Author: Hai Took

Rating: G

Main Characters: Pippin, Merry, Sam and Frodo.

Disclaimer: All the people and places are owned and created by JRR Tolkien.

Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin’s thought on their return home. What they discover and how they decided to continue with their lives.

Thank you to Shirebound for beta-ing for me!

        Coming Home

Pippin:

Merry and Pippin had taken separate roads a short while ago. Merry was headed to Buckland to see his parents, and Pippin, he too was on his way home through the increasing darkness -- the Great Smials, the place he had called home for the last seventeen years, ever since his father became the Took and Thain.

Pippin tipped his head back letting the cool wind caress his face. He had been a bit alarmed when they had arrived at Buckleberry and been refused entrance, but Merry had taken things in hand and soon they were in the terrible little sheds that the Ruffians had called shelters. Now the Shire was nearly completely purged of the terrible Big Folk’s presence. It had been decided that they would return to their homes and let their respective leaders clear out the remaining Men.

Pippin looked around at the remaining landmarks that meant he was almost home. It seemed Tookland had escaped with the least amount of damage due to the Thain quite literally locking everyone in, and those not in, out. Pippin was grateful for that, as he remembered the terrible sight of Michel Delving -- smials and homes torn down and shabby inadequate buildings put up in their places. The deeper he moved into his homeland the more it seemed to have remained un-plundered.

Coming over the crest of a hill, the many-lighted windows of the Great Smial came into view. Pippin grinned and urged his pony into a trot. His stomach leapt with anticipation. He had only seen his father briefly and his mother and sisters not at all when he had rode in begging troops with which to drive the Ruffians out.

He rode into the yard and led his pony to the stable, where an eager lad took the reins. Then he rushed, nearly ran, into his home. “Pippin Took!” rang out a voice.

Pippin spun on his heel. “Addie!” It was Adelaide Took, a third cousin of his who had tortured him along with his sisters as he had grown up.

“Pippin, I had heard your name mentioned a couple of times but you were here and gone so fast some started to say you must have been nothing more then a phantom! Is it really you? How big you’ve gotten!” she exclaimed now looking up at him.

“There will be time enough for tales some other time, Cousin, I really must find my family. Are Pearl and Pimpernel here?” asked Pippin, glancing down the corridor he would take to the Thain’s private apartments.

“Yes, yes all moved in here for safe keeping, with all those Men about. Nowhere else was safer, you know.” She was smiling at him fondly.

“We will chat later,” Pippin promised, clasping her hands before turning down the corridor to the Thain’s rooms. The hall was lit with candles that were bolted to the walls on either side. He could hear laughter and singing from different parts of the Smial; many hobbits were celebrating their rise out from under Sharkey’s hand.

He paused before passing his own door, the door to his own room where he had slept too many nights to count; the solid familiarity of the place was overwhelming. He passed it by and came to his parents’ door. He raised his hand to knock but hesitated; he had never had to knock to beg entrance to his parents’ room before. He did not feel that he should start now, and slowly he turned the handle.

Soundlessly the door swung open. He stood silently in the doorway looking in on a scene that made it seem like no time had passed. His father was sitting at his writing desk tucked in a corner, and his mother was rocking back and forth humming a sweet melody. Pippin felt his breath catch. How often he had longed to see this on the long wearisome journey. How many times had he held onto the hope that it may always stay this way? His chest felt tight as he bit his lip trying to stem the rush of emotion.

His dear mother looked up and her rocking ceased. Her eyes were wide with wonder. Then they flooded with tears. “Pippin! My baby!”

Pippin rushed forward and knelt by his mother’s chair, letting his own tears fall. “Mother, Mama,” he choked over and over again.

“I knew you would come back, I knew you would,” she sobbed into his shoulder. “But how I wished for that day to be soon.”

“I’m here now, I’m here now,” said Pippin hugging her tightly but careful not to be too tight.

“Pippin-lad.” Pippin turned at the beloved voice of his father and saw him coming towards them.

He stood up and embraced his father. “Da! Oh, is it real! Am I really home? After so long I can hardly believe it!” He cried some more, not caring that this was most likely very undignified for a Knight of the Citadel but he didn’t care, oh to be home!

He calmed as did his parents, and all tears were dried. “Look at you!” exclaimed his father holding him at arm length. “What is this get-up?”

“It’s not a “get-up”, father!” laughed Pippin. “Why, this is about the most distinguished outfit Middle-earth has to offer!” He trailed his fingers over the emblem of the White Tree of Gondor. “One I may always be proud to wear. Father, it is the attire of a Knight, a true Knight of Gondor.”

“I can see there are many tales woven about you, son.” His father’s eyes roved over his boy’s familiar features and noticed with a bit of concern that not only inches had been added to his height but scars, though light they seemed, were on his face and about his arms. “Though perhaps they are not all pleasant?” He finished quietly.

Pippin’s face sobered for a moment. “No, they are not all pleasant. But I will not dwell on that now, give me news!”

There was a small whimper from his mother. What he had taken to be blankets laid across her were indeed not, but wrapped about a wee hobbit babe. He gasped and moved closer. Then looked at his mother inquiringly.

“Open, your eyes, Hanna, for you have yet to meet your Uncle Pippin.” Tiny fists flailed about a bit and then a pair of deep green eyes settled on him and seemed to study him with curiosity.

“Uncle,” whispered Pippin. “What? Ma..... Who...” he trailed off looking at the perfect child before him. His mother handed the bundle of babe and blanket to him.

“Mother, would you like me to take Hanna now? I’m sure you would like to.... Pippin!” A beautiful, in Pippin’s eyes, hobbit lass came through the door and she swept down on him hugging him fiercely yet conscious of the baby in his arms. “When did you get here and how come I was not informed?”

Pippin laughed in delight at seeing his closest sister, Pervinca. “Peri! How wonderful you look! You, glow somehow,” he said softly, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand.

She laughed that wondrous musical laugh that he had remembered. “Motherhood will do that to you,” she said fondly, kissing the baby on the cheek.

“Mother-, she is yours?!” Pippin looked in disbelief at the child sheltered in his arms and his dear sister. “How? When?”

“Why, Pippin you goose! I was engaged and then married the first of October only you were not here to witness it, then one quick month later I found I was to have my own babe to love and care for. Little Hanna graced the world May 15th and now my big girl is nearly four months old!” said Pervinca smiling.

“I wish I could have been there,” murmured Pippin quietly. The room was silent as Pippin rocked the baby gently his face becoming soft, love shining in his eyes. Then more to himself, “This is why we left.” He kissed the little girl and handed her to her mother.

There was a clamor in the hall outside. “Will he be in our parents’ room?”

“Undoubtedly, come along.”

Pearl, her husband and their three sons along with Pimpernel and her husband all burst into the room. It became a din of voices and laughter. Exclamations were made over the children by Pippin at height that was put on, teeth that were lost, and scars obtained from rowdy games. Pippin had always been a favorite with his nephews, and he had always made time to play with them.

Pippin looked around at each member of his family, remembering the horrors, tears and smiles of the Quest; yes, this was why they had left. So that others may live forever in the comforts of the Shire, happy and carefree. They had suffered some under the Ruffians but hopefully that would make them only the stronger in their innocent lives! He grinned at how wonderful it felt to be home!

Merry:

Merry rode along the Brandywine watching the moon and stars rippling reflections on its surface. Funny, he thought. That the same moon the shone so brightly over his home right now was the same one that he had looked upon from the Fields of Rohan or the towers of Minas Tirith. Yet somehow it was more beautiful here then any of those places. He was coming to the Brandywine Bridge. He was almost home.

Merry felt his stomach clench painfully as he crossed the bridge and walked his horse along the other side. The land around here was scorched from fires, and ugly shacks were set up to house the recently vagabond hobbits. He looked and saw that although lights shone dimly from some of Brandy Hall’s windows, not nearly as many as should be were lit and they shone out through dingy and even broken glass.

As he glanced around at the destruction of his home his stomach clamped even tighter, threatening to make him sick. What would his parents think? He had been in the midst of hard training to take over the Mastership for the last three years leading up to their departure. Now it seemed that when the people he would someday lead needed him the most he wasn’t here to look after them. How many times had he heard it said that it would be his duty; he had been trained even as a child to look after others, younger and even older than him. That had been instilled in him well. As a child he looked after Pippin and as he got older even Frodo. That was in fact what had led him away, what he felt was his responsibility to others. But now looking out over the devastation of his home he wondered if perhaps he misplaced his duty. Did he put a few before the many he would have to look after someday?

No, said a voice very much like Frodo’s, the voice of reason he noted. There was so much that had to be accomplished in the War that he was proud that he had left and was able to fight next to some of the noblest people in history. He had done good things while away, even if it had meant putting his own people, even his parents, through some evil. The Shire seemed to have survived and was none the worse for wear, and if he had anything to do with it they would never now how much worse things could be.

“Master Merry!” Merry turned to the voice.

“Kal!” Kal was a stable lad who had been an often playmate through his childhood. Something his father had encouraged, as he believed Merry’s association with different classes would help him eventually as Master. “I had wondered if you would still be here, what with everything that has been going on.”

“Aye, I was gone for a while. They boarded up the Hall you know, so there wasn’t much reason to stay around here. I did manage to keep the Ruffians at bay as much as could be expected, through stealth and the like. Though I must say I’m glad to see that wild life go, I’m much happier a stable hand.”

Merry smiled. “Do you know if my parents have made it here, yet? I know they were staying with some family in an outpost, not wanting to draw attention to the place they hold in our society.”

The younger hobbit's face darkened. “Has no one told you?”

Merry felt his heart leap into his throat and pound relentlessly in his chest. He unconsciously gripped his friend’s arm rather tightly. “Told me what?” his voice was soft and held some of the power that could actually make him terrifying at times.

“The Master was shot through the shoulder on a scouting party; he lost a lot of blood and the healers are saying-“

But Merry had released his arm and was now hurrying through the Hall, his home. The place where he had grown up, although now that he looked back he believed he had only grown bigger, he never realized exactly how much he didn’t know or even guess until the Journey.

He skidded down the halls towards the Master’s rooms. He noticed detachedly that the place had been looted, although not nearly as much as he had expected. He reached for the door handle that would let him into his parents’ room and was startled when it opened before he could grasp it.

So was the lady trying to leave; she gasped and then froze, staring at him. “Merry!” she exclaimed and then lowered her voice. “Merry!” she threw her arms around him and squeezed as though her life depended on it.

“Mother!” Merry didn’t care; he held her just as hard. “Mom, oh, you’re all right.”

“Merry, Merry.” She repeated, her head buried into his chest and sobbing slightly. “My boy, the worry you gave us! All the fright I felt thinking on you day and night. Just when I resign myself to the idea that you are never coming back my dreams come true and I hardly dare to believe it is actually you!”

“It is, Mom! I’m here and I will never leave again, never, oh, it has nearly been too much!” Merry stroked his mother’s hair, hardly daring to believe that it was really she. He was afraid he would wake to find this was just another cruel dream and they were still traveling through Hollin, or being hauled across Rohan by the Uraik-hai, or being tormented by waiting in the Houses of Healing.

He sighed. “But, mom,” he looked up past her into the dark room. “How is Da? I heard that he had been hurt and that he had lost a lot of blood.”

“Oh, Merry, he is going to be fine, just fine!” she said. “He sleeps now, but he will recover and be able to live many more years to their fullest. How he has missed you!”

Merry looked down at her, wondering vaguely when he had started looking down at her. “I was so afraid when riding home that perhaps things weren’t right and that I had indeed failed you.”

“No, my son, you could never fail us. Just having you for a son is more then enough, even if it had turned out to be how we had feared and that we only had you for so short a time.” She brushed a stray tear from her eye then reached up and patted his cheek. “You may go in if you want, though your father will not be much company; he will likely sleep through the night, with all those sleeping draughts that were forced down him.”

Merry stepped around her and entered the dimly lit room -- his parents’ room, how much he loved it. There on the bed lying quite pale, was his father, though he did indeed seem to be recovering. As Merry took a seat in the chair that stood next to the bed, his Da’s eyes fluttered opened. He seemed to stare at Merry for a moment. Merry took his hand, “I’m here, Da, I’m here.” With that the eyes closed once again and Merry took up a silent vigil.

The pale light of dawn was shining through the dingy windows and Merry still sat by the bed watching his father sleep. He spoke quietly through some of the night; he talked of his childhood scrapes, then the Quest -- although he left out anything that was dark and frightening. Now he sat in silence watching the steady rise and fall of his Da’s strong chest.

There was a soft knock on the door, and his mother entered carrying a tray with some tea things on it. “I thought you might like a bit of tea,” she said, moving to place the tray on a side table.

“Thank you,” replied Merry, eyes still on his father.

She poured the tea and handed a cup to her only son. He took it and drank, nearly draining the whole cup in one gulp. She then handed him a piece of toast spread with jam. She looked over her son and noticed that he had grown unnaturally tall in a year, too tall for any hobbit. There was a brown scar over his left eye although he tried to hide it with the curls that fell into his eyes. He was unconsciously rubbing his right arm as well.

Feeling the calculating gaze upon him, Merry looked up at her and smiled. He pulled his left hand off his arm and reached up to squeeze her hand. Then his gaze returned to his father.

“Why don’t you take a rest, love?” she said. “I can watch him until you have had a good sleep.”

“No, I have watched longer then this in times not so far gone,” he replied quietly seeing in his mind in quick succession: Pippin laying battered and broken from being crushed by a troll and Sam and Frodo as though dead after being brought back by the eagles -- after all hobbits had to stick together.

His mother watched him, concern in her own eyes. “What happened to you all these long months, Merry?”

He remained quiet. “Nothing that can bear repeating, at least not at a time such as this.” He paused then said even softer. “Evil should not be spoken of once it has been destroyed. It doesn’t do to dwell on it.”

She let it be; she did not want to press him to speak of things that he did no wish to speak of.

Husband and father slept late into the morning, faithful watchers by his side. An hour before noon he stirred. Heavy eyes opened and he was delighted to find his son bending over him. “I thought you were a dream,” he said hoarsely, voice unused to words after being so long asleep.

“No, I’m here. We’re all together,” Merry replied, leaning forward to kiss his forehead and take his hand.

His Da smiled then reached out one his other hand for his wife’s. They were a family once again. They were together and nothing could part them, not though it be life or death; Father, Mother and son, would always hold to one another.

Sam:

        “Are you sure you won’t be wanting to come down to dinner with me, Mr. Frodo?” asked Sam, watching his master warily as he stood in front of Bag End.

“No, Sam, you go ahead, I won’t need anything more tonight.” Sam noticed that Frodo smiled although with no real mirth in it, but that was not out of place these days. “You go on and enjoy your evening.”

“If you’re sure then, good night,” said Sam

“Good night, Sam,” said Frodo, and he turned and closed the round door.

Sam stood staring at the door for few moments. He didn’t like leaving Frodo like this, not even in the safety of the Shire. He did not fear bodily harm but that Frodo would let himself get wrapped up in too many dark thoughts if left to his own devices. That cursed Ring may be destroyed but not before it had taken a part of Frodo that could not be replaced.

Eventually he turned and walked back down the little path. Dusk was settling over the gardens. Although unfortunately it looked nothing like it should have, it had been destroyed. His own hobbit hole had been dug up, and even though they had restored the homes on Bagshot Row it still wouldn’t be the same. So much had happened in the time that they had been away, yet he of all people knew it could have been much worse. Now the shadow had lifted and hobbits were already working to make it green again, and with time it would heal.

“Sam! Come along, Mrs. Cotton will have supper on the table awaitin'!” cried Marigold, his baby sister, the only sibling to whom he got to play the role of elder brother.

“I’m coming, Mari.” He took the basket from her arm and walked on next to her, listening as the nightlife came out.

They walked along in comfortable silence as the air began to chill. The damage was not as bad the further away from town they got. The Cottons were farmers and being such, Sam suspected that they had pretty much been left alone, except their crops had been taken away for “sharing”. Those brutes wouldn’t want to do the work but they would still want the food.

“Ah, Sam, something casts a shadow on your face,” said Marigold looking over at him as they walked, eyes full of concern although she smiled. “Mr. Frodo will be alright; if he didn’t want to come he doesn’t have to.”

“That’s not quite it, Mari, love,” replied Sam letting his brown hand rest on her light brown curls. She had always been rather small for her age and Sam had always been particularly fond of her. “I wonder where all the crops have gone that were to be “shared”, as it were.”

“Oh,” said Mari, brow crinkling. “Well, Mr. Merry did find that store house north there of Michel Delving, I suppose that is where most of it went.”

“I’m sure that’s where some of it went, but I’m afraid that much of it was shipped out of the Shire, further away than Bree even. That bothers me, I wonder who all has received it and if they will be expecting more,” said Sam. “I don’t know what Sarum-Sharkey’s plans were.”

“Oh, Sam! Let’s not spoil an evening like this with talk of him!” Exclaimed Mari. “He has done enough, thank you, without having to remember him when I’m all set for a pleasant evening!”

“Sorry, love,” said Sam, smiling slightly as they again continued in silence.

“Sam?” said Marigold after a while, breaking the silence. “May I ask you something?”

“Anything you want!” said Sam smiling down at her fondly.

“I-I was wondering, I hope this doesn’t sound improper and all.” She looked away for a moment then looked back. “What happened to Mr. Frodo’s finger? I believe he had all ten when he left.”

Sam was silent for a moment. “That he did, Mari, but many things have happened on our Journey, and I would just as soon not talk about them to spoil this night as well.”

She nodded and they walked the rest of the way to the Cottons’ house in silence. The Cottons were one of the few families that had a house, not a smial. It was small and just as cluttered and cozy as any hole could be. Bright lights shone from the windows, throwing patches of gold onto the ground outside.

“Sam! Mari! Come in why don’t you?” Called the youngest Cotton, Tom. “The table is laid and we are about ready to begin, just waiting on my Da to get on back.”

They entered the bright front room. Mrs. Cotton came out at Tom’s calls. “Mr. Frodo decide not to join us tonight? Well you can take a bit back to him when you go.”

“Thank ‘ee, Mrs. Cotton,” said Sam, hanging his cloak at the door. He glanced around looking for another member of the Cotton household -- one he had been the most anxious to see and talk to but the one he had seen the least these last few days.

Eventually Tom Cotton came in and the feasting began. Sam spotted the one he had been looking for helping in the kitchen and chatting with his sister. They all sat down to a nice wholesome dinner of roast chicken, fresh bread, cheese, and as a special treat stuffed mushrooms.

The meal passed in pleasant talk and laughter, and then everyone broke up to take a pipe or clean up the kitchen. “Rosie, dear, would you go and fetch us some water? I would like to put some on for tea,” said Mrs. Cotton.

“Oh, course, mum.” said Rosie, taking up the pail and heading outside.

Sam unobtrusively followed her. Dark had almost completely fallen, but the lass before him seemed to know her way perfectly. “Rosie? Might I have a word?” he asked quietly.

She jumped at the sound of his voice. “Sam, I didn’t hear you come out! Of course if you have something on your mind.” She looked at him with shy admiration, golden hair cascading down her back and shoulder, blue eyes sparkling.

“Yes, first off I think I ought to apologize to you,” started Sam glancing back, feeling unnaturally nervous, to see if anyone had followed them. “I left you for more’n a year, didn’t do things out proper as I should have done. I left you thinking when I got back I would set things straight. Terrible, selfish of me and all considering you probably already been asked, well you deserve better then what I have, and well.” He trailed off feeling like everything had got rather jumbled.

A blush had crept up the girl’s face. She had followed most of it. “What I mean to say is I should have done this a long time ago.” He went down to one knee and taking her hand in his said softly, “Rose Cotton, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Rosie smiled to light up the heavens. “Samwise Gamgee, I thought you never would ask!”

As Sam stood up she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Then she abruptly pulled back looking more than a little embarrassed, leaving a stunned Sam watching her.

Sam gently took her hand in his as they headed back to the house. When they entered, the room burst into applause! Rose blushed even more and Sam looked down at his feet. “We haven’t even announced anything,” he commented wryly. He glanced at his little sister and she grinned impishly. He had a feeling they had been watched the entire time, from the kitchen windows.

Wine was brought out and everyone laughing and joking began to toast the couple. Sam glanced around at all the happy, smiling hobbits. He remembered the long trek up Mount Doom and the pain it etched forever into his memory, but this was why it had been done. He would gladly go through it again, and more.

Frodo:

After closing the door to Bag End, Frodo leaned wearily against it for a moment. The many rooms of his home were all dark right now -- besides the kitchen that had a small fire going and a candle burning steadily in the corner. He exhaled slowly and headed for there.

He looked in the cellar at the food store; there was not as much as there had been in another time but plenty for a single hobbit. But he didn’t feel like eating, he hardly ever did anymore. Perhaps it was because food had lost all appeal to him after going a couple of months with next to none. Maybe it was all the feasting on rich food he had done before they left Gondor, but no -- he hadn’t eaten much then, either.

He closed the door to the cellar and taking up the candle decided he would go to Bilbo’s and his study. He looked around; it was quite clean, no clutter was built up and it didn’t look right. All the time Frodo had ever known it, it had been a wild collection of books, papers and strange things from far off. Not right now; the whole place had been emptied upon Lobelia giving it back to him, everything had been cleaned and some things replaced. Merry and Pippin were planning to bring up his things from Crickhollow, if they too had not been pillaged. Until then the hole looked rather sparse.

He sat down at the desk, one of the few things not to have been broken. Bilbo had sat here and wrote down his own tales -- perhaps he should do that, also. He should write about the Council of the Wise, fair Lothlorien before it became nothing more than history, the returning of the King. His thoughts abruptly went darker... the Ringwraiths, Sheolb’s Lair, the trek up Mount Doom. No! He would not see others poisoned by things that no longer wandered these lands! He would carry those things with him to the grave, but no -- he needed healing, not bitterness. Perhaps writing it all down would help him to live again; was it a bad thing that people know that sacrifices sometimes must be made?

Anyway, he would not start tonight. He looked around the new yet comfortingly familiar room.

“Uncle Bilbo! Am I really to stay here with you? Forever and ever?” asked young Frodo looking around the entrance hall in wonder.

“Yes lad, if that will suit you,” replied Bilbo. “It is your decision to make.”

“Thank you, Bilbo!” the lad threw himself into his Uncle’s arms “I want to live here always!”

Maybe not always, thought Frodo recalling the happy memory. I don’t think I can live here as well as I once did. It had the power to heal my grieving heart over my lost parents, but not now my soul. Of course, he thought sadly, Bilbo was not here with him to sooth away his hurts.

“Are you Gandalf the Grey?” asked Frodo three years later.

“A sharp lad you are,” replied the wizard, looking down at his friend’s young relation. “And you must be Frodo Baggins?”

“Yes, sir!” said the youngster looking up with adoring eyes. “Did you really keep trolls from eating Uncle Bilbo and the dwarves? I would dearly love to meet a dwarf and elves, but I don’t suppose I ever shall! Maybe you could take me some day!”

Gandalf laughed. “I don’t know about that! Would you like to have adventures?”

“Very much! I want to fight spiders, talk to dragons and see men that walk out of storybooks! That would be splendid!” he cried eyes shining with wonder.

Not as splendid as I had once thought it to be, thought Frodo. Spiders, indeed! He shuddered, walking back through the rooms that led to his own room.

“Frodo! Are you home, cousin?” cried a shrill voice down the halls.

“Really you needn’t shout, Pippin,” said Merry holding his younger cousin’s hand and leading him down the corridors. “If Cousin Frodo is here he will be in his room reading or some such thing.”

Frodo smiled from down the hall, listening as his younger cousins tramped down them.

“There you are!” said Pippin taking his hand and tugging him towards the door. “We are to have a picnic, Sam says you can’t cook to save your life so we came to rescue you from starving!”

“He also told you not to tell Frodo he said that,” said Merry smiling at Frodo. “Though I have no doubt of your cooking abilities!”

“Merry Brandybuck!” exclaimed Frodo glaring half heartedly at him. “You have no respect for your elderly relations!”

“Come on, before I starve!” said Pippin grabbing each of the older hobbits’ hands. “We will have a wonderful time, Merry said we could walk in the river, too cold to swim you know, and catch frogs and things!”

That had been a wonderful afternoon. Dear, Merry, I now know that you were trying then to save me from myself when Bilbo had left. You did well and I thank you for it.

“Frodo, can we go fishing?”

“Sir, would you rather have daffodils or roses by the window?”

“Can you come stay at Brandy Hall? Just for a little while.”

“Frodo, lad, would you run down at to the market and get me some more ink? I seem to have run out.”

“My dear hobbit, do you think I came for the sole purpose of telling you stories?”

Memories and faces whirled about in Frodo’s mind and he began to weep. For the life that he had led here and the one he now had. The innocence he had lost. What he would give not to know how big Middle-earth was or the evil that lay in it. But what had Sam said? “There’s some good in this world and it’s worth fighting for.” That was what they had set out to do, fight for the good. Fight for the good in the world, which was what they did. Even if it wasn’t for him, he was glad he had had done it.