A/N: THis is not only my work, but the joint effort of Queen Galadriel and my sleep deprived brains. Enjoy! :) And don't forget to thank her for the starting the idea that started it all!

21 September 1403, SR

"Hullo there, Sam!" Frodo called cheerfully, waving to his gardener as Sam passed by Bag End. "Perfect morning for a tramp."

Sam stopped and smiled. "That it is, Mr. Frodo."

"Where are you going with that…um…what is it?"

"Why…what’s what, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, looking innocently from Frodo’s puzzled face to the great bundle he carried in his arms.

Frodo gave Sam the look, pretending to be cross. "Samwise Gamgee, don’t get smart with me. You know what I’m talking about. What is in the bundle? Does it have anything to do with the coming Day?"

Sam saw that his master was catching on, and he felt the corner of his own mouth twitching. This was going to be splendid. "Oh, I dunno," he said, averting his eyes. "I’m just running an errand for my Gaffer, Mr. Frodo. Begging your pardon, but I really ought to hurry."

"Running an errand for your Gaffer, eh? Sam, its Highday. Do you really run errands on Highday? You should be enjoying yourself. Let me run the errand for you. I have nothing better to do." Frodo’s eyes danced with mischief.

Sam chuckled. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, sir, but I know what you’re trying to do. And yes, I do run errands on Highday when I need to. Don’t you worry. I’ll enjoy myself, right enough." And, though he knew it was dreadfully improper, he turned and dashed away down the Hill before Frodo could say another word.

Frodo was caught off guard, but not for long. He raced after Sam and caught his arm. Putting on his best begging face, he asked, "Sam, please may I go with you? I’m dreadfully bored. And couldn’t you use some company? Or are you ashamed of having me as your master?"

Sam groaned, feeling miserable. With Mr. Frodo behaving this way, his plan would never work. But what choice did he have. He couldn’t refuse his master anything, and certainly not with that wide-eyed, pleading gaze fixed on his face. He sighed and forced a smile. "Of course, sir." He would think of some way to distract Frodo in town; he must.

Frodo smiled triumphantly and walked beside Sam with an extra spring to his step.

Bywater was buzzing with activity. Hobbits milled about, shopping and exchanging gossip. Sam tried to lose Frodo, but Frodo was a master at weaving his way through crowds. Even if he lost Frodo for a few moments, his young master was soon at his side again, smiling knowingly. As they passed the tailor’s shop, Sam slipped in between two gaffers and dashed out of sight. He looked around, but could find Frodo no where. After a few more moments of looking carefully, Sam was sure that he had given Frodo the slip. He started off to finish his errand, still looking about carefully for his master.

Then he realised that many hobbits were running. But where were they running? Sam followed the crowd to the Water. A foreboding knot formed in the pit of his stomach as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd. There, in the middle of the Water, was Frodo, floundering with a young Hobbit lass in his arms.

Sam grabbed the arm of the nearest Hobbit. "What happened?" he asked frantically.

"Some young lasses were playing with a raft, of all things," a Hobbit matron informed him with a disapproving frown at the thought of anyone playing with a raft. "The ropes came loose. One lass was left, and she fell asleep. The raft floated out to the middle of the lake. Her screams and her ma’s drew a crowd. But nobody here can swim. Then that…that lad out there jumped in the water and swam out."

Sam watched in terror as his master struggled to keep both his head and the lass’s above water. Frodo was going too slow for his liking, and the lass’s head was above the water far more than Frodo’s.

When they got close enough to shore, Frodo pushed the girl from him towards the Hobbit men who had waded out. Sam waited for his master to follow, but he didn’t. Why was he struggling? The lass was no longer holding him down.

"My foot’s stuck! I can’t…" And with that, his head was gone. There were a few more bubbles and disturbed water where Frodo was struggling, but his head didn’t break the surface.

Sam screamed for the men to help him. They didn’t hear Sam, but they did wade as fast as they could out to where the bubbles were last seen.

Sam raced to the edge of the water and watched as his master was dragged, dripping and unconscious, from the water. "Mr. Frodo!" he cried, dropping to his knees and grasping the cold, limp hand.

No response. A choking lump of panic rose in Sam’s throat. He gently laid his ear against his master’s chest, took his wrist in his hands. He could not hear a heartbeat, but there was a pulse. Good, he was alive. Suddenly remembering what Frodo had once done for young Pippin when the lad had swallowed too much water as they played in this very pool, Sam laid Frodo’s head on the ground, turned it to the side and pressed on his stomach. Nothing happened. Panic rose again in Sam’s heart. What if he was doing it wrong and killing his master? He would have to risk it. He pressed again. At last Frodo coughed and spluttered, ridding himself of the water he had taken in. "Sam…what…" he gasped, when he could finally speak.

"It’s all right now," Sam said, as much to reassure himself as Frodo.

Frodo’s hands were trembling. "Is she safe?" He whispered.

At first Sam was baffled. Then he remembered the reason his master had almost died. "Yes, sir. She’s safe."

Frodo struggled to rise, but Sam pressed his chest down. "No, Mr. Frodo, beggin’ your pardon, but I think you shouldn’t be walking."

"Sam, please. I have to go see her. I want to make sure she’s alright."

But Frodo didn’t have to. A shadow fell across the lads. The mother and father of the lass stood over them; the lass in question was held securely in her father’s arms.

The mother dropped to her knees beside Frodo and stroked his wet hair back from his forehead. "Oh, you dear, brave lad," she choked. "You saved my Bluebell’s life, you did. Thank you, thank you so very, very much!"

Frodo smiled. "No-no trouble at all," he said through chattering teeth. "I’m g-glad I could help."

The mother burst into tears. "There, my dearie," said the father.

Bluebell was struggling to get down, and when her father finally let her she sat beside Frodo and took his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Baggins. You’re the bravest Hobbit in the whole Shire! I was so scared but you weren’t scared at all and then…"

Sam chuckled to see a little colour rise in Frodo’s cheeks.

"All right, there now," said the mother, smiling kindly. "Too many sugarplums aren’t good for young ones after a shock. I’m Laurel Brockhouse, and this is my husband Sandy, and you know our Bluebell. Now, Mr. Frodo, you’d best come back to our house to get warm, sir. It’s close, and you can’t be walking all the way to Hobbiton just now. And you’d better come too, Sam lad."

Sam nodded. "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Brockhouse, much obliged. I’ll come with you, and then I’ll run down to the Green Dragon and borrow a cart to get us home, Mr. Frodo."

"I will not be brought home in a cart like a sack of potatoes! I only swallowed too much water. I’ve done it… before. I was raised on the Brandywine, remember? After a bit of rest at the Brockhouses’, I will be perfectly fit to walk home."

Mr. and Mrs. Brockhouse exchanged looks. As Sam helped Frodo rise, he asked, "Are you sure you almost drowned before?"

"Well…no. But I have swallowed a lot of water."

"Mr. Frodo, you almost drowned. You’re not…not…" Sam’s voice trailed off as his words hit home. Mr. Frodo had almost drowned. Mr. Frodo, wonderful swimmer though he was, had almost met a watery end. Sam’s steps faltered and the tears he had been trying to control fell silently down his cheeks. Sobs shook his small shoulders.

But almost as soon as the first tears fell, Frodo’s arm was around Sam’s shaking shoulders. He leaned his head close to Sam’s ear and whispered, "Oh, my Sam. I’m here. You don’t need to worry. It’s alright." The two had stopped now, and Frodo motioned over Sam’s head that the Brockhouses should go on and that they would follow. Frodo then enfolded Sam in his arms. "Please don’t cry, my dear, dear Sam."

Sam embraced Frodo tightly. "I don’t ever, ever want to come that close to losing you again, Mr. Frodo. I was so afraid."

"I know. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry to put you through that."

The two stood together in the road for a moment longer. And then Sam asked a question that he had been aching to ask since Frodo’s head disappeared under the water. "Mr. Frodo…"

"Yes, Sam?"

"Why…why did you almost drown?"

Frodo saw the embarrassment in Sam’s eyes. "Don’t ever be afraid to ask me questions, Sam lad. What happened…I’m not sure. I think my foot got caught in some reeds. And I had already swallowed a good deal of water. I was also already weary from trying to keep my head and Bluebell’s above the water. But don’t worry yourself about it, Sam. I’m alive, and for that I am greatful."

But as Frodo turned to continue on their way to the Brockhouses’ home, Sam saw in his master’s eyes how much the near drowning troubled him.

*~*~*~*~*

TBC...

When Frodo and Sam arrived at the pleasant cottage, they found the three Brockhouses already waiting for them. Bluebell had changed into a clean, dry frock, and Mr. Brockhouse was carrying armloads of blankets into the parlour. Mrs. Brockhouse had already coaxed the fire into a roaring blaze, and there was the sound of a kettle singing in the kitchen. Bluebell ran forward as the two guests came in and took Frodo’s hands. "Come and sit here, Mr. Baggins; it’s the very warmest place," she said, pulling him towards a large easy chair close to the fire.

Frodo sank gratefully into it, finding, to his embarrassment, that he was shaking. Bluebell must have noticed, for she gave him a motherly smile and patted his hand. "There, it’s all right now. Mama, Mr. Frodo needs some dry clothes. He’s shivering, and he might catch his death!"

"I know, lovey," said Mrs. Brockhouse. "Sandy, have you something Mr. Frodo might be able to wear comfortably, till he can get home and into his own things?"

Frodo felt himself blushing furiously. "It’s all right…I’m quite…quite comfortable, thank you…"

"Mr. Baggins, your face is so red," Bluebell said, her little forehead wrinkling with concern. "Hold still a moment…" She laid her small hand on his brow. "Well, I don’t think you have a fever, sir. Mama, am I doing it right?"

Mrs. Brockhouse chuckled. She decided to refrain from telling her little daughter just then that the most reliable way to check the temperature was to press the lips to the forehead. "I think he’s going to be all right, Bell. Why don’t you run along with Daddy and help find Mr. Frodo some nice dry clothes?"

Bluebell nodded eagerly and ran to her father. "Come on, Daddy! We’ve got to hurry; Mr. Baggins mustn’t stay in those wet things!"

Soon enough, the young lass marched into the parlour, bearing the clothes with the air of one who carried king’s clothes. She handed them to Frodo with a flourish. Mrs. Brockhouse smiled at the shade of crimson Frodo’s ears turned. "You can change in our room, dear." She showed Frodo the master bedroom.

He shut the door and found, to his consternation, that there was no lock. He quickly changed into the clothes, but they hung off his frame. Mr. Brockhouse was taller and much broader than Frodo. He saw a belt lying on the bed, and decided that he would rather take something without asking than have his breeches fall down. As soon as he was dressed, Frodo realised his hands were trembling. Flashing before his minds eye, he could see again the water closing over his head; he felt himself being pulled under water, his lungs burning for air; his mouth opening in desperation; water pouring in…and then black. Frodo shuddered as he sank into a corner. He fought tears. His breath was shallow and rapid.

A knock on the door made him jump. "Mr. Frodo, dear, is everything fitting?"

"Ah…yes, Mrs. Brockhouse, fine. I’m coming." His voice sounded shaky and Frodo fought to steady it. He stood and took deep breaths to calm himself before going out. As he laid his hand on the handle, he plastered his most winning smile on his face. He must not let his kind hosts see how shaken he was.

"Ah, you look fine, Mr. Frodo," Mrs. Brockhouse said as Frodo emerged from the bedroom.

Frodo blushed again. "I’m sorry for…borrowing this, but…" He pointed to the belt and looked down at his feet.

"Quite all right, my lad. Come on back into the parlour and get warm now." She put her hand on his shoulder and led him back into the warm room.

Bluebell was draping quilts over the chair before the fire, and Sam came over with a cup of hot tea as Frodo was motioned into his seat by his anxious little hostess. "Thank you, Sam, Bluebell," Frodo said, greatfully taking the steaming cup.

Sam looked carefully over his master, noticing above all else the too-brilliant smile. "Are you sure you don’t want me to go for that cart, Mr. Frodo?" he whispered, leaning close to Frodo’s ear.

Frodo nodded. "Yes, Sam."

Sam sighed, but he knew better than to debate the matter now.

Suddenly Sam remembered, he’d lost his precious bundle! "Oh, Mr. Frodo, I…I…er, I lost something when I ran to the water. Will you be all right here while I run back for it? I’m sorry, sir, but it’s important."

"Important, Sam? It doesn’t have anything to do with that mysterious bundle you had earlier, does it?"

Sam noted the smile, but also noted that no laughter shone in his master’s eyes. "Well…it might." Sam smiled.

"Whatever you say, Sam. But be careful. And…never mind." Frodo looked a bit worried. He knew there was no need for paranoia, but the last thing he wished for was another accident of some kind.

Sam clasped Frodo’s shoulder for a second. "I’ll be back." And then, turning to Bluebell, who was still hovering, he added with a smile, "You take care of him, Bluebell."

She beamed. "I will, Sam. Don’t worry!"

Sam hurried out and back to the place where he thought he had dropped his treasured bundle. At first he did not see it, but on looking closer he found it hidden behind a bush. It may have rolled, he thought absently. He snatched it up and then turned and pelted towards the Green Dragon. He hated to go against Frodo’s wishes, but a look into his friend’s eyes had been enough to let him know that Frodo was not "all right", as he claimed.

Meanwhile, Frodo had been coaxed into playing tea party. He sat at a table that had been drawn up near his chair. Little Miss Bluebell sat in her best frock across from him and chatted in her imitation of a Hobbit lady.

"Well, Mr. Baggins, as you see, the harvest should be good this year. Dear Miss Rosie Cotton told me so. I called on her just the other day. And would you believe that their cow is going to have a calf soon! I can’t wait to see her. I want to be there when it happens. I’ve never seen a calf be born. Have you, Mr. Baggins? Oh, do you need more tea? Let me assist you." She poured him a third cup of tea. "Have you ever seen a calf be born, Mr. Baggins?"

"Um…no, I don’t believe I have. I have seen a pony be born though."

"Ooo! Ponies are so very lovely! Can you ride, Mr. Frodo? But of course you can. You have that fine animal down at the Green Dragon."

As the young lady chattered away, Frodo thought, ‘Oh, please hurry, Sam!’

But just as he finished the thought, Bluebell jumped up, looking alarmed. "Oh dear, please excuse me, Mr. Baggins! There’s something I must see to at once!" She darted away. She returned a moment later with a doll cradled in her arms. "I’m sorry to end the party, Mr. Baggins, but my little lass almost drownded."

Frodo stared at her for a moment. Again, the visions of his near death flashed before his eyes. A small hand waving before his face shook him back to reality.

"Mr. Baggins, are you all right?" Bluebell’s brown eyes were wide with concern.

Frodo forced a smile, even though the lass’s screams echoed through his mind. "Yes, I’m…just…um, I’m a bit weary. How is your lass, Miss Brockhouse?"

"I think she’ll be all right. She’s chilled and tired. Perhaps you should both rest. Here, will you hold her for a moment?"

Frodo nodded and held out his arms, and the rag doll was placed in them. Bluebell scampered across the room to fetch a quilt that lay on the sofa.

Frodo again found it hard to breathe. He leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes against the visions that played before him. He could see those brown eyes pleading for him to save her, feel those trusting arms that clung to his neck and unintentionally made it hard for him to breathe. He remembered trying to keep her head above the water, even if it meant his own head had to be under. Her cries for help, her sobbing for him to save her, all made him realise that if he didn’t make it, neither would she.

A little girlish cry of, "Oh!" made Frodo jump up and grab her arms.

"Mr. Frodo!" Bluebell cried.

"I’m sorry, dear. I…heard you cry out. Are you all right?" He released her shoulders as he spoke. With a toss of the brown curls, he was forgiven.

"Well, of course *I’m* all right. But I don’t think you are. You must have fallen asleep because you dropped Holly."

"Holly?" Frodo asked.

Bluebell held up her doll. "She’s fine."

"Oh…good," Frodo murmured absentmindedly.

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and the next, Sam was led in by Mr. Brockhouse. ‘Oh, good!’ Frodo thought, suppressing a sigh of relief.

"I’ve brought a cart, Mr. Frodo," Sam announced, slowly raising his eyes to look into Frodo’s. Oh! What had happened while he’d been away?

"Thank you, Sam," Frodo said, scarcely seeming to realise that he spoke at all.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Brockhouse, Bluebell," Sam said, "but I think we’d best be getting back now."

Bluebell’s face fell, but she was obviously too polite to beg or whine. "Oh dear, I *am* sorry. I do hope you’ll come back and see us again."

Kneeling before the lass, Frodo said, "I will indeed see you again soon. I must return your father’s clothes and retrieve my own, mustn’t I?" Frodo smiled a small, but genuine, smile to see the big brown eyes light up with hope. "Thank you very much for your care, Miss Bluebell; I’m much obliged to you. And thank you both as well," he added to her parents as he rose.

As the cart pulled away from the Brockhouse cottage, Sam looked over at Frodo. Frodo was staring off somewhere into the distance, apparently at the landscape, but Sam noted that his shoulders were very tense.

"Mr. Frodo?"

No response.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam said a bit louder. Was Frodo angry that he had fetched a cart?

"Hmm?" Frodo slowly turned empty eyes to Sam.

"You’re not…angry, are you?"

"Angry? About…the cart?"

Sam nodded.

"No," was the simple answer as Frodo turned again to his musings.

Sam sighed heavily. Neither spoke again until they drove up the Hill and stopped before Bag End. "It’s teatime. I’ll put the kettle on for you, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo thought of all the tea his little hostess had supplied for him and said, "No tea, Sam. But I am a bit hungry." To prove his point, his stomach growled.

"As you wish, Mr. Frodo."

Sam went to look in the larder for something for his master to eat. He found a cake and sliced a piece. When he saw that Frodo was not in the kitchen, Sam placed the slice of chocolate cake and a glass of milk on a tray and went to Frodo’s bedroom. Frodo was lying on his stomach, face buried in the pillow.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam called softly. Frodo looked back at Sam and smiled wanly.

"You could have just called me to the kitchen, Sam."

"You seemed a bit tired, sir. I’ll just let you eat in here, then you can take a nap if you like."

Frodo sat up as Sam set the tray in his lap. Sam noticed the trembling hand that took the plate of cake and the fork. He watched anxiously for a moment and then looked away, knowing that Frodo hated close scrutiny. His gaze was drawn back, however, by the sound of the fork clattering loudly against the plate. Frodo’s face flushed.

"All right," Sam said, carefully taking the tray and setting it on the night table. "What’s the matter, Mr. Frodo?"

"What?" said Frodo, trying to look as if he didn’t know what Sam meant.

"Oh, come, sir, please don’t. I do hate to press you, but…" Sam trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"Then don’t press. I’m just weary. Let me rest!" Frodo instantly realised that his words were harsh. "Oh, I’m so sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just…Please. I’m very tired." Well, it wasn’t a lie; it just wasn’t the whole truth.

"Very well, Mr. Frodo. Just call if you need anything." Sam withdrew, softly closing the door behind him. He knew that Frodo had not told him all the truth; of course he knew. But what could he do? Mr. Frodo was his better; he must not disobey him.

In his room, Frodo buried his head again in the pillow. His heart was crying, but his eyes wouldn’t follow suit. He was haunted by his near drowning, the memory of his parents’ deaths, and the sight and sounds of poor little Bluebell. And to make it all worse, he had hurt his dearest friend, who had only been trying to help. O! he was a miserable Hobbit. He lay on his bed desperately trying to think of other things, but the flashbacks would always come just when he thought his mind was free. He continued in this manner until sheer exhaustion took him into a fitful sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frodo looked on. His mouth wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. Sam was floundering in the water, screaming his name. Frodo wanted to make his legs move, but, like his voice, they didn’t work.

"Mr. FRODO!!" Sam cried from the water.

Something suddenly worked in Frodo’s legs and he dove into the strangely icy water. He swam, but seemed to be held back by some force. "Sam!" He called. But as soon as his mouth opened, water flowed in. Frodo kept swimming, but Sam seemed to grow farther away. No, he wasn’t growing farther away…here he was. His voice had been growing weaker. Just as Frodo reached out to grab Sam, Sam was pulled down.

"Nooo!" Frodo screamed. Taking a deep breath, he dove down. Finally he managed to grab Sam’s hand and pull him to the surface, which was farther than he remembered. He almost had Sam to shore, when a new voice called his name. Pippin! No! Frodo struggled all the harder to get Sam to shore. He finally did, and then he dove back in for Pippin. The scene that had happened with Sam repeated itself with Pippin and then Merry. But each time, Frodo himself grew weaker and weaker.

When all three of his dear ones were lying on the shore of the Water, he checked for breath. Not one had been saved. "NOOOO!" Frodo screamed again, and held each of his frends’s bodies in turn. Somehow all the Tooks, Brandybucks, and Gamgees were suddenly around him, shouting his name.

"You could have saved him!"

"What’s the matter with you?"

"How could you let this happen?"

And from the crowd emerged Bilbo. Frodo ran to him, but Bilbo shook his head and kept Frodo at a distance. "No, Frodo Baggins. I want nothing to do with you. Get away from me. And you didn’t even try to save that lass!"

Lass? Frodo thought desperately. He glanced over to where his dear ones lay and found that Bluebell lay among them. Mrs. Brockhouse turned angrily to him. "You! You

Frodo ran sobbing and crying, "No!" over and over again. Finally he tripped and fell into the water where darkness took him.must leave the Shire! You’ve killed four Hobbits!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC....

You know me...cliff hangers, as usual. And, QG, you should've *known* I'd cut it off at this place... *smiling innocently at you*

Sam busied himself about the smial, tidying wherever it was needed. Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin, Mr. Fredegar, Mr. Folco, and their families would be arriving tomorrow morning. The place seemed rather tidier than usual on the whole, Sam thought…all except the study. But that must be left to Frodo, as only Frodo knew what all the myriad papers were and where they went…if they had a proper place at all.

Sam hoped Mr. Frodo would be all right before the party tomorrow. It would be such a pity if he were unwell on his birthday…

"No!"

Sam started and jumped up from where he had been dusting the baseboards in the hall. He raced across the smial to his masters room and flung open the door. Frodo was lying on his bed, perfectly still. Strange. Sam was sure he had cried out. Sam looked again. Frodo wasn’t breathing! His face was buried in the pillow, cutting off his air. Sam raced over and rolled Frodo to his side.

As soon as his head was turned, Frodo gasped for breath and his eyes flew open. "No! Don’t save me. I want to drown…Sam…Pippin…Merry…Bluebell…they…you all want me gone!" Frodo’s eyes were glazed over and had a wild look.

This fit frightened Sam, but he sat down on the bed and drew Frodo into his arms. But Frodo fought and beat his fists against Sam’s chest. "Let me go. Let me go! I want to…I just…I’m sorry. I’m sorry." Frodo was sobbing.

Sam took a firm grip on Frodo’s shoulders and gave him a shake. "Wake up! Please wake up, sir! Your dreamin’!" Sam was desperate to have Mr. Frodo wake up. If he wanted to drown... What in the name of wonder was he dreaming?

Sanity returned to Frodo’s eyes. He looked at Sam in confusion. "Sam? You…" Realization dawned and Frodo clung to Sam and sobbed, "I’m so sorry. Oh, Sam, please forgive me. I’m s-sorry."

Sam was baffled and somewhat startled. "What for, Mr. Frodo?"

"For being cross with you. I didn’t mean…you were only trying to help and I’ve been a fool. Please forgive me."

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, that’s all right. Will you tell me what you were dreaming, sir?"

Frodo looked down at the bed sheet. He didn’t really want to tell Sam, but it was so horrible…and it might help. Maybe. He slowly nodded his head. Never lifting his eyes, he didn’t see Sam’s surprised expression.

"I…you were drowning and I tried to save you. You were dragged down…and when we were almost to shore, I heard Pip and then the same thing happened with Merry. And you…" Frodo shuddered and paused. "You all died. And everyone wanted me out of the Shire. Even Bilbo. He told me to get away from him. And I hadn’t even heard Bluebell calling. She drowned too. Because of me, Sam." Frodo looked frantically into Sam’s eyes and repeated, "Because of me!" His voice shook, and Sam could see tears again brimming at the edge of the blue depths.

Sam suddenly drew Frodo close. He couldn’t bear to see the torment in those eyes. "Oh, no, no, Mr. Frodo, no. Don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t! In the dream, didn’t you try to save us?" The dark head nodded against his shoulder. "And today, when Bluebell was drowning, didn’t you try to save her?" Another nod. "And you succeeded then?" Still another nod. "So you see, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped nothing that happened today, you know that, Mr. Frodo. And it’s all right now. It’s all right."

Frodo let out a long, shuddering breath and then began to relax. Sam’s hand went in firm, slow circles over his friend’s back, trying to work out the tenseness there. For a long while the room was silent. At last Frodo raised his head and smiled wanly into Sam’s eyes. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam returned the smile and let go his tight embrace. His relief was so great that he didn’t even try to put it into words. "What a day it’s been, hasn’t it, sir? I shouldn’t mind a drop of ale myself."

The strain lifted, Frodo suddenly laughed. "Let’s go down to the Ivy Bush for dinner then. What do you say?"

"That’s fine, sir," Sam said, smiling. His eyes wandered to the night table where the tray of cake and milk still sat, untouched. "Seems we both missed tea altogether."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

That night, when all was in readiness for the small celebration to be held the next day and Sam had gone home to Number Three, Frodo retired to bed. But as he bent to turn down the covers, he noticed the mysterious bundle lying among the pillows. Had Sam left it by accident? As curious as he was, Frodo did not really wish to spoil his friend’s secret. But no, there was a small slip of paper attached that read "OPEN" in very large letters. Frodo smiled. Sam had known what Frodo’s thoughts would be. The young master untied the twine that bound the bundle. On removing the brown paper, he found…more paper. He removed it and found…still more paper. He removed it and found…*still* more paper. "What in the Shire, Sam Gamgee?" he muttered, amused.

When he had removed five more layers of the paper, he finally discovered that the bundle was not truly round at all, as it had appeared, but rectangular. It looked very much like…ah, yes, a book, obviously homemade, for it’s cover was very plain. Frodo opened it, and a note fell out. He took up the little paper and looked at it. Sam had obviously been in a hurry.

"Dear Mr. Frodo,

"I wanted to get a beautiful cover for this, but it’s been one thing and another today, you know, and I didn’t have time. I’m sorry. It’s not fancy or nothing, but, well, it comes from my heart, sir, if you take my meaning.

Your Sam"

More curious than ever, Frodo looked down at the title page. "MEMORIES," it read. Frodo turned the page and began to read. The little book was filled with brief, illustrated narratives of Sam’s own memories of Bilbo and Frodo since Frodo had come to Bag End. The drawings were not especially good, but to Frodo they were delightful. He had tried not to let it show, but he had missed Bilbo terribly during the past weeks, especially with the Birthday drawing so near. Sam must have known. How did he always know?

An hour later, Frodo reached the last page and found himself looking down at a picture of Bilbo, Sam, and himself, standing together in the garden on the evening before the Party. Bilbo had one hand on Frodo’s shoulder and the other on Sam’s, and out of his mouth came the words, "You’re good lads, both of you, and you will both do very well. Why, I shouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you end up having adventures of your own and becoming great heroes!"

Frodo beamed, but there were tears in his eyes. He remembered Bilbo saying those very words. His mind rushed back to the Bilbo of his dream, and he pushed the image away. Bilbo, his own dear Uncle Bilbo, never would have behaved so. He would have stood by Frodo no matter what; Frodo knew it as surely as he knew the Sun rose in the east.

Suddenly inspired, Frodo laid the book aside and hurried to the study. He took out his drawing materials, lit the lamp, and began to work. When he finished and looked up at the clock, it read half past midnight. Frodo had planned to go to bed early tonight, but…ah, well. No matter. Taking out his gift to Sam, a copy of a book of Elven plants and flowers which Elrond had sent from Rivendell, he tucked his finished drawing and a note just inside the front cover where it would be sure to be found. Then he went to bed, smiling to himself.

*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC...