who each carried a couple of flagons from the Bridge Inn, and their wives who carried more.  “This is more like,” Sam sighed, accepting the mug offered him by the Mayor.

       The rest stayed back upon the Shire side of the Bridge, although eventually most of the children from the village at the Bridge’s end and from the party had joined the group on the Bridge itself.  Brendi sat on the blanket Narcissa had spread for their small group, and accepted the mug brought him by Fosco and Forsythia, who’d been into the Inn to bring out refreshments for their party.

       The Thain had contributed several head of beef cattle to tonight’s meal, sending them on to Buckland a few weeks back; and the Master had contributed several more.  Sam had managed to get several bushels of potatoes arranged for, and purchases had been made from several of the farms in the Marish for more provender.  The cook tents erected just across the Bridge were already sending out pleasant odors when the King’s party emerged from the shadows of the woods that arched over the roadway.  Those waiting on the Bridge rose swiftly, and those waiting within the Shire also stood and surged forward to see.  Master, Thain, and Mayor stood at the front, accompanied by their wives and heirs and heirs’ wives, Samwise and Rosie Gamgee, and the children who’d waited on the Bridge with them, as well as Gimli and Legolas.  The Thain’s escort and those surrounding Bedro Bracegirdle had their bows at the ready, and all, including Bedro, peered at the riders approaching the Bridge.

       Lords Hardorn and Eregiel and Gilfileg came first, each carrying their weapons at the ready, Artos and Gwynhumara following Eregiel’s horse, followed by King, Queen, Princess, and the Lord Stewards Halladan and Faramir and their wives beside them.  Behind rode Prince Elphir of Dol Amroth to represent his father, Master Ruvemir and his apprentices, and those others from the courts of Minas Anor and Annúminas who accompanied the King, including a double guard of escort, half in the black and silver of the capitol and half in the silver-grey of Arnor.  The King’s guard sheathed swords and shouldered bows, bowed to the Hobbits, and pulled to each side as King, Queen, Princess, Stewards, and wives dismounted gracefully.  The King himself led the way forward until he reached almost to the halfway point on the Bridge, a few yards only separating him from his friends.  Again the holding in place could be seen on both sides, and King and his friends among the Hobbits stood their ground, prolonging the pleasure.  “Welcome to the Shire, Strider,” Sam said quietly, and suddenly he was moving forward, once again into the King’s embrace.

       Brendilac Brandibuck watched the greeting between the Travelers and the King with surprise.  “That is the King?” he asked.

       Narcissa smiled gently.  “Yes, that is the King,” she replied, and he and the twins could easily hear the pride in her voice.

       “I never imagined....” Brendi started, but found himself unable to complete the thought of what it was he had thought the King might or might not be like.

       Pippin and Merry stood waiting, then bowed low before each was in his turn swept into the kneeling King’s embrace.  “This could easily become a habit,” Merry heard Aragorn murmur into his ear, and laughing he broke free. 

       “I wish it could be so,” he said with regret, smiling up into the King’s eyes.

        Pippin then gestured his parents and those of Merry forward along with Will Whitfoot.  “My Lord Aragorn Elessar, may I present my parents, Paladin Took, Thain of the Shire, Master of Tookland, and the Took, and Eglantine.”

       “And mine, Saradoc Brandybuck, Master of Brandy Hall and Buckland and the Marish, and my mother Esmeralda.”

       “And the Mayor of the Shire, Will Whitfoot, and his wife Mina,” added Sam.  “Our Lord King Aragorn Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar, King of Gondor and Arnor, his wife the Lady Arwen Undomiel of Imladris and Lothlorien, their daughter the Princess Melian, and our Lord Stewards Halladan of Arnor and Faramir of Gondor, and their wives, the Lady Mirieth of Annúminas and the Lady Éowyn of Rohan.”

       “A miracle!” Pippin commented to Merry.  “He didn’t introduce him as Strider for a change!”

       The King laughed, then turned to Thain, Master, Mayor, and their ladies and bowed respectfully.  “It is an honor to meet you at the last.  Thain Paladin, finally we have persons to attach to the names and correspondence we have shared.  And I am proud to tell you how well you have done at raising a most remarkable and responsible son.”

       The Thain flushed.  “Considering how difficult it was for me to accept the news of what he’d experienced, it’s difficult to accept responsibility for how well he turned out,” he confessed.

       “Oh, he could be maddeningly impulsive at times, also,” Aragorn laughed.  “But all told, I am proud to have him at my side, and when he takes up his duty as my guard I feel truly safe.”  He examined the face of the Thain.  “I see,  however, that he comes by his honesty from you.  A worthy son of a worthy father.” 

       He turned to Eglantine, and smiled.  “And his personal grace, I see, comes from you, my lady.”

       “Thank you, my Lord,” she said, flushing with pleasure and confusion.

       He turned next to the Master.  Long he examined Merry’s parents.  “Yes, I see you in your son, and I am glad to recognize your hand in the forming of my beloved friend as well.  Both spoke often and well of you both.  It is a pleasure to meet you this day,” he said.

       “Thank you, my Lord,” Saradoc returned.  “Certainly we have heard nothing but good of you from all four of them, and since the return from the unveiling from these others as well.  I wish we could host you in the Hall....”

       But the King was shaking his head.  “No, I would not be worthy if I exempted myself from the edicts I impose on others, temporary or permanent.”

       “I understand, my Lord,” the Master replied, bowing deeply.

       “We can still wish it, my Lord,” Esmeralda said.  “To know lordship from those who follow the rules they impose on others is not always true, you know.”

       “All too well do I know of it, my lady.  I have had to study much of history, and not all of my forebears were fully honorable.”  Esmeralda nodded her understanding to the King’s statement.

       The King turned at last to the Mayor.  He searched the Hobbit’s face, and smiled sadly.  “I see that the reports of the ordeal you underwent were not exaggerated,” he said softly.  “Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin have all described what they found on their return in their letters to me, and what they told me of your imprisonment was frightening.”

       “It was very bad, my Lord King,” the Mayor said with a calm he’d not have believed previously he could feel at this moment.  “But now it seems almost just a bad dream--except that I am still Mayor when I’d thought to have handed that office on to Frodo.”

       Aragorn nodded, his expression solemn and filled with a level of sadness.  “He would tell no one the depth of the pain he experienced, physical or spiritual, not even me.  The one who knew the most was Sam, who was ever by his side; but even from him he withheld so much, always seeking not to burden others.  He apparently weakened rapidly the last year he remained.”

       The Mayor nodded.  “Yet, in spite of all, he did so well the eight months he served for me, my Lord.  He was a marvelous deputy Mayor, and would have given so much leadership to all.  He was the most decent soul I’ve ever met.”  He sighed.  “I hope that the Elves there in Elvenhome realize just what a marvelous individual they have with them.”

       The King nodded and smiled gently.  “Oh, I think they do realize just that, Master Will.”  He turned to the Mayor’s wife.  “Mistress Mina, Frodo spoke so well of your caring for him while he stayed with you.  It is always an honor to meet such as you in the world.”

       Mina Whitfoot was conquered and lost her heart immediately.

       At that moment Gimli and Legolas came forward, the Dwarf carrying Rosie-Lass in his arms, her hands entangled in his beard.  The King laughed.  “And what do we have here--a captured Hobbit maiden?”

       “Captive?  I don’t think so, Aragorn.  Captor, maybe.”

       “I see.”  He gave the child a look of mock severity.  “Unhand my friend the Dwarf, small mistress, or you shan’t be able to play with Melian.”  

       He held out his hands, and she gladly released Gimli’s beard and turned to hold out her arms to him, giggling.  “Strider!” she said, very clearly.

       All found themselves laughing as they watched the King swing a Hobbit child into the air, his own face as full of delight as that of Rosie Gardner.

       After a list of introductions that no one could hope to remember in one sitting, the party moved to the far side of the Bridge where a large, open-sided pavilion had been raised.  Traveling stools had been brought by the King’s party, and these were quickly placed at one end of the space where a trestle table had been set up for the use of the Big Folk.  Merry had shocked his carpenters when he’d ordered the length of the legs for the horses, but now they saw he had not exaggerated the size needed.  Merry looked about, and commented to his father, “I think perhaps we ought to make certain more of our folk take occasional trips to Bree, just to remind them that Hobbits are not the only folk who live in all of Middle Earth.”  His father nodded.

       More normal sized tables and benches for the use of the Hobbits had also been set up, and soon many were seated at them.  Eglantine looked on the size of their guests and asked Pippin quietly, “Do we truly have enough to feed all of them as well as all the Hobbits present?”

       Pippin laughed.  “Mum, you will find they will not eat as much as the average Hobbit.  Remember how it was when Master Ruvemir visited with us.”  He looked around.  “Ah--there he is, and I see Elanor and Cyclamen have already claimed him.”

       The mannikin sculptor was indeed being pulled forward by the two lasses to speak with Cyclamen’s parents.  Looking about some more, Pippin finally gestured to Celebgil, who came over and bowed respectfully.  “Welcome to Eriador and the borders of the Shire, Celebgil,” he said quietly.  “I see that Mistress Elise is not with you.  Is she ill?”

       “She finally admitted not long after we left Rohan that she is with child.  She’s been feeling a bit uncomfortable the last few days, and the King suggested she remain in Bree today and tomorrow, that she be better fit for the trip east to Rivendell the day after.  She was disappointed not to accompany us, but was relieved, I think at the same time.  By the way, Captain Peregrin, it is an honor to see you once more.”

       “Mum, Da, this is Celebgil, one of Master Ruvemir’s apprentices from the city of Minas Anor.  My parents, Paladin and Eglantine Took.”

       “Master, Mistress, it is an honor to meet the Captain’s parents.”  Again the youth bowed deeply.

       Pippin sighed.  “Thinking of being a Captain, I suspect I ought to go to Lord Hardorn and report for duty,” he commented.  “If you will pardon me, Mum, Da.”  He rose and walked to one of those who had preceded the King where he bowed and saluted, then spoke with the Man.

       Paladin Took looked after his son with interest.  “And who is that with whom my son is speaking?” he asked.

       “Lord Hardorn, the King’s cousin and chief of his personal guards, as well as the Officer of the Privy Purse,” Celebgil explained.  “He and Captain Peregrin share duties.  Lord Eregiel and Lord Gilfileg are also the King’s kinsmen, and also often serve as his personal bodyguards.  Lord Gilfileg accompanied our party north, where he serves as second to Lord Halladan, I understand.  He has been in Gondor this past year and a half, and is now returning to his duties in the northern Kingdom.  Not, I suppose, the King truly needs that much guarding--he is a great warrior in his own right, and is the greatest swordsman among Men in all of Middle Earth, I suspect.  Lord Hardorn, however, is a better archer.  Both were taught by the Elves of Imladris.”

       “I see,” the Thain said.  He watched as again Pippin saluted and bowed, turning away, then stopping to speak with one of those who attended on the King.  “And that?” he asked.

       “Our Lord Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor.  Captain Pippin served to save his life during the war.  And the guardsman in white with him is the Captain of the Prince’s personal guard, Beregond, Captain of the White Company.  The young Man with Captain Beregond is his son Bergil, who will enter the Guard of the Citadel in two years time.  The other with Prince Faramir is his cousin Lord Elphir, heir to Lord Imrahil, Prince to Dol Amroth.”

       “I see.”  Paladin was amazed at the high rank of those within the pavilion, but he supposed he ought not to be so.  It was a different world out there, he realized, and he was venturing out into it further this time than he’d ever done before.  

       As the youth returned to Ruvemir’s side, a rider had come up the road, and had approached the pavilion, been examined and admitted by one of the guards, and approached the King, where he bowed deeply and offered a packet.  The King had opened it, scanned the first few pages, questioned him briefly, then apparently had given him leave to refresh himself before he resumed his duties.  The packet was then given to the Queen, who smiled to receive it.  The King watched her open and read the message, then leaned over her, murmured something to her, then rose, looked around, saw the Thain and moved to come to where he sat. 

       “Thain Paladin,” he said quietly, “I was wondering if you would like to join me in a pipe?”

       “You smoke a pipe, Sire?” the Took asked, surprised.

       Aragorn laughed.  “I was born and raised here in Eriador, and spent much of my career as a Ranger guarding the borders of the Shire and the Breelands, sir.  You will remember that your son and your nephew have each sent me a barrel of pipeweed every Midsummer since their return to the Shire.  These gifts have given some of my kinsmen from here in Arnor and me much pleasure over the years.”

       “I would be honored, my Lord.”  Paladin produced his pipe from an inner pocket of his jacket, while the King produced his from under his tunic, where it had been slipped into his belt.  Paladin looked on it with approval.  “Dwarf made, I see.”

       The King sat himself on the ground as he pulled out his pouch and offered it to the Thain.  “Yes, this one was a gift from Gimli.  He’ll most likely join us in a moment.  Smoking is one art none in the way of Elves whom I’ve known has ever taken to, however, so Legolas will stay aloof from us for the nonce.”  After Paladin had filled his pipe, he filled his own and stowed the pouch back away again.  “It is odd--no Elf would be caught smoking pipeweed, yet they have no qualms about crafting the most beautiful and serviceable pipes imaginable for those who do.  Elladan has made several for me over the years, and used to make them for Bilbo as well, although I believe Bilbo gave the last two made for him to Merry and Pippin.  But, as this one was made for me for my last birthday, I’ve been using it primarily lately.”  He brought out his striker and expertly set his pipe alight, then offered to light that of the Thain’s as well.

       Eglantine’s eyes had become quite large at the sight of the King of Gondor and Arnor sitting beside their table on the ground, and he caught her expression and laughed.  “Please pardon me, my lady,” he said.  “There are times when I prefer to sit on the ground, even to this day.  After all, I’ve spent a good deal of time doing so over the past ninety-five years.  I fear I tend to strain the patience of my minister of protocol.”

       “I can imagine,” she said, smiling in spite of herself.  She glanced over again at her son where he stood talking with Prince Faramir and his wife, the Lady Éowyn, Gimli, Legolas, and Merry.  “They look so comfortable speaking with one another,” she said.

       The King nodded.  “They are.  Pippin feels somewhat responsible for Faramir after saving him from his father’s madness, while Merry and Éowyn have considered themselves sword kin since they rode together from Dunharrow to Minas Tirith.  The two fought their first fight together there from Windfola’s back.  Oh, Merry had fought before, in Moria and on Amon Hen; but this was the first look at unbridled war for each of them.  They did well--very well.”  His face had become solemn.  “To see them lying in the Houses of Healing, laid low by the Black Breath, almost broke my heart. I am grateful I was able to call them back.  And to see them well and happily married--all four of them--means a great deal to me.”

       The sound of laughter from Samwise Gamgee drew his attention to where the Master of Bag End sat with his wife near Sancho and Gelly Proudfoot and the sculptor Ruvemir, Elanor sitting happily in Ruvemir’s lap while the group shared some jest amongst them.  “So, that is Pando’s father and mother.”

       “His aunt and uncle, actually, my Lord.  His parents died of the fever shortly after Sancho and Angelica married, although Sancho and Gelly adopted him as their own.”

       “He is another of Frodo’s cousins?”

       “Yes.”

       The King nodded.  “He resembles him strongly--it’s the dark hair and the fairly narrow face, I think.”

       “Yes, the resemblance is strong, although Fosco favors his cousin even more strongly, I think.”

       “Fosco?”

       Paladin looked around, then spotted Fosco and Forsythia sitting on the far side of the pavilion with Narcissa and Brendilac, Isumbard and Pearl, Pimpernel and Ferdibrand.  “Over there, my Lord.”

       The Lord Elessar looked, but saw only the back of a dark head.  “Ah, I see Master Ferdibrand sits there near him,” he said.  “His gift of seeing the Light of Being has given us all much comfort.”  He puffed on his pipe for a few moments as he surveyed more of the occupants of the tent.  “That one there, with the four who appear to be guards about him, that is the prisoner, then?”

       Paladin sighed.  “Yes, that is Bedro.  By rights, I suppose we ought to have brought Ted Sandyman as well, although his actions have been far more petty and even pathetic.  But Bedro has stretched the patience of all this time.”

       “I see.  I will not sit in judgment here, though, and certainly not today.  Let him see the contrast between the Travelers’ friend and the King.”  The Thain, impressed by the change in the King’s voice, looked at him closely, saw the authority that Aragorn son of Arathorn wore so easily, just a layer down from the Man who sat comfortably on the ground by his table.  Unconsciously Paladin Took straightened, appearing more like his son than he realized.

       Again the King’s attention was drawn to Sam, and his smile became gentle as he looked on him.  “It is good to see Sam able to smile and be easy.  I feared after Frodo left he would know grief too great to easily let go.”

       Eglantine nodded.  “Frodo’s going was a grief to many, and far more of a grief than most of us realized it might be.  He did his best to hide how very ill he was, rarely socialized, appeared uncomfortable when he must be in public.  None of us had any realization of just how deeply he’d been hurt.”

       Paladin shrugged uncomfortably.  “Well, that isn’t exactly true--we could see--too easily see--he’d been hurt, and badly.  But we had no way of understanding just how deep the wounds went, how much his spirit still bled, much less understand how he’d come by them.  They could not bear to speak of it for so long, and--and we didn’t know how to ask the right questions, or how to listen, either.  I was very hard on all of them, but particularly Pippin and Frodo.  It must have torn his heart even further, my unwillingness to listen.”

       “I was just as bad, dearling,” Eglantine said.  “Everything Pippin or Frodo tried to say, if it looked as if it would be bad, I’d try to turn it around so it wasn’t.  That last dinner, when he finally insisted we listen to him, hear the truth----”  Her face became bleak.  “Oh, Paladin, if we’d only listened earlier--maybe he would have been able to stay.”

       The King sighed as he knocked the ash out of his pipe against the ground.  “He was fading, Mistress Eglantine.  He was fading very quickly there just ere he left.  He’d not have lived much longer, no matter how understanding anyone might be.  Nor would he have let you see the depths of his pain or his grief or his anger.  He knew that I knew it was bad, but he would still hide it from me, and from Sam.”  He straightened.  “He is now, at least, apparently free from the pain and the illness, and his Light appears to strengthen ever more and more.”

       “I don’t understand,” Paladin said.

       “Did not Master Ferdibrand tell you of our last dinner together, and how afterward we went together to the White Tree?”

       “He has mentioned it, but just smiles when we ask about it.  What happened?”

       The Lord of the White Tree smiled, and looked West across the Shire.  Finally he said softly, “Long ago, before the breaking of the world, the Elves of Tol Eressëa brought to the heirs of Elros Tar-Minyatar a seedling from the White Tree that grows on their island.  That Tree is itself descended from the Trees of Light that lit Arda in the days of Starlight.  Ere the followers of Elendil left Númenor, Isildur took one of the saplings that grew there aboard his ship, and brought it to Middle Earth.  At first it was planted in Osgiliath, but after the death of his brother Isildur planted a sapling of that Tree in Minas Anor, the city built by Anárion, in his memory.

       “The White Tree is the symbol of the line of Kings, and we are bound to it and it to us.  It has a Light of Being to it, and is aware.  You can feel the pulse of its life when you touch its bark, and whenever I come to greet and reverence it, I feel it rejoice in my approach.  Certainly I feel an--affirmation from it when I touch it.

       “Often when I have touched it since Frodo and Bilbo left, I have felt an awareness of them.  At first it was just Bilbo, then both of them, and then, late in the first spring, just Frodo.  I believe that Bilbo must have died about then.  There was a night when I felt him quite strongly.  I could not bear to leave the Tree that night.  That was the last time I was aware of Bilbo there.

       “Since then I am often aware of Frodo.  Mostly he is calm, and there is a feeling of happiness and peace.  Sometimes there is longing, a deep longing, mostly in the spring.  Occasionally I feel laughter.  He’s not there every time I go to the Tree, and often weeks will go by without the awareness--and then I will feel him again.

       “Master Ferdibrand is one whose gift of seeing the Light of Being is not limited by distance.  Perhaps it is because he is physically blind now that his gift is strengthened.  I’m not certain.  He sent word to Ruvemir after his return to the White City that Frodo’s Light was growing ever brighter.

       “While he was in the City, Master Ferdibrand and I were speaking of his gift, and I asked him to look to the West and tell me what he saw of Frodo’s Light, and he said he could not see it, because there was a closer Light of Being that he saw between him and the West that was too bright to allow him to see further.  After he described what he perceived, Arwen and I realized he saw the Light of Being of the Tree itself.  Then he told me he had been aware of this strange Light as he came and went to and from the Citadel, and that sometimes as he passed he felt he was seeing what he described as a reflection of Frodo’s Light beneath it.”

       He was quiet for a time, then finally, softly, described the last night of the visit by the Hobbits, the trip to the Tree, the report by Ferdibrand that he saw the reflection of Frodo’s Light there that night, and the greeting all had done of him through the offices of the White Tree.  “I cannot speak for what precisely the others felt, for none of us described what we felt to the rest.  I felt Frodo standing beneath a Tree, one far greater than the one we stood under, and I felt he was as awed as we were.  The awe in each of us was great enough to be clearly discerned.  I felt the fierce joy of greeting, that he’d been waiting for me after the others, that he was as glad and heartened as we were.  And I heard his thought in my heart as I felt his love expressed, as he delighted in Melian and wished me joy and fulfillment, and as he thanked me for bringing the others to Gondor for this greeting.”

       “I’ve felt his presence since, but only twice.  But then we left not all that long after the others did.  Both times it was but fleeting, as if it were an acknowledgment of me before he returned to other pursuits.”

       “Then, he is most like still alive,” whispered Eglantine.

       “Yes.”  For several minutes the King remained quiet.  Finally he spoke again.  “I have felt guilty at times to have called him back from the Gates of Death, only for him to know pain and growing weakness and an inability to fully rejoice in life.  But now I know I did aright.  He deserves to know joy again before he leaves Arda completely; and to know he is finding it relieves me greatly.”

A Tale of Waking

       At that moment one of the younger Guardsmen approached them.  “My Lord King,” he said with a respectful bow, “they tell us the meal is ready.  If you will return to the head table?”

       “Thank you, Lasgon,” the King said, rising gracefully and giving a stretch.  “My Lord Thain, my Lady Eglantine,” he said with a deep bow, and he turned back to the tall table set out for the Big Folk.

       “You are Lasgon?” asked Eglantine of the youth as he started to turn to follow the King.  “It is an honor to meet you.  Pippin remembers you happily.”

       “Thank you, Mistress,” the young Man answered.  “Serving the Pheriannath after their return was a great honor and joy.”  He gave them a profound bow and followed his lord back to the high table.

       All became silent as the King took his place beside the Queen, then those of Gondor and many of the Hobbits turned to the West for the Standing Silence.  After a moment thus, all turned back to the King, who gave a deep bow.  “We who are your guests this evening thank you for your hospitality, folk of the Shire,” he said, and all the Big Folk followed the lead of their King.

       The Mayor, who’d taken part in the Standing Silence himself for the first time, bowed in return.  “It is little enough we can do, Sire, after all you and your people have done over the years in protecting the Shire for so long, and after sending our lads back to us again when we feared they were lost to us.  Until your folk went South to fight at your side we had little idea what those we saw in grey and green with the Stars on their shoulders meant to the safety of our land.  We thank you from the bottom of our hearts.”

       Several of those who stood by the King in the garb of Arnor smiled and straightened.  One looked to the King for permission to speak, then said, “That you appreciate our watch is more than thanks enough, small masters.  Certainly those of your folk who have come out of your land have given far more than any could have dreamed to the outer world over the years, and especially the four who came forth to aid in the final fight with the Nameless One.  All of Middle Earth owes the Shire a great debt that perhaps can never be repaid for that one.”

       The meal was a merry one, and Esmeralda and Eglantine both noted that what Pippin had said was true--their guests did not eat as much as Hobbits did, and were done before their hosts.  As they waited for their hosts to finish eating, the King and Queen began to sing a walking song that Bilbo had written of the joys of walking through the Shire, and several in the company joined in.  That was followed by Pippin starting a marching song from Gondor, in which several from the high table joined, including the King himself.  Then, as folk were beginning to look to one another, Sam began to sing.  His voice was not clear and beautiful as was Pippin’s, nor as sweet as had been Frodo’s.  Yet it was warm and comforting, although the melody told of great loss and grief.  The song he sang was one only a few of those present had ever heard before, and afterward Aragorn asked, “How did you come to know the words to that song, Sam?”

       Sam looked up at him solemnly.  “I found the words in the papers as he had in his clothes chest, Strider.  He’d done his best to member them after we was in Minas Tirith, and had Legolas help him with those words as he didn’t member hisself.  I don’t think as I’ll ever forget the melody, them singing it in Lothlorien.”

       “No, I don’t think I’ll forget it, either.  May I get a copy of the words from you?”

       “I’ll send it South in my next letter, sir.”

       “I’ve never heard it before,” Lord Halladan said.  “It is of Olórin?”

       “It was the lament for Gandalf that was sung after he fell from the Bridge of Khazad-dum,” the King said quietly.  “I’d never thought to hear it sung so beautifully by Sam.”   He smiled.  “So, Frodo remembered most of the words, did he?”

       Legolas nodded.  “He asked me one day to help him get them written down, although he remembered almost all of them himself.  I was constantly amazed how much Sindarin and Quenyan he actually knew and understood.  He was so quiet there in Lothlorien that I’d had no idea he had understood the song and much of the conversation he heard about him as well as he did.”

       Aragorn nodded.

       Master Saradoc asked, “How did you learn that walking song, my Lord?”

       Aragorn laughed.  “Whenever I was able to take time to visit the Last Homely House, Bilbo would insist on me helping him with his translations.  I think that there were simply times when he needed to speak with another mortal.   He taught me that song and many others, and together we wrote several more.  Also he’d tell me stories of the Shire, of his family and friends and the doings of his lad and all.”

       The King was aware of a tug on his tunic, and looked down into the eyes of Elanor and Frodo-Lad.  He reached down and pulled the two of them up onto his lap.  “Thank you, my Lord Mr. Strider,” Elanor said.

       “And what can I do for the two of you?” he asked, offering her and her brother each a candied strawberry that sat still on his plate.

       “Would you tell us a story?” she asked.

       “A story?  What kind of story did you want?”

       “How you called our Sam-Dad and Uncle Frodo back.” 

       Startled by this request, Aragorn looked across at Sam, whose face had gone quite red with embarrassment.  He looked back into the face of the small lass sitting on his knee.  “And what brought on the interest in this story?” he asked.

       “Master Ruvemir was asking Sam-Dad about it, and he said as only you would member it proper.”

       “Only I would remember it properly, then?  It’s a very intense story, my lady Elanor.”

       “I’d really like to know, sir.”

       He looked at her closely for quite some time, then said, “Very well, then.”  He straightened some and looked into the distance, marshaling his memories of that time.  Finally he began to speak, and all within the pavilion quieted to listen.

       “The battle was appearing to go badly.  Sauron had released almost all of his troops on us, orcs and trolls and wargs, Men from Harad and Rhun.  They came from all sides, from the tops of the ridges, up from hidden tunnels in the sides of the mountains, out of trenches cut across the land before the Black Gate.  A great troll was leading the assault on the other hill from the one from which we fought.  Suddenly the Eagles arrived, attacking the beasts on which the Nazgul rode.  Then--then suddenly we felt the darkness settle as the Ring took the Ringbearer, followed by the lightening of our hearts as It was taken from him and Gollum fell with It into the heart of the Mountain.

       “The fall of Barad-dur was the most awesome sight any of us had ever seen.  We watched as the armies of Mordor, deprived of the guidance of their fell Master, fled away into the wilderness, and as all signs of the might of Mordor were swallowed up by the earth itself, glad at the last to be relieved of the ponderous weight of his ambition and pride.  Then the shadow of Sauron himself reared up, crowned with the lightning, dark as anguish, and whether it showed defiance or supplication to the West we could not tell.  Either way, the Valar rejected it utterly, sending a great West wind to blow it to naught.

       “Only then,” he continued, his voice going quiet and very, very gentle, “did we begin to think what this meant to them, to your father and your Uncle Frodo, there across Mordor, most likely still within Mount Doom, where we could see the volcano erupting, throwing great balls of molten rock into the air.  How could they hope to survive that?”

       He sighed.  “Then,” he said, his voice rising some, “I felt Frodo at my shoulder, looking anxiously.  ‘It is done, then?  In spite of me?’ I seemed to hear him ask.  I looked over my shoulder at him, saw his face, pale and shadowed with pain, making certain all was at last at an end.  I started to answer him, realized the vision was fading.  I looked up the hill where Gandalf stood, looking down at me, and realized he’d seen what I’d seen, your Uncle Frodo not just as a Hobbit, but as a taller figure, looking to see he’d accomplished his task.  Gandalf raised his hands, called out, and Gwaihir the Windlord, Lord of the great Eagles, stooped to him.  They spoke, and Gandalf gave a great leap astride the Eagle’s neck, and followed swiftly by two more they flew as fast as the wind itself to the mountain, hoping against hope to find them.

       “We watched after them, but could not watch long, for the Men Sauron had brought from Rhun and Harad still faced us, and unlike the orcs and trolls who fled when Sauron’s will failed them, they stood ready still to fight, their anguish at this final betrayal by Sauron’s very nature making them even more fierce and dangerous.  We could not afford to look off to the South longer.”

       He bowed his head.  “It is probably as well we had the fighting to do, or we would have gone mad with worry for your father and your Uncle Frodo.”  He straightened.  “But then--then things began to change.  Suddenly down the hill came Moritum of Rhun, carrying a section cut from his burnoose as a flag of truce, calling out, ‘We yield us!  We yield us!’  Others, realizing we would not assault those who surrendered properly, began to throw down their weapons as well.

       “Then--then I was almost knocked over by a nudge from behind, as Shadowfax, Gandalf’s horse, came back to the battlefield and claimed my attention.  Suddenly Elladan was there at my side, telling me I must mount Shadowfax and let him take me where I must go, that Gandalf had found--had found your father and your uncle, that they needed my aid, and needed it now.  He helped me mount, for I was desperately tired, and I called out to Prince Imrahil and Halladan to take over the ordering of those upon the field, and let Shadowfax carry me away.

       “We’d left the wagons that had followed the army and those healers who did not carry weapons just beyond the westward bulge of the walls of Mordor, just inside the northern reaches of Ithilien.  Gandalf had the Eagles bearing him and the burdens to come there.  I arrived just after them.  A small fire had been lit, and they had both cold water and water heating gathered, clean and pure, and they had a variety of herbs and unguents--and one of the healers, knowing I used athelas, had found some growing near the ruins of one of the settlements, and had culled leaves for me.”  He looked deeply into the child’s eyes.  “And I needed them, Elanor; I needed them desperately for the two of them.”

       He looked at the table where Sam sat, his own head down, his face still.  Sam looked up into Aragorn’s eyes for a few minutes, then dropped his gaze again.  At last the King continued.  “Your dad was desperately thin by then.  They’d had little to eat since they left the rest of the Fellowship at Amon Hen.  They had found little water once they entered Mordor, and most of what they did find was unhealthy.  They’d been badly treated, and had been breathing the fumes of the Mountain for a long time.  He had countless cuts and abrasions, and some burns from where ash from the mountain had lit on his skin.  He was unconscious, and his breathing was labored.  He was at the point of death.”

       Again he went still, and looked again at where Sam sat, studiously examining his own hands.  Finally he said, “Your Sam-Dad was almost dead, Elanor; but your Uncle Frodo was in far worse condition.”  There was another pause.  “I could barely find a hint of a heartbeat, and we were uncertain whether he was still breathing.  He was covered with ash and filth and caked blood from his many wounds.  His right hand where his finger had been bitten off was still seeping blood and fluids, was caked with blood almost baked onto it by the heat of the molten rock surrounding the hillock where they’d taken refuge at the last.  He was little more than bones covered by fragile skin and countless wounds, most of which had not begun to heal properly for he’d had no clean water or proper food or rest for far too long.  The place where the spider had bitten him on the back of the neck was open and had plainly been draining of poison and infection.  There were weals on his back, his legs, his side, where whips had been used on him.  There were places where he’d fallen on rocks, and where hot ashes from the mountain had fallen on him.  There was the indication that where he’d been stabbed before by the Morgul knife had become inflamed and had undoubtedly been excrutiatingly painful.  He had a large patch on his chest where the Ring had lain that appeared to be burned, and he had finger marks on his throat from where Gollum had tried to throttle him one last time.  And where the chain had been about his neck....”  He shook his head, his face filled with grief and pity.

       Sam looked up at him again, his face sharing the grief and the pain expressed by the King.  Aragorn and he looked deeply into one another’s eyes.  “They brought me basins of boiling water, and I set the athelas leaves to steep and sang the invocation over them, let my fingers feel deep, realized both were fading away, were very far already on the way to the Halls of Waiting.  I called after, but they were too far at first to respond.  I had to go after them.”

       He looked at Faramir, and smiled gently.  “Only one other I had ever sought had been as far as the Gates of Death, and he turned easily at them, heard my call, turned, came back.  This time--no.  Frodo was unwilling to turn, kept moving slowly toward them.  I called again.  I know he heard, but he would not turn.  Your father turned, but would not allow Frodo to go on alone.  Had Frodo actually moved through the Gates, he would have gone with him that he be not alone.  I set more athelas to steep for him, washed his body, returned to the search and the calling.  The Gates were open for him, but he’d stopped and turned, but not, I realized, for my sake.  Something else had stopped his journey, something he expected.  The scent of the athelas this time was strongly of the sea, fresh and clean, the salt spray, the water on the shore.  I think he waited the wash of the waves over him, would have given himself to them gladly--I hope for cleansing.  But when he turned he beheld me, and your father was there at his side, encouraging him to go back.  And we held a debate there, there before the Gates of Death. 

       “Then, suddenly, he looked on me, and began to come back....”

       He gave a deep, prolonged sigh.  It was some moments before he again took up the tale.  “Yet their hold on life was tenuous at best, for their bodies were very weak.  That of your uncle was so fragile we could do very little for him for several days save to clean it and very gently rub unguents into it to freshen and soothe the skin, and gently give him small amounts of water and broths and medicinal teas every quarter mark to strengthen him.  He could have tolerated no solid food at all.  And throughout your father would not leave him, would not awaken before him, would not allow him to feel alone.  I kept Frodo deep in healing sleep, but needed to do little for your father, for his spirit kept watch on Frodo’s throughout.  Only when Frodo began to waken on his own did your father finally give over the watch and truly sleep himself, giving over the memories.

       “Finally Frodo awoke, and for a time spoke with Gandalf.  What they spoke of I do not know, for I was not there.  At last he dozed again, and then your father awoke, trying vainly to convince himself once more he was but a simple Hobbit, and then your uncle also woke again, feeling, for the moment, almost restored.”

       He looked deeply into the eyes of the child.  “Does that answer your questions about the calling back, Elanor?”

       She nodded, her face very characteristic of her father’s at that moment.  She looked down.  “Then, that is why he had to go away?” she finally asked, looking back into his eyes.

       “His body was weakening, and his spirit as well.  It was only with the greatest of difficulty he could speak of that which bothered him--that was ever true of him, whether it was a worry of the heart or the pain of his body.  He would not have lived long at all had he lingered.”

       “But he is happy now.”

       He smiled.  “Yes, he appears to be happy now, Elanor.  He could not find that healing here, but there the Valar themselves can at least approach him, and he can be wrapped in the mantle of their love and caring.  He is lonely at times for us, I think, which is in part why he spends so much time there beneath the White Tree.  But he no longer knows the pain and isolation.”

       “I’m glad,” she whispered quietly.

       “So am I glad, beloved,” he answered.

       The meal was over, and many were taking their plates and cups to the waiting tubs for cleansing, and the King himself knelt by one of them to help for a time in the washing up.  The Mayor of the Shire looked on him with amazement.  

       “You would wash dishes?” he asked.

       The King laughed.  “I have done little of need and use for many days, Master Whitfoot.  It is not good for anyone to convince himself that he is above the work that needs to be done.”  Then he looked down at the plate which he was cleaning.  “And at times the hands need employment when the spirit has relived grief,” he added softly.

       Will nodded.  “I knew--knew he’d been badly hurt, but had no idea it was like that.  I had no idea he’d been so very close to death, that his body was so badly weakened.”

       The King looked at him keenly.  “His spirit was even worse bruised.  The Ring sought to deprive him of every vestige of joy and pleasure, to wrest his very soul from him.  It sought to convince him that his defiance of Its will and Sauron’s will were what caused every grief of which he became aware.  He felt personally responsible for the forces of Saruman coming here and invading the Shire, for your capture and imprisonment and that of the others.  He felt personally responsible for the death of Boromir on Amon Hen and the capture and torture Merry and Pippin felt as Saruman’s Uruk-hai carried them across Rohan back toward Isengard.  He felt personally responsible for the assault on Rohan by Saruman’s forces and the siege of Minas Tirith, for the coming of the Nazgul, the pains of the least foot soldier on both sides.  His very gifts were being used against him by the Ring.”

       The Thain, who’d approached during this interchange, asked, “The Elvish titles--what do they mean?”

       “Cormacolindor means Ringbearer.  Bronwe athan Harthad means Endurance beyond Hope.  He had no hope left at the last.”

       “And Sam’s title?”

       “Hope Unquenchable.”  The King Elessar resumed his scouring of plates, cups, and utensils. 

       The Thain and Mayor looked back across the pavilion where Sam sat with the small princess and Rosie-Lass on his lap, the Queen seated on the grass beside him, both laughing at something being said, Rosie sitting beside her husband, her arm protectively over his shoulder.  Near them sat the hound Gwynhumara, Elanor and Cyclamen stroking her sides.  Will finally asked, “How could he bear to come back to us after what he’d been through?  How could either of them come back?”

       The King shook his head as he set another plate in the tub of rinse water.  “They are Hobbits, and stubborn ones at that.  And there was need for both of them here.  Only when he was certain Sam could take up the responsibilities and he knew the Shire was healing from its injuries did Frodo go, did he finally accept the healing he, too, needed.”  The Thain was taking dishes out of the rinse tub and starting to dry them, and Will was beginning to stack them.  Others were watching with awe and shock as the King, the Mayor, and the Thain washed dishes and talked.

A Trial in Bree

       After the meal those who would not be going on took their leave, and returned either to Brandy Hall or back toward their homes or to lodgings at the Bridge Inn.  The King and Queen gave all a gracious good night, and soon were entering the smaller pavilion set up for their use while the rest began to settle under the protection of the larger pavilion.  All settled down early, for they would rise and be ready to move out soon after dawn.  Narcissa and the twins settled at the far end of the pavilion while Brendilac joined the Brandybucks for the night.  Sam and his family slept near the Took party.

       In the middle of the night there was a disturbance there in the gardener’s family, as Sam called out hoarsely and flailed about in his sleep.   Rosie sat up seeking to calm him, but at that moment a tall figure in a long white robe came out of the King’s pavilion, and quickly Aragorn son of Arathorn was kneeling by his side.  

       “Sam, Samwise, it is well.  The Enemy is gone now.  Rest, tithen nin.  Rest, great heart.  It is well.”

       Confused still with sleep, Sam straightened.  “Strider, where is he?  Did they take him to the tower?”

       “No, not this time.  He’s resting beneath the stars of Elvenhome, Sam.  He’s in no danger.”  The Man took the hands of the Hobbit, held them reassuringly.  “Rest, Sam.  The talk tonight has brought it all back, but it is but memories.”  Then as the confusion remained in Sam’s eyes, he murmured, “Remember the night there beneath the White Tree, Sam.  Remember his greeting, your wish for him to stay well.”

       Sam lay back, his expression clearing.  “Yes, he’s all right, isn’t he?”  He yawned.  “Yes, he’s well enough.” 

       The King set his right hand over Sam’s brow and smoothed it.  “Yes, we’re all well enough.  And your lady wife is here beside you, and Elanor, Frodo-Lad, and Rosie-Lass.  Remember them, and remain grounded, mellon nin.”  Then he slipped into Sindarin, and Sam, reassured, slipped into a deep sleep.

       At last the King arose and walked out under the stars, looking up.  He found an ancient tree stump and sat upon it, his hands in his lap.  Pippin and Merry rose from their places, reassured their wives, and slipped out to join him.  There the three could be seen sharing a pipe and talking for a time before the King rose and returned to his own pavilion and the two Hobbits reentered the larger pavilion, found their wives amongst the crowd, and laid themselves down again.

       In the morning they awoke in the false dawn, and several of the Hobbits went to the cook tent to see to the cooking of sausages and eggs for all.  All ate swiftly, and the plates, cups, and utensils were quickly cleaned and stacked.  All traveling had been advised to bring their own traveling kits, and now they set about making certain that all was in readiness for the journey east.

       Soon they were saddling ponies or horses, and each family group was gathering.  When the head of each group indicated they were ready, a troop of Guardsmen led the way, followed by the King’s party, then by the Shirelings, followed by the King’s light supply cart and the second party of Guardsmen.  Pippin rode with the King’s own Guard, obviously serving his duty that morning.

       As the day progressed Thain and Master found themselves riding with the King and Lords Halladan and Elphir, discussing the nature of rule.  Merry rode behind with Sam, Faramir, Ruvemir, Fredegar, and Ferdibrand, discussing wives and families.  The Ladies Arwen, Éowyn, Mirieth, and Melian’s new nurse, Mistress Avrieth from Annúminas, the wife of one of the Guardsmen from Arnor, rode with Eglantine and Esmeralda, Diamond, Estella, Pimpernel, Melilot, Viola, and Rosie, discussing children and husbands and keeping them from looking like vagabonds.  Brendilac rode with Budgie, Isumbard, and Reginard and the other two set to guard Bedro Bracegirdle, watching Narcissa, who in turn was keeping an eye on the younger members of the party, Fosco and Forsythia, Celebgil and Armanthol, Bergil, Piper, Alumbard and Levandoras Took.  These were leading the pack ponies.  Those of the Thain’s escort rode happily alongside Berilac and Merimas Brandybuck, Beregond and the other guards not on duty at the moment, near the cart which was being driven by the young Guardsman Lasgon.  Gimli and Legolas rode with them carrying with them Drogo Smallfoot, the Dwarf telling tales once told him by his father Gloin of traveling with Bilbo Baggins.      

       Not far from the road to Bree the King stopped and raised his hand to the party.  When all were stopped he rode to the side where a Ranger emerged from the woods.  The two talked, and he signalled across to Legolas.  “He wants his Ranger’s cloak,” the Elf said.  Lasgon appeared to know where that lay, reached unerringly into a pack and pulled out a green roll of cloth and tossed it to the Elf, who rode quickly to the King’s side, then slipped off Arod’s back after he’d passed on the bundle.

       Gimli bumped heavily to the ground and took his axe in hand.  “Can’t fight if necessary from horseback,” he commented as he watched Aragorn doff his white mantle and hand it to Lord Elphir, then shake out the stained green cloak and cast it around himself.  Loosening his sword in his sheath, he spoke to his guard and Lord Halladan, looked in question at Prince Faramir, and at a nod there the two urged their horses into the woods and disappeared from view, following the Ranger.  Legolas also disappeared into the trees.

       “Women and children into the center,” Pippin said with quiet authority, “gentlehobbits and others not skilled in fighting about them.  The rest take defensive positions.”  All quickly responded to the quiet orders, and the King’s Guard took up positions where they offered best defense to the noncombatants.

       Ruvemir watched with admiration.  “It appears that the King is allowing Strider the Ranger out to play,” he commented.

       Lord Hardorn laughed.  “These are the lands he patrolled most, and few know them as well as he does.  I would not wish to be any brigand he might take here.”

       Narcissa looked at him thoughtfully.  “My father remembered a time when one named Hardorn, also known as Bowman, kept watch on four somewhere near here,” she said.  He nodded, and returned to his watch. 

       Ruvemir looked at her with interest.  “Sounds like another tale I’d love to hear,” he commented.  She smiled and shook her head.

       The King’s cousin studiously ignored them, but a half smile remained on his face.

       After a few moments another Ranger appeared from the forest, and spoke with Lord Halladan.  They saw the Northern Steward nod his head, and as the Ranger disappeared back into the trees Halladan turned to the party.  “We are to continue on.  It is unlikely we ourselves will see any activity, but there has been a party building a short distance ahead.  I suspect all will be taken before we reach the gates of Bree.  We will stop there for a mid-afternoon meal, and if the King returns in time will proceed on toward Rivendell.  Otherwise we will remain in Bree for the night.”

       They rode on, Gimli striding watchfully alongside, followed by Arod, who, although he wore no saddle or bridle, acted as though the Dwarf led him.  Talk resumed, although somewhat subdued.  

       Bedro Bracegirdle looked at the woods with distrust. “Who knows what hides in there?” he asked.

       Merry, who rode nearby, looked left into the Old Forest.  “I doubt you’d want to go into there, for all that where Tom Bombadil holds sway it is safe enough, if you keep his rhyme in mind.  But the other side has always been the realm of brigands and the Rangers.  But, if one of those protecting us from them is the Ranger Strider, we’re safe enough.”

       “Is that the one who spoke to that King of yours?”

       Merry laughed.  “That King of mine?  He’s the King to all, Bedro.  No, I don’t know any of the names given to the Rangers who came out of the forest, just that given to the one who went into it.”

       Ruvemir turned to the Bracegirdle.  “The Rangers of the North usually go by the names given them by the people among whom they travel.  Lord Hardorn there was called Bowman hereabouts, and the one known as Strider went South alongside four Hobbits, an Elf, a Dwarf, a Wizard, and another Man, where he took still another name and title to add to the near score he already had borne throughout his life.”

       “You mean the King hisself is Strider?” Bedro asked.

       Narcissa shook her head.  “You are being very slow, Beasty.  Yes, the King himself is Strider.   He and Lord Hardorn used to watch over my dad when he rode out to Bree when I was a child.  He’d tell me of it when he returned.”  She turned to Lord Hardorn.  “Which one was Silversword?” she asked.

       He looked over his shoulder at her briefly, smiled, and resumed his watch. 

       “You’ll have to ask a different one if you wish to know,” Ruvemir said.  “First of all he’s on duty, and secondly he’s the most taciturn of the lot.  He enjoys not telling, I think.”

       Again Hardorn looked over his shoulder, gave the sculptor an evaluative stare, and then pointedly looked off again, but Narcissa noted there was yet a half smile on his face.  Ruvemir was right about this one.  Merry looked over his shoulder and laughed again. 

       Seeking to keep the attention of the others, Bedro commented, “Quite the fuss last night when that jumped-up gardener had his nightmare.  Delicate sensibilities, has he?”

       The expression on Lord Hardorn’s face became flatly stony.  He gave the prisoner a look that was so scathing he quailed.  “If I were to do half as well at serving my cousin, who is also my King, as did the Lord Samwise Gamgee at serving his Master and the needs of Middle Earth, then I would deserve indeed my own title as Lord.  I have faced horrors that would freeze your marrow, but they were nothing in comparison to what those two faced, and what they were willing to face so that you might know the King’s justice instead of Sauron’s scorn and tortures.  He would have delighted to torture such as you, you must understand.  Had a fondness for screaming and groveling.”  He turned back to his duty, his disdain for Bedro Bracegirdle plain for all to see.

       Bedro finally muttered, “And how did a Hobbit gardener come to be a Lord?”

       Narcissa gave him a look to rival Hardorn’s.  “The children of your own village could answer that question now, Beasty.  Did you not hear what the King told Elanor and all those present last night?”

       “All I got out of it was that him and that fool Baggins he worked for almost died.”

       Merry interrupted, “They almost died going into Mordor itself to destroy Sauron’s own Ring.  If he’d managed to get that back, as Lord Hardorn said, you’d most likely be writhing in torture beneath the Eye right now.”

       “Don’t Lords wear crowns or something like?” asked Bedro.

       “He has a Circlet of Honor,” Ruvemir said.  “His and the Lord Frodo’s Circlets are kept with reverence in a chest in the study of Bag End, along with the Lord Frodo’s mithril shirt and his sword and swordbelt.  The Lord Samwise’s sword hangs over the mantel in the study, where I understand Sting hung before Master Bilbo left the Shire.”

       Merry looked around him.  “You’d best understand another thing, Bracegirdle--almost every Man in this party is a Lord of the Realm of Gondor or Arnor, and if you look you will see none of them is wearing his own Circlet of Honor.  We have also two princes and one who will be one when he succeeds his father--three if you count the Ernil i Pheriannath,” he added with a grin.  “And probably every one you see in grey and silver is one of the Lord King Elessar’s own kinsmen, most of them second and third cousins at least.”

       Ruvemir gave Merry a smile.  “The Ernil i Pheriannath, eh?  If he weren’t on duty, I suspect your cousin would come over here and knock you off Stybba.”  Narcissa laughed aloud, while Brendilac, who’d stayed quiet throughout, gave her a questioning look.

       They’d come in sight of the gates to Bree when a party came out of the woods again.  Several figures hooded and cloaked as Rangers of Arnor with weapons drawn were escorting eight figures in dark green who looked anything but happy.  One of the Rangers stopped short of the other party and saluted Lord Halladan.  “We found these planning an assault on your party, my Lord, although I suspect once they saw how well armed you are they might have thought better of the plan.”

       “I see,” the Steward noted, examining the group carefully.  He looked at the escort.  “Strider is not with you?”

       “No, my Lord.  He was securing the forest and seeking out any further confederates.”

       “I see.  If you will accompany us until we enter the town, we will see if Bree has accommodations for so many.  If not, we will need to make other arrangements for the night.  I think that as the King will be in our borders they may face the King’s own justice.”  He turned around and called across the party, “Bowman?  Do you feel up to assisting Strider in his efforts?  You are second in knowledge only to him regarding these wilds.”

       “Yes, my Lord,” Lord Hardorn said, straightening.  He approached the cart where he took a quiver of arrows and a grey bundle already retrieved by Lasgon, gave a brief salute, then fell out of the party.  He quickly doffed his current grey cloak and tossed it to one of the Guardsmen from Arnor at the back, and donning the other, more worn one he saluted all, then turned off into the forest, melting in amongst the trees with the ease of long practice.

       The gates to Bree were open, and together they entered in.  One of the Guardsmen from Arnor went with the troop of Rangers to the area where the lockups were to see to the securing of their prisoners for the time while the rest went on to the Prancing Pony.

       Awaiting them in the Prancing Pony was Mistress Elise, obviously pregnant, her face alight with joy as she saw her husband arrive.  She and another woman Narcissa remembered as one of the Queen’s maids sat in the common room, surrounded by the remains of a meal and obviously being waited on happily by Butterbur and his staff.  She rose to greet the party, and soon all were seated about the room, accepting refreshments.

       Even Bedro was allowed to sit with his guards at a smaller table, and was further allowed a mug of ale.  The Lord Halladan came to look down on him solemnly.  “The only reason you were not sent to the village lockup on our arrival was because we sent the others there, and I will not have Hobbits locked up among Men I do not know.  Enjoy it while you can.”  He then turned to another table where he sat near the Queen and her daughter and the Lady Éowyn and his wife Mirieth. 

       It was over an hour before Legolas slipped into the Pony, followed a short time later by the King, Prince Faramir, and Lord Hardorn, accompanied by one other, a heavily muscled Man dressed in dark green as had been the prisoners.  He was sweating heavily and looked very anxious, although he was plainly attempting to appear calm and in control of the situation.  The four of them took a table in the corner, and Butterbur came over with a look of tension on his face to take their order.  “Strider?  Bowman?” he said with awe.  “You’re back?”

       “A cup of your best ale for each of us here, and a plate of what is prepared for dinner,” Strider directed.  “We will eat here, but will camp outside the village again.  Is the grange hall free this evening, do you know?”

       “I’ll check with the Grange Master,” the innkeeper said.

       “We will rent it for the evening if it is open.”

       With a nod the innkeeper hurried away to see to their orders, and within a few minutes Jape the barman himself was delivering a round of ales to those seated at the table, accepting the coin laid out by Hardorn with bemusement.  “There’s no need...” he started to say, but was stayed by a look from the Ranger. 

       “You do accept the King’s coinage, do you not?” asked Hardorn.

       “Yes, sir, of course we do.”

       “Then let there be no further protests.”

       The meaning was not lost on the barman, who gave a nod and retreated swiftly behind the bar.  The coin given him was, he recognized, gold, and intended to pay for the orders of all, and most generously at that.  The Inn of the Prancing Pony would not lose for the unusual clientele present this day.

       Pippin had been relieved from duty on their arrival, and was now seated at a long, low table with the rest of the older Hobbits save for the escort for Bedro, who sat with him at his table apart.  He looked over his shoulder at the four who’d taken the corner table and laughed.  “It is almost like our first visit here,” he commented in a low voice, “with the long-legged Ranger sitting just there, dark and rather sinister, keeping us all just off balance with his intense gaze, just as he and Hardorn are keeping that one off balance right now.”  It had been unspokenly accepted that none would acknowledge the King’s presence openly.

       The Thain and Master were taking surreptitious looks at the corner table, examining with interest the four seated there.  Eglantine asked, “You mean, this is how you met him?”

       Sam nodded.  “Oh, yes, Mistress Eglantine, just like this.  He was sitting there at that table, his hood up over his head, nursing an ale and just finished with a meal hisself, his eyes lit up by the glow of his pipe.”

       Estella looked to her husband.  “You’d never told me about seeing him seated there,” she said.

       “Well, I wasn’t here.  Stupid Merry was out to take a sniff of the air, and as curious as any Took I followed a Black Rider to the edge of the village and had----”  He stopped short, dropped his eyes.

       Realizing his cousin was unable to finish that, Pippin continued for him, “And had his first experience with the malady known as the Black Breath.  Fortunately it was a light brush that time, and Aragorn was able to put things aright just putting his hand on Merry’s shoulder.  Not like the other time, when he and the Lady Éowyn faced the Lord of the Nazgul.”

       “I didn’t even realize he was easing me of it,” Merry continued.  “We were all rather rattled that evening.”

       The King’s own party, seated at three or four tables, was paying no attention to the four in the corner, either.  Legolas had a quiet talk with Lord Halladan, who nodded.  After a time, once the meal was finished, he stood up and indicated with a look that the rest were to follow him, and almost all the Big Folk filed out with thanks to their host.  Legolas and Gimli remained, along with a couple of the Guardsmen from Arnor.  In the wake of the Big Folk went Bedro and his escort, followed by Ruvemir and his wife and apprentices and eventually the party of Hobbits.  Once they were outside and retrieving their ponies from the care of Bob in the stable, Saradoc Brandybuck commented with regret, “I’d like to see the end of the business.”

       “We will,” Merry promised.  “We’ll go out to the camp prepared for us for tonight, but will walk back in to the grange hall.”

       They quickly caught up with Ruvemir and Elise, Celebgil and Armanthol, who were walking easily toward the east gate of the village, leading their animals.  The sculptor looked up at them, smiling.  

       “What’s going to happen now?” Fosco asked.

       Merry shrugged.  “I suspect that if the grange hall on the north side of the village is open, there will be an official inquiry tonight, with all the prisoners brought in to be examined by Stewards and King.  If it’s anything similar to what happened during the examination of Timono and all, it will be detailed, and justice swift and certain.”

       “And if it is anything like what I saw in Minas Anor,” Ruvemir added, “we will not see the King take his own place at the judgment table until the end.  Having captured these as cats capture rats, I suspect he will enjoy keeping them under his paw for a time.  And both Lords Halladan and Faramir are familiar now with the procedures.”

       Paladin Took shook his head.  “They will have justice, of that you can be certain.”

       All nodded.

       A couple hours before sunset one of the Guardsmen who’d stayed in the Pony came out and conferred with Lord Halladan, who nodded.  All quickly gathered to hear what he had to say. 

       “The King has secured the use of the grange hall,” he said, “and all the prisoners are to be brought there in an hour’s time, including Master Bedro here.  I will need to be there to represent Arnor and sit at the head table, and Prince Faramir and Lord Elphir will sit there also, and the Thain, if he wishes to be part of it.  The Hobbits were threatened by this also, of course.”  At the Thain’s nod of agreement, he continued, “My Lady Queen, what is your pleasure?”

       “I will sit there also, then, with the Lady Éowyn,” she said.  “Lady Avrieth, will you be willing to watch the Hobbit children as well as Melian?”

       Rosie sighed.  “I have no desire to go, so can keep watch on them myself, my Lady.  But my Sam, he ought to be there.”

       Narcissa spoke up.  “According to the fostering agreement for Forsythia and Fosco, Frodo asked that they witness such business as affects the Shire and our people here in Arnor, so they will be there, as will I, although it would be better if we sat in the back somewhere, as we are not truly part of it.”

       Eglantine decided she would stay in the encampment, as did Fredegar and Budgie, Melilot, Piper, Viola, and Drogo.  Ruvemir would go with Armanthol, but Celebgil would stay with Elise and the caravan.  Halladan nodded his understanding when Brendi indicated he had to attend.  Esmeralda would go with Diamond, Pimpernel, and Estella, while the two Took lads would stay in the encampment with two of the Thain’s escort who would assist in the guard for it along with the Men of the Guard and the women and two Men of the King’s Party who would not be attending.

       Shortly after, those attending set off back for Bree and went to the grange hall where tables and benches were already being set up.  Two chairs with arms were set up behind the two judges’ tables at Lord Halladan’s direction, and the Lady Arwen took one of them.  Halladan took the innermost seat at the right table, and indicated Faramir, who arrived attended only by Beregond just after them, was to take the innermost at the other, Éowyn just beyond him.  Lasgon had brought a long case, inlaid with mithril and pearl, and at a gesture from Prince Faramir laid it before the Lord Halladan.  Beyond the Lady Éowyn sat Lord Elphir, and beyond him to the fourth and last chair Sam was led, his face flushed with embarrassment.  The Lord introduced as Lord Gilfileg was seated next to Lord Halladan, then a younger Northern lord to act as clerk, and Thain Paladin was asked to take the fourth chair on that side.  With Pippin standing on one side of the two chairs and Merry on the other, Pippin’s sword at the ready and Merry leaning on his similar to the stances of each in the memorial, all appeared to be ready.  The rest took seats on benches set for the observers, Hobbits in front and Men behind, and at last the prisoners were led in.

       Forsythia was describing the tables and the seating order to Fosco, who was enthralled as he listened, Ferdibrand leaning near to listen as well.  Fosco asked, “But why is Samwise Gamgee sitting up there with the Lords?”

       Ruvemir, who sat the other side of Forsythia, said softly, “Because he, too, is a Lord, no matter how unwilling a one.”

       “You really mean it?” asked Forsythia.  “I thought you were only trying to impress Beasty.”

       “Yes, I truly mean it, and Lord Hardorn means it as well.”

       Brendilac stood by Bedro, who leaned toward him.  “Why are you doing this?” Bedro asked.

       “As I said before, Frodo begged me to stand by you all in the first trial, that you not be alone and that your own interests be represented.  I’ll not let him down simply because you were foolish enough to earn a second one.”

       “It’s my interest to have this all forgotten and go home.”

       “You’d best understand,” Brendilac said quietly, “that you won’t be going home again.  It isn’t home for you any more.  You’ve been cast out by your own family.”

       “But they can’t mean it....”

       “They can’t?  Oh, but I assure you they can.  I was there when your name was struck out of the book of Bracegirdle.  If you think that having spawned Lobelia, Lotho, Timono, Lothario, your father and you is seen as any honor, you can think again.  Lotho’s death date isn’t posted there, by the way--instead the notation on first Yule of the Time of Troubles that he had been struck out of it.  At least his mother’s was allowed to remain and her death date written in.”

       “But Lotho wasn’t a Bracegirdle....”

       “They always counted him as one of their own more than the Bagginses did.”

       At that moment two Rangers came in, accompanying the last prisoner.  They remained there, one on each side of him, and at a nod from the taller of them, Lord Halladan began.

       “This isn’t the throne room in the Citadel of Minas Anor, nor that being rebuilt in Annúminas, but it has been a hall of justice in the past and will undoubtedly be used as such again in the future.  Do you understand?”

       The taller of the two Rangers on either side of the last prisoner translated to a language none of those in the Southlands had heard before, although Halladan straightened with surprise, a degree of anger, and concern.  “Then these are indeed not common brigands?” he asked when the tall Ranger was finished.  

       The shorter of the two shook his head.  “No, my Lord Steward.  They were sent from Angmar to test the King’s defenses.”

       “I see,” he said, his face set.  “Angmar again, after all these years.  It was too good to last, I suppose.”  He looked at the nine Men with eyes as hard as the steel in the sword he wore at his hip.  “I am the Lord Steward Halladan, Steward of Arnor in the King’s absence.  There sits the Lord Prince Steward Faramir of Gondor, who has accompanied the King’s party north from Gondor.  Beside him sits his wife the Lady Éowyn, sister to the King of Rohan and now his representative in this place, and the Lord Elphir, heir to the Princedom of Dol Amroth.  Beyond him sits the Lord Samwise Gamgee the Faithful of the land of the Periannath.  Beside me sit two of the King’s own kin, lords of the Northern Kingdom, the Lords Gilfileg and Berestor, and beyond them Paladin Took, Thain of the Shire.  Behind me sits the Lady Arwen Undomiel of Imladris, Queen of Gondor and Arnor, and there sits the seat for the King, when it pleases him to sit there, for he has other skills which are needed at this time.  Is this understood?”

       Again the taller Ranger translated, and the Man between nodded, then spoke.  “I speak the Common Tongue well enough, as do most of these,” he said.

       Lord Halladan answered, “It is required by our law that all those who are to be judged must understand all that is said to and about them.  For this reason the Ranger known as Strider, who has traveled widely and is gifted in languages, serves as your translator.  You may understand, and most of these may understand, but you have indicated not all do so, and this must be remedied.”

       Bedro Bracegirdle started to speak.  “Why does the King----”  A knee from one of the taller guards to his back knocked the breath out of him.  

       Halladan turned to him.  “You will keep silence.  If you try to speak again before you are asked a question, you will be gagged.  Do you understand?”

       The Hobbit nodded, and looked over his shoulder at the Man who’d kneed him with fury in his eyes.  

       Halladan continued, “We have reasons why we do things as we do, and why the King does as he does.  When it is time for judgment he will take his place, wielding the Sceptre of Annúminas as is his duty.  For now he is busy elsewhere, doing what is needed of him.

       “Now, the first question is this....”

       The questioning went on for some time, and was quite intense.  The Men before them did not wish to speak, but found themselves doing so anyway, and repeatedly saying more than they’d ever intended to reveal.  There was growing again in Angmar leadership, and now that the Nazgul were no more, there were others all too willing to step into the role of war leaders, and to keep alive the hatred always held toward the Dúnedain of Arnor.  The last two harvests in Angmar had been bad, and it had been hoped raids south of the border would help them remedy their shortfalls.  But they had found that the borders were well guarded now, and they had been unable to stage any reasonable raids.

       “You could not have sent embassies to open trade with us?”

       “We do not treat with barbarians,” the Man spat.

       Lord Halladan looked at Lord Faramir, and both faces were equally bemused.  At last Faramir commented, “I am at a loss to understand how either the people of the Northern kingdom or the Southern kingdom are supposed to be considered barbarians.  Perhaps if you can describe what it is about us that makes us barbarians we would be better able to understand your position.  We do not live in tents save when we travel or hunt; we cook our meat and do not eat it raw; we are mostly highly literate; we live by the rule of law rather than by the whims of a despot; we prefer to bargain with neighboring lands rather than to fight them.  It was your former lord who ordered that all captives taken in the Fields of the Pelennor, within Ithilien, or in Osgiliath be branded with the sign of the Eye, then have their heads hewn off so that they might be cast over our city walls to cause grief and despair.  It was your former lord who habitually tortured and maimed any of our people who fell into his hands.  It was your former lord who bespelled weapons to cause them to break off in wounds and lead to innocents becoming wraiths.  It was your former lord who primarily commanded armies of orcs, trolls, and wargs.  And it was your former lord who ordered its fell steed to feast on the living flesh of King Théoden of Rohan when he lay unable to move, crushed under his fallen horse.  I have always considered such actions as those to be barbaric.”

       “Yet you sent women and children to face him, and gave the flesh of old Men and children to the great Eagles, and sent them to spy out Mordor.”

       The Lady Éowyn laughed outright, and looked over her shoulder at where Meriadoc Brandybuck stood beside the chair on which sat the Queen.  Sam was shaking his head with disbelief.  Meanwhile Strider the Ranger was just finishing the translation of what had been said by their leader to the others from Angmar.

       Lord Gilfileg looked at the entire troop.  “On whose testimony do you believe this to be true?” he asked. 

       After Strider had translated this, one of the Men stepped forward.  He spoke up, his head raised in defiance.  Strider translated for the benefit of those who didn’t understand.  “He has seen this thing.  A troop of fifty Men came from Angmar at the call of the Lord of the Nazgul, to fight for Mordor.  He fought upon the Pelennor, and saw the woman and child facing the Lord of the Nazgul himself, and the Men of Gondor and Rohan encouraged them in this.  He fled east after the Captain was killed, and fought again with the troops of Mordor, saw the old Man given to the Eagles, saw the Eagles flying with the bodies of children clutched in their claws.”

       Sam arose, looked at the wife of Lord Faramir, and shook his head.  “Well, I never, never thought any would take me for a child,” he said.  “Oh, you can laugh, my Lady, and I’ve a good mind to laugh with you!”

       He came out from behind the table, and stood before the Angmarian and looked up into his eyes.  “Do you take me for a child?” he asked.  Strider translated.

       The Man looked down on him, surprised.  He asked something of the Ranger, who shook his head, then repeated what he’d said before.  “He asked me if this is a  joke, and I repeated the Lord Samwise’s question,” he then explained. 

       The Angmarian looked down again at the Hobbit, still obviously confused.  Finally he asked a question.  “He wishes to know how old you are.”

       “I was thirty-eight when the Eagles carried me out of Mordor, away from the Mountain of Fire, to safety,” Sam said, then held up both hands with all fingers spread three times, then with eight fingers displayed once.  “That was over six years past, tell him.  Then tell him as Frodo was fifty years.”

       “You mean, the one he saw the Eagles carrying was this one?” asked the one who stood between Strider and Bowman.

       Strider translated this question to the rest of the troop, and then Lord Halladan replied, “Yes, this is one of the two small beings your fellow there saw being carried by the Eagles.  The other was older.  Neither were children in any people’s count of years.”

       “Nor did anybody send us anywhere,” Sam commented.  “We went cuz it needed doing.  If they could of stopped us from leaving to go it alone, they’d of done so.  And the Eagle was allowing Gandalf to ride on his back--nobody gave him nor us to nobody, and certainly not to eat!”

       “As for facing your former master,” the Lady Éowyn said, “I faced it because it was seeking to have its beast eat my beloved uncle while he was yet alive.  No one wished me to be there or encouraged me to face it--indeed Merry and I had been forbidden to come.  We defied all and came anyway, and faced the Lord of the Nazgul out of love and defiance as well.  Nor was Merry a child at the time.  Indeed, he was several years older than I.”

       Lord Halladan turned to Merry.  “Sir Meriadoc, you have leave to speak.”

       Merry looked at the one who had stepped forward, who said he’d seen children standing up to the Lord of the Nazgul.  “I had been considered an adult among my people for three years ere I left my land to go south with my cousins and Sam to Rohan and Gondor, and before I stood up in defiance against your former lord.  Although, strictly speaking, I didn’t stand up in front of him--I came up behind him and stabbed him behind the knee.”

       Once Strider had translated all this, Lord Halladan resumed, sharing his looks between the two who had spoken.  The rest of them appeared restless, were looking to one another, and two were whispering with one another quietly.  “I rode south to fight at my cousin’s side in the final fight with Sauron.  I saw this one--” gesturing to Merry, “--and the Lady Éowyn as they were taken from the battlefield, and later in recovery in the Houses of Healing.  I helped in the search for that one--” here he indicated Pippin, “--and saw his body borne from the battlefield before the Black Gate.  And I saw the Eagles leave with Gandalf to search for the Ringbearers, if they were not lost completely in the torment of Mount Doom at the last.  I also saw them as they lay senseless when the Eagles brought them out of the destruction of Mordor to the aid offered them by the King, and when, at last awakened, they were able to come before the assembly for acclamation.  None of the small ones you saw were children, and all did but what was felt to be right to stand against the tyranny of Mordor.  And the Lord Éomer sat by his sister as she finally awakened from the Black Breath, as did Captain Peregrin by the side of Sir Meriadoc as he, too, awakened from the same malady.

       “Now, do you still wish to think of us as barbarians?”

       There was discussion amongst the prisoners.  Finally the one who’d stepped forward asked through Strider, “Are there many such as these?”

       Paladin Took stood from his place at the table.  “We are the Hobbits of the Shire, and there are more Hobbits that live here in Bree, alongside the Men of this small land.  We are numerous enough for our own satisfaction.”

       “I think,” Lord Elphir commented, “you did not see closely enough at the time to understand what it was you saw.”

       The one who stood between Strider and Bowman looked to the others, then back at the Hobbits before him, then turned to look at those seated behind him as well.  Finally he turned back to Halladan.  “How was it you defeated Sauron?”

       Halladan turned to Sam.  “This is your tale, Lord Samwise.  Will you answer him?”

       Sam looked at the Man, his expression stern.  “We defeated him the only way anyone could--we took his Ring to the Mountain so as it could be destroyed before he could get hold of It again and use Its power against all of us.”

       “But you are no warrior----”

       “Since when does somebody have to be a warrior to get rid of something so evil It will corrupt all It touches?  You just need to be stubborn.  And he was stubborn enough for all.”

       The Angmarians were silent as this last statement, translated by Strider, sank in.  The expression on the Hobbit’s face impressed them.  Finally Lord Faramir spoke quietly to Sam.  “Why don’t you sit down again, Master Samwise?  I believe they begin to understand that they misinterpreted what was seen.”  As the Hobbit finally nodded and resumed his seat, the Steward of Gondor looked again at the prisoners.  “You will not treat, you say, with barbarians; yet you answered the call of the Lord of the Nazgul and sent forces to the support of Mordor.  It appears that you have been far more barbaric than you had imagined of us.  Perhaps we ought to refuse to treat with you.  Perhaps we ought simply to have you killed out of hand, rather than giving you the chance to explain why you came into our lands unbidden, and set out an armed party in ambush for the party of our King.  What say you to this?”

       “Where are the rest of our Men?” asked the leader from his place between the Rangers.

       Halladan looked in question to the Rangers who stood behind the prisoners.  One spoke, “These were the only ones we saw, and we took them easily enough.  We saw that there had been more of them, but what became of the others we do not know.  It appears a goodly number went, however, into the Old Forest and the Barrow Downs.”

       Merry could be seen shuddering involuntarily.  The Rangers and those sitting by the Lord Halladan all nodded as if this were not unexpected.  Lord Halladan looked at the leader again.  “If they went into the Old Forest, the chances are strong that it took them and either made them lost in its depths or led them to Old Man Willow or to their dooms in the Barrow Downs.  The trees of the Old Forest do not easily tolerate incursions by those who go on two legs, and will see us dead if they can manage it.  The only one among us to brave the Barrow Downs was our chieftain, and even his power and authority were strongly tested ere he came out to us again.”

       The Thain looked to Lord Halladan and shook his head.  “The four of them went through both the Old Forest and the Barrow Downs, but were saved only by the intervention of Tom Bombadil.” 

       Halladan turned with interest to Merry and Pippin.  “You went through both?”  At Merry’s reluctant nod, he straightened, even more respect obvious in his tone.  “To earn the favor of Bombadil was a mighty deed in itself, for he has almost nothing to do with the outer world at all, and refuses his aid to most.  And to come through the Barrow Downs yet alive....”  He shook his head in admiration.

       Sam said quietly, “He saved the other three of us, he did.  Cut off the hand of the wight as was intendin’ to kill us for some purpose of its own.”

       “The Ringbearer?”

       “Yes.”

       The Steward of Arnor looked down at his own hands.  “He was braver than I’d have been, I think.  I doubt I’d have been able to move.”  He looked to Legolas.  “My Lord Prince,” he said respectfully, “you are the only one here save our Lady Queen, I believe, who would be tolerated by the trees of the Old Forest.  Would you mind entering it and learning the fate of the ones missing?  You do not need to go deep into it.”

       “How many are there who are yet unaccounted for?” asked the Elf.  It was determined there were eleven missing.  “I will go now, then,” he said simply, and was out of the room before others could say or do anything. 

       Narcissa could hear Gimli grumbling, “At least he didn’t ask me to come along this time.”  She couldn’t tell, however, whether or not this was said in relief.

       “So, you came with a force of twenty,” said Faramir.  “Why did you come here, and why did you seek to ambush the King’s party?”  Narcissa admired his patience.

       “We heard rumors that the Lord Steward would come to the town of Bree at the crossroads between the old highway and the East-West road.  We sought to take him or slay him to foment war.”

       “Honest enough,” Halladan said.

       “Then we heard he was in the company of the King, and that they had gone West from Bree, but would return.  We thought to take your King, force you to give us food in return for his safety.”

       “And instead, it was you who were taken, your own Men lost in the Old Forest and the Barrow Downs.”

       The others did not reply.

       “What, then, is to be done with you?”

       Again, no reply.

       “You came hoping to kill the Steward of Arnor to foment war, but then thought simply to take the King to trade for food.”

       “Yes.”

       “Would you have indeed released our King where you would have killed the Steward outright?”

       After a pause, “Probably not.”

       “So, you would have taken him, pretended to trade him for food, and then assassinated him after all, fomenting war between our lands and yours?”

       “Yes.”

       “Why would you do this?  For it is ever the innocent who suffer worst in war, and those who live near the borders of your land would have suffered greatly.”

       “We are a warrior people.  We need to have someone to fight.”

       “You cannot change?”

       “Why should we wish to do so?”

       “Because more of your people tend to prosper when you do not fight constantly.”

       “The common people do not need to prosper overmuch....”

       Lord Halladan looked to the Thain, whose expression was outraged.  “You can see, can you not, sir, how different it is for other peoples?”

       Paladin Took nodded.  “This is certainly far different from the ways of our people.  The idea that the common folk ought not to know the benefits of peace and plenty is repugnant.”  He turned to the Ranger Strider.  “And how do you see this--this idea that the common people do not need to know levels of prosperity or security?”

       Halladan considered the Thain, then looked also at the green-cloaked figure.  “Perhaps, Strider, it might be time to give these more to think on.”

       “In a moment.”

       “As you will.”  He turned back to the others.  “How easy do you think it would have been to take our King?”

       “We do not know.  We know he has guards of his person who would not allow us to approach easily.”

       “That includes these, you know,” Faramir said, indicating the two on either side of the Queen.

       “And what threat do these pose?”

       Elphir laughed.  “One aided in the destruction of your former lord, while the other single-handedly killed a troll that sought to tear the throat out of his comrade.  Both are now well trained in the use of their weapons, and with the weapons of their own people.  I have seen one of them take on our King in sparring and bring him down, which is no easy matter.  And they rid their own land of the creatures of evil which came there during their absence.  Also, how easily did these take you?” indicating the Rangers who stood on each side of him.  The Man looked sideways at those who flanked him, but made no comment.  “You had best think on that, and remember that the training these two have had is the training our King has had.  Nor have you seen the full extent of the training of either.”

       “It would perhaps have not been a simple matter.”

       “No, it would not.  Nor did the King travel alone.  There was a fair-sized company that came out from the Brandywine Bridge back to Bree, including women and children.  What would you have done with them?”

       “They would have died, but such is the way with war.”

       The Lady Éowyn straightened, her face full of barely suppressed anger.  “You called us barbarians due to the mistaken idea we gave the bodies of the elderly and of children to eagles, or sent women and what you thought to be children to face the Nazgul.  Yet, you do not see the killing of women and children who accompany the King to be equally repugnant?  Who is it that is the barbarian?”

       The Man flushed deeply.

       She continued, “I went to the battle of the Pelennor Fields on the authority of my own will and that alone, defying my Lord King, who was also as a father to me since the death of my own when I was yet a child, in the doing.  I stood between the Witchking and my uncle out of love and defiance and even despair, knowing I was likely to die as a result of my temerity.  But that was my own choice.  These--” she indicated the Hobbits who sat behind the prisoners, “--have no training as I did in the use of sword and spear and shield, have not seen the aftereffects of battle as the warriors are brought back in, cut and bleeding, their bodies torn and too oft broken.  Yet you would think nothing of killing them simply to aid in the taking of the King and the fomenting of war?”  She gave him a scathing look.  “Pah!  What respect are we to give you and your people if you think this is acceptable?”

       Strider translated this, then sighed.  He slipped his stained green cloak off his shoulders, and gave it into the hands of Lasgon, who stepped forward to receive it, and who immediately began folding and rolling it.  He stepped forward to the tables.  Lord Halladan opened the case before him and held it out, and the King took out the Star of Elendil and placed it on his brow, took up the Sceptre of Annúminas from the case, passed between the tables.  Arwen, who had remained silent and still through all the preceding, rose and held out her hand to her Lord Husband, saw him seated, and sat again at his side.  He looked at the nine before him for quite some time, examining the face of each.

       Finally he looked to Hardorn’s face and gave a nod, then turned back to the nine before him, speaking slowly in their tongue, Hardorn translating what he said to the Common Tongue for the benefit of the rest.  “I am the King Elessar of Gondor and Arnor.  More years than you can dream of have I fought the creatures of Sauron, taught by the greatest lords of Elves and Men in how to recognize his policies, his devices, his forces.  You are kin to Merdenin?”

       “He was my uncle,” replied the leader of this group.

       “I am the one who slew him, after trying vainly to reason with him.  I saw to the destruction of the token of the Enemy he wore as well.”  The leader’s face went extremely pale.  “The forces of Angmar have ever harried our lands and people, and under the Witchking’s leadership were the other lands into which Arnor was divided divested of their kings, leadership, and the greater part of their people.  Under his leadership was Arvedui separated from his armies, were our lands destroyed, the greater part of our people killed as well.  Only through the faithfulness of the people of the Shire were his wife and heir able to escape, before word came that he had been killed in the far Northlands.  Only with reinforcements sent from Gondor were we able to finally subdue his armies, destroy his power in the north, force the Witchking to flee back to Minas Morgul.  Slowly we have been rebuilding our numbers and our lands, but it has been a slow business, for your people have ever sought out our strongholds, fought against us when we offered no offense against your own people.  No longer do we allow this, and yet although we have not repaid evil with like evil, you still would force us to fight you.

       “I would have answers.  Who was it who authorized this invasion of our soil and the planned attack on our sovereignty?”

       The remaining interview was even more intense than before, and again and again the King forced answers not intended to be given.  Finally he signalled enough.  “I see,” he said.  “Many of the warlords of your people are behind this, seeking to rekindle the old hatreds, to bring back the state of constant warring so as to continue to keep the common people from gaining too great a reliance on peace and relative prosperity.  I would consider what we have learned from you for a time.  And so, at this time we will turn to the matter of this other one, which is more easily, I hope, answered.”

       There was a knock at the outer doors, and those on guard at them opened to find that Butterbur’s people had come to bring food and drink ordered earlier.  The King nodded.  “As we have several Hobbits present, and as they must eat more regularly than we others, I had ordered this once I knew we would have the use of this hall this evening.  Let it be brought in and we will have refreshment ere we continue.”  He examined the nine once more.  “I suggest you take advantage of this respite to think deeply as to what you truly wish to see happen to your people, for what I decide later will rule the fate of Angmar.”

The King’s Judgments

       The meal provided was light, but well received by the Hobbits present, and by many of the Big Folk as well.  After twenty minutes by Sam’s watch the King signalled all were to sit again, and the hearings resumed.

       This time there were several documents available, which included descriptions of the actions brought against Bedro Bracegirdle in the past, the results of the former trial in Michel Delving, the findings and judgment placed on him, how well he’d done so far at meeting the payments of reparations and the other requirements laid upon him.  Then there was the report of the invasion of the Gravellies’ home, the beating of Brendilac Brandybuck, and the findings of the Thain in his own investigation, the results of the search of the Bracegirdle home, and particularly the bedroom of Bedro.

       The young Lord Berestor read the documents aloud, including the ones from the preliminary reports by Frodo, which papers the King held with special respect as he read the originals while his younger cousin read the copies.  At last all had been read and the King motioned for Bedro to come forward, watching with interest as he was accompanied by the Brandybuck who’d stood beside him through all.

       “You are Brendilac Brandybuck, I believe, from the introductions made the other day?”

       “Yes, my Lord King,” Brendi answered with a low bow.

       “You are the one who was beaten by this one?”

       “Yes, my Lord King.”

       “Are you here to see he receives proper justice for the violence he gave you?”

       “No, my Lord King.  It was laid on me by my cousin in the last trial to see to it that those who stood for judgment not be alone and that their own interests were represented as much as possible; and so, as this was one of those, I have come to stand with him yet again.”

       The King’s face grew solemn and gentle.  “Frodo asked this of you, then?”

       “Yes, my Lord King.”

       The King nodded.  “What was he to you, other than your cousin?”

       “When we were small, before the death of his parents, we were playmates and coming to be friends.  As teens in Brandy Hall we ran together in the same gang.  He was aware of my love for Merelinde, and when it was learned she was dying, he stood by us both, encouraged us to marry anyway, and to know what happiness there might be for the time given us.”

       “Do you regret that decision?”

       “No, my Lord King.”  He paused.  “He stood with us at our wedding, visited us frequently during the time we had together, stood by me at the funeral, always supported me as he could.  And he made me his personal lawyer.”

       Sam Gamgee was watching the lawyer carefully, intent on this information, and gave one final nod as if accepting the rightness of it all as Brendilac finished.  The King’s expression was compassionate, and the nod he gave at the last almost identical to the one just given by the gardener.  “I see,” the King said quietly.  “So be it, then.”  He looked into the face of the prisoner, and simply examined him closely for some time.  Bedro began to flush with embarrassment, but could not turn away.

       “Do you understand why you are here, Bedro Bracegirdle?” the King at last asked.

       “Yes, sir.  Because my da used weighted dice on Emro Gravelly.”

       “Only for that?”

       “I’d not have been arrested else.”

       “Even after you’d been stealing from your neighbors, you think you’d not get caught in the end?”

       “I’d never been caught before.”

       “Does the fact you’d not been caught before give you justification for continuing to do so?  Do you truly think none would have questioned you in the end?”

       “Who’d of dared?”

       “Step forward.”  Bedro complied, and the King examined him thoroughly from the top of his head to the tips of his rather shaggy feet.  “You are uncommonly large and muscular for a Hobbit, yes; but not so big as to continue evading justice forever.  Indeed, the fact you’d already been tried for injustice, misappropriation, open intimidation and coercion, and exceeding your authority as a Shiriff undoubtedly increased the likelihood you’d be examined for theft at a later date.  Also, it is clear someone asked for redress from your attentions.” 

       Bedro gave a brief glare over his shoulder at Forsythia, which was not lost on the King.  He followed the Hobbit’s gaze, and then stopped, his attention arrested.  He gave a long look at the two young Hobbits sitting by Narcissa Boffin, then asked, gently, “You are close kin to Frodo?”

       Forsythia’s whispered, “He’s speaking to you, Fosco,” was heard by all in the room. 

       The young Hobbit raised his head proudly as he stood.  “Yes, Lord Elessar, my sister and I are his first cousins by his uncle Dudo.”

       The King closed his eyes and shook his head.  “He was a remarkably close one, wasn’t he?”  He looked to Sam.  “And how long have you known of these?”

       “Only since last summer, Strider, when he stood up to dance alongside the rest.”

       “So, this is the Fosco whom Frodo taught to dance the Husbandmen’s dance, along with Folco.”

       “Yes, sir,” the tween replied.  “He taught Forsythia and me both to dance.”

       “Then you had known him long?”

       “Yes, my Lord King, since we were little ones.”

       There was a look of pleasure and even unexpected relief on the King’s face.  “Then, it appears there may not be an end to the Baggins legacy as I’d been led to believe.”

       Narcissa said, a bit nervously, “No, sir, it was never his desire to see that end.  It is why we are here--he desired these, when they are at last of age, to serve as further ambassadors between the Shire and the outer world, as he and Bilbo have done.”

       “And your part in this affair, Mistress Boffin?”

       “I was appointed their independent guardian, my Lord King.  And now I’ve been made their physical guardian as well.”

       “Who appointed you their guardian?”  At her silent look, he laughed.  “How long have you known of their existence?”

       “Since the spring after he left, my Lord.”

       “I was told that the disturbance was at the Gravelly house in the village of Westhall.”

       “The twins have been fostered there by the Gravellies since the death of their mother.  They’ve been raised among the Gravellies and as Gravellies, but remain Bagginses by birth, name, and all else.”

       “Baggins, Boffin, and Took,” amended Fosco.

       “Through the Old Took, I must suppose.”

       “Yes, sir, our great grandfather.”

       The King nodded.  “I find myself wishing I’d known the old fellow, as Gandalf and Bilbo certainly had tales to tell of him.”  He gave a glance at Bedro, then asked Fosco, “Has this one given you trouble in the past?”

       “Yes, my Lord, all our lives since we came to live with the Gravellies.  He always chased the little ones, and especially me as I can’t see well and so can’t avoid him easily.”

       The King turned back to Bedro.  “Is what he says true?”

       Bedro surprised himself by admitting, “Yes, it’s true.”

       “Did no one ever seek to stop you?”

       “Once.  A stranger hit me once.”

       “When was this?”

       “Years ago, just after the Free Fair.”

       “A rather tall, slender Hobbit with dark hair?”

       “Yessir.  How did you know?”

       “Educated guess.”

       Fosco looked up with interest.  “Was that why he stopped chasing us that evening, then?  And was that Iorhael?”

       The King again shook his head.  “And how do you know this name?”

       Forsythia laughed.  “He told us to call him that so Mum wouldn’t realize who he was.”

       The King sighed.  “Enough of history--let us examine this case here now.  You were to be the reluctant bride?”

       The lass nodded.  They went through the case at length, with Fosco and Forsythia and Brendilac testifying to details.  Finally the King turned to the Thain.  “And this wedding would not have been legal, nor would its purpose in gaining control of Forsythia’s dowry and inheritance been legal?”

       “That is correct, my Lord King.”

       “I see.”  He turned and murmured in Quenyan with his wife for several moments.  Finally he turned again to the Thain.  “Is he to be accepted again into the Shire when his term of punishment is through?”

       “No, my Lord.  Plus his family has struck his name out of the Book of Bracegirdle.”

       The King and Queen looked to one another.  “That,” the Lady Arwen said softly, “indicates this is seen as most serious by his own family.”

       The Thain nodded his head.  “There are very few times when we strike names from the family books, my Lady Queen.”

       “I know, for I discussed this with Master Bilbo at length.  To be deprived of family ties is the greatest punishment that can be visited upon Hobbits.”

       After several moments of examining Bedro carefully, the King finally said slowly, “Then I am ready to pass judgment on this one.  Bedro Bracegirdle,  you recognize that the Shire is under the rule of the Land of Arnor?”

       “Yessir, I’ve been told this.”

       “As the laws of the Shire have been long established and are not in conflict with the laws of Arnor and Gondor in this matter, the punishment imposed by the people of the Shire as witnessed by Thain, Master,  Mayor, and your own family, is accepted as the first part of the penalty imposed upon you.  However, as you have continued breaking the laws of the Shire and the Kingdom of Arnor even after having been largely forgiven of your prior offenses, you now stand under further examination before me.  So be it, then.  You will be taken south by the next troop of Rangers to go to Minas Anor from Bree, where you will remain in the prison of the Citadel until my return.  You will then serve at my pleasure in the marble quarries of Casistir.  Are you a decent cook?”

       “Decent enough.  My da never complained.”

       “Then you shall serve in the kitchens there for five years.  Once you are done, you will be allowed to settle in the southern Kingdom.  You will not reenter Arnor, for if you are found within its bounds you will be retaken and hanged summarily.”

       “Hanged what?”

       “Hanged without further consideration.  Do you now understand?”

       Pale, Bedro nodded.  The King nodded.  “So be it, then.  When we are done with these, you will accompany them to the local lockup for the night at least, until the next detachment is sent south.”  He looked at Brendilac.  “Would this, you think, be acceptable to your former client?”

       “Yes, my Lord King.  He would thank you for your mercy shown.”

       The King nodded.

       Lord Halladan said solemnly, “So has judged the Lord King Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar of Arnor and Gondor, the heir to Elendil, Isildur, and Arvedui.”  The guards drew Bedro back, and at last the nine from Angmar were led forward.

       The King pulled himself straight in his seat, examining them carefully one last time.  He again nodded at Hardorn, then addressed the prisoners in their own language as Hardorn translated to the Common Tongue:  “Do any of you have anything to ask of me or any pleas to make before me ere I pronounce your doom?”

       The one who had thought he’d seen offenses done by Gondor stepped forward, speaking again through the interpreter.  “I understand I was mistaken as to what I saw, and thus bore false witness before my people regarding yours.  I grieve that this is so.”

       The King nodded.  “Then there is honor in you, which I must admire.  Do any others of you wish to speak now?”

       One of the two who had whispered earlier stepped forward, closely followed by his fellow, and spoke in the Common Tongue.  “My brother and I hereby leave the service of our armies, for we were given false information regarding your people and your ways, and based our entry into our forces on that.  Knowing it was false, we cannot in good conscience remain in arms against you.  Had we our swords, we would break them now in token of this.”

       The King straightened, then asked, “If they were brought to you, will you do this?”

       “Yes, my Lord King Elessar, we would do this.”  The faces of the two Men were pale but set, for in Angmar such an act was taken very seriously.

       “There would be no return to you ever to your own people.  Have you wives and children?”

       “Yes, my Lord, I do, although not my brother.”

       “They would pay the penalty if they are left there.”

       “I know, my Lord; but I cannot live a lie.”

       The smile on the King’s face was clearly seen behind his beard.  “Then we will see to the removal of your family ere the news of this night’s judgment is made clear to your people,” he said quietly.  “Eregiel?”

       Eregiel stood up from the back bench.  “It would be a pleasure, my Lord Cousin.”

       The leader glared at the three who had stepped forward.  One of the guards, at a nod from the King, left the hall, returned swiftly with the weapons taken from the prisoners.  The King indicated they should be laid upon the table before Prince Faramir, and at last one of the two was allowed forward, where he took up his own, then walked under guard to the fireplace for the hall where he brought it down on the stone hearth, and it broke.  He cast it into the fireplace and turned, his face even paler, but stood erect.  The King indicated he was to stand over to the side.  The other brother stepped forward, pale and sweating, but as his brother had done he did now also, and he was allowed to stand by him.  In their own tongue, the King asked, “Is there any other who will follow suit?”  One more stepped forward, and taking up his sword he also went to the fireplace and broke it.  Then the leader stepped forward.  There was a carefully made nod between King and Lord Hardorn who stepped forward with him, and Pippin imperceptibly shifted his own stance, as did the King himself.  The leader made a great show of examining the remaining six swords, and reached down to take his up--then shifted to aim at Faramir--but found his weapon blocked by three as Troll’s Bane, Anduril, and that of his guard all were interposed between his blade and the Steward of Gondor.  Shocked with the speed of the move, the leader dropped his weapon and stepped back in confusion. 

       “You were warned, were you not, that the Perian here is skilled with his blade?” asked the King mildly as he retook his seat, and one of the other guards scooped the leader’s blade from the floor and laid it before the Lord Halladan.

       “Yes, my Lord,” whispered the Man.

       “We need your name and family designation so your family can be given the news of your fate,” the King continued.  If possible, the Man went even paler, and the sweat broke out on his brow.  “You will be executed at dawn.  Taking up a weapon under false pretences and threatening one innocent of offense against you and your family and your people is punishable by death among your own people, I know.  What is the standard punishment for such actions among your people?”

       The Man could barely answer.  Finally he managed to whisper, “To be beheaded with my own sword.”

       “So it shall be.  And I myself will execute it, as I must endure its effects anyway.  You will know that I will be as merciful as I can, that it will be quick and clean.”  He turned to the others.  “If any other thinks to do similarly, let you rethink it now.  Will any other follow the example of those three?”

       One more, pale, but determined, came forward and took the sword from before Halladan.  “This was mine, my Lord.  He simply chose the one he felt was best situated to take the swing with.  That was his.”  At a nod from the others, Faramir carefully lifted the indicated weapon and handed it gingerly to the Steward of Arnor, and the Angmarian walked to the fireplace and broke his sword as had the others.  He walked to stand with the others.  No others made any move, and the King nodded.

       At that moment the door opened, and Legolas entered, herding in four more individuals in the dark green of Angmar.  “There is one more I could not find, Aragorn,” he said as the guards took charge of those he’d brought.  “The trees tell me the rest are dead, two by their own hands as the Forest drove them mad.  The trees were rather vindictive as they reported that.  The one remaining managed to make it back to the Road and fled across it from the Barrow Downs.  The trees on the south side would not stir themselves to act against him, and did not care to note where he went.  However, he appears to have been an archer.”

       The King sighed.  “Thirteen in all this night, then.  Know this--we have been told your purpose in coming south was to foment war between your land and ours, and to slay either my Steward or myself in the doing.  I will not tolerate such actions in my lands.  Those four have broken their swords, and their families will be removed from Angmar before word of what has happened here is told to your people.  That one--” indicating the leader, “--is to be beheaded at dawn with his own sword for offering violence in this hall.  The rest have not yet had their doom pronounced.  You are now offered the chance to break your swords and stand with those four, or to accept the doom of the others.  Which shall it be, gentlemen?”

       One finally stepped forward and reached out his hand to the Elf, and taking his sword broke it upon the hearth.  The others stood quietly but pale with their comrades.

       “I see.  The families of those who have broken their swords will be extracted from Angmar and brought here to Arnor to be reunited with them.  Then all will be taken south to Gondor where all will swear allegiance to the throne and Crown, and will be allowed to take lands or employment as each is suited.  The rest of you will go first to Minas Anor to the prison there.  On my return, you will be granted one last chance to foreswear your allegiance to your own warlords.  If you refuse, you will be taken to the Houses of Healing where your sword hands will be cut off, and after you have recovered you will be allowed to return to Angmar.  Do you understand?”

       All nodded.  “So be it, then,” the King said.

       “So has judged the Lord King Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar of Arnor and Gondor,” intoned the Steward of Arnor.

The King’s Justice

       As all prepared to return to the camp outside the town walls, Hardorn could be heard arguing with his cousin and King.  “You ought to allow me to do this,” he said vehemently.

       The Lord Elessar just shook his head.  “I have done such before when I was a Ranger, as you well know.”

       “Yes, but you are not a mere Ranger any more, Aragorn.  It is not mete....”

       “So, I ought to allow you to do this?  Allow you to spare me the blood and death and horror of seeing the life flee?  When you know full well that I will feel it anyway?  What does this accomplish, Hardorn?”

       “I----”

       “I will be as clean, swift, and merciful as possible, both to spare him and myself.  I have the surgeon’s knowledge of the body to see it done right.”

       “And I the warrior’s knowledge to the same effect.”

       “I will not pass over what must be done always to others, and ask them to share my guilt in the doing.  And I have told him I would do this for him.  His family is considered great among his people.  To have this done by one whose worth he does not know would further demean him in his own eyes to no good effect.  He knows I respect him well enough to do this myself, and this is in keeping with the ways of their people.”

       “He did not respect you well enough to keep from attempting to assassinate Lord Faramir.”

       After a pause, the King replied, “I will not sink to his level.”

       At that the Lord Halladan intervened, saying, “Enough, my brother.  He does what he must.”
 
       Outside the hall waited Butterbur and two other officials from the town of Bree.  The King turned to them.  “Does Ben Thorny still do carpentry?” he asked.

       Butterbur said, “Yes, he does, but....”  Then his usually florid face grew pale.  “Big, or little?” he asked.

       “Big.  One individual.  The one Hobbit who received judgment has not merited that.”

       The innkeeper and the others all looked relieved.  “It would not have gone well with the Hobbits who live among us if it had come to that,” commented the village headman.

       “It would not have gone well with me, either.”

       “One of the strangers?”

       “Yes.  I will need to fill the rest of the coffin with salt.  We will not be able to return the body to his people for several weeks.”

       “That could be a great deal of salt,” Butterbur said.

       “I will send to Círdan at Mithlond to replace that of the village’s stores I must use in this.  The replacement amount ought to be here within two weeks at most.”

       With this final requirement met, the last of the party headed out the East gate.  All the way back to the camp Hardorn looked at his cousin with grief and frustration in his eyes.

       Gathering his Ranger’s cloak from Lasgon, the King disappeared into the forest, followed silently by Legolas, who alone could follow him among the trees.  Taking one of the axes provided for chopping firewood, Hardorn found a windfall tree and proceeded to chop it to firewood lengths; and long past midnight the level of his frustration and concern could be told from the constant thud of the axe’s blade into the wood.

       Before dawn Aragorn returned to the camp, changed into other clothing, and headed for a place on the northeast side of the town wall.  He refused to have any accompany him save for two of his personal guard, and refused to have Pippin take that duty.  “No,” he said.  “I will not have a Hobbit see what must be done.”  Unlike Hardorn, Pippin did not argue, merely bowed low.

       When about an hour after dawn he returned, he found Pippin, Merry, Gimli, and Legolas waiting for him, Saradoc Brandybuck and Paladin Took with them.  “All is in readiness in your tent,” Pippin said quietly.

       Paladin Took saw the spatters of blood on the King’s clothing, particularly on the cuffs of his shirt; the white, set face; the too-still posture.  Saradoc saw the gentleness which his son and nephew showed to their sovereign, and the delayed nod of the head with which the King responded.

       Somehow a bathing tub had been procured, and was now filled with steaming water.  Inside the tent, beside the Queen, were the two Stewards, the King’s sculptor, and Samwise Gamgee.  Seeing the King enter, Sam took a couple familiar leaves off a nearby table, rubbed them between his hands and whispered something over them, then cast them into the water.  He looked up solemnly at Aragorn’s face, murmuring, “I did it often enough for him, you know,” then gestured at the tub.  He then gave a significant look at the others, and with a meaningful nod of his head indicated they should leave before him.  Soon the tent was empty save for the King and his wife and the scent of green lands by clear streams.  The Lady Arwen helped her husband disrobe, then saw him into the tub.

       Two hours later the cavalcade broke camp, now accompanied by five individuals from the Breelands, including Barliman Butterbur.  Aragorn was quiet, and rode among his guard without a great deal of animation, although his color was much improved from earlier.  As they rode, Samwise Gamgee rode forward to join him, and offered his waterskin.  The King looked down on him in wordless question.  

       “Drink this, Strider, and don’t argue,” Sam said.  Aragorn continued to look down on him for some time, but Sam’s expression didn’t change.  “I’m not falling back until you do,” the gardener advised.  “And you can stop looking at me that way.  Didn’t work for him, and it won’t work for you, neither.” 

       Even the King could not resist that, and an unwilling grin cracked the stiffness that had enveloped him, and at last a single tear ran down his face as he accepted the waterskin and drank from it.  Those who’d seen Frodo in the last two years of his time in the Shire felt recognition and a degree of relief as they watched the King drink deeply, then finally return the skin to the Hobbit.  Sam nodded, commenting, “Good enough, then,” and fell back as promised. 

       Sure enough, the stiff posture relaxed, and eventually he even smiled at something one of his guards said to the other.  When Rosie rode forward and held up Frodo-Lad, the King took the small child before him; soon the Queen saw to it that Melian was there, also.  As Pippin rode forward with Elanor before him, Aragorn looked at him warily.  “I cannot take her before me, too,” he said.

       “Wasn’t going to offer her to you.  I’m enjoying her company myself, but thought simply to have the two of us ride alongside you.”

       Soon Merry was on the other side with Rosie-Lass, and shortly after the King was laughing at the foolishness with which Merry and Pippin kept their small passengers entertained.  Those who came from Bree looked on with interest. 

       The noon stop was short.  They were far along their way by the time they paused for the evening meal, and even then they resumed the riding after an hour’s time.  Two hours later they were approaching a pavilion those who had gone to Gondor recognized, and they were welcomed by the Queen’s brother Elladan and Lord Glorfindel.  Another light meal had been prepared for the Hobbits, and soon all were laying out their bedrolls on the prepared pallets.  The King’s smaller pavilion had been set up nearby, and that night the two Elven lords spent a good long time within it with Aragorn. 

       Finally Elladan came forth to where Sam lingered with Ferdibrand Took and Budgie Smallfoot near the fire outside the larger pavilion.  “You did well, Master Gardner,” he said quietly.  “Gandalf had told us you’d mastered the athelas draught to good effect for your master, and we are glad you were able to aid in the soothing of my brother.”

       “It couldn’t of been an easy thing as he did,” Sam said quietly.

       “No, it wasn’t.  Nor would it have been any easier if another had wielded the sword.  He’d still have felt it, no matter who carried out the execution.”

       Sam nodded.  Finally he said, “When I saw that one grab up that sword, I thought as the Lord Faramir was dead.  How the three of them was able to be so swift to stop it--it was a marvel.”

       “Well, we taught Estel ourselves, after all, and he has shared that teaching with all who are of his personal guard, including Peregrin Took.”

       “I’m certainly glad,” Sam said.

       “I don’t completely understand,” Budgie said slowly, “how he could feel the death of someone else.”

       “We call it the King’s Gift,” Elladan answered.  “It is very strong in him, as it is in the Lord Iorhael.”

       Sam thought for a time.  “Like as how you can hear the trees and all.”

       “It is a variation on the Elves’ land sense, sensing the well-being of the people instead of the land.  The land sense of Hobbits is similar to that of the Elves, although you respond more easily to tilled earth than to the wild lands.  The effect when it manifests as the King’s Gift is the same, however, whether it is Dúnedan or Hobbit in whom it appears.”

       Ferdibrand thought, then asked, “You mean that it was similar for Frodo?  That when people hurt or killed others, he felt it?”

       “If they are tied to him in some manner, yes.  The Ring sharpened the King’s Gift in him, and then used it against him.”

       “Then, he felt it when Lotho and the Big Men....”  He didn’t finish.

       “Yes.”

       Ferdibrand Took shuddered.  “No wonder the King hates the memory of It so,” he said, “not to mention Sam.”  He looked sideways at the gardener's Light.

       Sam sighed.  “You have the right of it, Mr. Ferdi.”

       “You’d all best get to bed, then,” the Elf advised.  “We leave early.”

       “He asleep?” asked Sam.

       “Yes, he is, as is Hardorn as well.”

       “Good, then,” Sam responded.  “Night.”  He finished the cup of tea he’d been sipping from, then rose and walked into the pavilion.

       “They look after one another, Sam and the King and the others,” Budgie noted as he and Ferdibrand prepared to follow Sam.

       Elladan nodded.  “They learned to do so as fellows in the quest.”

The Archer      

       Terrified of the trees, he’d managed to flee south of the road, then East along its verge, carefully scouting around the village, until he was far from the Downs where the horror had sought to take him.  What it was that had started it he had no idea, but there were places similar to it in Angmar where the Witchking and those closest to him had reportedly done unspeakable things to augment their power.  Had the people of Arnor done such things there? he wondered.  What kinds of things must one do to awaken the evil spirits in that manner?  He’d been fortunate he was not that far from the border, that he’d recognized the feeling, that even in the unseasonable fog that had suddenly risen around him he’d kept his sense of where the road was and had made his way to it swiftly and passed the hedge and was across it ere the wights could take him.

       Once east of the village he just kept going, finally crossing again to the forested area north of the road.  Before day’s end he came back to the road, for the forest had ended at the foot of a rise, and he was in danger of traveling through a great marsh if he continued.  He’d seen no others so far that day, so he traveled along the road in the gathering dark, then went south of it to rest.  The following day he again traveled from before sunup, managing to get far East of the marshlands and into an area of intermittent trees, rocky outcrops, and frequent ruins that spoke of this area having once been settled.  He finally found a copse of trees north of the road where he felt hidden, and made his meager camp there.  Where the rest of his people were he had no idea.  He was certain Godro and Herrstein, who’d entered the Downs before him, must be dead, that the horror he’d felt had been between them and himself, was intent on taking them, in fact.  He grieved for Godro, with whom he’d trained.  Herrstein was no loss.  As for all else--they could all be taken by this time.

       Again he woke before dawn and headed East, taking cover near noon to rest.  Not long after he hid himself away in the ruins of what appeared to have been a shepherd’s cote, he heard a soft and gentle sound, had risen up to see a riding of Elves along the road heading West.  They were not of a great number, not more than six men of the Elves.  They rode not with banners, but with a light cart which carried poles and rolls of fabric, yet they sang as they rode and indeed their voices were haunting as the legends of Angmar reported.  He watched with awe as they disappeared to the West.  He wondered where they went, but soon forgot them as he found the further travel that day was made difficult by lack of cover.

       He finally stopped again in what seemed to be the ruins of a farmstead, and there he ate a small amount of what remained of his rations, found the well had not fallen in and he was able to get water, then paused to rest.  He felt somewhat feverish, and was glad of the shelter.  He slept long, through the rest of the afternoon and into the following morning, past the dawning, in fact.  He sighed as he woke to the day, wondering if he ought to move on.  He’d come down from Angmar with a purpose, to assist in the fomenting of war between the peoples of Arnor and his own, and he still was bound to that purpose.  He’d been chosen because he was an archer, and one of the best in his land.  Well, he could perhaps still manage his task, he supposed, even if the rest were all killed or taken.

       He did not move on, but stayed there in the shelter of the ruins, and ate a handful of grain from his rapidly dwindling supplies.  He had good sight of the road and any who might come along it.  It had been rumored that the King’s party would come this way, although the destination was not clear.  What was there, after all, East of this place?   After some water taken from the well, he settled himself down, saw his bow strung, stuck three of his arrows into the soil before him, set himself to wait.

       It was the drowsing, perhaps, that saved him from discovery by the Elves riding out from the party.  As his attention was drifting with the vague dreams that had filled him, they did not notice his presence even in thought; and the manner in which he’d taken cover under a fallen branch from the dying elm tree that grew in the ruins hid him from view.  Only Legolas seemed unsettled, which was odd as he was the one least familiar with the way.

       The King rode this noontide with Brendilac Brandybuck on one side and Master Saradoc on the other, discussing law, the land of Buckland, what it was like growing up so near the river’s bank, accidents along the Brandywine, and, inevitably, the details learned of the deaths of Drogo and Primula Baggins and the childhood of Frodo.

       “We were unable to piece it all together, save that Primula, who was a strong swimmer, had a serious bump on her head, indicating she probably came up under the boat and struck her head on the gunwale.  She stunned herself, apparently, and drowned.  We think Drogo was thrown clear.  We found the boat, upside down, and Primula early in the morning, but didn’t find Drogo until the following day, quite far down river, caught in the roots of a tree which had been washed downstream the preceding winter and had fetched up against the bank.  All we could figure is that something probably disturbed the boat just as Drogo changed his position, which appears to have tipped it.”

       “They were alone?”

       “Yes.  Primula loved drifting down the river, and had come to enjoy doing so under the stars.  Frodo inherited her fascination for the stars, and never lost his love of them.  No one seemed to realize they weren’t back until Frodo came alone to early breakfast, asking after his mum and dad.  They went out immediately to look, found the boat and her soon after.  That was bad enough for the lad.  But when, next day, they finally found Drogo’s body and brought it back, he was badly taken.  We’d told all the little ones to stay inside, but several of the young ones came out anyway.  The body was already badly bloated, and all of a sudden Mum realized Frodo was there, seeing that.”

       Brendi nodded.  “We’d been told repeatedly to stay inside, but Frodo was half mad with anxiety.  When they wouldn’t let us out the main door, we went round to one of the side doors that they weren’t watching at the moment.  Frodo went around the front to where the river watchers were bringing up the litter on which they’d carried his dad’s body.  He looked at it, went totally white, and just stood there.  All of us were shocked, for it didn’t look like Cousin Drogo any more.  But Frodo----  He just stood there, his face blank with shock, his eyes deeply shadowed and fixed on that bloated corpse, shaking with the horror of it.  Then Aunt Menegilda took his wrist and became terribly concerned, laid her head on his chest, went white herself, and had them take him inside to his room.  

       “That was when they stopped letting him play properly and all.  They told us he was weakened by his folks’ death, that he needed to be kept calm and quiet--but he never seemed to recover from it, if you understand me--not according to Aunt Menegilda.  She was absolutely livid when Bilbo arrived just in time for the funeral, and came from the Hall to the graveyard bringing Frodo with him.  He finally got across Frodo was worse upset not knowing what was happening than if he were present, but I thought she was going to forbid Bilbo to come back after that.”

       Before them Pippin began singing a soldier’s song to entertain Piper, Alumbard, and Levandoras, and Merry was telling Narcissa and the wives about finding the stone trolls and thinking they were alive, and Strider’s casual approach to them with a rotten branch.  “He knew what they were, of course; must have seen them countless times since Gandalf tricked them into arguing until after sunrise, and probably heard Bilbo retell the tale at least a hundred times as well.” 

       Brendilac stopped to listen, and started to laugh.  He looked up into the King’s eyes.  “Did you really?” he asked.

       Aragorn laughed.  “Oh, yes, I did, and he was right about my having passed them often--and having heard the story often as well.  We will stop to see them if you’d like.”

       Faramir, who rode not far behind the King, laughed and shook his head.  “It is wonderful, my Lord, to see you in your own lands, and to see the proofs that your own tales are yet true.  Although, if I remember correctly, the first time I heard that tale Merry was telling it then, too, to distract us while we waited in the Houses of Healing.”

       Lady Éowyn looked back to see what had sparked laughter in her husband, saw that he and the King and those around them were all relaxed and laughing once more, and turned to share a relieved smile with Arwen and Mirieth.  Suddenly Arwen straightened, began to look around, as did Lord Glorfindel.  Legolas was already unshouldering his bow and automatically nocking an arrow....

*******

       The sound of singing and laughter woke him, and he rose up to see that the King’s party was passing on the road.  They’d been told the King was extraordinarily tall, almost like an Elf himself, but bearded, and there he rode, apparently in the midst of a group of children.  Why were they bringing such a party of children through this wilderness?  Didn’t matter, really, he supposed.  He raised bow, casually nocked the arrow, let fly----

       ----And before the string on the bow had the chance to stop thrumming, he himself had an arrow in his upper arm and the bow was lying useless on the ground, and he looked to see that one of the children was straightening, turning to the King, and his own arrow took him in the left shoulder.

       Brendilac had seen a flower growing there beside the path, one he’d not seen before, similar to a sunflower but smaller and purple where sunflowers were golden.  He leaned down to look at it, straightened to share the beauty of it with the King----

       ----And he was hit by something, was falling, felt puzzled, then was fled somewhere....

       It was the reflexes of Strider the Ranger that caught Brendilac before he could pitch off the pony completely, who was off Roheryn before his conscious mind fully registered that the attack had consisted of that one, single arrow.  The guards had the rest of the Hobbits and the group from Bree gather together and counted to make certain all were safe and accounted for.  Legolas, Elladan, and Glorfindel were already surrounding the lone archer, and Elladan, leaning over the Man, called out in Sindarin that the Man was alone, had been struck by Legolas’s arrow, and would not bend the bow further today, but was largely unhurt.  They lifted the Man almost casually and brought him back to where the rest were beginning to quickly assemble a camp as the King checked over the lawyer.

       “Shock to the body, but above the lungs.  Still probably seriously wounded,” he stated flatly to Budgie and Elladan.  “Near one of the major blood vessels....”

       Lasgon was there already with the surgeon’s kit and healer’s bag from the cart, and Gimli had started a fire going while Sam had managed to get his kettle off the pack pony for his family and was filling it from the water bottles they carried.  After checking over the Angmarian archer and ascertaining he was in no immediate danger, he asked Hardorn to remove the arrow.  “Best to break it and push it through,” he suggested, “but do be gentle.  I wish to question him when I have time.”  Assisted by the Hobbit healer and Elladan, he turned his major attention to Brendilac.

       It took almost an hour to get the arrow out without doing more damage, and a while longer to get the blood staunched and the wound stitched properly.  Sam had steaming water there by them throughout, and the athelas was steeping, smelling, the King noted, of river water and the scent of pinks.  Finally free to begin the invocation, he and Elladan began to let their fingers feel deep.  The amount of healing drawn from both was substantial, and both were surprised, but then heartened as the breathing of the Hobbit began to deepen, the heartbeat to strengthen and steady.  He looked up at them briefly from surprised eyes, then drifted into a proper sleep.  Wrapped in a couple of blankets and tended by Narcissa and Forsythia, they left him to tend to the other.

       Already Sam had set steaming water there, too.  He’d checked out the ruined farmstead and found the well, had managed to refill the bottles as well as his kettle.  The cooled water Sam had set the athelas to steep in sat there, too, and there was a lingering odor of pastureland.  The King took up one of the cloths his wife, Éowyn, and Esmeralda Brandybuck had set out for the use by those working in the healing, and dipped it into the cooled water, carefully removed the packed bandages, and began cleaning the wound.  As Sam came to his side with a packet of athelas, the King accepted the leaves with thanks, crushed them and breathed on them, then set them to steep, beginning again to sing the Invocation.

       “No--no spells!” the archer said, writhing.

       Sam looked on him with distaste.  “There’s no spell,” he said.  “Can’t you tell the difference between spells and prayers?”

       The archer didn’t quite understand, but was calmed by the small figure’s coolness.  They weren’t children, he realized--at least, not most of them.  Plainly this was a man of his people, competent, his eyes revealing he’d seen far too much to ever look innocence for himself in the eye again.  A child approached him, a girlchild, small and delicate, her hair golden as the sun compared to that of the small manling which was the deep golden brown of dark honey, her eyes hazel and clear as she evaluated this odd, deadly guest.  He realized both father and daughter were barefoot, that there was thick hair on the tops of their feet, that their ears were slightly pointed.  The girlchild reached up to take her father’s hand, smiled up trustingly into his eyes, then looked back at him again, her smile fading as she examined him with a level of calculation no child that small ought to be able to make.  He dropped his eyes from hers, then gave a hiss of pain as the King dabbed again at the wound, then set down the cloth and basin, was reaching for thread and needle.  Another of the small manlings was taking out a thick piece of leather, holding it up for him to take in his mouth and bite down on it, and he was glad of it as the stitching began.  The King himself was tending to him, and doing a highly competent job of it, the archer realized.  One of the Elves stood beside him and assisted as necessary, and the manling who’d given him the leather to bite upon was also helping.  The archer recognized the look in the eyes of each of these--healers, all three.  No one had told him that the King of Arnor was a healer.

       Several of the female manlings had begun helping the Elf who was preparing the meal, and when at last the King was done, he and the two who’d assisted him were brought food.  The archer didn’t think he’d receive food as well, although he realized his body craved it after his short rations over the last three days; but the small manling who’d spoken to him earlier himself brought a plate to him, began to feed him.  This was one who knew what to do after short rations, for he fed him slowly, was watching him closely for any bad effect, nodding after every sign the archer could retain what he’d just taken in.  Finally he said, “That’s enough for now, or you’ll but lose it again,” rose, and took the plate away.  The archer was surprised at how strong the desire was for him to bring it back, but bit it back, recognizing this manling was indeed experienced.

       The King was now kneeling again over the wounded manling he’d hit.  Those who guarded the archer goaded him to his feet, and made him come closer.  Yes, this was a manling like the others, not a child.  Pleasant, intelligent face, although shadowed now by pain as he awoke once more.  Cuffs stained deeply with ink, and ink spots on his shirtfront as well.  Not a warrior.  Approaching him was another manling, this one in mail and a leather hauberk, this one definitely a warrior, as well as the manling archer who accompanied him.  They were looking him up and down, obviously angry at the injury done their fellow. 

       “What are we going to do with this one?” asked the warrior manling.

       “He will accompany us to Rivendell,” the King said quietly.  “Tell me, Brendilac, do you think you can bear being lifted?”

       The wounded manling moved his shoulder and went white with pain.  “If I don’t move it,” he managed, “I think I could bear it.”

       Leather straps and strips of cloth were brought, and the shoulder was bound and strapped.  Finally the healer Elf mounted his horse, and the King lifted the small figure gently and laid him in the the rider’s arms.  A brief exchange in the Elves’ language between King and mounted Elf, and the Elf turned and rode off swiftly and smoothly.

       The King then turned to the archer.  When he spoke, it was in the Angmarian’s own tongue.  “I am not pleased with you, needless to say.  Obviously I was your primary target, and had not Brendilac straightened when he did, I’d have been gut wounded, which could have been deadly.  As it is, he is seriously injured.  You will find I do not take well to injuries inflicted on the Periannath.”  The King looked into his eyes, felt his pulse.  “You can ride, and ride you will.  They’ve unburdened one of the packhorses, and you will be bound to it.  Do not seek to take it where you would--it is Elven trained, and will respond to my command.  Do you understand?”

       At the archer’s nod, he was led to the pack horse and lifted onto it, where he found no saddle or bridle.  His feet were bound beneath the horse’s belly, and his good hand was able to do no more than hold the horse’s mane.  Satisfied he was mounted, those who’d seen to it went to mount their own animals.  Soon the small fire was out and they were on their way again.

       Several days they traveled in this way.  The archer had the chance to observe his companions.  The King spent time with all those who rode with him, talking to each one in turn, Men, Elves, Dwarf, and the small, barefoot manlings that called themselves Hobbits.  Most of the Hobbits were cheerful sorts, given to jokes and songs and idle talk.  Two, however, the largest of all of them, were definitely warriors, both armed with swords which they obviously knew how to use.  Several were archers.  All of them, even the womenfolk and children among them, he realized, were good with thrown stones.  One day during their noon rest a target was raised and all were throwing stones at it--and he saw only one whose stones were likely to miss it--and he proved to be blind.  Several of the archers, Men, Hobbits, and Elves, shot at a cloth sack filled with grasses, and he saw that the Men and Hobbits were equally skilled, although of course the Men and Elves could pull a stronger bow than the small ones.  As for the Elves, their accuracy with their bows was beyond belief.

       Several times in the morning the swordsmen would spar, and he saw that none refused to spar with the two Hobbit swordsmen, and that their lack of reach was more than outweighed by their agility.  He was surprised when he realized that one of those who sparred with them was actually a woman, and that she was as good as many of the Men.  He watched her weave and bob, twist and parry, and realized his jaw had dropped in amazement. 

       “She’s quite good, she is, the Lady Éowyn.”  The unexpected voice beside him startled him, and he looked down to see that the solemn Hobbit who’d first fed him was standing beside him.

       “That is her name?”

       “Yes.  Her brother’s King of Rohan.  She’s married the Lord Prince Steward Faramir of Gondor.  She’s taken to healing since the war, but she’ll never fully leave off sword practice, I think.  Gives Merry there a good workout, she does.”

       “What happened to the one of your people I shot?”

       The Hobbit breathed deeply through his nose, then answered, “The Lord Elladan took him on ahead to Rivendell.  Elven horses can go swifter’n mortals’ steeds, and lots faster than our ponies.  He was pretty bad hurt.”

       “I did not intend to hit him.”

       The Hobbit looked up at him sternly.  “I know.  You intended to shoot our King, and I’ll tell you this--had you got him, you’d of regretted it.  We tend to love our King, you see.”

       “He practices fell magics....”

       The Hobbit snorted.  “There you go again about fell practices, you whose folk followed the Witchking of Angmar for how long?  What fell practices?  And don’t go on about feedin’ old folks and children to the great Eagles, cus I’m here to tell you that is sheer rot.”

       “How do you know it’s--rot?”

       “Cuz I was one of the two your fool witness saw being carried by them.  They wasn’t taking me to eat me--they was rescuing my Master and me from the ruin of Mordor.  And as for folks making women and children stand up to the Nazgul--well, there the two of them stand as done that, the Lady Éowyn and Merry there.  Oh we heard it all, there in Bree.”

       “Someone awakened evil spirits there West of the place you call Bree.”

       “Yes, someone did, and as the King can tell you, that was the Witchking of Angmar, when King Arvedui’s folk fled across our lands and our people helped them to safety.  Was intent on making the passage to and through the Shire unsafe, he was, so he took the old burial mounds and called the wights to them.  Right unpleasant soul, the Lord of the Ringwraiths was.  At least we don’t have him to worry the world of Arda no more, thanks to them two.  Not that he’d of survived any more than the others once the Ring was gone.”

       After a time of silence as they saw Merry and Éowyn finish their sparring and another pair take their place, the archer asked, “What were you doing in Mordor?”

       “Helping my Master.”

       “Helping him do what?”

       “See to it the Enemy’s Ring got to where it could be destroyed.”

       “What would he care about a ring?”

       The small one looked up intently into his eyes.  “Sauron used his own power to charge that thing, so much of it that he couldn’t continue if it was gone.  Long as it survived, he could survive.  When it was gone--well, that was the end of his power.  Even less substantial than Morgoth now.”

       “Why do you travel with the King?”

       “There’s a conference for the leaders of the peoples of the Kingdom.  We’re all going to it.”

       After another period of silence, the archer asked, “What happened to the rest of my people?”

       “Apparently six died in the Old Forest or the Barrow Downs.  Trees in the Old Forest hate people, will shift their places, herd them to Old Man Willow, who will kill them if he can.  You don’t want to meet Old Man Willow, believe me.  As for the Barrow Downs--since the Witch King brought the wights, that’s among the most dangerous places in Arnor or Gondor.

       “Legolas got into the Old Forest in time to save four of those as crossed the road.  Said the trees was very vindictive, and only one got away by hisself, and I guess that was you.  Probably let you go cuz you carry arrows instead of a sword.  They don’t like any blade as could cut down a tree, you see.

       “The rest the Rangers and Strider and Bowman took.  We heard it all there in Bree.”

       “Then they are all dead?”

       “All dead?  What makes you think that?  No, they’re not all dead.  Only one is, and he’s only dead cuz he said as he was going to break his sword, but instead he picked up someone else’s and tried to stab Lord Faramir.  Got hisself beheaded, he did.  The others is locked up for now, I guess, but they ain’t dead, and not likely to die in any case afore the natural time, I suppose, less’n one of them takes the notion to threaten someone again.”

       “Sam-Dad,” said a child’s voice.  Both looked down to see the tiny girlchild.  “Mummy says you ought to come and fill up the corners.”

       “Thank her, dearling, and tell her as I filled them up the first time I et.”

       “You did not.  You didn’t eat much at all.  She says you start looking like Uncle Frodo and she’ll have the King force feed you.”

       “She would, too, wouldn’t she?  Well, just tell her I’m a far sight from ever looking like him.  And tell her I love her and worship the ground she stands on.  Go on now, Elanorelle.”

       With a disapproving look the child disappeared back toward the Hobbit women.  The Hobbit smiled after her.  “Takes after her mum, Elanor does.”

       The King sat with the people from Bree today, listening as the five of them explained some situation they felt to be of supreme importance.  The archer looked at him thoughtfully.  “He said he wished to question me, but hasn’t done so yet.”

       The Hobbit shrugged.  “No, but he’ll get around to it.  He’s most like letting hisself cool down proper afore he speaks to you.  One way he’s like the Ents--doesn’t like to get too hasty, he doesn’t.  When he questions you, he will be in control, and then the questioning will be thorough.”

       “You say the King doesn’t practice fell magics?”

       “Only truly odd thing as he does I’ve ever seen is that he can help folks as to heal faster than usual, but that’s something he inherited from his Elvish side--that and having foresight.  Same thing with Lord Elrond and his children.  Never seen any sign of him doing any kind of fell things.”

       “Then why are the trees in the Old Forest able to move?”

       “They’ve been able to move, the Elves tell me, since the days of Starlight, them and the Trees of Fangorn Forest.  Naught to do with the King at all.”  He stretched.  “I’d best be getting back, or my Rosie will be putting a bug in Strider’s ear as how I’m not eating proper and all.  We’ll be leaving soon, we will.”  He nodded and headed off for his family, and the archer saw a small toddling child hurry toward him and reach up to be lifted easily to his left shoulder, his face alight with the pleasure of parenthood.  Reaching down his right hand to a small boychild, he continued on to the Hobbit woman the archer had identified as his wife, kissed her tenderly, and they continued on to the ponies.

       The one he’d had identified as the Lord Prince Steward Faramir of Gondor came now close, accompanying his wife, the Lady Éowyn, whose swordmanship he’d been watching.  She had changed from the trousers she’d worn earlier when sparring with the Hobbit Merry, now wore a skirt split for riding, as did all the women among Men he’d seen riding with the assembly.  Her long golden hair had been brushed thoroughly, braided, and wound into a coronet about her head; she carried a roll of clean cloths and bandages while her husband carried a steaming basin; and as she walked by the side of her husband they exchanged soft words the archer could not hear, and smiles that displayed a wondrous intimacy.  Then she looked at himself, and a studied neutrality filled her face.  She came closer. 

       “I am to examine your wound this morning,” she said quietly.  At the archer’s nod she set her roll on her husband’s arm, then rolled up his sleeve and carefully removed the bandages he’d worn since the previous evening and examined the wound with a practiced eye.  “Still some seepage, but that is to be expected of an arrow wound that pierced the arm,” she said.  She took one of the cloths and dipped it into the steaming water, carefully but thoroughly cleansed the wound, set one of the leaves that had been steeping in the water against each side as had the King and the smaller healer who’d checked it three times a day since he unwillingly joined the party, and began to wind a new bandage about it.

       As she worked, he commented, “You are skilled with a blade.”

       “Yes,” she responded.

       “The one known as Sam-Dad tells me--tells me that you faced the Lord of the Nazgul.”

       “Yes.”  Her mouth had begun initially to twitch as if suppressing a smile, but it had faded as he’d completed his statement.

       “That was a brave deed.”

       She looked up into his eyes.  “It was a desperate one.  I thought I desired but death, and he threatened my Lord uncle’s life.  In the end I did not save my uncle--he died but moments later of his injuries; while I lived, and have lived to rejoice that the death I thought I sought did not come to me then.”  She looked down to finish off the bandage.  “At least my uncle’s last awareness was not of being eaten by--by that creature of the Enemy’s.”  She examined his eyes professionally.  “You will be well enough, I think.  I would still suggest the wearing of a sling for a few days more.”

       “Thank you, my Lady.”

       It was the other small one who brought him his breakfast, the one who was bearded and traveled not on pony back but with a great wagon drawn by great dray horses.  He did not look as the Hobbits did, and he wore fine boots of a yet curious design, one sole quite thick, and clothing of the design of the Men of the South Kingdom.  He traveled with two tall youths and a small woman who was plainly his wife, yet she was a woman among Men, not one of the Hobbit-kind.  What his place was within the party was difficult to discern.  As his wagon traveled at the back of the troop it could not be seen precisely what he did as he traveled, but the archer knew that often those among the Hobbits hung back to ride with him, and often in the evening he and his wife would join them by the fire before retreating into the wagon for the night.

       “Thank you,” the archer said.

       “I am Ruvemir of Lebennin,” the small fellow said.  “Has any inquired as yet what your name is?  I’d heard none use it.”

       After a moment’s pause, the archer answered, “Sestor.”

       The one who called himself Ruvemir nodded and smiled.  “You are doing much better, it appears.”

       “I feel well enough.  Thank you.”  He ate quickly. 

       The small Man looked at the company.  One of the Hobbit women, one who traveled with two who appeared to be brother and sister and were almost grown, was seeing to her charges.  She had the preoccupied look she’d borne since Sestor had joined the party.  Sestor, as he finished his meal, looked at her.  “She is worried.”

       “Yes, for you wounded the one she is coming to care for,” Ruvemir said.  “I think she is only now coming to realize how much Brendilac has come to mean to her.  It is a good thing, now that the one she loved earlier in her life is gone from us.”

       “She loved one who has died?”

       “I did not say he died, merely that he is gone from us.  Although, for those of us here it is perhaps no different than it would be had he indeed died.”  He looked out over the entire assembly.  “All of us have been touched by the legacy of the Lord Frodo Baggins, including,” he said, turning to examine Sestor’s face, “you and your people, whether or not you know it as yet.”

       “What did he do?”

       “He went with the Lord Samwise to Mount Doom to the destruction of the Enemy’s Ring and thus to the destruction forever of Sauron’s power.  From now on the evil we face will be that we bear in our own hearts, not the actions of a great one intended to be an immortal power.”  He sighed.  “I see the King is readying his horse.  We will leave soon.  A good day to you, Sestor of Angmar.” 

       He took back the now empty plate and utensils and carried them to the tub where such were cleaned, scoured them with the fine sand they carried there, rinsed them, and bore them back to his wagon, where his horses were already harnessed.  One of the youths assisted him onto the box while his wife looked out of the window behind him and said something in greeting.  He smiled back over his shoulder at her.  Sestor found himself experiencing feelings of envy for those here who were obviously so happily married.  Sestor looked at where the King was tightening the cinch on his horse.  Beside him was the Elf woman who was his wife.  He aided her onto her steed and sprang upon his own, reached down to the maid standing there and took the small girlchild who was apparently his daughter before him, tenderly brushing her hair back from her forehead as she smiled up into his eyes, and Sestor was suddenly glad he’d not managed to injure this Man.

       Not long after noon they came to a place where the way they would go left the road.  Now there was a stop as the King and one of the Elves went back to speak with the ones with the great wagon.  Finally they drew it over to the side, unharnessed the dray horses, carefully drew and fastened the shutters and doors, and all took to the steeds they’d led behind the wagon, leading the dray horses with them.  Some bags were carefully loaded into the light cart brought by the Elves, and soon they were on their way down the other path through the woods. 

       A mark later they paused as one of the scouts came back with a report of a party seen ahead.  “My Lord King, Lord Berenion and his folk come to join us.”

       The King smiled, as did many from the Northern Kingdom.  “So, the old bear himself is coming, is he?” he commented.  “Good--it is far too long since we last saw him.”  He gave the signal to continue on.  

       It was a further mark later when a goodly party came down the hills from the north to join with the King’s group.  They were led by a tall, well muscled Man with a thick shock of grey hair and a well-groomed white beard.  “Well, Aragorn,” he said as they came near, “it has been almost an age, or so it seems.  You have indeed filled out well, and I will swear you look younger than you did when last I saw you.  The rule of Gondor and Arnor, it appears, suits you well.”

       The King laughed.  “Nay, Berenion, it is not rule that is the tonic, but marriage to my beloved, and the fathering of my daughter.  It is good to see you, good to see you indeed.  How many young recruits are you beating into shape as Rangers as you beat me?”

       “Now, don’t be exaggerating on me, young Man, for I beat you rarely and only when necessary.  Not that you didn’t beat me back.”  He noted the ones who rode as personal guards to the King, one the Hobbit warrior who dressed in the garb of the Southern Kingdom, the second one who resembled the King himself.  “Ah, another of my former pupils, one you took from me and sent to your brothers and Lord Glorfindel.  Hardorn, it is good to see you.  And this?”  He looked into the King’s eyes.  “A Perian among your personal guard?”

       “I taught him myself every trick you ever taught me, plus some learned elsewhere.  And then he brought a few from his own land, and was further taught by Boromir of Gondor and Legolas of Eryn Lasgolen.  I am satisfied with him.”

       “Good, then.”  The Man smiled.  “I brought you a gift, my Lord, if you will have it.”

       “A gift?  What need have I for a gift from you save your company?”

       “The foals born two years ago included a fine stallion, and a descendant of Roheryn there.  He is fully worthy to succeed his long sire.  I have named him Harthad.”

       “You named the horse after me?”

       “You and the two who went to Mordor, Aragorn.”  The faces of both had become solemn.  “It is good to have hope found after the long years of strife.”

       After a pause, the King replied, “I thank you, my Lord Captain.”

Inquiry

       Two days later they crossed the Ford of the Bruinen and entered Rivendell.  Sestor was glad to be done with the riding of the pack horse, and was heavily chafed from being so long without saddle or bridle, not that he’d ever been a horseman.  They were brought into the House and given rooms, Sestor’s on the third level.  The Elf who showed him his place looked at him coolly.  “I would not advise seeking to escape, for though you do not see them, many Elves guard this place, and they would shoot first and ask questions after.”  Sestor was certain that this was indeed true.  He was then shown the bathing room and given fresh clothing and availed himself of them with a great feeling of relief.

       Many had come to the conference, he found, and a goodly number from the other side of the Misty Mountains, including Dwarves, Elves, and many Men.  The first evening was devoted to feasting, and Sestor was surprised to find he was allowed to eat among the rest.  Many of the Elves came to welcome the King’s wife, whom Sestor learned was of this place originally, had been born here and had lived here long with her father and brothers; and the King himself was welcomed as if he were a son of the house.

       After the meal the Hobbit who was of the King’s guard came to him at his place at table.  “The King would have you attend him as he goes to see the one you shot.  He will meet you outside the feast hall in a quarter mark.”

       Sestor nodded his understanding and made his way out of the room, waiting until the King himself came out.

       He’d changed from the steel-blue riding leathers he’d worn through most of the journey into a fine robe of figured green fabric of a weave Sestor had never seen before, and he wore on his brow a jewel bound in a mithril fillet.  He examined the archer, then nodded his satisfaction.  “You are a likely enough looking person,” he commented.  “Ruvemir tells me your name is Sestor.”

       “Yes, mighty Lord, it is.”

       “Come with me, then, and see your handiwork.”

       He was led through several hallways until they reached another wing, then entered a room where several of the Hobbits sat together at a table with the one he’d shot.  He sat erect, his face alight with pleasure, and as the King entered he rose.  “My Lord King Aragorn,” he said.  “It is good to see you again.”  He bowed, but there was yet a visible twinge of pain that arrested the depth.  “They would not allow me to sit at the feast tonight, so the twins and Narcissa and Ferdi and Berilac have all sat with me here.”

       “Then you are recovering well enough?”

       “More slowly than your brothers wish to see, I fear; but much more quickly than I’d expected.  Was this truly the room Bilbo stayed in during his time here?”

       “Indeed it is.”

       “It is wonderful!  I feel as if the old Hobbit were here with me at times.  He always had such a delightful sense of adventure and wonder at the world.”  He looked at the picture which still hung on the wall of Túrin and the Dragon, surrounded by the portion of the lay.  “And that is marvelous!”

       “It always hung so on his wall.  I’m surprised he didn’t take it with him, for I understand it was a gift from Gandalf.”

       “Well, since he went with Gandalf himself, perhaps he didn’t feel that he needed the memento.”

       “Perhaps.  Now, let me see the shoulder.”

       Sestor noted that the expression on the Hobbit woman’s face was much changed, was relaxed and reassured, and that each time she looked on the one called Brendilac she unconsciously smiled and brightened; and he saw the others within the room also noted it and were well satisfied.  The Hobbit shrugged out of his outer garment with another visible wince, and the youth aided him in the removal of the shirt he wore. The King then gently unwound the bandage from the shoulder, examined the healing wound, held his hands over it and let his fingers feel deep....

       At last he straighted, present once more.  “It does very well indeed, and will be of little difficulty in the future.  We will begin exercises tomorrow to strengthen the muscles and ease the tendency for them to shorten and draw.”  He continued the examination, felt his chest and back.  “The cracked ribs were from the beating you received from the Bracegirdle?”

       “Yes, my Lord.”

       “They feel well set, and no lasting damage done there.”  He felt the Hobbit’s scalp, gently but thoroughly, and once more there was a wince as one place was touched.  Noting the flinch, the King stopped, placed both hands over the spot, his eyes growing distant for a short time, then coming back again.  The Hobbit himself suddenly took a deeper breath and straightened somewhat.  The King removed his hands and checked the Hobbit’s eyes.  “Better?” he asked.

       “Oh, yes indeed, my Lord.”

       “Good then.  I wished this one to see you, to see the results of his attack and to assure you both no lasting harm was done by it, although had he actually hit me I suspect Elladan, Legolas, and Gimli would have painfully taken him apart.  As it was none was particularly gentle with him.”

       Sestor took a deep breath.  “Knowing you now, I would not do it again, great Lord.”

       “That, I suppose, is heartening.  I’m surprised your captain brought so many who were so honorable with him.  Avrigien himself was not deeply filled with such.”

       “The one called Sam-Dad said he was dead, that he’d offered violence to one of yours.”

       The King’s face grew stern.  “Yes, that is true.”

       “It was only to be expected from him, I fear.”

       “So we learned.”

       Sestor turned to the Hobbit known as Brendilac.  “I grieve I caused you so much pain.  I never intended to hit any but him.”

       “Had I not leaned over and straightened as I did, you’d undoubtedly have hit him indeed.  That you apologize means a great deal to me.”

       The King became businesslike.  “Tomorrow you ought to be given more freedom about the place, and you will be able to take part in the conference.  We will welcome your insights.”

       “You will not be too harsh with this one, will you?” asked the Hobbit.

       The King examined Sestor thoughtfully.  “I still have to question him, but I believe the fact you have recovered so well and so quickly and that he has apologized will mitigate in his favor.  Do not be unduly concerned, my friend.”  He looked at the youth.  “Fosco, I hope that while we are here you will agree to dance the Husbandmen’s dance for me.”

       The young one flushed.  “Gladly, my Lord King, as you desire it.  But it would be best if others should dance it with me.  It’s embarrassing to dance alone.”

       The King smiled.  “I suspect this one will be able to join you, at least, by then.  His skill in it has been praised.”

       The woman smiled.  “They are right, my Lord Aragorn--Brendi has always been a good dancer.”

       “Well, I ought to be--Drogo used to teach me as a child, me and Frodo, and sometimes Frodo and I would dance it for Merilinde.  She said it was in great part my skill as a dancer that had caught her attention, as was true for this one with Frodo,” and he smiled at the woman, who flushed as she smiled.

       “Perhaps that’s why Narcissa likes you so now,” the young woman Hobbit said in a teasing manner, and both flushed the more.

       The Hobbit who was blind laughed.  “What I remember about Merilinde and you when you were young was how when the two of you danced the Springlering you’d both just glow.  As for you, Narcissa, any time you danced you’d glow.  You, too, were a good dancer, although I don’t remember seeing you dance for years.”

       Her face had grown solemn.  “I rather lost the taste for it.”

       The King laughed.  “Well, when you danced the Springlering for us in the capitol you did marvelously, I must say.”

       Brendilac looked surprised.  “Who did you dance with in Minas Tirith?” he asked.

       She flushed again.  “With Folco.  Miriel isn’t up to dancing the Springlering, after all, not that she had ever learned it.  She is a very charming woman, though, and I’m so glad she and Folco married.  The two of them are so deeply in love.”

       “Well,” the King said, straightening, as Narcissa aided Brendilac to replace his shirt, “I must go now.  May you all continue to enjoy the evening.”  As the others hastily rose and bowed, he bowed in return and left the room, Sestor following behind him.

       The King led him back to the main part of the place, and to a large room with only a few chairs in it.  “Most of the others will go to the Hall of Fire tonight, I hope.  I wished to question you more quietly than I did your fellows.”  He indicated a chair and saw Sestor sat, then sat down across from him.  The door opened, admitting an Elf with a tray with a flagon and several goblets, followed by one of the younger Men who’d been in the party, carrying a box in his hands.  He sat in a chair with a table by it, drawing the table in front of him and setting on it paper, ink, and quill from the small chest he carried.  The warrior Hobbit who dressed in the garb from the South entered and took his place by his King, although he did not draw his blade.  The King looked up at him almost suspiciously, then watched as the door opened and several more of the Hobbits, two more of the Men, the two golden-haired Elves who’d ridden with them, and the Dwarf entered.

       The King sighed.  “It appears that this questioning will be more public than I’d planned.” 

       Again the door opened, and two more Men entered, the two Stewards, he noted.  There were far too few chairs for all, not that the Hobbits would be that comfortable in the chairs designed for the Elves.  Seeing the King’s expression, what appeared to be the elder of the two Elves gave an elaborate shrug, went out the door, and a few moments later several Elves appeared with a number of benches in two heights, and soon had them set for the use of those intent on witnessing this questioning.  They were followed by three more of the Men, another Hobbit, and the short bearded one called Ruvemir carrying a large booklet he opened upon his lap, taking out some kind of stick with which he began working on the open page; and finally the golden-haired Elf with a single stool for himself, which he set near the door.

       “Shall I deter any more from entering, Estel?” the Elf asked.

       “There is little point, I suppose,” the King replied.  “Berenion will probably be in here as well in a moment.  As what I had expected to learn will eventually need to be known by him, I suppose I should simply wait until he comes in.  He should have his own chair, though.  He’d not take well to sitting on a bench with others, I suspect.”

       One of the Elves went out and returned with a chair which he set somewhat apart from the rest, and they waited.  The door opened once more, and indeed Berenion entered, accompanied by two women and a younger Man from his party.  He looked about the room, then at the King, who nodded at the chair.  He and the three with him gave abbreviated bows, and he moved to take the chair while the others seated themselves on one of the taller benches.

       One of the Hobbits spoke.  “I suppose that if you did not desire onlookers, Lord Aragorn, we could leave again--if you wish, that is.  However, as this one injured one of my family, I ought to hear what he has to say.”

       “No, Master Saradoc, you and Thain Paladin indeed have every reason to need to hear what is said.  Nor do I ordinarily wish to keep such business totally private.  I had simply wished to keep my preliminary interview more informal, is all, and carry out a deeper, more formal one should we come to the need of it.

       “You have already heard in the questioning done of the rest of this ones company that there have been poor harvests in Angmar for the past two years, and that having been unable to stage effective raids on our farmsteads and lands the war leaders of Angmar have decided to foment war between our two peoples instead; and that the word has gone out that we practice atrocities such as giving the bodies of children and the elderly to the Eagles as a form, I suppose, of what must be believed to be tribute.”

       “I must say,” another of the older Hobbits said, “that Sam was most offended by that idea.”

       “As well he might be,” the King replied.  “Rarely have the great Eagles had dealings with the other races of Middle Earth; but ever when they have done so they have taken the part of the Children of Iluvatar against the creatures of Morgoth and Sauron.”

       “So it was,” the Dwarf said, “when they rescued my father’s company when they were returning to the Lonely Mountain with Bilbo and Gandalf, and when they joined the Battle of the Five Armies against the goblins and wargs of the Misty Mountains.”

       “So it has ever been,” said the Elf who sat by the door.  “They have ever served the needs of the creatures of the Creator and those under the protection of the Valar.  They themselves are among the Children of Iluvatar.”

       “More closely, perhaps, than we ourselves,” agreed the King.  He turned to Sestor.  “You have heard such tales told on us, have you not?”

       “Yes, mighty Lord, I have been told them.  Perdenon of our company told us he saw that and more when he was sent south to fight under the Lord of the Nazgul.”

       “I will tell you this--on hearing the truth of the matter, the Man Perdenon stepped forward to ask our pardon for bearing false witness against us.  We are impressed by his sense of honor in this.  He would not, however, break his sword.”

       “No, he would not.  His father is one of the war leaders among the peoples of the Eastern vales.”

       “Is he the heir to his father?”

       “No, he has three elder brothers.”

       “I see.”

       “How was it precisely Avrigien earned death?”

       “Several in your company broke their swords.  Then he indicated he would do likewise, and he stepped forward.  However, his attitude to that point had not been such that indicated he truly meant to do so, and we watched him carefully.  He made great show of examining the remaining swords that lay on the table before our Lord Steward Faramir here--” and with a nod indicated the younger of the two Stewards, “--picked up one of them and made a move to kill Faramir.  Hardorn had moved forward with him, and he, Pippin--” he indicated the Hobbit warrior, “--and I had our swords interposed ere he could complete the stroke.  I reminded him that taking up a sword under false purposes and seeking to do violence against one who has not done injury to him is punishable by death among your people, and had him pronounce his own doom.”

       “Who beheaded him?”

       The King looked at him dispassionately.  “I did.”

       Sestor was impressed.  “It was far greater honor than he deserved, mighty Lord.”

       “Perhaps.”  The King dropped his eyes.  Sestor realized that, great warrior as this one was reputed to be, the taking of life in cold blood did not sit well with him, even if it was deserved.

       Lord Berenion cleared his throat.  “So, this is why you were delayed and did not arrive here before we did?”

       “Yes,” the King responded.

       “You could have allowed Hardorn to do this for you, or Halladan....”

       “Or Faramir or Elphir, or any among my own guard.  There was no point to that.”

       “Why not?  You are not by nature a Man of violence, my Lord.”

       “For all I have been schooled in it from my earliest days?”

       “You were equally schooled in healing also from the same time, were you not?  And ever it has been as healer you have served the gladder.”

       It was the golden-haired Elf who sat by the door who spoke next.  “For those who bear the King’s Gift as does Estel here, it matters little who delivers the blow.  He sought only to relieve the others of the shared guilt while proving himself of greater honor in the end than the one whose death had been earned.”  He straightened.  “I suspect that one was somewhat relieved that his end came at the King’s hands and not those of one he would see as a minion.”

       “And so it was” agreed the King.

       Sestor felt reassured.  “I believe I understand, mighty Lord.  What questions did you wish to ask me?” 

       The King’s questions were well thought out.  Who had been at the heart of the plan to foment the war?  Who had chosen Avrigien as captain of the enterprise?  Who had chosen the others?  Who would best benefit by war between Angmar and Arnor?  What kind of farms now lay upon the borderlands?  What districts supported the plan for war most strongly?  What had their harvests been like?  What did Sestor see as what they stood to gain by their support of the enterprise?  Who were the civil leaders in these districts, and who were the war leaders?  What were the relations between  war leaders and civil leaders?  What were the conditions the farmers lived under?  What kind of literacy did the land have?  How many had taken part in the war of the Ring?  The more questions the King asked, the more Sestor found himself admiring the fine mind behind them.  The others also began adding their own questions, most of them, the archer realized, quite astute.  He did not hold back in his answers, and answered as honestly as he could.  He realized that, in the end, this King Elessar would treat his people far more positively than did those in leadership in his own land; that he would not shrink from war, but neither would he rush into it for the supposed glory of it.

       The younger of the two golden-haired Elves, whose arrow had pierced his arm, asked, “The day we took you, you drew away from Aragorn’s ministrations at first, accusing him of using spells on you.  Why do you cooperate so today?”

       Sestor took a deep breath and thought on his answer.  “Sam-Dad said the words sung were not spells but prayers, a word I do not understand; but clearly he sees a great difference between the two.  He fed me rightly for one who has eaten but little for days before.  He spoke courteously to me, and with a degree of respect I had not yet earned.  The effect of the words of the song sung by the mighty King were not as those sung by our grey and black healers, for what pain it caused was clean and a necessary part of healing and no more; mostly what was felt was easing of pain and fear.  The stitching of my wound was in truth gentle; and although the small healer gave me the strap to bite upon I barely needed it, for I felt concern for my well being in the hands of he who stitched me, which ought not to be if you were as we were told.  All who have dealt with me and the wound I bear treated me with equal respect, which again ought not to be if your people were as we have been told.

       “I have seen trust and love shown for your king, and not fear.  I have seen concern felt for his welfare, not due to the fear of chaos which would follow if he were  slain, but due to the regard with which all hold for him.  This is all opposite of what we were told.

       “Things in my land are not good now.  We have had two lean years, and although not all parts if the land were equally struck, we are told many will die if we don’t war with Arnor.  Yet, many will die if we do war with Arnor, and probably more than if we did not.  To learn we have been told lies about the nature of your land and people and King has caused me to question my orders, and so I will not do more than I have.”

       The Southern Steward, the one named Faramir, shook himself slightly.  “I still fail to understand,” he addressed the King, “why they sent such as this one and the others who have proven honorable in this enterprise, and under such a leader.  Even those who would not break their swords have all acted as if they trust you implicitely, my Lord Aragorn, and are willing to lose their sword hands at your command, as if they know they will not lose more than that.”

       The other Steward turned to him.  “Did you know most of those who came in this group?” he asked.  “Did most of you know one another?”

       “I knew Godro and Herrstein, with whom I entered the cursed place.  Herrstein was a foul one from the same district as I, one whose reputation was such all wished him gone.  But Godro was well beloved by all.  We were told it was an honor to be chosen to go on this mission, but to come under Avrigien and alongside such as Herrstein and Portlas?  What honor is there in such?  Avrigien has ever sought to prove himself among the great, but by forcing his Men to do what he commanded rather than through clear thinking.  Portlas was one of those who had always hung on Genderol, who was Chief of the war leaders for many years; but since Genderol’s death and the coming of Mertirio to Genderol’s place, he has tried several times through whispered words to undermine Mertirio’s leadership and that of those who have supported him.  He is not a good Man, Portlas; he is not to be trusted.  He will seek to see you stabbed in the back, but by others than himself, others he has set into play through his whisperings.

       “I doubt many of us knew one another before we were sent on this mission, however.  Yet I found most to be good Men to serve alongside.”

       Faramir still appeared confused, but the King and the Northern Steward were suddenly sharing looks.  “Interesting,” the Lord Elessar commented, “that all those on this mission were highly honorable and principled Men, save three; two of the unprincipled are highly ambitious and even fanatical, one of those capable of making things difficult for those who are now in control within the land; and the last one of them all being one all would wish gone.”

       Berenion nodded agreement.  “I see the pattern, Aragorn.  There is none so undesirable among those who would use and abuse their own people as principled Men capable of taking leadership, save for those whose incompetence or ambition threaten to alert others as to the coming abuse.”  

       The King’s expression hardened.  “Yes--all of the seventeen who were good Men were seen as expendable by those who sent them.  If they succeeded in their given purpose, well and good for those who remain in Angmar, for they see themselves as having weakened us.  If not, then seventeen who might have objected to abuses at least are gone, and three worse than themselves are no longer personal threats.”  He straightened.  “I have a thought to reverse somewhat my rulings for those who would not break their swords.”  He suddenly began to smile, a rather feral smile that surprised Sestor, although in looking at those who watched he saw that the small bearded one called Ruvemir was looking on his King with an expression of recognition.  “I will think on it, Halladan, and discuss it with Hardorn and my brothers.  Elladan and Elrohir will have welcome suggestions, I am certain.” 

       The King turned to Sestor.  “You appear to have been the only archer chosen for this mission.”

       “Yes, mighty Lord, I was.

       “And you appear highly skilled.”

       “Yes, mighty Lord, I am considered one of the best in my land.”

       One who sat nearby said, “Did not Landrion of Umbar seek to employ one who could slay you with one well-placed arrow?”

       The King nodded.  “I make a better target for such here in the wilds than I do in the capitol or in the lands surrounding it, of course.  And those who sent these against us recognized the potential here against Halladan and myself.”  Again he thought for a time, finally looking back into the eyes of the archer with a calculating look.  “It appears you are the only one who was truly expected to be effective, and all of you were seen as desirably expendable.  I’ve a mind to give your war leaders something unexpected to think on.  Yes, Berenion, Halladan, Faramir, Glorfindel--we will think this night on how to disconcert the war leaders of Angmar, and discuss it tomorrow evening after the conference.  Gentlemen?”

       There were similar looks of calculation and even a few more feral smiles as all gave mutual nods.  The one taking notes on the interview capped his ink and lay blotting paper over his records.  It appeared that for the time the questioning was over.

Extraction

      Eregiel and one of the Rangers who was going off patrol accompanied the five who’d broken their swords North to the estate where Eregiel had lived now for many years. There four of the Angmarians would remain while Eregiel and the remaining soldier went north to bring out the familes of himself and the one other who was married, and the sister of a third.  Eregiel’s mother greeted her son and guests with pleasure and the two hounds with more, and those who worked on the estate and with the kennel treated all with respect.  Along the way the three whose families would be brought out were questioned closely, the ways to their homes discussed and rehearsed at length, the family members to be extracted from Angmar described in detail.  And at last Eregiel came up with a plan for getting them out.

      The one to accompany Eregiel was named Crispos, and his home was the furthest from the border.  He admitted he and his family had a pair of oxen and an ox cart, which could be helpful in carrying those they sought closer to the border.  He had four children, all of them small; the walk to the border would be too difficult for them to support, although to get them across it at the last they would have to abandon the cart and animals near it, most likely.

      After resting the night they set off, slipped across the border at a site the guards of Arnor had identified as little patrolled, and for two days they went North unimpeded.  On the third day they came to an area where they had to take the road, and here Eregiel surprised his companion mightily.  “I will never pass as one from Angmar, although I know your tongue well enough.  Bind my arms behind me and take my sword, and let me appear to be your prisoner; let it be known to those who question you that I was taken as a slave.  In this way none is likely to question you overmuch.”

      That Eregiel agreed to allow Crispos to carry his sword impressed the Angmarian; that he trusted him to follow through on the ruse even moreso.  The plan worked indeed, and soon they were north of the heavily traveled area, where Crispos quickly untied his companion and restored his weapon.

*******

      Margit worried for the return of her husband.  She was not certain precisely why they had chosen Crispos for this assault South into Arnor, but she did not have a good feeling about it.  As soon as the reports came that the twenty of them were south into Arnor, Bellor, headman for the village, had come to see her, and had looked on her with an expression she’d not liked, as if he intended in time to take possession of her.  But his expression regarding the farmhouse and its contents had disturbed her even more, as if it were all his; and the next day he’d had his own beasts moved to the fields where Crispos had planned to pasture the cattle he’d hoped to purchase with the funds he’d husbanded away for the past four years.

      That day five of Bellor’s folks had gone through the byre and begun to measure out how it might be extended to house Bellor’s cattle.  There could be no question Bellor saw the property now as his.  But if he expected Crispos to come back he’d never do such things.  No, Bellor did not expect Crispos to return, obviously.  Margit quietly retrieved the funds she and Crispos had hidden in the well, sewed the hard-won coins into the hems of the children’s clothing, and tried to think of how she would get them away from this place.

      She’d just turned out the lamp and settled into bed, worries tumbling through her mind like leaves lifted by one of the circular winds that blew across the flats, when she heard the bar lifted.  Shocked, she rose quickly and picked up the staff she and Crispos had always kept leaning by the bed.  As quietly as possible she crept to the door, which was creaking open.  She readied the weapon when she heard a whisper she’d not expected to hear again.  “Margit, heart of mine, it is me.  Put down the cudgel that we might come in, but don’t light a lamp.”

      Shocked even more, she’d straightened and stepped back, and in a moment two shapes slipped in through the door, closing and barring it behind them.  Crispos took her into his arms with a fierce pleasure, then was whispering introductions, indicating he was there to take her and the children to safety.

      Bellor had taken the oxen three days previously, but the ox cart and the goat cart were both there.  Should they steal one or more of Bellor’s beasts to pull the larger one?  Crispos went out to survey the situation, and the Arnorian remained in the house with her, helped her clothe the children, and she was certain felt the weight of the coins in the hems, although he said nothing.  She took the babe and nursed it, wrapped the others in blankets, got together some supplies and water bottles, and waited for Crispos to return.  She heard the sound of muffled harness, and soon she was opening the door to admit him. 

      “I’ve harnessed two of Bellor’s beasts, for he brought his own ox team here with the rest, and they are finer even then ours.  A fair exchange, don’t you think, Margit?”  She’d smiled fiercely at that, and pulled still another blanket about herself.  She carried the babe to the cart, whose back he’d filled with hay.  He helped her in and she lay down with the babe, and he and the one from Arnor carried the other three out, laid them beside her, and suggested all go back to sleep as quickly as possible.  Then Crispos and the other carefully brought the food, and Crispos mounted the box while the one from Arnor walked by the heads of the oxen, and they began the journey West and then South.

*******

      Garitsa was also anxious, for no word had come for weeks as to what had become of her husband.  She knew from the beginning that this was no honor.  Never had Dentrero, his commander, liked him, for Velkor had often questioned Dentrero’s commands.  No, this had been no honor for all of Dentrero’s words.  She did not think any in this group was expected to return, in fact.

      It was near sunset that an oxcart turned up the lane to their farm.  Was this a family intended to replace that of Velkor and Garitsa on the land? she wondered.  Very probably, and most likely someone close to Dentrero, someone Dentrero sought to make beholden to himself.  She felt a rising fury and hopelessness take her.

      The one driving was of Angmar, but the one walking by the head of the oxen was not, and she was surprised.  Surely this one was of the Southlands!  But what was he doing here? 

      A woman slid out of the back of the oxcart and came to her, a move she’d certainly not expected.  She walked stiffly, as if she’d ridden quite a time and with little change of position.

      “My name is Margit.  My Man there was one of those sent south with your Velkor.  Velkor was taken by those of Arnor almost two weeks past, and has broken his sword.”

      Garitsa was stricken.  “Broken his sword?  What could cause him to do such a thing?”

      The woman who called herself Margit shrugged.  “My husband tells me he has stood before the King of Arnor and Gondor and has found him an honorable Man, and that much which had been told them has proven untrue.  He, too, has broken his sword, and they have come to bring us to them in the Southlands where we might live safe.  Certainly if I’d stayed on our farm longer Bellor would have claimed me and my children soon, probably would have made them little better than slaves.”

      Within a half hour Garitsa and those few goods she would take with her were also in the cart, and they were on the road.  Later in the morning they found themselves traveling with a number of other carts to a cattle sale in the Southern reaches.  None questioned them at all, or the dirty Arnorian slave who walked by the head of the ox team.  They traveled with the group for two days, and followed them into the area where the carts were to be left.  The guard for the lot was struck on the head not long after the parties entered the area where the sale took place, and one of the oxcarts and its team was stolen.  When the farmer who’d driven it came back for the food his wife had packed for the day he was most upset with the loss.  He and his wife and her sister and their children were forced to walk back home, so disheartened at the loss of this sign of prosperity they did not stay for the rest of the sale.

      A half mile away Eregiel had the cart hidden in an abandoned byre, and together they loaded the two women and four children back into the cart, along with the extra food Margit had purchased.

*******

      Andrada was finishing up the feeding of the goats when a woman she did not know entered the byre.  Fifteen minutes later she went into the house and quietly wrapped a few items in one of her brother’s cloaks, bound it with one of his belts, and carried it out the back door and through the woodlot, where Garitsa awaited her.  By the end of the day they were near the border with Arnor.  Watching to make certain there were no patrols from Angmar to be seen, but that one from Arnor was in sight, Eregiel signed for them to cross the border.

      “Halt!” called the captain of the guard troop, and several aimed their bows at the party.

      “They are mostly women and children, my Lord,” commented one of the Rangers, not lowering his bow for that.

      “And one Ranger, Gonthor,” called out the one who had appeared to be a slave at the head of the team of oxen.  “Valandion, is there a place we can stay the night?  I’ve been in Angmar on the King’s business, and these are his guests in Arnor.”

      Within four days they were back in Bree, and the oxcart was on its way back north, carrying a coffin and the remains of several broken swords.

Bound in Love

       The conference on security of borders and coinage went on for three days, and Sestor found himself allowed to wander from room to room freely.  Neither the Elves nor the Dwarves attending acknowledged the King’s authority to hold over themselves, but all the Men did; yet they all were clearly expecting this conference to assist in defining borders more clearly and developing proper procedures to be followed in approaching another people’s lands or for dealing with trespassers.  They were also discussing coinage and how each would compare to the King’s coinage, which was becoming the standard for all within Gondor and Arnor, and for lands beyond as well. 

       The Hobbits were involved, Sestor noted, in all the business of the conference, and were listened to with respect by all participants.  Their history of stable government and prosperity for their entire population was repeatedly cited by the King’s own people as an example of how things could be for the rest if they would work on cooperating instead of remaining suspicious of their neighbors.  The two taller Hobbit warriors, he learned, were the sons of two of the leaders of their people, one whose title was Master and one the Thain.  All four of these as well as their wives were involved  in a variety of discussions and debates, and the Angmarian realized the two sons were being groomed to follow their fathers when the time came.  The solemn Hobbit was called “Sam” by his own people, “Sam-Dad” by his daughter, but always was addressed as “Lord Samwise” or “Lord Perhail” by those of other races, who treated him with the utmost deference and honor.  He seemed to be most interested in questions of forestry and fields and gardens, and the archer realized that even his own people consulted his expertise when quoting figures to others or discussing ways to increase harvests without overwhelming the land.  He was also consistently involved in discussions of education, at first asking questions of the leaders from other lands, then answering questions regarding what were called the Shire schools.

        The one known as Ruvemir, who plainly was not one of the Hobbits, spent a great deal of time with the Elves, always with at least one of the youths who accompanied him and one or more of his large books open before him, busy apparently writing--until late the second day Sestor realized he was not writing, but instead was drawing.  He had several Elves posing on horseback in one of the courtyards at the time, and both he and the youth were working at reproducing the manner in which they sat their animals as well as the look of the horses themselves. The Elves appeared both amused and flattered, and looked at his drawings after with interest. 

       “You are far better with the forms of Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Periannath than you are with those of beasts, Master Sculptor,” one commented.

       “Yes, I am well aware, which was why I asked my friend Bergemon to assist me.  With him it is the other way about.  However, with the illness that struck his mother he has been delayed, and will not be able to join me until I return to Bree, most like.”  He applied a ball of gum to one of the offending lines and sought to redo it aright.

       Another of his books lay nearby, and one of those watching leafed through it with interest, then paused with a distinct look of approval.  “You have caught Estel very well here,” he commented.

       The artist gave a distracted look sideways at the picture angled toward him, one of the King seated, dressed in the figured robe and crowned with the circlet set with the great jewel, nodded, then turned his attention back to his current drawing.  “Yes, the other evening when questioning Master Sestor there.”  He made a vague gesture with his head in the archer’s direction.  “Lord Aragorn is a fascinating subject to capture, I find.”

       “This one will not be of much use in completing the Dúnedain’s commission.”

       “No, but I think it will do well for the basis for a figure to be done for Annúminas in the future.”

       The Elf looked at him with interest.  “You have been approached about working on the new Citadel being built there?”

       The artist smiled complacently.  “No, not yet.”

       Another Elf laughed.  “He is confident of the value others will place on his work.”

       The one looking through the book of drawings shrugged eloquently.  “And well he might be.  The work he has done in Minas Anor and Casistir is certainly well worthy.”

       The artist sighed.  “I think that this is as much of an insult to the rendering of beautiful horseflesh as I wish to do today.”  He closed the booklet and uncapped a holder into which he placed gum and drawing stick, closed it again, then thrust the holder into a pocket in his surcoat.

       “Here, Master,” the youth said, presenting his own booklet for evaluation.

       All examined it with interest and growing respect.  Ruvemir’s face lit with satisfaction and delight.  “Here, Celebgil, you clearly outshine me.  This is a fine depiction of the Elves’ steeds.  I am most impressed.”  The youth’s face lit with pleasure at this praise.

       “Do you have the model for the Dúnedain’s commission completed?” asked another of those present as he brushed his horse’s already gleaming coat.

       “Almost.  I have yet Lord Boromir’s figure to complete, and that of the pony Bill.”

       “An even tempered animal, Bill is.”

       Ruvemir smiled.  “A fit steed for the Lord Samwise.”

       His wife came out, obviously in search of him.  “There you are, then, my love.  They tell me that the evening meal will be ready in a quarter mark, and you will need to wash and change.”

       “I will be there in a moment only, Elise.  How are you feeling today?”

       “Very well.  I am so well coddled I think this child will be most contented when born.”

       “Well enough, then.”  Ruvemir made it to his feet, accepted the cane handed him by one of the Elves, and walked back alongside his wife, their free hands entwined, the youth carrying the sketch booklets as he looked on his master and mistress with an expression of indulgence.

*******

       That evening Sestor went out on one of the balconies overlooking the vale, and spied the Hobbit Brendilac and the Hobbit woman who cared for him, walking in the garden below him.  As they approached he could hear much of their talk.

       “...was so worried for you,” the woman was saying.

       “It was more than a bit of a shock for me as well, Narcissa,” he replied.  “And to be hurt so seriously twice in a matter of less than two months....”

       “I know,” she said.  “Fosco was so frantic after Bedro beat and kicked you.”  After a pause she added, “And I felt that way this time.”

       He stopped and looked at her.  “Do you love me, Narcissa, do you think?”

       She looked at his face searchingly.  “I think I do, Brendi.”

       He looked down.  “I know I’m coming to care for you in a way I’d never thought I could again since Merilinde died.”

       She gave a shrug.  “I’m not Merilinde.”

       He gave a short laugh.  “And I’m not Frodo.”

       “I don’t care for you as I did Frodo, Brendi; I care for you as...as I care for you.”

       He leaned forward to kiss her, and the kiss began to grow in passion.  Quietly, Sestor slipped back into the room behind the balcony to give them privacy.

*******

       A discussion was going on behind closed doors about how to answer the threat posed by Angmar.  Aragorn had included Hardorn, Halladan, Berenion, Gilfileg, Peregrin and Paladin Took, Faramir and Eowyn, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Gimli, Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir Peredhil, Glorfindel, two others of the Dwarves, and two others from lands east of the Misty Mountains in the discussion.  At times the suggestions bordered upon the absurd, but at last Aragorn gave the others a nod.  “We will have already given them something to think on, with the disappearance of three families followed by the return of Avrigien’s body and a number of broken swords.  And those from Bree who know for certain what became of the group are here in Rivendell and can tell them nothing if they send to inquire.  On our return we will....”

       All laughed as the King’s plan unfolded.  “It will definitely confuse them all,” Gilfileg commented, taking a pull at his flagon of ale.

       The eyes of Elrohir shone with anticipation.  “We will enjoy this one, little brother,” he said, smiling.

       Peregrin Took laughed.

*******

       In the morning Narcissa Boffin and Brendilac Brandybuck arrived late at the breakfast served, and both kept looking at the King where he sat by the Queen and Barliman Butterbur.  The twins were watching them with interest, and Sestor found himself doing the same.  Noting the focus of attention, Ruvemir of Lebennin found his own interest caught, and so the interest began to spread as two and three at a time the company found their attention drawn to the Hobbit couple midway down the right side of the room.  Finally the Lord King Elessar himself asked the question all by this time desired to know the answer to. 

       “Is there ought I can do for you this day, Master Brandybuck, Mistress Boffin?”

       The two of them were flushing deeply, but with as much dignity as he could manage, Brendilac addressed him.  “My beloved Lord King, we were wondering if you would do us a great favor....”

       The King continued to look on them courteously, although those close to his side noted the glimmer of humor in his eye indicating he had an idea as to what was desired, but intended to see those making the petition make their declarations unaided.

       As Brendi found his mouth had dried and he couldn’t speak further, Narcissa gave him a look of mixed indulgence and frustration, and continued on.  “We were wondering, Sire, if you would--if you would marry us.”

       Forsythia Baggins gave a whoop of triumph, then turned red herself.  There were a number of pleased smiles all around the tables as Hobbits and those who’d come to know the two of them over the past few weeks shared the general feeling of satisfaction and anticipation.  The Lady Arwen beamed, and the King’s expression was at one and the same time pleased and gentle.  “If it is acceptable with Thain and Master,” he said quietly, “it would be my honor.  When would you desire this to occur?”

       Brendilac straightened.  “As we are to leave tomorrow afternoon, we thought perhaps this evening?  If it isn’t too rushed?”

       Merry laughed.  “The two of you have stayed under the same roof since Brendi was beaten by Beasty Bracegirdle, and you think things are rushed?”  Both flushed furiously, and the King laughed loud and long.

       After a quick word from his wife, the King schooled his expression, and turned gravely to Brendi and Narcissa.  “I believe that would be acceptable, Master Brendi, Mistress Narcissa.  And we know there has been no impropriety in your relationship, no matter what Merry has implied.”   Merry, however, did not look particularly abashed.

       Lord Hardorn cleared his throat.  “Speaking of marriages...”

       Aragorn looked at him with interest.  “Yes, Cousin?”

       “As long as you and our beloved Lady Arwen have been throwing eligible young ladies my way, Gilorien and I decided that perhaps we might save me further embarrassment by asking you to marry us, also.”

       Again the King laughed, and all laughed with him.  He turned to one of the two women who’d accompanied Berenion.  “This would please you, my lady?”  

       She smiled.  “Please me?  At least your introductions in Minas Anor have finally pushed him to ask me.  I’ve waited long and long.”

       “A double wedding, then--unless, Gilfileg...?”

       “Aragorn, let me have the dignity of seeking her out yet!  Although perhaps we will come down to Minas Anor in a few months’ time for you to see it done--if her father does not force me to use his services.”

       Lord Berenion smiled as he shook his head.  “Am not certain just what my brother will demand of you, Gilfileg.  I doubt you’ll pry him out of his hold to go South, though, even for Lirieth’s marriage to you--although it may be worth a try.”

       The King’s eyes sparkled with pleasure.  “Well, a double wedding, then.  Master Brendilac, it is not exactly appropriate that you prepare your own marriage contract.  Is there another who might be called upon to do this?”

       “Yes, my Lord--Isumbard is also accepted to write contracts.”

       “Very good.  And I will gladly write the one for Gilorien and Hardorn.  Now, my friends, we must finish with the day’s business if we wish to enjoy the evening’s festivities.”

*******

       The last of the meetings was done at midafternoon, at which time the place became a hive of activity.  Narcissa and Gilorien were whisked off by the Queen and her ladies, attended by Mistresses Esmeralda and Eglantine and Forsythia.  Berenion’s elder daughter Gloringilien was laughing as she helped hang greenery from the ceiling in the Hall of Fire and about the door, while Rosie and Sam, aided by the Elves, filled the room with banks of flowers carefully arranged, and Lady Avrieth watching over Melian and Rosie-Lass as they carefully examined individual blossoms.

       The King himself had agreed to take several of the menfolk of several races on a tour of Rivendell, although Frodo-Lad, Elanor, Drogo Smallfoot, and Piper had made themselves part of the party.  As he opened one door, he announced, “This was my room when I was but a child.  My mother’s room was the next over.  In my eleventh summer I was given a room closer to the Lord Elrond and my brothers.  I’ve not been within this room for many years.  Elladan here told me that this was the room for himself and Elrohir when they, too, were small.”  The Elf nodded his acknowledgement.

       The room was large and certainly comfortable, with two low beds, a single low desk, and a line of shelves fitted mostly with books written in a variety of tongues, but also some toys and puzzles, as well as specimens of rocks, leaves carefully preserved, and various other oddments picked up years ago.  On the wall hung a faded drawing of two boys together leading out horses from what those who had been there identified as the stables for Rivendell, done obviously by a child.  “Is that of Elladan and Elrohir, then?” asked Faramir.

       Aragorn’s eyes had softened, looking at it.  “No, I did that.  It was of my brother and myself.”

       “Your brother?” asked Paladin Took.

       “My imaginary brother,” the tall Man amended.  “Actually, I had two imaginary brothers, one whom I rather grandly named Gil-galadrion and the other Anorahil.  Gil-galadrion was my own imaginary twin brother, and Anorahil was our younger one.  I felt very left out, after all, knowing that Adar had been a twin and having Elladan and Elrohir as brothers and them being twins also, being the one singleton in the family.  I wanted to give that status to another.
 
       “Gil-galadrion was to be the romantic one of the three of us, the one who was most Elvish, who had curls where my hair but waved, whose eyes shone with starlight, as I was to learn was true of Arwen and the Lady Galadriel.  He would be the one gifted with song and poetry and with the gift of dancing.  He spoke many languages, learning them with ease where I must oft labor over the learning of them.  He would have a heart swift to understanding and caring, who would understand the movement of the stars and the voices of the trees.

       “Anorahil would be the creature of the daylight that Gil-galadrion would be of the evening, would laugh most loudly in the sunlight, who would find the hiding places of the small creatures that fascinated me.  He would have the love of the land that my Elven brothers had, but it would be more practically focused.  He would teach me how to find my way through the dark woods by bringing light into them, would dispel my often foolish fears by the shining of his intellect on them.  It was odd--Gil-galadrion and I were to be the elder and twins, but Anorahil  would still often in my imaginings chide me as an older brother would, correcting my misconceptions, pointing out the errors in my logic.

       “I often made up stories about what we did together; but as I grew older they were more often about the two of them, for I wound about the reality of my isolation as a child the idea that they were often away on errantry, doing marvelous things while I must work day to day on learning to wield a blade, to bend a bow, to identify herbs and their qualities, to know the histories of the Edain and the Dúnedain, the Elves and Dwarves, Númenor and Gondor and Arnor and Rohan and Angmar.  But I also dreamt of the days when we, especially Gil-galadrion and I, would ride together.  Sometimes my desire for companionship was so great, I felt the two of them were indeed real, only just out of sight and reach.”

       Elladan had gone very still.  “This is very strange,” he said.

       “What is strange?”

       “That you and your mother should both think of you having brothers....”

       “I do not understand.”

       “As we were cleaning out Adar’s room, we found your mother’s journal in it.  Neither Elrohir nor I have read it thoroughly, but in it she wrote of the sons she hoped to have.  Let me go and get it for you.  It is only right that you should have it.”  He straightened and left the room.  The rest looked at one another in question.  After a few minutes Elladan returned, carrying a thick book bound in calfskin dyed the green of the sage bush, embossed in silver with seven stars and a tree, chipped and dulled from years of wear. 

       Aragorn gently ran his finger over it, then opened it to the earliest entries and scanned them.  Pippin slipped up beside him and looked at it.  “I can’t read it,” he said, quietly. 

       “No, it is in Adunaic,” Aragorn said softly.  “This entry was written just after my father asked for her hand in marriage.  Her father disapproved, for he felt she was too young.  She speaks of the disagreement between her parents over the prospect of marriage, of the foresight of both that my father would most likely not live long.”  He turned the page, scanned the next page, then several more.  Then he paused, reread a page more carefully, went onto the next.  “She has written of the preparation for their marriage, the choosing of a place for her to dwell, the gathering of the goods she would take with her into the marriage, her happiness, the way...the way his smile filled her heart, the touch of his hand made her rejoice.”  There was a tenderness in his eyes. 

       He scanned a few more pages, then stopped, his head lifted.  “She has had a dream of the sons she will bear, one to be King, the other two to assist him in his labors.”  He began to translate slowly.

       “‘Three brothers did I see, two of them twins, but not almost identical as are the sons of the Lord Elrond Peredhil.  The older two will be dark haired, one with the grey eyes of the Dúnedain. the other with eyes the color of the summer sky.  He with the grey eyes will be the heir, and to my beloved lord husband I must give the naming of him as is right for the heir of Isildur and Arvedui.  But I will name the others, and for the second I have chosen the name Gilorhael, for he will reflect always the wisdom of the stars.  He shall have laughter where his brother shall know the burden of leadership.  He shall help his brother to know delight.  He shall hear the voice of Iluvatar within his heart.  He will help his brother to come to the Kingship.

       “‘The third will have lighter hair, similar to that of my cousin Rahael.  And he will be the anchor to both his older brethren, the one to bring their awareness away from the lure of the evening to the joy of day.  An old soul do I see in him, my third son to be, solemn but full of the joy of life nonetheless.  I will call him Anorhael.’”

       All remained quite still for some moments as they considered what the lady Gilraen had written, as they compared them to Aragorn’s own imaginings as a child.  Finally Saradoc Brandybuck swallowed, then said, “This is indeed rather remarkable, isn’t it, my Lord King?”

       Aragorn nodded.  His face had become very still and thoughtful.  At last he began skimming through the book.  At last he paused.  “Here is the notation that she is certain that she has indeed conceived, and that she is positive that indeed she bears twin brothers.”  He paged through now more slowly.  Then he stopped, went through several pages, then turned back to them and read them thoroughly, his face reflecting pain.  “She is worried, for something is troubling her  pregnancy.  My father is on campaign along the Misty Mountains, and has been gone for two months.  She is apparently about five months along at this point.  Here, just comments she has begun to spot blood.  She is fearing a miscarriage.”

       He again read on, then stopped.  “She lost one of the babes, and definitely a son,” he said quietly.  “The midwife who attended her gave her herbs to try to help her retain it, but she lost it anyway.  She has been made to take to her bed to help her retain the other child.  She has forbidden those who have attended on her to tell anyone she bore twins at the first, that she has lost one.  She is certain that it is the one intended to be born second.”

       Elladan moved behind him, read over his shoulder.  Finally he commented, “I’d not read this, Estel.”  His eyes carefully ran over the page.  “See how her writing has changed--as if she has lost some of the lightness of heart she once bore.”

       Saradoc Brandybuck, whose wife had suffered miscarriages, looked up into the Elf’s face.  “You do lose much of your joy when you lose a child, my lord Elladan.  Esmeralda and I--it took so much out of us, losing the ones before Merry was born.  And Primula--she was absolutely devastated each time she lost one.  It makes the ones who survive that much the dearer.”

       The King continued reading the next few pages.  Finally he sighed.  “These are descriptions of the loss of the child, the attempt to retain the other.  Finally one two weeks later when they are certain she is no longer in danger of further miscarriage.  Then she apparently did not write in the journal for some months, until I was born.  She describes me, the birthing feast given, the grief she felt that it included so few--her brother Halbeleg, her cousin Rahael, Rahael’s brother-in-law Berenion who is beginning his training with the Rangers, his brother Galdorn--a few other names.”  He looked up.  “Berenion was captain of the troop to which I was first assigned and has always trained the new recruits--it is so odd to think of a time when he was himself just a new recruit.”

       “He’s the one who allowed the others to call you the Elven Princeling, then?” asked Ferdibrand.

       “Yes.”  The King smiled, then his smile faded.  “I had no idea--no idea I nearly had a brother....”

       “Could you perhaps have heard her discussing this when you were small, my Lord?” asked the Thain.

       “It is possible, I suppose.  However, I don’t remember any such talks.”  Again he paged slowly, then began skimming again, until something arrested his attention.  He backtracked, finally began to translate again.  “‘The dream of the sons I would bear has come again.  Something has caused me to lose Gilorhael, and so he will be born elsewhere, at a later time.  I am torn, for the hope of the Dúnedain, North and South, has been lost for now.  And my precious son of--son of starlight shall be borne by another, in a different land, different from what he was intended.  And my son Aragorn shall not know the completeness he was meant to know, having lost the brother who--who lay by his heart for so long.

       “‘Now I do not know if Anorhael will be born to me.  Oh, the grief of it, for all three are necessary to the hope of the Dúnedain--indeed for the hope of all the free peoples of Middle Earth.’”

       Again he skimmed through the book, finally paused once more.  He examined the date of an entry.  “A few weeks before my father’s death.  ‘I have conceived, I think.  Apparently Anorhael will be born to me after all, and Aragorn will be able to know one of his brothers.’  Then reports of orc incursions north and east, the word my father and three other troops have headed that direction.”  He turned more pages, then stopped.  “‘Word has come--my beloved Lord Husband has been slain.  Indeed, as was foretold, he has died young for one of our kindred.  Aragorn is barely two years of age, and creatures of evil seek us.  I see the Black Riders in my dreams, seeking to find Aragorn and me, to slay us and the child I carry.’”  His face was full of pain, and he did not translate anything for some time, although he was clearly reading it closely.  

       Then:  “‘I have constant dreams of the Eye, the Eye seeking for us, coming closer and closer to us.  There have been several attacks on strongholds near us, including one which Halbeleg had deliberately falsely identified as housing us.  We have found out one traitor among our people, and he has died the death as a result of his treachery.  How will we preserve the life of Aragorn and the one I bear?  I’ve told none that I have conceived a second time.  I must keep it secret, for if the Enemy learns, more strongly will he seek us.’

       “Then--then she speaks of the fever that spread throughout upper Eriador from Angmar, how it has killed twenty-two at last report.  Then--then the notation I have taken ill with the fever, the concern of all for my wellbeing.  Then, a day later, a note that I have become very, very ill indeed, that I have gone into unconsciousness, that one of the women who attended on us left the hall crying with grief that I’d died.

       “And here--‘Elrond Peredhil of Imladris has come to us to assist in the fighting of the fever.  He has assisted mightily, and many who were close to death have been saved through his intervention.  But he has given orders that the bodies of those who have died be burned rather than buried that the fever not spread further.’”

       He sighed as he ran his hand down the next two pages, then paused again.  “‘I became ill two nights ago, and again have lost the babe I bore.  I had borne it less than four months.  The Lord Elrond is very gentle with me.’  And here--here is the decision to allow the rumor started by the woman who had attended on my mother and myself that I was dead to stand uncorrected, and to bring the two of us to Imladris for my safety.  ‘The Lord Elrond has seen that I bore the two others who shared the burden of hope for the free peoples of Middle Earth, and that I have lost both.  He has foreseen, however, that Iluvatar will not allow their spirits to remain unborn, that He will see to it that they are born indeed to the needs of Middle Earth, but that now they must be born elsewhere, in other guise.  But my Aragorn--he is all of the hope for the world that I have been able to give to the Dúnedain, and so much of the dream of joy and beauty is now lost, must take a different turn, for the other two will come to their fullness later.  And so much of my joy is lost with them.  Will my small Estel, as he is to be known, ever understand why grief will lie with me ever?  Beloved lord and husband, so greatly hoped for and desired sons--all lost save for the one!  Ah, Aragorn, you alone of my hope and joy remain with me....’”

       Saradoc Brandybuck and his son stood side by side, their expressions almost identical.  They looked to one another, and finally Merry spoke.  "Then...then Frodo and Sam, perhaps....”

       Aragorn looked back at him, his face pale, yet with a look of triumph deep in his eyes.  “Then----  But, I’ve always felt as if they were my brothers, and especially Frodo....”

       Ferdi smiled.  “It might just explain why your Light and Frodo’s are identical, you know; and certainly Sam’s is appropriate to the names given by both you and your mother.  And even you thought of one of the others as the most Elvish of the three of you....”

       After a few minutes of contemplation, the King said solemnly, “I ask you all not to discuss this further, or with Sam, please.  I may one day discuss it with him, but perhaps I might not.  I’m not yet certain.  But I can understand why my naneth did not discuss it with me, or Adar either.  Although I do find it somehow comforting right now.”  He gave a gentle smile.  He looked up into Elladan’s eyes.  “I thank you, my brother, for giving this to me. It indeed assists me to understand Naneth better.”

       He went to the picture on the wall, then gently removed it; went to a box sitting on a shelf and took it up.  He opened it and slipped the picture and the journal into it, then placed under his arm.

*******

       About a half an hour before the evening meal all gathered in the Hall of Fire.  The King stood wearing a robe of dark blue embroidered with seven stars on the left side and a white tree on the right, the Star of Elendil on his brow.  On a table near them lay two documents, bottles of red and black ink, two pens, and a stick of black sealing wax in front of a glowing candle.  Over the King’s arm were draped two cords, both carefully woven of threads, it seemed, of all colors.  The two bridegrooms, Brendilac dressed in a deep maroon, Lord Hardorn in rich purple and silver, both with wreaths of green on their heads, came together, matching their paces together, to stand before him, Halladan and Faramir and Berenion beside Hardorn; Meriadoc, Berilac, and Isumbard beside Brendilac.  Paladin Took and Saradoc Brandybuck stepped forward to stand on either side of the King, who looked down on them, smiling before turning his own gaze back to the two bridegrooms.  

       The Queen and the Lady Mirieth raised the marriage song, and the door to the room opened, allowing the entrance of the Lady Gilmorien and Narcissa, each crowned with flowers, the lady in a long gown of softest green attended by her sister Gloringilien, the Lady Éowyn, and Lady Avrieth; Narcissa in a soft gold adorned with flowers and ears of wheat in white and darker gold accompanied by Estella, Diamond, and Forsythia, her arm under the elbow of Fosco.  And so they came to stand by their bridegrooms, eyes meeting, hearts beating faster as the two voices rose in glory and beauty and were joined by the voices of Elladan and Elrohir of Imladris, singing in joy.

       At last the King spoke.  “Behold, this day are come before all present two couples desiring each to be wed to the other, to be handfasted one to the other, to bind themselves one to the other and to cleave one to the other from this day forward.  Is there any who can show any reason why Hardorn of Arnor and Gondor should not marry Gilmorien of Arnor, or why Brendilac Brandybuck of Buckland in the Shire should not marry Narcissa Boffin of Overhill in the Shire?  If so, let it be told forth now.”

       None spoke out, and at last the wedding went forward.

       “As none speaks against either joining, then we before you all rejoice to see each couple wed.  Hardorn son of Halbeleg and Anbeth, King’s Man, you have chosen to take Gilmorien of Eriador of Arnor to wife.  Do you do this full willing, in joy and delight in her and in your choosing?”

       Solemnly, the chief of the King’s Guard and Minister of the Privy Purse answered, “So I have desired and so I do.”

       “Gilmorien daughter of Berenion and Mariel, mistress of horses, you have chosen to take Hardorn of Arnor and Gondor as husband.  Do you do this full willing, in joy and delight in him and in your choosing?”

       “Long have I desired to say as I do now, yea, such is indeed my wish.”

       “So let it be, then.”

       The Master of Buckland looked on his younger cousin and smiled.  “And why this day do you come before this company, Brendilac Brandybuck?”

       “It is my deep desire to take this Hobbitess Narcissa Boffin as my wife, to take her as mistress of my hole, to bring her into my family, to be the mother of those children who may be given to the two of us.”

       “Why this day do you come before this company, Fosco Baggins?”

       “To see my beloved friend and guardian Narcissa Boffin married to this gentlehobbit, Brendilac Brandybuck, if she will have him and if he will have her.”

       “Why this day do you come before this company, Narcissa Boffin?”

       “To take this gentlehobbit, Brendilac Brandybuck as husband, to enter his family, to become mistress of his hole and mother to all children that might be given us.”  At this Fosco set Narcissa’s hand in Brendi’s and stepped back.

       Now the King asked, “Brendilac son of Meriadan and Dianthus, one versed in the law and defender of those set in your care by others, you have chosen to take Narcissa Boffin of Overhill to wife.  Do you do this full willing, in joy and delight in her and your choosing?”

       “Yes, my Lord, I do.”

       “Narcissa daughter of Fortumbald and Ivy, who delights in the land and is guardian to the young, you have chosen to take Brendilac of Buckland as husband.  Do you do this full willing, in joy and delight in him and your choosing?”

       “Yes, my Lord King, I do.”

       “So be it then.  Let all bear witness these two take one another full willing, in delight, before Men, Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, and all other children of Iluvatar.  And let all further bear witness that this other pair does similarly.  Let all see them this day handfasted together.”

       Taking the right hands of Hardorn and Gilmorien, the King laid them so each grasped the arm of the other.  “I hereby bind you together,” he said as he took one of the two cords and bound their wrists with it, “in token of your vows given before this company.”  

       Paladin Took took the right hands of Brendilac and Narcissa and laid them together, then their left hands similarly, their hands crossed over one another.  The King then took the second cord and wrapped it around the crossed hands of the Hobbits, binding them also.  “You, also,” he said gently, “are now handfasted, and are now bound together in token of the vows you have made before all.”  

       He nodded to the Thain and Master, who between them turned about the Hobbit couple so all could see the cord binding their hands together, and the King did the same for Hardorn and Gilmorien.  “See them bound now, one to the other, bound in body and spirit, to rejoice with one another, to grieve with one another, to care for one another and to allow one another freedom, to argue and make up with one another from this day forth until death alone breaks this bond.  Do all see and agree?”

       All others followed the lead of those from Eriador and Gondor in saying, “Yea!”

       He indicated they should turn back to himself, then quietly unbound first Hardorn and Gilmorien, laying their cord over his left arm, then Brendilac and Narcissa, laying theirs over his right one.  “Let you now exchange your marriage tokens.”  Once this was done and each had professed the love held for the other, he said, “Now let Forsythia and Fosco Baggins step forward before me.”  Forsythia stepped forward from her place by Narcissa and Fosco had come from behind her, he placed a hand on the shoulder of each.  “The two of you were orphaned young when first your father died of age and illness, and then your mother of illness and grief.  You were fostered many years by others, and lost a second mother to illness, then were brought out of the home of your second father and into a third.  Do you both agree to enter into the home these two provide until such time as you are considered adult in the ways of your own people, will you honor them as is mete for those who are cared for by others, will you support the love they now offer freely to one another that they may more fully share in the love and caring offered to you?”

       “We will.”

       “And do you, Brendilac and Narcissa, accept the care for these two not born to you, will you give them the same love and caring you would have given to them had they been born of your bodies and your love for one another, and will you respect that they bear memories of others who have loved them as father and mother, and accept that those relationships must be acknowledged and respected?”

       “We do so gladly.”

       “So be it.”  Aragorn son of Arathorn stepped back.  Looking on all four newly wedded, he said, “May the Valar and Eru Himself shine upon your joining with bliss and content, and grant you each and all strength to face what must be faced as life unfolds before you.  Behold the new husband and the new wife, Hardorn and Gilmorien of Arnor and Gondor.  Behold the new husband and the new wife, Brendilac and Narcissa Brandybuck of the Shire, of Arnor, and of Gondor.  Let you each kiss in token of the love you give and accept.”  There were two very passionate kisses given before the assembly.  He then said, “And now, let all see the new family formed, of Brendilac and Narcissa Brandybuck and their fosterlings, Forsythia and Fosco Baggins.  Let you all embrace in token of the love you give and accept.”  As the four embraced, all cheered and applauded.

       He then looked into the eyes of the new Hobbit couple.  “It will be, in many ways, more difficult for the two of you than for the others.  You have known other loves before cleaving to one another, and now must make shift to remember that these loves are not those you knew previously.  You also accept the care for children almost grown, who must, as they reach for maturity, also test their skills and wisdom, and bring into the new family formed understandings which are not necessarily those you would have taught them had they been born to you.  Yet, you all have known one another for some time, and so have already an idea as to what the others are like, the foibles and the strengths.  Let you remember to keep about you patience and tolerance, and as much for yourselves as for one another.  And let the humor which I have seen is so much a part of the lives of the people of the Shire continue to sustain you and one another as you forge new lives and relationships together.”  He placed his hands on the heads of both, and they looked up into his eyes, and felt a special thrill as they received his blessing.

       Finally he turned to his cousin and his new wife, placing his hands on a shoulder of each.  “Long have you known one another and have desired this day, but in the way of our people you have deferred the day of your joining long past when others of the race of Men would ordinarily wed.  Let you remember that you have now made the commitment at last, and rejoice to keep it full and joyful.”  And he whispered into his cousin’s ear, “And it is about time, Hardorn!”  The King’s Officer of the Privy Purse and chief of his personal guard laughed, and cuffed his cousin on the shoulder.

       Each couple stepped forward with their witnesses to sign the marriage contracts, and the twins were surprised to find themselves encouraged to sign both copies of the Hobbit contract as well as the adults who served as witnesses.  The King took the two contracts, signed them, affixed his seal, rolled each, wrapped and bound each with the proper cord, then had the couples grasp them with the knotted cords between their hands. 

       “Let all rejoice,” he said quietly, “that you have come together and have bound your lives together this day.  And remember that you will know all emotions, anger and joy, love and frustration, fear and delight, finding and losing and finding again.  Thus it is with life.  May the joys outweigh the griefs, the delights outweigh the pain which must accompany them.  And may the world be made better that you have decided to share your love.  Love shared is loved multiplied; grief shared is grief relieved.  So may it be throughout your lives together.”  Again he blessed each couple, then released them to the rest of the company.

Rejoicing and Speculation

       The meal prepared that night was a wedding feast, and all rejoiced as it proceeded.  After the meal they repaired to the Hall of Fire once more where an evening was spent listening to songs and stories, but such were very different in large part than that which had been known when Merry and Pippin had visited before.  For all the joy and pleasure, the two of them and Sam found themselves sitting on the side of the room quiet, looking at the rest, grieving at what had been lost of the solemnity and grace known here when Elrond was the Lord of Imladris, of the awe and delight they had seen reflected in the face of Frodo as he’d sat here night after night, drinking in the music, the language, the images.

       “He belonged here, he did,” Sam said quietly.  “When he was ill, I wanted to shake him, make him realize as he could come here, find that beauty again.  Didn’t dream he’d come to it, but--but there in the Elven lands.”

       “I know,” Merry said quietly.  “He was always as my brother, and I was so jealous that here he was so comfortable, that this was such the right place for him.  How was I to know....”  But he didn’t complete the thought.

       Pippin sipped from the goblet of wine he’d accepted.  “More and more this will become a hall for meetings of us mortals.  When they’ve at last left Middle Earth, Elladan and Elrohir will leave this to the descendants of Aragorn and Arwen.  And only they in the long run will keep the memory of the Eldar before the minds of Men.  Wonder what they will remember, an age or so down the history of the world, of the glory of the Elves, the secrecy and might of Dwarves, of the laughter of us Hobbits?  Will we still be part of Middle Earth, do you think?”

       Sam shook his head, refusing to speculate aloud, while Merry examined the thoughtful face of his younger cousin with interest.  Pippin hadn’t been in the party which had followed the King on the tour of the place earlier, and didn’t know what the King had found out about the brothers who’d been lost before they came to birth.  Merry supposed that of course Pippin would see this room more in light of what had been lost to it, while he himself would now see it in relationship to Frodo, as Sam did.  Pippin looked back at him.  He still looked much as he’d looked when they first came here, save for the ability to evaluate, to find wisdom inside himself, which had been the gift offered him in exchange for the innocence he’d lost on the quest.  Merry suddenly put an arm about Pippin’s shoulders and drew him in a close embrace, and Pippin strongly hugged him back.  Pippin had been Frodo’s gift to Merry in so many ways....  Then they pulled apart, smiled into the face of the gardener who sat with them.  He looked back at them, then let his own solemnity slip a bit.

       “Well, my beloved Lord Samwise,” Merry said quietly, “we’ve all grown a bit since we first sat here, haven’t we?”  And he wondered, as he said this, if he’d not been lost before, had Sam been born Aragorn’s brother indeed and not into the Shire, would he still have been a gardener?  And he suspected he would.  After all, during their trip to Minas Tirith--Minas Anor--they’d all spent time in the herb gardens both behind the Citadel and by the Houses of Healing with Aragorn and Arwen, all of them assisting King and Queen with the plants and weeding.  Sam, too, had in part the legacy of healing to this day, had used it for Frodo’s sake, had offered it to Aragorn himself.  Would he still address Aragorn primarily as Strider, though?  He laughed at the thought, and both Pippin and Sam looked in question, wondering what thought had sparked that laugh in Merry.  No, Merry thought, then he’d probably have always and consistently addressed Aragorn as Estel instead.  

       “Shall I offer you a blossom for your thoughts, Merry?”  Pippin’s expression was considering.

       “No, you shall not, for it’s a strictly private matter at the moment,” Merry returned.

       Pippin continued to examine him for some moments, then he smiled.  “I’ve just had a thought about a last prank to pull on Strider.  Want to help?”

       Sam gave a sigh, then his face brightened as Piper approached carrying Rosie-Lass, followed by Drogo, Elanor, and Frodo-Lad, and the two older Took lads as well as the twins, Forsythia carrying the small Princess Melian.  In a moment he had both the tiny lasses in his lap, and he was beginning to tell all a story, and the whole room quieted to hear the story of a small child whose father had died, who had been threatened not for what he’d done to anyone else, but for what his future held, and how he’d come here to Imladris to be raised by Elves, and how he’d been called Estel, Hope.  For those who’d been with the King earlier in the afternoon the story was even more poignant.

       Aragorn sat across the room in the chair he’d often stood by when he lived here as a child and youth, and when he’d visited after he’d left to join his father’s people.  He looked at Sam, sitting there in the midst of the young ones, saw the hint of the golden glow of Sam’s own Light, thought of his own imaginings of the brothers he’d never known until now, the import of his mother’s journal, and smiled, gave thanks to the Creator for this gift at last received.

       When the story was done, Aragorn called for Pippin to bring out his flute to play them some Shire music, and soon others were bringing out their own instruments as well.  Several of the Dwarves had brought drums and viols, and Dwalin had brought a small lap harp, while many of the Elves had harps, flutes, and pipes of their own; and once Pippin had begun to play one of the shepherd’s tunes he’d played as a lad the others began to join in, weaving about it countermelodies which became more and more complex and beautiful through the three repetitions they did.

       Elladan and Elrohir sat beside him and nodded in time to the music, while the Lady Arwen sat in her own chair in the seat of honor, her eyes shining with the light of stars as she listened.  When Pippin moved from the shepherd’s tune to the hymn he’d heard at the Havens, the three children of Elrond and Celebrían began to sing the words.  The Dwarves stilled their instruments to listen, while Men and Hobbits sat in the fullness of the moment, at one with the song.  Only Merry dared to shift his eyes to look into the face of Aragorn, and saw there mirrored the great grief and joy and longing to be seen in the faces of the Elves about him--save for him, that longing could not be assuaged, that grief stilled as it could for the others, not in this lifetime.  Sam could perhaps in time pass over the Sea, over Ulmo’s realm, once more be with Frodo; but not Aragorn.  He had set his hand to the plow here in this world, and here he must stay until the end of his days.  Not, of course, that Aragorn would ever fail in his duty....  Merry looked at Arwen, saw that Aragorn looked on her singing.  For Aragorn, Merry realized, his bliss had been given him now, here in Middle Earth itself.  And he, after over eight decades of having to learn patience, knew now how to wait till the proper time until he could be reunited with the one he’d considered his friend and brother for the past seven years.  If only, he, Merry, could show the same patience, for at times the ache in his heart at the loss of Frodo was almost enough to stop his rising.

       Merry closed his eyes, let the music take him, seemed to be flying over the waves of the sea as the sea birds do, seemed to see the shimmering as the Straight Path lifted away from the curving of the world today, saw finally in the distance the shining island with the even more brightly shining realm beyond it, the great White Tree Nimloth shining at the island’s heart, the shining One who sat there, listening to the echoes of this hymn, a hymn sung more fully there, he suspected, there on the boundaries of Ulmo’s own place.  Oh, Frodo, Iorhael, Gilorhael, Gil-galadrion, brother, cousin, we miss you so.

*******

       He woke, and sat upright, realizing Pippin was looking at him with mixed amusement and concern.  “The room seems more--mortal in many ways,” Pippin commented as he offered Merry a sip from his own goblet, “but it can still set us dreaming, can’t it?”  Not trusting himself to speak, Merry nodded.

       At last the King looked at young Fosco and his sister, where they sat now on footstools near Narcissa and Brendilac.  “Now comes the time I’ve waited to see for many years, the dancing of the Husbandmen’s Dance once more.  Fosco, Brendilac, do you feel up to it?”

       “I’ll join you,” suddenly Paladin Took said, and Isumbard laughed.

       “You will do it in public at last, Uncle?  It is about time.  And I’ll join you, too.  Reginard?”

       Pippin looked up amazed.  He knew his da could dance this, but hadn’t done so since he was made Thain.  Now, he thought, this will be interesting.  He began the introduction as the five Hobbits stood up and set their hands on their hips....

       As he started the second round two of the Elves had joined him, and in the third a couple of the Dwarf drummers. In the fourth more Elves and Dwarves joined in, and Forsythia was singing the words----

       Merry was amazed, for he’d not realized many folks knew the words any more.  Then he realized, Of course she knows the words!  She’s Frodo’s cousin, and who knows how many such poems, songs, and books he’s shared with them over the years?  No, it wasn’t just the history of Elves and Men and Dwarves Frodo Baggins had studied so long, after all.  Merry smiled and joined in.  After all, Frodo had taught him the words, also. 

       The music finally crashed to a close, and the five dancers stopped, right foot crossed in front of left, hands once more upon hips, heads erect.  Paladin Took was breathing deeply, but he stood as tall and proudly as young Fosco, and Reginard and Isumbard  were as proud of his performance as that of themselves.

       One of the Men who’d come from the land of the Beornings stood up and bowed deeply.  “It is long since I’ve seen anyone with the skill to dance that well, small Masters,” he said.  “The words are a bit different from those which we sing, but are clearly similar.  But to see it danced here, and so well performed--it is an honor.”

       Paladin Took looked at him with interest.  “We’ve danced it in the Shire, I think, throughout our history.  We didn’t know it was danced elsewhere, although I suspect Manco and Balcho brought it from somewhere....”  He accepted the mug pressed on him by his wife and drank gratefully.

       Barliman Butterbur shook his head.  “That was simply wonderful!  You come dance that in the Pony, and I’ll let you stay for free.”

       The King’s face showed he was remembering the one other time he’d seen the dance performed, when Frodo had danced it in the Hall of Merethrond, how proudly he’d danced it and stood at the end to accept the applause, and how he’d almost collapsed after as he’d started to return to his seat, how Sam had been there to catch him, make it look as if they were but congratulating one another with arms about waists and shoulders, how Aragorn had managed to have Legolas spirit Frodo away after to a quiet room nearby where he could rest until Aragorn himself could come to him offer what healing he could.

       Oh, Frodo, little brother, do you dance again without exhausting yourself?  I so pray this is true.

       Esmeralda and Narcissa were both hovering over Fosco and Brendi, while Diamond’s eyes shone with delight as she looked between her father-in-love and her husband, and Eglantine and Pimpernel and Ferdi were plying the three Tooks with drinks to refresh them.  Fosco, however, was pressing forward to the Beorning to ask him about how the dance was done in his own lands, how the words were different, how the music might differ....

       Merry came to stand by Aragorn’s chair, placed a hand on where the King’s lay on its padded arm, looked up into the Man’s eyes, saw the tear which trembled there, not quite slipping free.  “Frodo would be proud to be here tonight, I think.  He’d be so proud of all of us.”  Not trusting his voice, Aragorn nodded in return.  “And he’d be happy for Brendi and Narcissa, for he loved both and wanted the best for each.  And he’d be glad that you married them.”  Again Aragorn nodded.

       A time later many began to go to their beds, and Aragorn went out into the gardens.  It was there that Ruvemir found him.

       “You do not sleep now with your wife?” asked the King of his sculptor.

       “I could ask the same of you.  At least I have an excuse, for it is hot and the babe makes her uncomfortable, so I seek to relieve her for a time of the added heat my body brings to our bed.  But I was not aware that our Lady Arwen has conceived yet again.”

       “She has not, not as yet.”

       “Then what makes you restless, my beloved Lord?”  When the taller Man did not answer after a time, he asked, “Is it thoughts of the Lord Frodo, my King?”

       Finally the King answered softly, “Yes.”

       “What has sparked this unrest?”

       Finally, in a soft voice, the King told him about the journal his mother had written, his own imaginary brothers and finding that his mother, also had envisioned two more sons, the babes lost.

       “And what has this all to do with the Lord Frodo?”

       Ruvemir could see the soft, sad smile the King wore.  “It is not just Frodo, but Sam as well.”

       “The Lord Samwise?  But how----”  But then the mannikin went quiet, as the realization hit him of the idea the King considered.  Finally he looked up at his King, his own expression full of wonder.  “I’ve long thought of the three of you as brothers of the spirit, you and the Lord Frodo sharing so much as you do, and Sam as the one to support both the others of you.  To think that perhaps you might have indeed been intended as brothers of the body as well....”  He gave himself a shake, and looked off over the Bruinen.  Finally he spoke again.  “Yet, it does fit so well together.  You were--what?--a little less than half your expected lifespan when the quest was begun, and the Lord Frodo much the same.  Both of you so much younger in body than your years would indicate for your kinds.  Both of you scholars and gifted in languages.  Both of you raised in awareness of the Elves in excess for what is ordinarily true of your kinds.  Both gifted in music in your ways, you with song and he with dancing, although Sir Merry tells me that he was a sweet singer as well, though not as gifted as Captain Peregrin.  Both utterly devoted to duty, and each stubborn beyond bearing in the ways of each.  And then Sam there to be his helpmeet, ignoring his own gifts, his own fineness, his own abilities in learning, knowledge, languages, and rule; instead devoted to caring for the one he considered dearer than brother, for whom the Lord Frodo felt the same.”

       The King finally spoke again.  “The athelas has always answered to his hand.  Gandalf thought it was due to him being a gardener and in tune with the earth and the plants that grow there, that the plants simply answer to his need.  And perhaps that is how the Creator solved the need, for the one to attend my brother Gil-Galadrion, or my mother’s unborn son Gilorhael, would need to be able to wield the athelas.  He is, in his way, as gifted in healing as I am, Sam is.  And the caring of both for not only their own land and people but for those outside it as well, is beyond telling.  He will be Mayor next, and will be an excellent one.  The Shire will grow and bloom under his caring hand.”

       “You said of Frodo that his was the spirit of a great King born in the body of a Perian.”

       “I still hold to that.”

       “As do I,” Elladan said quietly as he came to join them.

       “Do you think, then, my Lord Elladan, that Frodo Baggins holds the spirit of the lost Gilorhael, and Samwise that of the lost Anorhael?” the sculptor asked.

       “I do not know, but would not be surprised to learn this is so.  I do know that the grief the Lady Gilraen expressed for so much of her life was in excess for the loss of her husband.  Always when one came to be aided by Adar in a difficult pregnancy one could see her at Adar’s side, intent on helping the child be born safely, and yet envious of those who left with living children at their sides, looking after them with longing.”

       “I’ve not seen the direct aftermath of a miscarriage, but I suspect that it must, in many of womankind, bring great grief.”  The sculptor looked down again at the water flowing below them.

       “And so it is indeed.  Adar did not tell us she had lost a babe, much less two.  But ever her care for Estel was tender.”

       “Perhaps,” he who was also known as Estel said, “that was part of why she let herself go untimely.  Perhaps she could not bear to see the coming of those who might have been hers, knowing they would not know her as she felt she knew them.”

       Another figure came out into the gardens, saw them, paused, then came to join them.  The King looked at him and smiled.  “Welcome, Sam.”

       “It’s a beautiful evening, Strider.”

       “That it is.”

       Sam looked down at the swirling water, then up at the stars.  Finally he said, “Gives me heart, knowing as he’s seeing them as we are.  I think of him there, maybe under their White Tree, looking up at them, too, hearing the sound of the water and the wind, smiling up at them, thinking of us doing the same.”

       Aragorn nodded.  “When we walked on cloudy nights, you could see how disappointed he was, for the stars ever gave him heart.”

       “Was like they fed him at times--fed his soul.”

       “What brings you out from your bed tonight, my brother?”

       Sam shrugged.  “Too warm, maybe.  But--tonight I just wanted to be with you.”

       “Why?”

       “Cuz I feel for you as I do him, I suppose.  You are both like brothers to me, you know.  Not like Hal and Ham, of course, but still....”

       Elf and artist looked into one another’s eyes, and tactfully withdrew.  As he looked down on them out near one of the bridges over the stream from his balcony later, Ruvemir noted the King had his arm over Sam’s shoulder, and the Hobbit his about the other’s waist as the two of them stood, smoking their pipes, watching the stars above and the water in which they were reflected below.

Return Road

       Brendilac Brandybuck and Isumbard Took stood there, almost as motionless as the three figures they examined, while Fredegar Bolger simply stood, shaking his head.  “You can still see the hint of a bird’s nest behind the ear of one of them, just as described by Frodo,” he commented.

       Aragorn nodded.  “Actually, one family of starlings seems to return here year after year and nests on one or another of them, it seems.  I have found it interesting to watch them, myself.  But, if you could have seen those two--” indicating Merry and Pippin, “--when they first saw them--their alarm was actually quite gratifying.”

       Pippin gave him a look that was meant to be scathing, but fell short as he could not seem to stop his own laughter.  “I was definitely being a fool of a Took that day, I must say.”

       Finally Brendilac turned back from his examination of the three stone trolls.  “They are marvelous!  And they are so big!”  He turned to Pippin.  “You killed one of those things?”

       Pippin’s smile faded.  “Yes, I killed a troll, but far worse than these three.  The one I killed was far, far worse.  It had been bred by Sauron himself to fight and maim.  Quite different from these ones.  These were foolish and greedy, not bred only for evil uses.”

       Diamond shuddered.  “If it was worse than these, I’m glad I never saw it.”

       The King’s face was equally solemn to that of his Perian Guard.  “I pray no one will ever need to see such as Pippin fought ever again.  It made the one we fought in Moria even look small and relatively harmless by comparison.”

       Gimli looked at him and raised his eyebrows.  “Considering how many blows the creature took before we finally felled it, I would never consider that cave troll harmless, Aragorn.”

       Legolas gave a graceful shrug.  “Yet he is right--the ones bred by Sauron were indeed far worse.”

       “The one before the Black Gate was heavy enough,” agreed the Dwarf.  “Took about all I had to roll it away.”

       Paladin Took and Saradoc Brandybuck looked on the three figures with shudders.  “I am glad Eglantine stayed there at the road,” the Thain commented.  “These would shock her pretty badly, I suspect.”

       Fosco and Ferdibrand were feeling the nearest one, Forsythia describing it to the two of them.  Narcissa had elected to stay with Sam, Pimpernel, Eglantine and Esmeralda and the children near the road, while Rosie had come here to look at the trolls.  She was standing near the Thain, looking up with awe at the size of the things.  “And Sam was here?” she asked.

       “Indeed, and recited a poem he’d composed about a stone troll for our amusement.  Was the first time we’d seen Frodo truly smile, much less laugh, in days.”

       Merry nodded his agreement.  “Anything that could ease the greyness and cold he was experiencing was welcome.”

       Faramir and Éowyn returned with Beregond and Bergil from circling the furthest.  “Impressive,” Faramir said quietly.  “And you took a rotten branch to one?”

       The King nodded, grinning broadly.  “Had to reassure certain terrified Halflings there was nothing to worry about, after all.  Not precisely the most valiant blow I ever struck.”

       “That I’d have loved to see--the looks on their faces....”

       Ruvemir had his sketch booklet out and was drawing rapidly, while Armanthol was doing the same.

       Shortly after they were back on the road headed west again.  As they rode Aragorn described the lands about them, the settlements that once filled the countryside.  Sam looked about, and pointed out where he’d first gathered the athelas plants he’d taken back to the Shire with him.

       “You did well making the draught for him,” the King said quietly.

       “Had to do something, Strider--he was hurting bad, and it was almost as if he was going through it again--the cold, the greyness.”

       Ruvemir and Elise were relieved to find their wagon was as they’d left it, although they’d been assured that Elves would keep an eye on it while they were in Rivendell.  Lord Berenion examined it with interest.  “Very clever,” he commented, “although if you must leave well traveled roads I suspect it would be less easy to manage.”  Now that Sestor was properly mounted, he had begun falling back himself to ride alongside the caravan, listening with interest to the stories that the artist had gathered about these with whom they traveled, about the King who’d been a Ranger of Arnor, a Rider of Rohan, a Captain of Gondor, and a wanderer in Rhun and Harad at various times in his life; of the four Pheriannath who left the security of their own land to carry the evil of the Enemy’s Ring out of it, all nearly dying as each did what he could to fight the evil of Mordor; of the ride through the darkness from Dunharrow to Minas Tirith by the Rohirrim; the fight against the great spider Shelob on the borders of Mordor; of the finding of the Ringbearers on the side of Orodruin.

       The ride back to Bree was relatively quiet and without great incident, save when Elanor slid down the steep side of one of the hills near Weathertop and cut her leg badly on a jagged rock.  Alumbard and Levandoras Took had been climbing the steep slope with Bergil and Fosco, and Elanor had set out to follow them when she lost her footing in the scree.  They camped there, though it was yet early in the day, but they did have fresh water nearby and shelter, and decent grazing for the horses and ponies.

       Alumbard came back to the camp after taking a walk up the road carrying a shirt stud he’d found, and showed it to the party.

       Sam looked at it with interest.  “So, there it is, after all this time,” he said.  “Frodo realized as it was missing--must of been a day east of here.  Sleeve kept unrolling, it did, and was getting to be quite the nuisance.  Glad as I’d thought to bring an extra pair--at least they stayed with him to Amon Hen.”

       “Do you have the other one?” asked Levandoras.

       “No.”  The gardener’s expression was solemn.  “I’ll admit I carried it a good distance--but I let it go in Mordor, there when I dumped all as wasn’t needed down the crack in the ground.  Thought as we’d not have no need for such fripperies as shirt studs no more.”

       Master Saradoc took it in turn and looked at it, and his face became sad as he examined it and then held it out to Esmeralda.  “I remember the Yule we gave them to him.  He’d just turned nineteen.”

       She nodded.  “Yes, the shirt studs and a new shirt to wear them in.”

       Sam said softly, “He treasured them, Mistress.  When we got here--must of been a half day after he was stabbed on Weathertop--he couldn’t move his left arm, and the shoulder was cold and pained him a lot, it did.  He was still trying to do things hisself.  Strider’d took the studs out, loosening the shirt and sleeves, trying to see if there was any other wound than the stab wound, or if there was any infection, then was called away from him for Mr. Merry thought as he saw something below us.  Frodo tried to put them back in hisself, but it’s not as easy with but one hand working and he couldn’t raise the left arm to get at it right.  Must of lost it not long after, and he didn’t even notice.  He was in such pain, but wouldn’t speak of it, for we was all miserable.  He didn’t notice till the next day, and I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

       “He kept them for almost thirty-one years,” Eglantine commented as she took it to examine it.  She held it out to Paladin, who looked at it briefly and gave it back to the Master, who at a nod from the King placed it in an inner pocket of his jacket.

       That evening after Elanor’s leg was checked again and pronounced doing well and she and the children were bedded down, the older lads and Forsythia asked for a story.  “Tell us a story that happened when you dwelt in Minas Tirith,” asked Piper.

       The three Travellers looked at one another.  Sam looked at Pippin.  “You think of one,” he said. 

       The Took shrugged, then smiled.  Taking a breath, he began, “Once in a time not so terribly long ago there dwelt in a guest house in the Sixth Circle of the White City of Gondor four Hobbits, a Wizard, an Elf, and a Dwarf.  Now, they need not have dwelt there, for they were offered housing in the Citadel itself,  but two among their number would not hear of that, were aghast at the idea, insisted on a level of privacy.  Not, of course, that there is a great deal of privacy in the city of Minas Tirith.  But had they accepted rooms in the Citadel they’d have had guards at the doors of their rooms at all hours, maids in and out all day and all night, which might have been interesting....”

       A significant look from Diamond made him laugh, then his face grew more solemn.  “Particularly for the sakes of the two Hobbits who’d been made Lords of the Realm, they were granted the use of the guest house in the Sixth Circle instead.  For they desired some distance in which to--to find themselves somewhat.  They’d managed to survive their ordeal, and still at times were struggling to understand quite how and why this had happened.  Not, mind you, that the other two had remained unscathed, for at the end all four had managed to face and survive evil and injuries they’d never thought of in their darkest imaginings before.  Each of the four had recurrent nightmares and would awake calling out for one or more of the others, and then others still. One does not face the darkness of Mordor itself and come away unscathed.  None truly wished to have countless unknown guards and chambermaids overhearing those cries and being startled.

       “Yet the King would not hear of us being totally unattended, for he knew that we would have nights of sleeplessness and perhaps pain as well.  Both Merry and Frodo suffered from times when the pain and darkness associated with the Black Breath, Morgul wounds, and too close an encounter with the Lord of the Nazgul would make their shoulders and arms ache.  The lungs of both Frodo and Sam were still clearing themselves of the ash they’d breathed crossing the plain of Gorgoroth and climbing the Mountain, and for much of the first month they’d suddenly go into coughing sprees sufficiently bad to require basins to be laid by them so that they could cough up blackened phlegm, and the King would not allow them to smoke their pipes.”  Several of the listeners looked shocked at such an idea.  “Nor would he allow me to smoke, not for the first six weeks, for my own lungs had been badly bruised by my time under the troll, between its weight and exposure to its stench and the amount of its blood I’d managed to breathe in.  I needed exercises several times a day to strengthen the muscles about my hip where it had been dislocated from its socket so that it would bear my weight properly and not pull out again.”  Ruvemir of Lebennin was nodding in sympathy.

       “All of us would awaken in the night with our dreams of terror, and we found we could bear the comfort of one another, but not that of others we didn’t know.  Frodo’s hand where the finger was lost would ache with the memory of how it had been first burned by what it had briefly borne, now fully awakened and intent on consuming him completely, then with the agony of when the finger was lost as Gollum wrested It from him.  All of us had known the whips of orcs, and there were times the weals would ache, particularly Frodo’s, for on him the whips had bitten especially deep.  My arm had been broken as well as ribs, and changes in the weather would make the bones ache.  And all of us had been on short rations, and needed to regain our proper weights--not that Frodo ever did so properly.”  All shared looks of grief.

       “But we also found ourselves full of an unexpected joy and at times giddiness, which would express itself in unexpected ways.  One day the market was flooded with cherries and strawberries, both of which had apparently benefited from the ash of the Mountain, for more such fruits were harvested in the lands south of the city, we were told, than had been seen for years.  We saw them and bought them in quantities which must have amazed those who tended the produce stalls in the markets.  Strawberries and cream we consumed in amounts that even those here who enjoyed them in 1420 cannot imagine, and needless to say, our bodies did not always appreciate the abundance.  Yet still, one day I devised a plan.  Poor Frodo had been heard to comment that he was surprised I hadn’t as yet tried to bathe in them, so I went out while he was up in the Citadel with Aragorn and bought as much as I could lay hands on, then filled the bathing tub with them--and remember, this was a bathing tub intended for Men, so was much larger than what we would ordinarily use in the Shire.  He returned, pleased with what had been accomplished but cold as he often was when tired, and went into the bathing room to warm himself with a bath....  Healer Eldamir and his wife in the house next door must have heard the cry of surprise! 

       “The next day we began making jam with the fruit, and it was Sam who was scouring the markets for sufficient pots and jars, sugar and apple peel.  Mistress Loren and young Lasgon were pressed into assisting us, and when Aragorn came down to find out why he’d not seen us all day he was pressed into helping us as well.”

       Alumbard looked at the King in surprised.  “Is this true, my Lord?” he asked.

       The King was laughing.  “True?  Oh, I must say it was true indeed.  Poor Hardorn there even found himself assisting.  And I’m certain that to this day he doesn’t quite understand how he came to lay down his bow and instead work at sorting out moldy cherries and strawberries and taking them out to the compost pile.  There are still jars of the jam in the storage cellars of the Citadel from that day.  It was the first time I ever aided in making cherry and strawberry jams.”

       The Queen was laughing also.  “You mean, my love, that you helped to make the jam that was served with such abundance at our wedding feast?”  At his nod she laughed the more.  “I must say the jam we’ve eaten over the past few years has always been uncommonly good.  Must be the touch of the King’s hand which aided in its preserving.”

       “We found a small corner of the Sixth Circle where mushrooms grew, and they, too were very abundant that year,” Pippin continued.  “Sam and I would sneak into the empty yard every day to gather some to cook with our meals.  There was a trickle of a small streamlet that ran through the property that kept the soil nicely damp, and a young tree gave them shelter, and they seemed to delight to grow there.  One evening when Frodo had been refusing to eat all day I cooked a meal where everything had mushrooms in it.  He didn’t eat a great deal that night, but at least we got him to eat small portions of everything, and he was smiling and even joking, and he slept well that night.”

       Gimli snorted with amusement.  “And I’m here to tell you this happened, also.  I’d never have believed how mushrooms could find their way into so many dishes, and were even made into a dessert of a kind.”

       Sam’s face was full of the memory.  “He couldn’t turn down nothing with mushrooms in it, even when it was hard for him to eat at all.”

       Pippin continued, “The next day Frodo got up early and slipped down to the fish market in the Fifth Circle.  There was a fish that they caught in the river that had become more abundant that year and that I liked very much, and he bought a goodly amount, and he managed to talk our neighbors into allowing him to prepare our luncheon meal over there so I’d have no idea what he was doing.  Now it was fish that was in every dish, including a stone figure of a fish in the jelly prepared for the sweet after.”

       Legolas was laughing now.  “And the next day it was nuts saved from the last harvest that were included in everything.  Merry had found a merchant in the Fourth Circle who had them hoarded.”

       Merry added, “And the next day all the dishes had eggs in them.”

       “It was rather fortuitous that the Queen’s party arrived the following day and we found ourselves attending the feasts, or the competition to make meals with one particular ingredient might have gone on for weeks more.”  Pippin was shaking his head at the idea.

       He smiled.  “At the feast of welcome for Lord Elrond and the Lady Arwen and the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn, one attending was a rather dense fellow from Dunland.  How he ended up attending the feast I have no idea.  He came to the city not in any embassy, but on his own, having convinced himself that he was a master at strategy, and he’d arrived at much the same time as the Elves’ party, and the Minister of Protocol apparently assumed he must be someone important and included him.  Aragorn had had special chairs made for us to use, with higher seats and steps up and footrests so we could sit comfortably at the table with the rest and not look like children.  For Frodo’s he’d had special cushions made so that he could sit more comfortably, for he was still quite thin, although he was looking better.  This fellow decided for some reason that he ought to sit in that chair.  The servant who’d led him in was not able to explain this was intended for one of the Pheriannath, and he sat up in it looking most foolish.  Frodo looked up at him with surprise, shaking his head, and asked simply that extra cushions be brought for the chair intended for the fool, explaining that this had been all he’d needed in Imladris.  So they brought cushions to place under and behind him, and someone found a footstool also for him.  Aragorn was so disgusted with the Dunlending he let him sit in Frodo’s chair throughout the meal and made a point of ignoring him.  He must have been most uncomfortable, sitting so high and on such a shallow seat, with the footrest cutting into the back of his shins.  But he did have a cushion under and behind him, which for some reason he’d decided he deserved.”

       “Ah, yes, Morigon of Dunland,” the King sighed.  “He’d learned to wield a sword and was certain he’d figured out a move which, if he could teach it to me, would make me invincible.  I listened to him explaining it to me at length at dinner, and early the next morning when I’d have rather been preparing for my wedding I took him to the practice field.  I allowed him to demonstrate it three times, then quickly disarmed him thrice and thanked him for the lesson.  He did not attend the wedding feast, and I sent Eldamir down to see to it the bruises were properly poulticed.  He then offered to teach him some secret healing skill which his family had used for some generations, and I fear Eldamir was rather short with him.  Last I heard, he’d referred Morigon to the herbmaster in the Houses of Healing, who is quite as longwinded and ineffective as Morigon himself.”

       All were laughing.

       Pippin finally concluded his story.  “Frodo went to bed the night of the wedding looking content, but apparently had some of his dreams and woke.  Sam walked out with him, but the Lady, Lord Celeborn, Lord Elrond, and Lord Glorfindel were walking about the walls of the city, and took him over, sending Sam back to his bed.  I went out an hour before dawn, as I was preparing to take up my duty for the day, and found them all seated on the grass around the White Tree, Frodo sleeping with his head pillowed in the Lady’s lap, she gently rubbing the scar where his finger was missing.  It was the last time I’m aware of that his hand bothered him like that.  They told me quietly that he’d been reassured to sleep out under the stars, and Lord Elrond had wrapped him with his own cloak.  I think it might have been then they first considered asking for the grace to allow him to go to Elvenhome.”

       Soon after all were in bed, but Sam and Rosie and the King and Queen themselves lay themselves in bedrolls under the stars, looking up at the brightness of the heavens and speaking quietly amongst themselves for a time before they, too, slept.  And when Pippin woke an hour before dawn to prepare to take his duty, he found the King sat alone, smoking quietly and looking up at the dawn.  Pippin relieved Gilfileg and took up his guard, thoughtful as he listened to the King singing quietly a song Frodo had especially liked to sing during the walk through Eriador.

Warning Given

       “How many are in the party?” Mertirio of Angmar asked.

       “At least twenty-five, my Lord Captain,” the border guard told him.

       “You are not certain?”

       “Not all are seen, sir.  Those who attempted to creep behind them to count their full numbers were all driven back to our side of the border with arrows and thrown stones.”

       “They have thrown stones at your Men?”

       “Yes, Captain.  They apparently do not wish to cause permanent harm, and so throw just beside us or hit us in the shoulder.  It is the same with the arrows--they are aimed just beside us, and are clearly not intended to harm--merely to warn.”

       “And they demand to see me?”

       “Yes, Captain.”

       “How did they know I was here?”

       The border guard shrugged.  “All that I know, Lord Captain, is that their spokesman has demanded you come to the parley at midmorning tomorrow.

       “Describe him.”

       “He is typical of the Dúnedain Rangers--tall, slender, well muscled, dark hair slightly shorter than shoulder length, short beard, eyes grey, determined and confident expression.  All wear either grey or green cloaks, usually well-worn--this one’s is green.  Carries a long sword and hunting bow and a dagger in his belt.  He came forward with his bow at the ready.

       “What else of his garb can be seen?”

       “Worn green riding leathers, archer’s glove on his hand, excellently made boots, black trousers.”

       Trust the Man to notice the quality of the boots, Mertirio thought.  “Did he come riding or afoot?”

       “Afoot was how I saw him.”

       Early the next morning Mertirio and several of those closest to him rode to the border.  What he saw when he arrived surprised him.  Sitting in a comfortable folding chair reading a book was a small figure in black and silver, the surcoat he wore over his shining mail embroidered in silver thread with a flowering tree below and seven stars in a circle above, with a winged crown between.  He wore a belt of linked leaves, from which hung a black sheath wrought with silver.  His feet were bare.  He was quite the strangest sight Mertirio had ever seen.  Opposite him sat another, also dressed in mail beneath a leather hauberk dyed in rich browns and greens.  He wore an identical belt, from which also depended a sword.  He had a book also in his lap, and a mug in his hand, from which he was drinking.  A small table between their chairs held a plate with rolls and another mug.  If Mertirio had been imagining all night what this parley would be like, he’d never in his wildest thoughts have thought of this. 

       The two figures continued reading, and apparently were intent on finishing pages, or possibly chapters.  The one in black and silver finally gave a sigh and set the book on the table, reached out and took the mug and drank from it, then looked up at him, his gaze curious but alarmingly competent.  “They appear to have arrived, Meriadoc,” he said to his companion.

       The one in brown and green looked up, mild curiosity in his gaze.  “Have they really?  About time.”

       “Shall we listen, or just slay them for their insolence?” asked Mertirio’s lieutenant Septrion.

       “Oh, if I were you, I would not seek to slay either of us,” said the one in black and silver.  “You would be dead before your stroke fell, you know.  You are quite surrounded now.”   He rose languidly and stretched, then straightened dangerously.  “I am Captain Peregrin Took of the Guard of the Citadel for Arnor, Gondor, and the Shire.  With me is Sir Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire and Rohan, Esquire to the King of Rohan and Holdwine of the Mark and also a captain of the forces of the Shire.  About us are a number of archers under my command--at the moment; ones you are not likely to see clearly unless they wish you to see them.  Oh, and one axebearer--I suppose you ought to be warned of that as well.”

       The other, who’d also risen, looked at Mertirio and those surrounding him coldly.  “My Lord has granted me the authority to speak in his name, as his Lord has done likewise.  You sent forth a troop of twenty to assault the Steward Halladan of Arnor or the King of Arnor and Gondor--or both, if it could be managed.  I will warn you my Lord King Éomer does not take threats offered his friend the Lord Aragorn Elessar or his Lord Stewards lightly.”

       “Nor does my Lord King Aragorn Elessar take threats to himself or his Lord Stewards or the peoples under his protections lightly.  He was mightily angered.  Six died in the Old Forest and the Barrowdowns, two by their own hand.  The trees and wights have dealt with their bodies.  One was executed for violence offered.  You have had his body, I am told, for some days.  The remaining thirteen have been taken, and eight should be returned to you in about a month’s time if they will not foreswear their vows to you and your land.  The King has ordered they be shorn of their sword hands for their temerity in entering his lands in secret and threatening himself and his Steward and the company in which they rode, which contained many who are unarmed and untrained in war and defense, including women and children and folk of several races.  The Elves and Dwarves who dwell in the lands which lie within and along the bounds of Arnor are highly displeased that your people would threaten their friend and ally, the Lord Aragorn Elessar of Arnor and Gondor, and his peoples and lands, and have offered their assistance in dealing with you, should it be necessary and desired.”

       He lifted from the table a scroll, and walked forward to hold it out to Mertirio.  “Here is the record of the inquiry and judgments our Lord King has made of the fourteen whom he questioned.  And he sends by me this warning--if you do not pull your forces back from the borders of his lands by the end of the coming winter, he will come against you in the coming spring, and accompanying him will be supporting forces from the Wood, the Mountains, the Mark, and the Shire.  Any from your lands who seek to enter Arnor will be taken, and if they will not foreswear their allegiance to Angmar they, too, will be either relieved of their sword hands or slain if they offer violence.  In the meantime, it will be made clear to those who dwell along the borders of your land that any who carry and wield no weapons will be welcomed to become citizens of Arnor, should that be their desire.”

       “How do we know you are guarded as you have said?” asked Mertirio’s lieutenant. 

       Suddenly his horse bucked and shied as a stone struck it on its withers, then other horses were also struck with stones thrown from several angles as well.  The one who had identified himself as Captain Peregrin Took smiled.  “As I said, unless they wish to be seen, you will not see them.  These are but the forces of my land, and they are not intent on hurting you--not as yet.”

       One of those attending Mertirio who carried a bow raised it and started to reach for an arrow from his quiver, only to find himself dropping his bow, an arrow now high in his shoulder.  The manling in the black and silver looked at him with casual interest.  “We did warn you that there are archers there as well, did we not?  They are very accurate.”

       “Yes,” said the other, “had he wished to kill you, you would now be dead, that arrow either in your heart or in your throat.”

       Mertirio looked down at them with amazement.  “And why ought we to believe you are skilled in war?”

       The one in the hauberk smiled grimly.  “I fought before the walls of Minas Tirith itself alongside my sword sister, and slew many of Sauron’s orcs and some of the Men who fought for him as well.  And together she and I slew the Witchking of Angmar.  It was no child who stood against him, you see.”

       The other looked up at Mertirio coolly.  “And I was one of those who stood in the assault on the Black Gate itself.  My sword I have named Troll’s Bane, for with it did I slay one of the the creatures.  We have also fought against trolls, orcs, and Uruk-hai in Moria, on Amon Hen, and at Isengard, and faced the Nazgul on Amon Sul and at the Fords of the Bruinen.  And two others of our kind braved the desert land of Mordor and together did what was necessary to bring down Barad-dur itself.

       “We are the forces of the Periannath.  Rarely have we left our own lands, but we will no longer remain safe when others are threatened.  And you will find that when we speak of war, we do not boast idly.”

       He turned and gestured behind him.  Green and grey clad figures, Men and more Periannath, appeared from the trees, and came forward to remove trays and mugs, books, table and chairs.  In moments they had disappeared again into the trees, and a tall figure in a stained green cloak, armed with long sword, hunting bow and quiver, and dagger, came forward leading two ponies saddled with rich tack, one white and one dun.  The two Periannath gave shallow bows and swung easily into their saddles.  It was obvious these ponies were blooded animals, neither of them particularly placid as was true with most of their kind.  The Man gave a whistle, and a fine horse of a deep brown came to him, and he vaulted easily onto its bare back, turned, and looked down on the folk of Angmar with calculated disdain.  The one in black and silver leading, the three of them rode off, disappearing uncannily among the trees.

       Mertirio looked at the thick scroll in his hand, untied the black ribbon shot with silver threads that bound it, and examined it, not that he could read it, for all it was written in Westron.  He’d never learned to read any tongue.  He saw that at its top were a tree on the left side, a circle of seven stars on the right, a winged crown lower center with a depiction of a sceptre above it.  The writing was clear and even and, he felt, relentless.

       “I will need to services of a scribe to understand this,” he said, finally.  They were aware of vague movements among the trees about the glade in which their group sat their horses, then the movement disappeared to the South.  They realized they were free to go.  Suddenly terrified, Meritirio signaled his folk, and they rode swiftly back to the North.

*******

       The eight prisoners rode South to Gondor amongst a troop of Rangers from Eriador, twenty Men, mostly young, yet all obviously competent.  Their captain appeared to be in his mid-thirties, and carried sword, bow, and dagger.  Every morning before they rode on there would be sparring involving fourteen of the group, three of the others on guard and the other three preparing the dawn meal and cleaning up after; and it was clear all were well trained, not only in standard swordsmanship but each in alternative methods as well. 

       All the prisoners were treated with respect, although before they made Tharbad all had become highly tired of the Hobbit and his complaints.  Finally one of the Angmarians looked on him, saying, “Leave off, manling, for no one can abide your constant yammering.  No wonder your own folk have cast you out, for it appears you are incapable of looking beyond your own self.”  After that none of those from Angmar would have ought to do with Bedro, and even the Rangers were hard pressed to put up with him at times. 

       Bedro was most uncomfortable for the first week, for he’d never ridden before.  They had for him a rather lean horse and a saddle and short stirrups adjusted for his stature, but his horse was led the entire way.  But as he was totally unprepared to live on his own and had realized that these Rangers were uncannily capable trackers, he did not try to get away, even on foot.

       One of the youngest of those with whom they rode stayed by him along the road, and often sang as they traveled league after league.  Tired of the enforced isolation, Bedro finally began to question him about the road they traveled, and the young Man answered courteously enough.  Bedro didn’t understand all he was told, but he learned enough to realize that all this land had once been under the rule of Elendil the Tall, the Lord of Arnor and High King over Arnor and Gondor combined.  It was his followers who had built the first road through here, whose people had brought peace between the settlements of this land, who had brought law and who had united the land under one benevolent rule.  Now it was Elendil’s heir Aragorn son of Arathorn, the Lord King Elessar Telcontar, who renewed the Kingship and united North and South Kingdoms once again. 

       Bedro had seen the love between the Travelers and the King, the growing respect of Thain and Master for him as well.  He’d realized the King had dealt with the invading soldiers well, and had been shocked and highly impressed with how quickly King, guard, and Pippin Took had managed to interpose their own swords to protect the Southern Steward.  That the King was willing to take the guise of a Ranger himself Bedro didn’t understand until at last the young guard, whose name was Hildigor son of Halladan, explained that the King had himself been a Ranger in both Arnor and in Gondor, that he was Captain of the Rangers of Arnor before he went South to assist in the defeat of Sauron.  “He himself was chief of those who protected the borders of the Shire and the Breelands, and none know that region better than he, I suspect.”

       “You certainly seem to know a good deal about him,” Bedro commented.

       Hildigor simply laughed while others in the troop shook their heads at the Hobbit’s denseness.  Many of those of Angmar, who’d paid more heed to the name of the father to the young Ranger, were most respectful to him, although among his own he was treated no differently than his fellows.  It was not until they reached Rohan that it finally penetrated Bedro’s consciousness that the young Man who was most courteous toward him was the Lord Steward of Arnor’s own son.  Somehow this left him feeling most unsettled, as he tried to comprehend the world into which he had been ejected.

       They remained in Edoras overnight, and the next day were on their way once more, their line escorted by an eored of Riders, the Rohirrim solemn and courteous, and, Bedro realized, potentially deadly.  He looked on their spears, their keen swords, their battle axes, their short bows, their keen eyes, and realized that these were consumate warriors who would have no compunctions against killing him if they thought he posed a danger toward their land and people.

       Five days later after hard riding and much eating in the saddle, they finally came in sight of Mount Mindoluin and the Northern reaches of the Rammas Echor; not long after they were approaching the city walls and the great gate of the city.  They were welcomed and greeted, their orders accepted, read, and acknowledged, their horses stabled in the lowest level of the city, and they began the long walk up through the ways of the city of Minas Anor.

       The prisoners were met in the Fifth Circle by a group of Guardsmen from the Citadel itself; these walked about them through the last two Circles and up the ramp to the level of the Citadel.  Here they were marched toward the Citadel itself, although all found their attention captured by the monument that stood there, white Elven lilies, golden elanor, pale niphredil, and the soft blossoms of kingsfoil blooming about the feet of four Periannath.  Bedro stopped in shock as he looked at it.  He looked up at the Guardsman next to him.  “But that’s the Travelers!” he exclaimed.

       “Travelers?” asked the Man.

       “Pippin Took, Merry Brandybuck, and the Hobbiton gardener,” he explained.  “Those are Hobbits, and I know them!”

       “You know Captain Peregrin and Sir Meriadoc and Lord Samwise?” asked the Man.  “Yet you do not know the Lord Frodo as well?”

       Beasty examined the one in the front, then flushed.  “He hit me once, years ago,” he said.

       “The Lord Frodo struck you?  And what were you doing to upset him?  He was most gentle in his nature.”

       “What’s that in his hand?”

       “The Ring.”  The other prisoners looked on the memorial with curiosity, while the Rangers from Eriador bowed toward it with respect.  They went by the White Tree, and again the Rangers bowed with respect.  The doors to the Citadel itself were opened, and they entered.

       In the Hall of Kings, at the foot of the Throne of Gondor, sat a tall Man in blue and silver on a tall black chair, and about him some of the captains of the army and Guards.  The Guard escorted them forward until they stood near him.  He rose in respect to welcome the Rangers.  “I greet you to Minas Anor.  I am Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth and uncle to our Lord Steward Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, whom I believe you met ere you left Arnor.”  At their Captain’s agreement, he smiled, and introduced the officers who stood near him.  “These will be speaking with each of you, and in a few days’ time they will make determinations as to which commands each of you will be assigned, although if your training is as we have seen in those who have come from Arnor before, you will undoubtedly do well no matter where you are placed.  For now Lord Belerion will show you to your quarters and introduce you to those alongside whom you will serve for the next six months.  Now, if you will tell me your names?”

       “I am Beldarmir son of Orimirion, my Lord,” said the captain of their troop, then named the rest of the Northern Rangers while handing the Prince the dispatches he’d carried.  “With us are prisoners who are to be housed in the prison behind the Citadel until the King’s return.”  He indicated one packet wrapped with silk. 

       The Prince gave a quick look at the eight, and took a second look at the one Hobbit present.  He opened the packet and scanned the contents of the first page, looked back at the seven Men with interest, then gave a brief bow.  “The King himself commends you to my guardianship, gentlemen.  I grieve that we must hold you prisoner at all, but will give orders you are to be treated with respect and all courtesy.”  The Ranger Hildigor translated for the benefit of those who did not speak the Common Tongue.

       He then read the second page, then reread it.  Refolding it, he examined the Hobbit closely.  “Master Bedro son of Bigelow?  You, also, will remain in our prison until our Lord King’s return.  It appears, however, that you have not earned the respect of our Lord Elessar that these have done.  That is a surprise to me, for you are the first Pherian I have met who has been less than honorable.  The Lord does ask that you be given four meals daily, although they will be adequate for the needs of a Pherian.”  Turning to one of the Guards who had accompanied the company from the Fifth Circle, he ordered, “Choose five of your Men to accompany you and the prisoners to the prison, and take this with you.  The rest of you may return to your regular duties.”

       With a salute and bow, the Man indicated five to remain with him and gave a gesture of dismissal to the rest.  These bowed and saluted Prince Imrahil, then turned and marched to the center of the Hall of Kings, at which point they separated, some heading for the back regions of the Citadel while others went out to take up their duties in other areas about the sixth and seventh levels of the city.

       Within minutes the seven Men and one Halfling had been taken out a side door and led around the building, then in through the doors of the prison area.  The Warden of the prison read his orders carefully, and listened to the oral report of the one charged with bringing the prisoners to the cells, and nodded his understanding.  He then called one of the guards within the prison to him.  “Livron, you speak the tongue of Angmar, do you not?”  When Livron indicated he did, he was instructed, “Please to interpret for me, then.

       “All will be warned to treat you with all respect and care, gentlemen,” he said directly to the prisoners.  “I ask each to indicate whether you wish to be housed alone or with one of your fellows, for the King has indicated this will be acceptable.  You will, I fear, find your stay here somewhat boring, although if you desire we can provide books for your distraction and instruction while you are with us.”

       Two pairs of the Angmarians indicated they preferred to be imprisoned together, and the Warden indicated two of his Men should each take one pair to their cells.  He then indicated another should take the other three to their cells.  He then turned to the Hobbit himself.  “Bedro son of Bigelow, I will lead you to your cell.  Please follow me.”

       The room was larger than that in which Beasty had been housed in Bree, and definitely was cleaner.  A cot had a reasonably comfortable mattress, linens, and pillow; there was a stool and small table, and adequate vessels made of metal for hygiene.  A barred window looked out onto a small interior court.  “You will be allowed to take exercise there for two periods a day until the King’s return,” Beasty was told.  “If you are courteous, you will find your guards will be more likely to be respectful in return.  In the mean time we will be seeing to the arrangements needed for your period of enforced service.”

       Bedro Bracegirdle nodded his understanding, and the Warden bowed, and saw to the closing and locking of the door.  Bedro sighed as he lifted himself onto his cot.  Well, he was now in the capitol of the newly combined realm.  Now that he was here, he wondered if he would ever leave it again.

*******

       Four weeks after their arrival in Minas Anor the seven Angmarians were released from their cells and brought together to the exercise area in the center of the prison complex.  There they found waiting for them the King.  “I have altered the judgment given to the seven of you somewhat,” he said in their own language, looking at each closely.  “How I have done this will be made plain to you at the proper time.  However, for now, I will say this.  Tomorrow each of you will be taken to the Houses of Healing where you will each be given a sleeping draught to aid in what must be done, for I would have you feel no pain in what is to come.   When you awaken you will find your sword hand thickly bound with bandages.  Under no circumstances are you to remove these bandages until after you have returned to your own people and your own homes.  Then and only then are you to remove them, and preferably in the privacy of your own homes with but your family present.  Do you understand?”

       “But what about cleaning the wound and watching for infection?” asked the one called Mustel.

       “The manner in which the amputation will be done will leave no danger of such problems,” the King assured them.  “You will not feel particular pain afterwards, you will find.  But until you have been returned to your own people it will best to leave the bandages on.  This will be very important if you are not to die as a result of what has happened to you.

       “I will tell you this--I have been greatly impressed with the honor each of you has shown both to me and to those who have been about you since you were taken.  The day after tomorrow you will begin your return to your own people.  You will need little care, although a healer will accompany you on the return journey, and he will be giving you regular draughts to reduce the probability of pain.  I myself will attend on you while you are in the Houses of Healing, and I swear I will do all I can to make what you experience as painless as possible.”

       Mustel of Angmar waited his turn to go to the Houses of Healing with anxiety.  Soon, he realized, he would be relieved of his hand.  How would he feel afterwards? he wondered.  Would there be a great deal of pain?  Would he still feel the ends of the fingers that were no longer there as Delru insisted was true for him since he lost his hand and much of his arm as well when he fell on the track through their village, and the iron-bound wheel of a freight wagon rolled over his wrist, crushing it and almost completely cutting it from his arm?  He said it was most uncomfortable, how the hand that was not there would curl up with nonexistent fingernails dug into nonexistent palm, and he could not relax them any more.  All of them were fearful of the day to come to one degree or another, that Mustel knew. 

       The door finally opened and a solemn guard stood there alongside the Warden of the prison holding a cup.  The Warden bowed deeply as he presented the cup to Mustel.  “It has been an honor to have you here, and for you to have waited in such patience, sir,” the Warden said as the prisoner drank the wine which the cup contained.  “You will find what is to come far less of an ordeal than you might think; but if you are to live to the aid of your own people, who will need you, give yourself well into the hands of the King, who will do what he must to return you to their needs.”

       “Thank you and your people that you have treated us well, sir Warden,” Mustel said.  “But how I am to be of use to my own people with my sword hand gone, I do not know.”

       The Warden smiled.  “You may find yourself surprised once you realize the full depth of the King’s mercy, my friend.  He has done what he must both to provide justice and to provide for the common folk of your people, now he has realized the full reasoning behind why most of you were chosen for this mission.” 

       Once he saw that Mustel had drunk all within the cup, he received it back, then accompanied him outside and saw him given into the care of the three Guards of the Citadel who waited there, and they accompanied him around the building, past Tree and memorial and down the ramp.  There they turned right, and they brought him to an arched gate, through the gardens area, and into the Houses of Healing where a tall Healer waited him.  He, too, held a cup, but a smaller one than he’d already been given. 

       “You have already been given one draught,” the Healer said quietly as one of the Guards translated to Mustel’s own language.  “This second will shortly make you feel very sleepy.  The King will aid you to fall deeply asleep for the next part of what is to come.  Trust him, for he will see you able to serve the needs of your people when that time comes.”  Mustel nodded, accepted the cup and drank from it.  He had some difficulty getting it all down, for it was somewhat bitter, but drink it he did.  He was led into a room and aided to remove his outer clothing.  

       The King entered, dressed in simple grey, helped him onto a high table, spoke with him, had him move his fingers, asked simple questions.  When the dizziness hit Mustel felt suddenly terrified, but the King was able to reassure him, smiled at him.  “I will be by you.  No real harm will come to you, you will find.  But if you are to survive to the needs of your own people and village, this must be.  Now, focus on the tip of my finger.”

       The King’s voice became soft and seductive, and Mustel found himself relaxing, his eyes finally closing, and he slept deeply.

       Once Mustel had indeed lost consciousness, the King nodded.  “Bring me the plaster,” he said.  He closed the fist around a roll of bandaging, then wrapped it tightly round with more bandaging until half the lower arm was swathed.  Finally they handed to him lengths of bandaging that had been soaked in plaster, and he began to wrap the hand and wrist with it, swathing a good way up the arm, but not the full length of the bandaging that was there already.  Finally it was all done, and he looked on it with a feeling of satisfaction.  He then wrapped that with a layer of fleece, and put a soft wrapping over all, then a layer of tightly woven canvas to protect the rest.

       “Why are they not to realize you have not taken their hands after all?” asked Evamir once Mustel was moved to another room to sleep off the remains of the two draughts he’d been given.

       “They were sent out to assassinate Halladan or myself so that hopefully we would kill them and they would not pose any threat to the current leadership of their own people once it becomes obvious they seek only to dictate all that is allowed for those who remain in their lands.  That I ordered the loss of their hands is known to them, and a copy of the judgment made has been given into the hands of Mertirio, the current war leader who would be dictator for all their people.  If he knew they were not maimed after all, once they return to their own people he would have them killed that they not pose a threat.  If he believes them maimed, he will allow them to live, for who will listen to the advice of a Man maimed by the enemy?  Once it becomes plain to their own folk, however, that they were not maimed after all, and that they see clearly what Mertirio and his folk plan, they are most likely to listen and stand up to the would-be rulers of all.

       “If they realize they have not lost their hands after all before they face Mertirio, it is unlikely they will be allowed to return home--probably they would be imprisoned and secretly killed before such could happen.”

       “I do not like the use of the drink on the way home.”

       “Nor do I, particularly; but if the ruse is to work on them as well as those in Angmar, such would be expected.  But orders have been given to reduce the amount of the drug daily until at the last they have nothing more than wine with some innocuous herbs in it by the time they return to the borders of their own land.”

       By that time the next soldier had been brought, and the King saw to the sleeping and the wrapping, until at last all seven and Sestor had their hands disguised.

*******

       Mertirio and his captains carefully watched the riders approach.  All eight of the Men from Angmar had one hand identically bandaged, and they were accompanied by a group evenly made up by those in the black and silver of the Southern Kingdom and those in the grey and green cloaks of Rangers of Arnor.  One among them was one of the small folk who’d taken part in the parley almost two months earlier. 

       He’d listened to the reading and translation of the King’s judgment with interest.  That the King of Arnor and Gondor would return those who came against him still alive but only after having lost their sword hands impressed him.  Here was one who would appear both merciful and just, but who realized what must be done to stop specific individuals from threatening him and his again, and who wanted the enemy properly impressed with his intent.  Mertirio found himself admiring the astuteness of this foe, and glad these were returned alive after all.  Let all see that the ruler of Arnor and Gondor was, for all his show of mercy, yet ruthless and thought nothing of maiming their forces, and the rest of his folk would more likely seek to defeat his army when it at last came to open battle.

       The group stopped a good ways short of the border, and one of those who rode with them addressed the bandaged Men.  “I will now provide you with a special knife you will need to remove the heavy bandage you now wear.  Remove the outer wrappings, then use this knife to cut through the plastered bandage underneath.  The tip itself and outer side are dull, and it is specially curved to allow you to work it inside the cuff of the thing.  Cut all the way down past where your hand would be, and do this from both sides.  Remember, however, not to do this until you are home with your own families, and only those you trust about you.  Otherwise all will be for naught.”  He handed a special tool to each of them and saw them put into packs or belt purses. 

       “Good then,” he said quietly.  “Do not tell them how courteously you were treated, as it will be lost on them.”  He went to his own place at the back and indicated to the Guards and Rangers they could go ahead, and watched after with prayers that the King’s elaborate ruse would be successful.  The eight being returned appeared tired, but not a great deal worse for the wear.  But the thick bandages on sword hands pleased Mertirio, for he knew that these would not raise sword against him, and being seen as maimed would not be treated as quite believable by their folk.  He made a show of welcoming them back into their homeland, and saw the fourteen of their armed escort turn back to join the three who’d stayed back.

       That night they stayed in the camp established for those who’d come to take part in the receipt of the prisoners.  Mertirio had them brought to his tent and questioned as to what they had experienced.

       Mustel ended up as their spokeman.  “We were taken first to the gaol in Bree, and each locked into a separate cell.  Near sunset we were taken to a hall which was being used as a judgment hall, and were attended by the armed Rangers who’d captured us.  Eleven had been sent north of the road, including the archer--they were not with us.  Avrigien, once he’d given us our orders, withdrew further into the forest.  After our arrival in the hall he was brought in by two other Rangers, and we realized he, too had been captured.”

       “How was the judgment carried out?”

       Mustel described the two tables and how representatives of the Northern Kingdom sat at one and those from the South at the other, and the inclusion of the short manlings called Periannath as well in the party.  He described the relentless questioning, and finally how the King himself had been revealed as one of the two Rangers flanking Avrigien.

       “Describe him.”

       “Taller than the rest, but like them in appearance.  Almost all have dark hair and beards and grey eyes, and wear grey or green cloaks with a star on the left shoulder.  Only he wears no star on his cloak.  He wore blue-grey riding leathers beneath, which once the cloak was removed we realized were richly decorated, embossed and inlaid with silver.  His eyes are keen, but so it is with the rest.  He appears to be in middle years, but is slender and athletic in build, and well muscled.  He wore but sword and dagger when we saw him, but we were told as we traveled South he is also an excellent bowman in his own right, as is true even moreso of his primary lieutenant.  The quickness of his draw of his sword when Avrigien threatened his Southern Steward was amazing, I must say.  He, the one who had remained at Avrigien’s side, and the Perian guard all had their swords interposed before Avrigien could complete his attempt to kill the Man.  And his eyes when he pronounced the fate of Avrigien were--relentless.”

       “Who did he have behead Avrigien?”

       “He said he would do this himself.”

       “Do you believe he did this?”

       “Yes.  I do not think the King of Arnor and Gondor chooses to speak idly.”

       “When were your hands removed?”

       “Just ere we were sent back north through Arnor again, back here to our homes.”

       “How was it done?”

       “None of us knows how it was done, for we were each given sleeping draughts that we not be aware of the pain of it.  And we were constantly given draughts which were reduced day by day that any pain be relieved throughout our return journey.  We awoke in their Houses of Healing and found our arms like this.  We were told that the plaster bandages were intended to keep anything from bumping the stumps and causing pain ere they were completely healed, and the outer bandages to keep the plaster from causing bruises to the rest of our bodies.”

       “Have any of you known infection?”

       “No, Lord.  We were told special herbs would be used to guard against such.  Their healers appear to be well trained, and the King himself is a healer as well.”

       “You are certain of this?” asked one of Mertirio’s lieutenants.

       “Positive,” Sestor said quietly.  “There were at least three healers in the King’s party when I was taken, and he was the one who did the most to remove the arrow which impaled my arm.”

       “When was your hand removed?”

       “He told me what judgment he’d given the rest while we remained in Rivendell where I was questioned.  He had me ride South with him, and I went through the Houses of Healing with the rest, woke to find my arm thus.”  All others agreed this was how each had experienced it.

       “A King who is a healer and a warrior both--an unusual Man,” Mertirio commented.

       “And one gifted in languages as well,” Mustel added.

       “What of the others, whose swords were broken?”

       “We know not,” Mustel said.

       “They accompanied us South, were told they would not be allowed to return to Arnor,” Sestor added.

       Sestor was asked to explain how he was taken, and both he and Mustel repeated the descriptions they’d been given of the Old Forest and Barrow Downs, although Sestor did not tell how he’d been advised that the haunting of the Barrows had been caused by the Lord of the Nazgul rather than the Dúnedain.

       “And you say that the King was accompanied by several of the manlings known as Periannath?”

       “We were told they were known both as Hobbits and Periannath or Pheriannath, depending on the one speaking the word.  But, yes, there were several, at least two of whom are trained superbly in the use of the sword, and many of whom are skilled with bows, and all of whom appear to be skilled with thrown stones.”

       “All?”

       “Men, women, and children all three.  And one is renowned for the killing of the Witchking, and another for the killing of a great troll, although I have been told all who went South with the King before have slain orcs of several kinds.”

       “What other business did you see the King do?”

       “There was a conference for all who live within the bounds of Arnor, both East and West of the Misty Mountains.  Not only did Men come from the various parts of Arnor, but Elves, Dwarves, and the Periannath as well.  They spoke on the manner in which each people will maintain its borders, and how they will approach the borders of the lands of others.  They spoke of coinage and how the coinage of each land will compare to that of the King as well.  They spoke on the education of their children and the goods each has to trade with others.  They spoke on the enemies of each people and the allies of each as well.  They discussed how they will deal with lawbreaking and when one will be sent to stand before King or Stewards rather than to be dealt with locally.  And they spoke as to how they will deal with the threat we pose, although from these talks I was excluded.

       “I also saw the King marry two couples, one from among the Periannath and one from among his own kinsmen from Eriador.  He and two among the Periannath saw to the wedding of the Hobbits.

       “And I saw the practice of several weapons by all parties, including the King, Elves, Dwarves, Men, and Hobbits.  All are well trained and experienced, and I would not wish to draw sword against the Hobbit who is among the King’s own guard.

       “The King himself did the stitching of my wound, and it was seen to by healers from among the Elves, Men, and Hobbits as well.”

       “The Periannath have healers?”

       “Yes, my Lord.  The one who kept an eye on my wound appeared very skillful.”

       Mertirio and his lieutenants all looked at one another.  Finally one of his followers commented, “You each carry your own sword?”

       Perdenon nodded.  “Yes, my Lord.  They were returned to us this day, and we were told that as we proved honorable opponents we would be allowed to pass our swords on to our sons, as is done among their people.”

       Several of the captains laughed at that.

       Afterwards the eight of them were shown to a tent.  One of them, one named Gershim, started to pull out the tool given them by the Rangers.  Sestor caught his hand and shook his head.  “No, you don’t want to do that here,” he said quietly.  “If you do this where you might be seen, it will mean the death of all of us.  You must not take it off until you are in your own home and where no one but your own families can see.”

       “But why?”

       “I cannot say why.  I only know that the King changed our final judgment, and how he did it is only to be revealed when we have returned home.  Mertirio and his fellows must not see how his judgment was changed.”

       They all looked at one another, and finally Gershim returned the tool to his belt purse once more.

       Within three days each of the former prisoners had been allowed to return to his own home, and finally, once they were assured no one other than their own family members were with them, each found himself pulling out the tool given them at the last and beginning the cutting of the plaster bandages.

       The one called Perdenon gladly removed the outer bandages, then inserted the curved cutting blade and began to cut.  It took time, a good long time.  Finally the youngest of his three brothers, looking into the loft room where Perdenon was working on freeing his arm at last, offered to help, and soon he’d managed to get one side of the thing cut.  Getting the other side cut went faster, and finally it was peeled away--and then came the unwrapping of the inner bandages.

       When at last the last bandage was removed and he found his hand was still there, clutched around a roll of cloth, he looked at it amazed.  He’d not moved it for so long he could barely get the muscles to flex--but finally he was able to straighten his fingers, move them a bit.  He sat heavily on the cot where he slept at night, and remained looking between his hand and his brother for some time.

       “I’ve been told the King had changed the judgment given me,” he said quietly, “but not that he’d decided against removing my sword hand after all.”  He looked up into his brother’s eyes.  “Why would he go to such elaborate lengths to convince even me that he’d followed through on the threat?”  He was suddenly glad this was his youngest brother, and not one of the elder two or his father, for he knew that Pelos would keep his own counsel where the others would report this immediately to Mertirio and the other captains.

       Pelos stood shaking his head.  “I do not know, but I suspect this was done for the benefit of others more than for your own.”

       “I think,” Perdenon said, “that I had best speak to Sestor.  He may have some knowledge of the King to share regarding this.  What I have been told repeatedly, however, was that I was not to remove the bandages until I was with those I trusted completely, that otherwise I was likely to die.”  He searched his brother’s eyes.  “Would Mertirio truly have killed me had I returned still with my hand intact, do you think?”

       Pelos’s face grew hard.  “He has never favored you, nor the others sent with you on the mission to kill the Steward or King.”

       “So,” Perdenon said slowly, “he might not cause other harm to me if he believed I could no longer wield a sword....”  Together the two of them contemplated his hand, which had lost muscle but was not destroyed or lost, and thought of the nature of their own leadership.

       Gershim’s oldest son helped in the removal of the bandage, and looked at the hand clutched about the roll of bandages at the center.  “But, my father, I thought you told me that this hand had been removed.”

       “I was told it was to be removed....”

       “But why the bandages, the plaster?”

       “I have no idea....”  Gershim looked at it, totally perplexed, willed the fingers to move, finally got some response out of them.  “But I was told not to remove these in the camp, that it would lead to the deaths of all....”

       “Mertirio and his fellows do not love you.”

       “And he was cheerful enough to see me with that on my arm....”  A gladness went through him.  “I have not lost it after all, can still, in time, wield a blade once again!  And Mertirio does not know this.  He wished Mertirio to think I was powerless to ever speak against him in a manner to which others will listen.”  His eyes grew steely at the thought.  “To find I have more respect for the king of our enemies than I do for our own war leaders----” 

       His son considered.  “If this is true, then what does this say about our war leaders, my father?”

       Sestor managed to cut the bandages from his arm himself, and was not surprised to see he still had his hand beneath.  It would take time to return it to its former strength, but he would be able to bend his bow again--not that he ever intended to bend it against the forces of the King of Arnor and Gondor.  However, the discussions regarding the nature of Mertirio had had their effect on him, had clarified in his own mind why he had always distrusted the Man and his followers. 

       Now none of the war leaders saw him as a threat any longer, and would most like pay him no attention.  Well, that pleased him no end.

       Mustel’s cousin helped remove the plastered layer of bandages and to unwrap the final layers underneath.  As the two of them looked at the hand hidden in the midst of all, wonder and gladness filled them both.  Mustel had a time of it, getting the fingers, so long immobile, to move, but they finally began to answer to his will.  He shook his head. 

       “So,” he said at the last, “this is what the Lord King Elessar did not wish for the war leaders to see, what he wished revealed only to those I can trust.”  He looked up to catch his cousin’s eye.  “I think, once the strength returns to my hand, I will be somewhat a shock to Mertirio.”

       “Well, he deserves a shock, for his plan is to control all, to tell us even when and what we are to eat and drink.”

       “He sent us to test the defenses of the leaders of Arnor, and if we died he’d have been full glad.  Well, we were not killed, not unmanned, or even relieved of our hands.  We have seen the King of Arnor and Gondor--he’s a far better Man or leader than Mertirio, Irthorol.  I have a mind to speak to the others who came back from Gondor with me.  We can perhaps prepare a surprise for Mertirio and his folk.”

       And throughout Angmar it was much the same in each of the houses in which those who’d been to Gondor removed their bandages.  One was angry at the King of Arnor and Gondor until his wife pointed out he was alive and home, and not likely to be sent on another suicide mission.  The idea that he’d been sent on the last mission in the hopes he’d die caused him to think more deeply about whether or not he would support Mertirio and the other war chieftains in the future, and his wife indicated she would speak with her brothers.

       Aragorn, on seeing in the Palantir that the former prisoners from Angmar were back in their homeland, smiled.  It would be interesting to see what the coming year brought in the relations between Arnor and Angmar, much less within Angmar itself.

Signs of Love

       The Lord King Aragorn Elessar of Arnor and Gondor was going through his pack, and untied and unrolled his blanket roll across the bed, looking at it in consternation.  He raised his eyes to those of his wife.  “What is this?” he asked.

       Arwen examined the unrolled coverings, suppressing the smile that tried to make itself seen.  “Is it not your blanket roll?”

       “You know it is not, my lady wife.  My blanket roll has never included a quilt--and especially never one with patches of pink.”

       She ran her hand across the offending quilt.  “It does feel as if it is properly warm, beloved.”

       “Warmth is only part of the function of a blanket roll.  I am to spend two weeks among the Rangers of Ithilien.  How am I to appear a Man among Men with a blanket roll which includes a quilt with patches of pink?”  He looked at it again.  “What has become of my proper blanket roll?”

       “I do not believe I could tell you, beloved.”

       He examined her face with a distinctly suspicious air, then changed his examination to the quilt.  After examining about five of the patches, he sighed.  “When did Pippin have access to my pack and blanket roll?”

       “When we were in Eriador, of course.  Why do you ask about Pippin?”

       “Because the pink patches are from a dress worn by Elanor when she visited here in the spring.  The green is from a surcoat I had made for Pippin when they were here after the coronation.  The blue is from a shirt of Merry’s, and the gold from one of Sam’s.  And the silver....”  His expression softened, and he began to laugh.  “And I see you, my fine wife, have been a party to this--and Faramir and Éowyn as well as Ruvemir.  Here are patches made from his wedding shirt--I recognize Miriel’s stars; here is from a tunic I know Faramir tore as he rode through the heavy brush when we hunted the boar that was threatening the village of Cerembor in Anorien last year, and the shirt Éowyn wore under her mail when she and Merry rode from Dunharrow--I had it cleaned and returned to her afterward.  As for this--” he tapped a square of soft blue, “--this is from the dress Melian wore on her naming day, while this is from the gown you wore on the night of her begetting.”  She could hear the regret in his tone.

       “I wore it too long into my pregnancy, beloved, and its seams gave way; I could not repair it and wear it after.  But, knowing how you loved to see it on me, I thought it would do well here.”

       He looked into her eyes and smiled.  “But this was Pippin’s idea, was it not?”

       She laughed.  “Oh, yes, Estel, it was.”

       He shook his head, turned his attention back to it.  “Dear Pippin, the scoundrel.  The ideas he has come up with.”  He touched a series of patches of wine shades and deep blues.  “From one of Adar’s formal robes.”  She nodded.  “And this,” his expression softening markedly, “was from a dress of my mother’s.”

       She smiled.  “And this was from a robe your father wore as a youth, when he was fostered in Imladris.”  He looked up at her with surprise, then looked back at it with increased interest.  “And this was from one worn by your grandfather....”

       Then his eyes lighted on one woven in grey, a fine fabric for all its loose weave.  “And this--this from the cloak Gandalf wore over his robes when he still hid the fact he had returned to us as the White.”  He gently touched it, his eyes sad yet proud.  He finally looked further.  “How did you convince Legolas to let you have this tunic?  It was ever one of his favorites.” 

       “Beloved, he wore that for over fifty years, and it was finally wearing out.”

       “And even material from the shirt Gimli wore beneath his mail.  Was this from something of Boromir’s? And this from Halbarad's night robe?”  She nodded, and his smile was again solemn.  “And--material from Hobbit handkerchiefs?”

       “Bilbo left quite a few in Imladris, you know; and all forwarded one of their own, while Sam sent a few of Frodo’s as well.”  She looked at him as he stroked the patches within the quilt.  “Now, if you are ashamed to take this among the Rangers of Ithilien....”

       He raised his eyes to hers.  “You knew how my mood would change once I realized what this was, my Lady Wife.”  He looked at it again.  “Realizing what it is, how could I bear to leave it behind?”

       “It’s not large enough to cover our bed, beloved.  It was intended for those times when you must be apart from me.”

       “A reminder of those who love me and whom I love in return?”

       She did not answer, not in words.  He laughed and turned to kiss her, and together they found the kiss was deepening, and there atop the reminders of love they found themselves sharing their own.

Spring in Angmar

       Mertirio and his lieutenants did not draw back from the borders of Arnor by mid-winter, and soon rumors began to go through the border lands that Arnor to the South would welcome any who wished to settle there, as long as they carried no weapons more fearsome than belt knives.  When farmers and artisans sought to take advantage of this offer, however, they found that Mertirio and his folk not only sought to seal the border against migration southward, but were threatening families and friends of those who were caught attempting to leave in hopes of deterring such losses.  Resentment was growing.

       After two years of drought and failed harvests through most of Angmar, they’d had one year finally when harvests had been better, but only in those lands controlled by Mertirio and his closest supporters.  They had seized control of the seedcorn, had sowed their own fields; had seen to the feeding of their own people, then had sought to sell the excess to other regions at such enormous profit that others could ill afford to buy it, would have no means of purchasing seed corn for the coming year’s needs.  Resentment against Mertirio grew even more.

       Eight who had been thought to have been eliminated as leaders to the rest of Angmar through the winter exercised hands not lost after all, and quietly spread throughout those closest to them the word that it was otherwise elsewhere; that in Arnor the King’s Steward saw to it that seedcorn was distributed from the King’s own barns to those areas which had suffered drought, and that prices were not allowed to rise exorbitantly in those regions where there was need to take unfair advantage of those who were desperate to replenish their own stores.  In Arnor Men could not lose their lands solely because they argued with the King’s policies.  In Arnor the rule of law was not upheld with threat of force.  Many who had followed Mertirio’s banner now began to question what they would do in the coming battle.

       Perdenon, who had gone South to fight under the Witchking in the War of the Rings, was correcting what he’d said before.  He was letting it be known that what he’d thought to be children were instead a new people, the Periannath, a small but doughty folk of Eriador within Arnor who were honored highly by the rulers of not only Arnor and Gondor but of Rohan as well, and by Dwarves and Elves as well as Men.  The news that two of the Periannath had brought down the tower of Barad-dur and had thus vanquished Sauron himself spread swiftly throughout Angmar and was soon being told in even the most remote regions.  That forces of the Periannath would march with the army sent by the Lord King Elessar quickly spread, and many became fearful of the reputation of these small folk who could walk unseen and use stones and bows equally well, whose skill with sorcery was great enough to destroy Mordor.  Who knew what they might do to the land of Angmar?

       Here the reports spread by Mertirio’s own folk of his encounter with two of these mysterious Periannath who’d been sent to parley worked to his detriment.  Those who described the small warriors dressed in the styles of Gondor and Rohan were known to be strongest in the support of Mertirio himself, and even they could not hide the fact that Mertirio had been shaken by what he saw, had fled once the two had ridden away, apparently alongside the mysterious and powerful Lord Elessar himself, who was said to wield Elven magics as well as having earned the fealty of the Dwarves. 

*******

       Mertirio, as the winter waned and spring approached, began to summon forces to more strongly man the borders; and among those who came were seven he didn’t realize were still capable of wielding swords, and one he did not realize could still bend a bow.  These spread themselves along the borderlands, began to counsel those whose farms were there to withdraw, either cross south or retreat north to safety.  Many of those who were also stationed along the border in expectation of the coming summer’s campaign began to listen to Mustel, Perdenon, Gershim, Sestor, and the others, began to change their ideas of what they would do when the fight came.

       Over the winter the forces of Arnor had also gathered along the border, and in larger forces than those of Angmar had realized they commanded.  Many younger Men of Arnor had come to maturity in times of peace, had trained hard over the last years of calm, and now rode in the patrols along the borders in sufficiently large numbers that none of Mertirio’s folks could penetrate South for raids or assays.

       Then in April came word that the army of the Lord King Elessar was coming north from Gondor itself, and this of seasoned Men who had fought against the forces of Mordor for many years and who would not break against what forces Angmar could raise.  They were accompanied northward by Riders of Rohan, and as they crossed the East-West Road were joined by fifty archers and twenty cooks from the land of the Periannath and a group of warriors from Imladris as well as an unnumbered group of Dwarves, or so it was rumored.  As the army approached the fear of the devastation to come if they fought against the forces of Arnor and Gondor and their allies continued to grow among those who were being gathered by Mertirio, and more began to listen to counsel from those who spoke of opposing the warlords....

*******

       In mid-May Mertirio and his lieutenants found themselves facing the army of the Lord King Elessar of Arnor and Gondor.  The number of Men, Elves, Dwarves, and Periannath they faced amazed them, for they had no true realization of the extent of the lands whose loyalty and alliances the Lord King Elessar commanded.  They saw Men in the greens, greys and silver of Arnor on both flanks, both mounted and on foot, ready to wield sword and bow and catapults.  They saw the long spears of the Rohirrim carried by Men in rich greens and browns, the swords and war axes and short yet powerful bows they also carried as they sat their strong horses, their King mounted on a powerful grey stallion of the Mearas.  They saw the black and silver of Gondor, the white and silver of Ithilien, the blue and silver of Dol Amroth.  They saw the rich robes of Elven forces and the axes carried by sturdy Dwarven warriors.  And they saw small forms of archers led by two small figures who were reputed to have killed Nazgul and trolls and unnumbered orcs.

       Mertirio looked on these forces and his heart shrank inside him, yet he would still sound the charge.  A tall form in armor of sable and silver approached to parley, his banner of Tree and Stars, Crown and Sceptre beside him, accompanied by the two small figures who led the archers of the Periannath whom he’d seen before in the summer, the King of Rohan, three Elves with bows at the ready, and a Dwarf with axe in hand.

       Mertirio rode forward with his lieutenants until they faced the King of Arnor and Gondor and his seconds directly.  Yes, the two small ones were indeed the two who’d sat reading when he rode to see them in the summer, but they were not distracted now, their attention fixed on him and his people with deadly purpose.  Nor were the faces of the others who rode with the King any less determined.  As for the King himself....

       Never had he seen such power revealed in a Man.  Here was the one he’d seen the previous summer riding away bareback on the powerful brown stallion behind the two Periannath.  Now he rode an even greater grey steed, still with no saddle or tack, one who was plainly a match for the one carrying the King of Rohan who rode alongside him, and now he was revealed in his full royalty and strength, and Mertirio wished to quail before his piercing gaze.

       Finally the Man spoke.  “I am the King Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar of Arnor and Gondor.  You sent twenty last year to take and slay me, seeking to foment war between your land and ours.  Well, you now have your wish--war has come to your own borders.  Will you continue in this destructive career, or will you agree to treat with us that the war not destroy your lands and people?”

       “What do we have to do with those who give women and children to the great Eagles and send them against the likes of the Nazgul?”  The moment he’d said this, Mertirio realized perhaps he ought not to have said any such thing, for those who faced him began to laugh.

       The King laughed loudest and hardest.  Finally he turned to the smaller figure on the white pony who rode by the King of Rohan.  “Sir Meriadoc, you see how still they misrepresent you?”

       “It’s good our beloved Lord Samwise isn’t here,” the one identified as Sir Meriadoc said.  “Even without a sword, he’d be right here in this ones face, hands on hips, to disabuse him, as if he were a young teen out stealing apples from the orchard.”  He rode forward.  “I know you have heard the truth by now, Mertirio of Angmar, for I told it to you the last time we met.  I and my Lord King Éomer’s sister Éowyn, a shieldmaiden of Rohan, stood against the Lord of the Nazgul and between us wrought his ending, and we paid the price for it through enduring the Black Breath.  Two of our people entered into Mordor to bring about the ending of Sauron, and they won through by endurance, hope, and faith, along with the grace afforded them by the Valar and the Creator.  We are not children, and now will fight to support our Lord and King Aragorn Elessar.  It is time to give over such fanciful tales about the horrible atrocities supposedly practiced in Gondor, for we have heard also of the black and grey healers and magicians who dwell yet among you, who learned their arts from the Witchking himself.  I do now ask, out of my native curiosity as a Hobbit, are any of them effective in their magics any more, now that Sauron and their teacher are no more?”

       No one looking into the eyes of this one could think him a child.  No, he was clearly a seasoned warrior, and the one opposite him on the dun pony was the same.  Many found themselves looking sideways at Mertirio, whose face had blanched.

        “This parley is pointless,” Mertirio said, and he turned to ride back, only to find that his way was blocked by one who rode forward from among his own forces to face him, Mustel of Belgri, in whose right hand was held a sword he’d once feared, rightly, to see raised against himself.

       “You will not treat with the King of Arnor and Gondor when he offers you terms of peace?  Our people have endured three years of short rations, two of them through drought and the third from poor policies of government.  Many who would have gone elsewhere to take lands to till in peace were turned back at the borders, and their kin and friends who’d thought to remain loyal to Angmar were punished for their temerity in wishing to find arable lands and food and peace in plenty for their families.

       “I have seen this Man, he who has been made King of both Arnor and Gondor, sitting in judgment and have known both his justice and his mercy.  If we fight his forces, he will crush you and your followers and all of us who stand in arms against him; but also others who are merely in the way will die also, and our lands will be ravaged for your vanity.  Let it end now.”

       “And who will end it?” asked Mertirio.  “You?”

       “If no one else will stand against you, yes, I will end it now.  Although I suspect you will find I do not stand alone.”  A number rode and stepped forward to stand behind Mustel.  “Nor, I think, will you find that all who appear to support you will continue to stand behind you.”  

       Mertirio looked at his army, and saw many looking at him with enigmatic expressions.  Some looked between him and the forces facing him, shrugged, and almost as a man turned and walked or rode away.  Of those a significant number broke their spears before they turned back north and left the field.  Others began moving to come behind Mustel, and among these he saw Gershim, Perdenon and Pelos, Sestor, and the four others who had come back from Gondor with their sword hands covered in bandages.  It could be plainly seen all of these held their weapons and intended to wield them not against the forces of the Southern King but against Mertirio and his followers.  

       White and shaking with fear and anger, Mertirio threw himself forward, and Mustel came forward to meet him.  The fight was long, but in the end Mertirio was unhorsed, then disarmed by Mustel, who’d dismounted to fight him evenly.

       “Will you now yield and allow us to treat with the King Elessar?” Mustel asked.

       Instead, Mertirio drew his belt knife and sought to throw it into Mustel’s face.  With almost a sigh, Mustel swung his sword and decapitated the Man, and the knife fell harmlessly to the side.

       Held back by the arrows aimed at them by Sestor’s archers as well as the archers from the forces brought by the King Elessar, Mertirio’s lieutenants watched as their leader fell at Mustel’s hands.  Finally they turned to one another, and by mutual agreement they cast down their weapons.

       The war was won with no blows struck by the forces of the Lord King Aragorn Elessar.

Grace Expressed

       “Here it is, Fosco,” Narcissa said, gently guiding the younger Hobbit’s hand to touch the figure of Frodo Baggins. 

       Forsythia stood looking at the grouping, her eyes wide with amazement.  “Oh, Narcissa, I’ve seen the model, but had no idea the real thing would be so beautiful!”  She examined Frodo’s figure carefully.  “It is Iorhael, truly Iorhael as I remember him--but so solemn!” 

       Brendilac stood holding little Frodo, just a year old, both looking on the figure of the bairn’s namefather with great interest, and in Brendi’s case, great longing.

       Behind them Merry asked, “Ferdi--is it there?”

       Ferdibrand turned unerringly toward the White Tree.  “No,” he said with regret, “no reflection today.”

       “Perhaps tomorrow,” the King said quietly.  He held Faramir's son Elboron and Pippin's little Faramir in his arms, and Samwise son of Ruvemir stood beside him, looking up at the young prince and Pippin’s son.

       Pippin came from reporting for duty, and reached up to take his son from his friend and King.  “I will attend on you at the first hour tomorrow morning, then, Aragorn.”

       “I look forward to it.”

       Fosco interrupted, “The knee to his trousers is torn, and the cuffs of his shirt loose and frayed.  Master Ruvemir has caught so many details into the the figure....”

       Brendi stepped closer, shifted his son onto his left hip, reached out to gently touch the outstretched right hand, ran his finger over the gap where the ring finger was missing.  “The last time I saw him, he was so very weak, and not certain he’d make it to the Havens, much less all the way to Tol Eressëa.  Even then he was such a caring individual, and so worried for Timono and the rest.  He told me he didn’t want them to stand alone, that he’d done worse.”

       Ordo Goodbody nodded.  “He was always caring about others, Mr. Baggins was, always.  He and my dad made a good pair for both had a right romantic turn of mind.  They were always looking for someone needing a leg up, to give it to them.  Old Mr. Bilbo, too--just the same, although he loved to make certain as his gifts left the folks receiving them just a bit confused.  But young Master Frodo--for him it was the pleasure of seeing someone finding the light in dark times.” 

       He sighed as he looked into the face of Frodo’s figure; then he turned to Sam’s.  “Now, Mr. Gardner--he’s just as caring, but more likely to make certain his gift teaches something along the way.”  He stepped back a bit to get a better view of the whole memorial, then looked at Fosco kneeling on the surround before Frodo’s figure, feeling the feet, then the inscription on the stone base.  “First time I worked with Dad and Mr. Baggins was when he first checked up on these two, there just after the Free Fair when they were little ones.  That evening we were sitting in the Common in Westhall, we saw some bully chasing little ones down the lane, and Mr. Baggins straightened with indignation, walked forward and stood behind a tree.  The little ones were these two, and after they ran past, Master Frodo stepped out in front of the bully, and blocked the path.  Was quite polite for all he was angry, asking why he was chasing after little ones so much smaller than himself, and when the bully got smart and asked what he intended to do about it, Master Frodo said something to the effect of, ‘Just this,’ and gave him a single blow.  Knocked him flat on the ground.  It was quite marvelous to see. 

       “Shiriffs would do nothing to him the one or two times anyone complained about him stopping someone from beating on another or an animal, always knowing the one complaining had to of been doing something pretty bad for Master Frodo to let his punch loose.  Though, as I think on it, I don’t think anyone ever complained but old Sandyman in Hobbiton.  He’d be beating on his boy, and Master Frodo’d see it and ask him about it, and Sandyman would start to turn on Master Frodo, and Master Frodo’d just hit him once, and he’d be sitting on the ground.  As much as Mr. Baggins would stick up for young Ted, you’d think as the lad would of turned out all right--but, oh, no--had to be his dad’s son instead.  Too bad, really.”

       Ferdibrand, led by his cousin Isumbard, came forward to Sam’s figure, gently running his fingers over the statue as he’d done before he left the last time.  “I wish Sam and Rosie could have come, but she was so close to her time....”

       Bard laughed.  “Their fifth.  Well, Frodo wanted them to fill Bag End with life and children, and the two of them seem intent on doing just that.”

       “Wonder if the babe’s come yet?” Estella wondered as she and Merry and small Periadoc walked around the memorial.

       The King shook his head.  “Not as of three hours ago, and no sign of labor commencing.”

       “Spying through the Palantir, are you?” asked Merry.  The King just smiled.

       The Lady Arwen, heavily pregnant for the second time, and Lady Éowyn joined them, Prince Faramir's wife taking her son from her Lord King's arms, and he reached down to lift Melian onto his shoulder.  “It is good to have those who could come here again,” the Queen said.

       “Will the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers be sung again tomorrow in the memorial ceremony?” asked Pippin.

       “No, not during the ceremony this time,” the King said, “although I believe it will be sung at the end of the feast tomorrow night.  Instead, Pippin, the Master of Music wishes to speak with you this evening, and hopes you will join with the musicians tomorrow.  And, Merry and Forsythia, if you will sing....”

       “You wish me to carry my flute with my uniform?” asked Pippin, intrigued.

       “Oh, yes.  It would be most appropriate.”

       All the group looked at one another with mutual curiosity.

       The next day was the tenth New Year of the Fourth Age for the lands outside the Shire, and a group had again come to Minas Anor to join in the celebrations.  Pippin and Merry had come with their wives and children, accompanied by Ferdibrand and Reginard and Isumbard Took and their families, Brendilac and Narcissa Brandybuck and their wards and infant son, Berilac Brandybuck, Ordo Goodbody and his wife Lilia, and Emro Gravelly, who’d reluctantly agreed to come south with those he still thought of as his children.  From Lebennin had come Folco Boffin and his wife, the mannikin woman Miriel, their fosterlings and daughter Elainen Primula.  With them today was Ruvemir and Elise’s son Samwise, a quiet, smiling child with hair as dark as his father's, but curly as his mother’s. 

       The King leaned down to caress little Samwise’s hair where he stood holding Lorieth’s hand.  “It is a wrench not to have your namefather here, but we do have you to remember him by.”

       “Where is Ruvemir?” asked Merry.

       “Finishing up a figure.  He’s most intent on getting it completed tonight so it won’t weigh on his mind tomorrow--says he wants to be able to devote his entire attention to tomorrow’s festivities.”  He turned to Emro Gravelly.  “It is an honor, Master Gravelly, to have you here this time.”

       “Thank you, sir,” the Hobbit farmer said, “but I’m still not quite certain as I ought to of come.  I feel so very out of place.”

       “I’m certain you must indeed feel that way, Master, and we hope you will feel more comfortable as your stay proceeds.  You and your wife managed to raise two extraordinary young Hobbits, and we delight to honor you for it.”

       “A good deal of it is due to Mistress Narcissa and Mister Brendilac, I suspect.”

       Fosco rose from his completed examination of Frodo’s figure, and put his arm about the waist of his foster father.  “But you and Mum had the bulk of the work, Da, and we’ll never stop loving you for it, you know,” he said.  “Sythie and I are still happy you agreed to come, though.  You deserve to get some honor on your own merits.”

       Emro looked at the memorial.  “Still hard to think as Hobbits from the Shire are honored out here in the outer world,” he said.  “I know they are, but to actually see the monument at the last....”  He went quiet, looking at Sam’s figure, the heavy pack, the bent back and raised blade.  “And he was but a gardener at the time.”

       Merry smiled.  “Sam was always more than just a gardener, Master Gravelly.  He just never wanted to believe it till he left the Shire, not that he wanted to believe it even then.”

       Just then a bell rang, and King and Queen shepherded their guests into the feast hall for an early dinner, leaving the court around the memorial empty once more for a time.

       The Master of Music was part of the dinner, and when the Hobbits finally got to the point of filling up the corners, he approached Captain Peregrin about the program for the morrow.

       “You’re going to present what?”

       “If your people feel up to it, of course.  The King tells us that there are several here who know it.”

       “Well, yes, he’s right.”

       “If you will work with us with the music tonight so that tomorrow we do it aright....”

       Pippin laughed.  “I will do so gladly, but must tell you I go on duty at the first hour.”
 
       The dawn of the twenty-fifth of March found the populace of Minas Anor already beginning to gather up in the Court of Gathering at the top of the city.  Dignitaries had come from many lands, from Angmar, Rhun, Harad, and Dunland--even Umbar.  There was even one emissary sent by Ghan Peveset of Mundolië.  Together with Éomer and Lothiriel and Elfwine of Rohan, Imrahil and his wife and sons of Dol Amroth, Faramir and Éowyn and small Elboron of Ithilien, Halladan and Mirieth of Arnor, Dwarves and Elves and followers and family of each and the bulk of the population of the White City itself, the memorial ceremony promised to be crowded in spite of a light rain shortly after sunrise.  The cloud cover had begun to lift somewhat, and by the time the ceremony was to start at midmorning the sky was almost clear, the spring Sun shining brightly on the memorial to the Pheriannath and the White Tree and the fountain. 

       All stood silent and still for some time, when at last the sound of viols, drums, and harps heralded the procession, led this time by Dwarf musicians raising a song in praise of Aüle.  Next came a party of Elves from the Great Wood and Imladris, who offered their counterpoint to the music of the Dwarves, somehow adding to its majesty as these former enemies cooperated in the singing.  The Elves were followed by the various emissaries sent as witnesses and participants from other lands, then the Stewards and officials of Gondor and Arnor, the court of Rohan, and finally the emissaries from the Shire itself preceding the Royal Family, their Lord King Aragorn Elessar, Lady Queen Arwen, Princess Melian, and the Queen’s grandfather and brothers, led by Captain Peregrin Took guarding the King’s person.

       Those in the procession stopped before the memorial to the Periannath, and before all stood the King.  When the hymn was at last over, he began to speak.

       “It is ten years now since the Hobbits Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee completed their long and dark journey into Mordor itself to the destruction of the Ring of the Enemy, when the hands of the small accomplished what could not be done by the strong or wise--not that these two were not wise in their way.  A scholar and a gardener, no one looking at them without eyes to see were likely to think them a pair apt to great accomplishment.  Yet, between them they went further than any others could, did what no one else could have managed--got the Ring to the Sammath Naur ere It took one or both of them.  At that point the grace of the Creator took over, relieved them of the burden.

       “The Lord Samwise commented wisely that one did not have to be a great warrior to accomplish this--one needed only to be stubborn; and that Frodo Baggins was stubborn enough for all.  Having traveled through Eriador and Moria and Lothlorien and down the Great River with the two of them, I had chance to see that this was true.  Where most would have succumbed to a Morgul wound in a matter of a few days, he stubbornly fought it for seventeen.  Where others would have lain down and died of starvation and thirst and exhaustion a few days into Mordor, he went on in spite of the poison of the great spider and the severe beating he’d endured at the hands of guardian orcs, collapsing only when he was crawling up the sides of Mount Doom itself, and then gathering his last strength when he was attacked once again on its slopes for the final push to enter the Sammath Naur to stand with It at the edge of the Crack of Doom.

       “He’d intended to sacrifice himself that the Ring be destroyed, but instead It took him, and only because another even more deeply enslaved to Its will was there to take It by force of violence from him was he saved.  It was that which at the last broke him where all else had failed--the realization that at last his great will had been overcome.  In his mind he came to accept that only the grace of the Creator Himself in the end could have brought the Ring to Its destruction; but until at last he left Middle Earth his heart still named him to himself traitor.

       “An Elvish Hobbit, Frodo Baggins and his beloved older cousin Bilbo were granted the grace to sail to the Undying Lands, to dwell on Tol Eressëa until the ends of their lives, hopefully find the healing there for the destruction wrought on their hearts and souls by the Ring, healing which could not come to them here in the mortal lands.  We who have been left behind, who knew and loved and honored him, miss him terribly, yet give thanks that at last he is able to know peace again in his heart, and grace again to know joy.

       “Frodo Baggins was a scholar, sang sweetly, wrote a fair hand, told stories with joy and animation, delighted in secretly helping others as he could, knew the lands and people of the Shire more intimately than perhaps any other save his cousin Bilbo, and gloried in the light of stars.  More than all else he desired to know again the joy of family, and awaited the day he might marry and found a family, know the delight of wife and children.  This was another of the joys the Ring stole from him, along with his health and the ability to move easily.  Once he was a dancer, and delighted in ease of movement.  After the quest he danced but once, for he was left physically weakened.  He returned to his stubborn ways, did his best to hide his growing illness and weakness, his growing unease of soul, until at last he finally accepted the grace offered him, knowing if he did not he would die, and mayhaps would die anyway.

       “His parents died when he was yet a child, but old enough to have known them well, to appreciate the loss, to begin to understand how the process of death erodes the integrity of the body.  He was the only one of several babes his mother bore to survive birth, and all their love had Drogo and Primula Baggins lavished on him, their one living child.  Now that was gone, yet he had the need yet for family; the need to give and receive love.  And so it was he made all he came to know his brothers and sisters, from his many cousins to the gardener’s lad, and eventually extended that love also to a wizard, an Elf, a Dwarf, and two Men who traveled with him, two of his dearest cousins, and his gardener.

       “The Lord Samwise and his wife and family could not come this day, for once again the Lady Rose is ready to give birth, following the desire of Frodo Baggins to fill the home he’d loved so well with a large, active, and loving family.  This will be the fifth child Sam and Rosie have brought into this world, and so far all have been sweet, loving, and delightful.  Frodo must be fully glad to know this, if he has been given the chance to realize how his legacy of love has dealt with his friend and almost-brother.

       “Usually on this day we sing the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers; but today we have decided to do otherwise.  Those from the Shire who have come today include many of his kin alongside whom he danced, some of whom he taught to dance.  They have agreed to dance today in his honor and for the delight of all.  I ask those who know and delight to dance the Husbandmen’s Dance to step forward at this time.”

       Several came forward with instruments ready, Pippin with his flute, Piper Took with the flute Ruvemir once gave him and that Pippin had taught him to play, Pando Proudfoot with the horn he’d been learning to play, Elves, Dwarves, and those Men who’d practiced with Pippin the preceding night.  Merry and Forsythia prepared to sing the ancient words of the song as they had in Imladris.  Brendi, Folco, Berilac, Fosco, Bard, Reginard, and Ordo stood forth, and as the music began they set hands on hips, and before all assembled the Husbandmen’s Dance was performed in the capitol of Arnor and Gondor, in memory of one who used to dance it in the Shire.

       Ferdibrand Took stood listening to the music, then turned to face the White Tree, a smile lighting his face.  "What is it?" asked his wife's sister Pearl from where she stood nearby, her hands on the shoulders of Pansy and Isumbrand.

        "Is Frodo's light reflected there?" asked Diamond in a loud whisper, which caught the attention of the King and his sculptor.

        "Yes!" Ferdi replied.  "Yes, his light is reflected there, and I'll swear...I'll swear he's dancing, too!"

       Aragorn and Ruvemir exchanged glances, and the sculptor noted that as the King returned his attention to the dancing, tears of joy and pride were gently running down his smiling face.

*******

       “Do you know what this is about?” Elrond asked the Maia who had been invited to join the company.

       “No, not for certain,” Olórin confessed.  “But it appears that between them the children and Iorhael have prepared an entertainment for us which they wish to present here in the Garden of the White Tree.”

       Galadriel laughed.  “They are excited and very pleased with themselves, I must say.  They’ve spent days here and in the summer house with the Ringbearer, apparently practicing.”

       Celebrían came from where she had been speaking with young Livwen.  “She says we are to sit here where we can see and enjoy.”

       Livwen’s own parents looked to the rest, shrugged and led the way in sitting down.

       The children were gathered about the bole of Nimloth, and Livwen and the three others who’d practiced this tune taught to them by Iorhael readied voice, drum, flute, and harp, and struck up the introduction.  Iorhael, dressed today in his Hobbit garb, stood forth as promised to show them how was danced the Husbandmen’s Dance, and all gathered rejoiced to see the grace with which the bright form of Frodo Baggins performed this dance, and how proudly and joyfully he at last ended it, his head held high, smiling with delight, the Light of his Being shining before all in the fullness of his Joy.

       And the company of the Valar rejoiced as eight that day danced for the delight of the entire world of Arda.

       When my husband and I found that, as a couple, the doctor considered us almost totally unlikely to produce children of our own, we were devastated.  The one time we believe I conceived, the pregnancy barely lasted more than a month.  It was devastating when it ended with intense pain--if it wasn't a cyst, which was another possibility.

       As a result, I have known a great deal of fellow feeling with those in Frodo's immediate and extended family who have experienced miscarriages, which even today are far more common than we probably realize, and I have myself known the hunger for family and children which I have ascribed to Frodo and Narcissa and the Gravellies.  I have raised a stepson and adopted daughter, both of whom knew a great deal of stress in the homes of their mothers, and today I'm proud of both.  I've been a foster parent, and helped raise nieces and a nephew, and have taught many children.  But it's not been easy, often seeing children given less than the best care when I'd love to do more.

       I'd always been struck by the likenesses between Frodo and Aragorn: that both were about midway through their expected lifespans when they were brought together on the quest, that both were scholars, that both were deeply caring, that Aragorn was raised a mortal among Elves while Frodo finished his life a mortal among Elves, that both were willing to give their lives for the needs of all of Middle Earth, not just for the needs of their own people.  Both drew others to them, helped others bond.  It has always seemed to me the two of them would think of one another as brothers of the spirit, and that they would feel this way toward Samwise as well.  The idea that perhaps their spirits were indeed those of brothers has intrigued me, and so I came up with the imaginations of Aragorn (remembering my own imaginary friends and imaginary twin sister when I was small) and the revelations of his mother's journal.  What the world might have been like had Frodo and Sam been born also to Gilraen and Arathorn is intriguing, and may one day lead me to look at writing a true AU story, while mine so far have (mostly) stayed true to canon.

       After the eruptions of Mount St. Helens, the orchards of eastern Washington and Oregon where the ash fell brought forth bumper crops of fruit, which led to the idea of the excess described by Pippin.  Someone mentioned a VSD description of strawberry soap, and I regret to admit I have no idea what that is about.  I was inspired by the image Tolkien himself described, speaking of the strawberries and cream being consumed in such quantities and the piles of fruit stones like a conqueror's collection of heads in the Shire in 1420, to come up with the tub full of strawberries and cherries in Minas Anor. 

And again, the description again given of the volcanic glass like carnival glass is consistent with Mount St. Helens glass created by glassblowers here in Washington.  For a time my husband and I dealt in antiques, and my personal love is glass, particularly good pressed and cut glass, although carved cased glass is another of my secret pleasures I have few examples of in my own collection.  These inspired my description of the glass to be found in the workshop of the glassblower.

       The image of Frodo cutting a caper to the admiration of a few Hobbit lasses in Jackson's FOTR during Bilbo's party inspired my image of Frodo as a particularly graceful dancer, a talent I've ascribed to him in many of the works I've written.

       As this is an exploration of the love Frodo inspired within the Shire, Frodo remains at the heart of much of the story, even when he is physically absent.  If much of The King's Commission is an investigation of how various folk saw and experienced Frodo Baggins and related his story to this outsider Ruvemir, this story is focused on the ongoing love of all for him, how they come to terms with his going, the ongoing legacy of hope for joy he envisioned for so many of them.

       And I admit the Husbandmen's dance is much inspired by Riverdance, probably with a bit of Morris dancing thrown in, as it involves the hands as well as feet in its performance.

       I am glad so many have enjoyed this, and hope that I may soon begin working on the next three nuzguls which are now vying for attention, one of which has started getting too large for the bag of cat sand and is now eyeing the sandbox in the park near one of my schools.  Am not certain how long it will agree to remained contained at this point.

       Thanks to all who have reviewed, and the more who have just read.  As we who write know, the reviews are what inspire us to continue to write even more and to improve our writing.  Thanks to each and all.

Yours,

BLS

Specially dedicated to my Rosie, who died last Monday, and Eleanor Fine, who died last Friday.  May both be surrounded by the love of us all.