Wedmath 1461 SR

Merry Gamgee stood on a slope near Whitwell and surveyed the land below with a quiet satisfaction. On one side he could see the fluffy shapes of the Thain's sheep as they grazed the fields below; the farm was managed for the Thain by Everard Took and his son Abelard. Turning to his right, Merry grinned as he took in the laden fruit trees and new buildings where he and his brother Pip-lad were hoping to make a living. They had acquired the smallholding and had just spent months pruning, weeding and re-building in order to have a harvest to sell. It had been in a terrible state when they took over but in six months they had managed to achieve the near impossible. The trees were full of fruit and the soft fruit garden was yielding pretty well. The sight gave Merry hope for the future.

       "Well I do declare! If it isn't Merry Gamgee! Good grief, I haven't seen you for ages!" said an amused voice from above.

       Merry started and peered up into the branches, which parted to reveal a face of exquisite beauty - creamy skin, huge eyes, hair the colour of banked embers in the dappled sunlight.

       "Miss Persimmon! No, I suppose it must be four or five years."

       "Oh! No comments along the lines of 'what on earth are you doing up a tree?' and 'That isn't very lady-like behaviour'?"

       Merry shrugged. "Hardly. My sisters climb trees all the time."

       "So they do. Silly me, I'd forgotten. Are you sure the Tooks and the Gamgees aren't related?" She dropped lightly to the grass beside him.

       Merry tried to look at her face and not allow his eyes to wander. Persimmon was wearing an old shirt and breeches belonging to her older brother, and filling them in ways Abelard could never have imagined. Looking at her face was not much better, because she had jade-green eyes fringed with dark auburn lashes and a sprinkling of pale freckles across her nose and over her pronounced cheekbones. When she smiled she could have stopped traffic in the White City and distracted any male hobbit between twenty and a hundred on his way to second breakfast. Merry gulped.

       "I don't think our families are related. I certainly didn't expect to see you up here though."

       "I hide up here sometimes. You won't tell anyone, will you?" She gave him a pleading look.

       "Course not. Who are you hiding from?"

       "Lads mostly. They all want to own me, like I'm a.....a....pony....or a new carriage! I'm not going to be anyone's property. And they want to 'tame me'!" her fists clenched as she spat the words. "They seem to want to put me in a cage."

       Merry tried not to get lost in those jade eyes. "Don't that defeat the object? If they cared about you they wouldn't want to do such a thing. Besides, if something is wild and beautiful you don't throw it in a cage. You wait for trust to grow."

       Now it was Persimmon's turn to gulp. She stared at Merry, doubt and disbelief written all over her lovely features. Merry thought she looked like a wary doe allowing herself to be approached. "You mean that?"

       "I'm like my da. I never say anything I don't mean. If a wild doe comes to the back door and takes food from your hand, you leave the door open and let her come and go as she will."

       "You are like your da. That's exactly the sort of thing he'd say, bless him." She favoured Merry with a dazzling smile and he ran a finger round his collar, suddenly feeling very warm. "Sardo Bracegirdle says I'm a shrew!"

       "Sardo Bracegirdle is a mutton-head who couldn't find his own backside with both hands and a map!" Merry snorted, and was surprised when Persimmon broke into giggles.

       "Oh Merry, you are funny."

       "I hope you're not going to throw yourself away on the likes of Sardo - or that lunk Taviso Sackville........not that it's any of my business," he added hastily. "I just think they have an unpleasant and backward attitude to lasses."

       "You don't miss much, do you? No, I have no intention of marrying either of those two - or any other lad who's asked me so far." She pulled a face. "If I was daft enough to marry Sardo I'd have to murder him within the week! He's an insufferable boor."

       Merry nodded. "And that's the best thing you can say about him!" He was rewarded with another bubbling laugh.

       "I hear you and Pip have taken over the Deeploam smallholding. That must be hard work - poor old Widow Deeploam hasn't been able to find any willing help for years and the place has gone down badly."

       "It's kept us busy but at least we've shifted all the weeds now, trimmed and pruned the trees and prepared the ground. We probably won't turn a profit for two or three years but we're prepared for that."

       "Will you be able to manage on no profit?"

       Merry chuckled. "We're very lucky - we have a silent partner in the business who has helped with the money and some sound advice."

       "Really?" She tried to sound casual but her curiosity was overwhelming.

       "No doubt you'll guess that it's Uncle Fro."

      She gave a throaty laugh. "Of course. It would be! Never heard that he put his money into anything which failed, so I'm sure you'll be a roaring success soon. Going in for livestock?"

       "Yes, but not sheep."

       "No?" Persimmon arched her lovely brows.

       "Not going into competition with your da. Everyone knows the Whitwell sheep are unbeatable in this part of the Shire. Thought we'd get a few goats. Reckon there might be a market for cheese and milk, and the wool for some things too. Apparently in Harad they like goat hair for rugs."

       "You have given it a lot of thought. Some youngsters don't digest cows' milk well - I know Pinto didn't and Aunt Pearl had to search all over for goats' milk - so mothers would probably be glad of a reliable supply.. What breed are you going for?"

       "Northfarthing Shorthorns. They're tough, love poor ground, eat anything and have very long coats."

       "Perhaps you could set up a stall near the gate and sell produce - milk, cheese, fruit and vegetables, and jam and pickles. Your mum's pickles would sell like a hot cakes - so would her cakes, come to that." She twinkled mischievously.

       "That's a wonderful idea! If we had time one of us could run it for a while during the day, I suppose."

       "Sounds as though you two need organising. Didn't I hear that Pip was betrothed?"

       "I know he's a mite young but he's been soppy on our cousin Lily since he was a faunt. Never looked at another lass."

       "A good choice - she's a farmer's daughter after all." Persimmon looked at him with a strange expression on her face. "What about you, Merry? Any lasses in tow?

       He shook his head. "Not yet. I thought you and Freddy might have started courting."

       "Freddy's a sweet lad but I have always regarded him as another brother, not a potential husband. He's in great demand, I gather - the lasses adore him and think him very dashing, especially since he joined the Rangers." Persimmon smiled and Merry's stomach flipped over. "I believe he's quite sweet on Opal."

       "Your Aunt Nell's Opal? Well, she's around his age and a pretty lass if I remember rightly. Last time Freddy came through Hobbiton with Fari, Theo and Torni, all in their Ranger cloaks and carrying swords and bows, all the lasses were swooning."

        The lass chuckled. "Don't they love the attention! Fari's always a target for the ambitious mothers, but I think they're going to have to concede defeat soon. It's pretty obvious he's going to wed your sister."

       "Da will need smelling-salts!"

       "He doesn't approve?"

       "You know what he's like - a gardener's family shouldn't be going above their station, marrying into a great family like the Tooks."

       "Uncle Pip says it's the Tooks who should be honoured, with Uncle Sam being a Lord and Mayor and one of the Ring-bearers. Besides, we're not snobs like the Bracegirdles."

       Merry grinned. "Oh Da'll come round. Mum and Uncle Fro will just tease it out of him. He'll say it's not proper and they'll call that nonsense and eventually he'll hold up his hands and give in."

       "Coming to the Whitwell dance tomorrow?"

       "Wouldn't miss it - although I'm not much of a dancer."

       She gave him a sly smile. "I'll teach you." Impulsively she leaned towards him and brushed her lips against his cheek. "Till tomorrow night."

       Then she was gone, running lightly down the slope towards Whitwell. Merry touched his cheek and lolled against the tree, his face smothered in the most idiotic smile.

1460 SR

Under cover of the high bushes and hanging tree branches Freddy Took edged forward, silent as only a hobbit could be, until he saw the small clearing bathed in dappled sunlight. He slid the bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow. Then he waited for the right moment to move.

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       It was Isumbrand Took who first broached the idea of a band of hobbit Rangers, during the visit to Gondor for the King's hundreth birthday. Travelling with several of Lord Elessar's closest kin had made the hobbits realise just how much they owed these brave Men, who had sacrificed so much. It seemed only right that hobbits should help to patrol the Bree-lands and Shire borders, so that no invasion could catch them unawares again.

       The King thought it a good idea, and so did Merry and Pippin. Thain, Master and Mayor all agreed, and soon the first Hobbit Rangers were training under the eye of the Captains. Merry and Pippin had joined immediately and were delighted by the response. Isumbrand, Fernilac, two of the Boffins, Diamond's younger brother and a number of others, in the Shire and around Bree, all enrolled and were put through their paces. At the end of their training they were presented with their swords and a new cloak pin, designed by Frodo - the Star of Arnor above a gold and silver mallorn tree. The King himself came north to do the honours and was deeply moved and proud when they went on their knees before him and swore their oath of allegiance.

       Swordsmanship did not come as naturally to the hobbits as archery, but they persevered. Tracking was not too difficult - most hobbits knew how to read the world around them, and tracking wrong-doers was easier than finding a crop of fine mushrooms after all. Within a few years the best families in the Shire were proudly sending at least one son to join the Rangers.

       When Freddy Took was old enough there was no question of him not joining. Since his journey to Gondor in the company of several of the Dunedain, Freddy's one ambition had been to be a Ranger like his great friend Captain Erithain. It was one of the proudest moments in the Ranger's life, watching young Freddy receiving his pin and swearing his oath to the King, his hand resting on the sword.

       Dashing. That was the word most often used to describe the young Took. He was almost as tall as Thain Peregrin and Fari Took but much broader. As those who had seen his portrait could testify, the hobbit Freddy most resembled was the famous Bandobras. He was bold but not reckless, brave without being foolhardy, and although he enjoyed the admiration of the lasses he behaved like a gentlehobbit at all times. He had the refined features of the Tooks, green eyes and fairish auburn hair, and masses of Tookish charm. His quick mind and highly-developed sense of responsibility made him a superb strategist and his air of panache attracted the lasses like bees round a honey pot.

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       Alf Goatleaf was as dissolute as the rest of his family. He was a petty criminal and wastrel and had been in trouble since the age of ten. His latest escapade had been to rob an old woman in Bree, pushing her to the ground and running off through the gate with her purse. Freddy and Tornilac, the Rangers on duty in that area, went after him. He was easy to follow, crashing through the undergrowth like a stampeding oliphaunt and leaving broken branches and snapped twigs in his wake, to say nothing of alarming the woodland birds and animals. The two Rangers had moved ahead of him and now awaited his arrival in the clearing. Freddy knew that Torni was on the other side, equally well-hidden, his sword at the ready. The cousins made a good team, working smoothly together.

       Goatleaf stumbled through the ferns and paused, eyes darting warily from side to side as he made sure he was unobserved. He drew a small grey suede purse from his pocket, pulled the drawstrings and emptied the meagre contents into his hand, cursing as he did so.

       "Why, it was hardly worth the bother!"

       "What did you expect from a poor old woman living in Bree?" Freddy enquired drily, stepping out, bow taut and aimed at the man. "If you rob the poor you must expect poor earnings. No, don't try anything stupid. I'd be quite happy to drop you where you stand but that would be foolish of you. Stealing does not carry the death penalty."

       "Think I'm scared of you Little Folk?" Goatleaf sneered. Freddy shrugged.

       "You should be - considering the Little Folk brought down the Dark Lord, the Witch-King of Angmar, fought assorted orcs and trolls and chased a load of ruffians out of the Shire. The King always says no-one should under-estimate hobbits. Now put those coins back in the purse, close it and place it on the ground in front of you, then step back four paces."

       "Who's goin' ta make me?"

       "We are," said Freddy pleasantly.

       A sharp jab high on his inner thigh caused Goatleaf to jump. Tornilac Brandybuck had emerged from the bushes on the other side of the clearing and was now standing behind him, prodding him with a very sharp sword.

      "I would suggest you do as my cousin requested - unless you wish to be gelded."

       "You wouldn't dare!"

       "Oh dear!" murmured Freddy. "Not a smart move, Mr Goatleaf. You really should never dare a Brandybuck not to do something - it's the surest way of making them do it."

       Muttering obscenities, Goatleaf did as he was told. He thought about looking for a weapon but the ground consisted of leaf litter and wild flowers, and he remembered his cousin Ben trying something similar with these two and being kicked in the face. He threw the purse down and stepped back.

       "Hands behind your back please, Mr Goatleaf," said Torni, and the man was so surprised by the polite tone that he complied, only to feel a set of manacles being snapped on his wrists.

       "Now let's get moving," Freddy said. He picked up the purse, slipped it into his pocket, shouldered his bow and drew his sword. "We've missed lunch and tea, thanks to you, and I don't intend to miss supper, so make haste, Mr Goatleaf."

       Torni chuckled. "Never dare a Brandybuck - and never get between a Took and his food! Step out, Mr Goatleaf. We'll keep up with you, never fear, and you'll spend the night in a nice comfy cell in Bree gaol. There's pheasant at the Pony tonight."

       "With bread sauce and bacon rolls, I know. Don't dawdle. We have an appointment with a pheasant and I think it very rude to be unpunctual." Freddy began to whistle.

       "Never thought I'd see the day - bloody Rangers with furry feet!" Goatleaf mumbled.

       The hobbits exchanged a look. "Our feet may be furry but our eyes - and our swords - are as sharp as those of Men. You and your ilk would do well to remember that."

       Alf was unlikely to forget it, being prodded regularly all the way back to Bree. By the time they reached the gaol he was glad of the rest. The sound of the young Rangers being cheered by Bree's indignant citizens did not improve his temper either. Hobbit Rangers! Whatever next?

A litle birthday offering for Dreamflower.

Summer 1454 SR

Rosie-lass closed her bedroom door and flopped into the wicker chair with the familair squashy blue cushions. She was absolutely exhausted but too elated to lie down yet, despite being awake all night. She had been sitting up with Salvia Hedges during her lung fever crisis, sponging her down, making sure she took the medicines and giving her enough fluid to keep her going. This was why she had become a healer, and Garnet had trusted her to do things properly. The feeling when the crisis passed and Salvia's fever broke was something which would stay with Rosie all her life. Six children would not be bereft and crying for their mother and Gardo would not have to bury his adored wife, and all because of her, Rosie Gamgee-Gardener! The feeling of giddy exhilaration made her want to dance round the room but she was too tired and contented herself with grinning widely as she remembered Salvia's weak smile of recognition earlier that morning. Now Garnet was keeping an eye on things while Rosie had a sleep and a bath.

       She shared the room with Goldie and Daisy since Ellie had moved out, carried away on the tide of matrimony and all things adult, but her sisters were not here at present. Goldie was helping out at the Hobbiton school and Daisy was out with Sam-dad, growing herbs as part of her contribution to Uncle Merry's book on herb-lore. Other than Frodo-lad she was the one with most interest in gardening, and Fro was over in Buckland, working with the Brockhouses on the gardens of Brandy Hall for six months. Sam felt the lad should not pick up all his father's bad habits and Merry was delighted to have the lad for a while.

       Rosie opened her clasped hand and looked down at the object resting in her palm. It was her healer's pendant, a large piece of polished but uncut rose quartz, made by Uncle Gimli in the Glittering Caves and presented to her by her beloved Uncle Frodo when she began her training. It responded to her perfectly and was always warm to the touch. Children seemed particularly comforted by it and she would allow her young patients to hold it, believing that it gave them strength. It hung from a simple strand of leather, although she wore a similar, smaller piece on a mithril chain round her neck.

       Half-asleep, Rosie remembered when she had experienced a crisis of her own - a crisis of confidence in her ability to be a healer. Just four months ago she had been at a birth with Garnet when Begonia Weaver's baby was born dead. She watched Garnet being calm and compassionate but she just froze. She was so used to her mother having babies easily and without problems that somehow it had not occurred to her that sometimes things went very wrong indeed. Thankfully she had recovered enough to help Garnet when Begonia started bleeding heavily, and they had worked for over an hour before they were satisfied that the mother would not follow her baby. Later Garnet had comforted a tearful Rosie and told her that such things were rare but they happened and sometimes no-one knew why.

       A week later, and with Hobbiton and Bywater in the grip of a measles epidemic Rosie was horrified to find herself watching young Barti Overhill, seventeen and as strong as an ox, die in front of her. She had never felt so helpless in her life. Doctor Porto said his kidneys and liver had failed; he swelled up with fluid and no amount of treatment helped. That morning she had slipped quietly into the study, buried her face in Uncle Fro's brocade waistcoat and sobbed out her grief. He calmly stroked her hair and made soothing noises but allowed her to cry, then offered her his handkerchief and dried her tears. She had always been able to take her troubles to him, with his soft voice and the comforting smell of lavender, clean linen, ink and pipeweed. He listened carefully to whatever she said and never talked down to her.

       "Why, Uncle Fro? He was so young - no older than our Ruby - and as fit as a flea. How could he just die like that? It's so unfair!"

             "I know, my sweet Rosebud. Life is sometimes very unfair and sometimes our loved ones go when we least expect it. Sometimes measles does that. Look how ill Robin was only two weeks ago - we could have lost him too. You and Porto and Garnet did everything you could to save poor Barti.He did not die from lack of care, but sometimes people die no matter what we do to try and save them. You can't save every life, my dearie, much as you want to."

       "I don't know if I want to do this any more. It hurts so much."

       "It will hurt. The day you lose a patient and don't feel some pain will be the day to stop. Aragorn says he still feels great grief and helplessness when he loses a patient, and Lord Elrond told me the same thing. A good healer is compassionate and feels for people. I suspect as you grow older and more experienced you will learn to perhaps be a bit more philosophical about the ones who don't make it, but you will always feel sorrow. That will be couter-balanced by the joy when you make a difference and save someone - and there will be far more of those, I'm sure."

       "I don't know.................." Long, scholar's fingers cupped her chin and lifted it until she was looking into the brilliant blue eyes.

       "If healing is something you thought you might like to do then perhaps you are right. No-one ever said it would be easy; this is the road less travelled, Rosie-posie, and not everyone is suited to it. But if you feel in your heart that this is something you must do, than you will find the strength and the courage to face whatever challenges come your way. The Valar will help you when you need it."

       She looked into his face and saw not just her dearest Uncle Fro but the Ring-bearer, Iorhael the Beloved, who had faced the greatest challenge in Middle-earth because he had to. No-one else could have done it and no-one else wanted to. For one unguarded moment he allowed her to see what that had done to him, the numbing terror, the resolve, the willingness to sacrifice everything to save what was dearest to him.

       "Nothing I ever do will equal what you and Sam-dad did," she sniffed.

       "Every positive compassionate act is important in its own way, and when you save someone's life you'll know what a difference you can make. The Lady Galadriel once told me that even the smallest person can change the course of the future." He was simply Uncle Fro again, blue eyes twinkling. "Now why don't we go and find something to eat? I happen to know your Mum has made scones and there's cream and some of her black cherry jam." He took her hand and led her out into the quiet kitchen.

        Rosie smiled. I did make a difference today! she thought. I saved Salvia's life! And last week I delivered Lily Shortburrow's fifth child all by myself and it went well. I didn't even panic when the cord was draped round his neck. Garnet didn't have to do anything and she praised me at the end. Perhaps I can be a good healer after all.

       When her mother looked in an hour later Rosie-lass was fast asleep, a little smile on her face and the pendant still clasped in her hand.

1464 SR

The breeze from the river was delightfully cool and Daisy Gamgee shook her curls as she sat in the Brandy Hall herb garden, carefully making notes for Uncle Merry's book. The lazy buzzing of the bees and the twittering of birds were the only sounds to break the silence of the Afterlithe afternoon.      A shadow fell across her notebook and she glanced up.

       "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." The soft voice of the Master's second son.

       "That's alright, Frodi, you didn't."

       "Do you mind if I join you? I'd like to do some sketches of those foxgloves."

       "Not at all. It's lovely out here. Yes, they are quite spectacular, aren't they?"

       Frodoric nodded and spread an old blanket, similar to the one on which Daisy was kneeling, on the thyme and chamomile lawn. He plomped himself down and began to sort out his chalks and pastels, while the scent of thyme rose around them. For the rest of her life, Daisy never thought of this day without remembering that smell.

       "I wonder why they're called foxgloves?" she mused. "I can't imagine a fox wearing gloves, can you?"

       Frodi laughed. "Oh yes, I think I could imagine that." He drew rapidly on his sketch pad for a few minutes and then handed her the finished drawing. She gasped. He had drawn a fox standing on his hind legs and dressed like a dandy, with silk britches, a splendid plum-coloured jacket, a lilac-grey waistcoat and carrying a silver-topped cane. He held a pair of pink gloves and wore a monacle.

       "That's is wonderful! I wish I could draw properly." She admired the picture for some minutes before handing it back.

       "Keep it, Daisy. Nice to know that someone likes my 'comical efforts' as Da calls them."

       "Well keep it safe for me until we go in. It might blow away otherwise." She returned it and Frodi tucked it safely in his sketchbook.

       For some time they sat in companionable silence, Frodi drawing and Daisy checking her herb samples. She loved gardening and had always been interested in herbs. For years she had grown them at Bag End, experimenting with different conditions in the research for Uncle Merry's great work on herblore, and Merry had invited her to spend some time at Brandy Hall.

       She watched Frodi as he concentrated, sometimes examining the plants through a magnifying glass. He was a scholar like his namefather, fluent in Sindarin. He even looked a bit like Frodo, with light chestnut hair and the refined Tookish features which he had inherited from his two Took grandmothers. He had, much to his mother's relief, failed to inherit the Brandybuck nose but he had his father's twinkly grey eyes and he had also acquired Merry's artistic talent. Unlike Merry, however, he was patient and enjoyed producing botanically correct drawings and paintings of flowers and trees. His illustrations would be perfect for his father's book.

       "Have you heard from Theo lately?" she asked.

       "You know what he's like for writing letters - always too busy, always intending to do it and never quite getting round to it. Too busy Rangering I supose. It drives Mum to distraction. Yet when he does write he usually sends several long letters all at once."

       "All or nothing - sounds like a Brandybuck," Daisy said with a laugh.

       "Impatient, determined and ready to fight at the drop of a hat - isn't that what Uncle Frodo says?" Frodi said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

        "Does he manage to write to Athelas? I doubt she'd be pleased if she had to wait weeks for a letter."

       "Even Theo isn't going to cross the lass he's about to wed. Mind you, she and Aunt Di are in a pre-wedding frenzy at the moment, and Mum's nearly as bad. Dad and Uncle Pip have suggested Mum goes to stay at the Smials and Uncle Pip and Fari can come here until the wedding, just to get away from the incessant chatter about dresses, flowers, bonnets and bottom drawers!"

       Daisy chuckled. "And I don't suppose Goldie is averse to joining in with all the wedding plans - it's not so long since she and Fari were wed."

       "I wonder why lasses are so keen on weddings," Frodi murmured. "I can't see what all the excitement is about."

       "Look at that cat." Daisy pointed to where a rather fat tortoiseshell and white cat was rolling ecstatically in the catmint.

       Frodi squinted. "That's Pansy - she looks very happy but won't the plants be squashed?"

       Daisy shook her head. "No, it'll bounce back. We have a big patch at Bag End because Da and Uncle Fro like to see the cats happy. It never seems to suffer from all the attention."

       "Aren't the Bag End cats descended from the ones here?"

       "Yes. The kittens were born just before Uncle Fro's parents died. I think the mother's name was Petunia. She was a tortie and white too."

       "There's always a Petunia at the Hall - it's a sort of tradition. I think the first cat in Buckland to approach Gorhendad Oldbuck was named Petunia and there's been one ever since. The current one was sprawled on top of the wall in the rose garden when I came out."

       "All the Bag End cats are orange - although we had Sooty at one time and we've had a couple of grey tabbies too. Toffee is our current one - he's about three years old now and such a good-natured old silly. Dear old Rufus lived to be over twenty - he was so clever and knew everything we said to him. Then there was Custard, who loved food more than anything."

       "Some folk say cats aren't as clever as dogs but I think they're just as smart - they just don't do what they're told. Dogs want to please but cats do what they want, when they want to do it. I admire that."

       Daisy wondered if he admired that in a lass too and thought that he probably did. Frodi had resisted the attentions of some of the most empty-headed lasses in Buckland and the Shire since he was twenty.

       While Daisy had been watching Frodi, the young lad had been observing her. He noted her tip-tilted nose with its sprinkling of freckles, and her curls, neither brown nor blonde but a strange and ever-changing mixture of the two. Her hazel-green eyes were fringed with lashes which seemed to have been sprinkled with pollen - or gold dust. She was quite an unusual lass, the Mayor's fourth daughter.

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       Merry looked in on his younger son on his way to his own room. He missed Theo charging about the place. It was strange when hhis eldest son was away, and when he returned in a few weeks he would have only two weeks as a batchelor before they all went to the Smials for his wedding to Pip's daughter Athelas. They were all growing up so quickly, Merry thought ruefully.

       Frodoric was much quieter than his brother. He was a studious lad whose nose was hardly ever out of a book. He was asleep, his book lying open and face down on the counterpane. Merry smiled to himself and turned out the lamp above the bed. As he turned to leave he noticed the sketchbook on the chest of drawers, and the little caricature of the fox propped up against the wall behind it. Daisy had forgotten to take it and Frodi had set it aside to give to her in the morning.

       Merry flipped through the drawings, marvelling at their accuracy and perfection. Each part of the plant was named and shown, often enlarged to show the tiny stamens. The last picture showed the foxgloves in all their glory, bees bumbling in and out of the bells. Smiling through the blossoms was a pretty hobbit lass with curls not quite brown and not quite blonde, and lashes which seemed to have been brushed with gold dust.

       The Master tip-toed out of the room and closed the door. He wore a very large smirk. What was Sam Gamgee going to think?

Time passes for more than just the hobbits. This story references others in my 'Reunion - verse' stories. Sam's passing is described in 'A New Road.'

Foreyule, 1482 SR

Frodo Gamgee-Gardener leaned back in his chair and puffed on his pipe. Holfast, Ivy and Clem sat on the couch and the younger ones - Angelica, May and Andwise sat on their older siblings' laps, while baby Holman gurgled in his baby basket. In the chair on the other side of the hearth, Violet took out her mending and prepared to listen too. She enjoyed her husband's reading because he managed to produce so many different voices and made everything sound interesting. It still felt strange to both of them to be the senior couple in Bag End, with Mother Rose passing at Mid-year and Sam-dad slipping away on what had been dear Uncle Frodo's birthday. Frodo-lad had gone out to call his father in for supper and found him sitting on the bench, his pipe held loosely in his fingers. Although shocked and saddened, young Fro was relieved and thrilled to see three shining figures in the Party Field; his father would not be travelling alone because those he loved more dearly than any others had come to call him away. It seemed right and proper somehow.

       Now it would soon be Yule. He had wondered if it would be proper to decorate the smial but the Thain and Master reminded him that Sam, Rose and Frodo had all loved Yule and would not like to think of Bag End bare and dull at such a happy time, so he had brought in the green boughs, the mistletoe, the juniper and the Yule log, and the home looked magnificent.

       Frodo glanced down at the book in his hand as the children shifted impatiently on the couch. He had mentioned to them that although Gammer Rose and Uncle Frodo had come for Gaffer Sam, they were not the only ones. With his own eyes he had seen the small figures of the many cats who had once made Bag End their home, and he had told them a little of the ones he remembered. They enjoyed the stories but clamoured to know more about the first cats, starting with the one Uncle Frodo had brought with him from Brandy Hall. He thought of the book which his uncle had compiled, detailing the Bag End cats and some of their escapades, together with a picture of each cat. Frodo-lad opened the book and turned to the first page, written in Uncle Fro's beautiful script, and began:

       Mischief - born Afterlithe 1380 SR. Father: Pongo. Mother: Petunia.

      The kitten did not like being in his basket very much and made a lot of noise during the journey from Buckland. Bilbo laughed and said he has a fine pair of lungs. I think he missed his mother and brothers and sisters so I must comfort him. I missed my mother and father so I sympathised.

      We had only been at Bag End a few days when Gandalf arrived. He was so kind and the naughty kitten was not afraid. Indeed, having disappeared up the parlour chimney and come down in a great fall of soot, he climbed up the wizard's robe, making it greyer and more disreputable than ever, and had to have a bath. I suppose not many kittens have been bathed by a wizard. It was then that I decided on a name for my little one, and called him Mischief. It was very apt because he was always in trouble: he climbed the Party Tree and then could not get down and I had to climb up after him while Bilbo fussed and fretted on the ground; he caught a toad and was very sick from licking it and we had to send for the animal healer, and he went into the pantry and somehow covered himself with jam. I realise as I write this that I could be describing Pippin, but Mischief did improve and travelled back and forth between Hobbiton and Buckland for years in that very basket which he had so hated at first. He died in his sleep just after my birthday in 1397, being seventeen years of age, and was buried in the garden with a marker and some forget-me-nots on his grave.

       The children laughed at the reference to Uncle Pip as they had heard many stories of young Peregrin Took and his catalogue of adventures.

       "Uncle Frodo and Mister Bilbo had taken Tomkin in two years before Mischief died, when he was a little kitten. His mum was Widow Rumble's cat Sorrell, and Tomkin lived to a good age, like all the cats at Bag End," Frodo-lad explained. "He was the one who caught the squirrel that Uncle Fro had to nurse back to health. Tomkin was sixteen when he went. Then came Pickle, who also lived to be seventeen. He was a proper pickle, always jumping in the waste paper basket in the study and sitting on the writing paper. He went to stay at Brandy Hall when Uncle Fro and Gaffer Sam left the Shire, because Uncle Fro wanted him to be safe."

       "I suppose the Ruffians might have hurt him if he'd stayed here? Or that Lotho," muttered Holfast.

       "Or Sharkey. He wasn't like Gandalf or Radagast and probably didn't like animals," said young Ivy, tender-hearted as always.

       "No, I suppose he didn't. It was just as well that Pickle was safe at the Hall while all that was going on. He lived a long time too - I think all the cats enjoy life so much that they don't want to leave it."

       "Rufus lived the longest, didn't he, Da?" Geli's excited voice.

       "Yes, he did, lass. He was twenty-one, if you can imagine, and we children had grown with him, so we all cried when he left us. Curled up under the quilt on Uncle Fro's bed and never woke up. Dear old Sooty missed him terribly because they'd been firm friends for sixteen years. I don't think he ever really got over it because he died the next year. Rufus was very special - he saved us from a snake once. He understood everything we told him and was as intelligent as any person."

       "Then there was Custard, who loved food and spent a lot of his time eating. Uncle Pip says he was a Took!" Ivy giggled.

       "That's right. And don't forget we had Pudding and Treacle, the two tabbies. They were found in a sack at the stables and Gaffer Sam said he knew Uncle Fro would keep them. They were really naughty and used to like to sleep in the wash-basket. Poor old Custard was always afraid they would eat his food. He used to try and guard it."

       "And then there was Toffee," said Clem. "Hol remembers him the best but I was twelve when he passed and I remember him, 'cos it was only three years ago. He was cheeky and used to walk all over Uncle Fro's desk. He trod in the ink once and left inky prints all over. Gammer Rose scolded him and washed his feet in the sink!"

       Holfast chuckled. "Every time he saw a flannel after that he ran!"

       "And now we have Biscuit, and he's as clever and handsome as the others!" Holfast smiled as he looked as the big cat who was sprawled in front of the fire, warming his belly.

       "Yes, he is. And now some sleepy little hobbits should really be going to bed." Frodo-lad closed the book and smiled at his wife, who nodded and began to gather the children. The young ones kissed their father and siblings and then threw themselves on the hearthrug to kiss Biscuit as well. He purred aimiably and seemed to enjoy their attemtions. Then they filed out of the room, calling back as they went.

       "Night-night, Da! G'night Geli, May 'n' Andy. G'night, Biscuit!"

       "Good-night, my loves."

       Holfast, Ivy and Clem went to the kitchen to prepare sandwiches and hot milk with cinnamon, and Frodo-lad patted his knee in invitation to Biscuit, who sprang up and made himself comfortable on his Master's lap.

       "This will be a strange Yule and no mistake, my lad. Mum and Da gone and now I have to be the grown-up responsible one. What do you think of that?" The cat looked at him with unfathomable green eyes. "Now I can never ask their advice about anything ever again -although Uncle Pip and Uncle Merry have said I can always turn to them, and Uncle Strider is the finest guide and counsellor anyone could have. I suppose we'll muddle along, as the Gaffer used to say. Poor Uncle Strider must have felt strange when he was made King at first, and he's turned out to be pretty good at it. It's alright for you though - you just have to be a cat. And I reckon you're making a decent job of it."

        Biscuit kneaded his claws and purred. He clearly thought so too.

1451 SR

Sam waited impatiently in the parlour. His collar was too stiff and his waistcoat too tight and he wished he could change into comfortable old clothes and spend the day in the garden. He had approached the day with a combination of joy and dread - losing his first-born would not be easy, even though Rose told him he was gaining another son, not losing his beloved daughter. Elanor was not yet of age but she had set her heart on Fastred years before. She was a stubborn one, and her parents gave their consent without too many objections.

       In the Party Field the greatest gathering ever seen in the Shire, -Elves, Dwarves, Men and Hobbits - conversed quietly. The High King and his family were at Anuminas for a time and were therefore conveniently placed to attend. Thus two Kings and Queens, two Stewards, all with their families, at least half a dozen Rangers, Elladan and Elrohir, Lord Glorfindel, Lord Celeborn - fulfilling a wish he had made many years before - King Thranduil, Legolas and Gimli were all dressed in their finery and joyfully awaiting the arrival of the bride. The King himself was to conduct the marriage as Sam would be too distracted and emotional on such a day. The Thain wandered around beaming at everyone, and the Master of Buckland was chatting happily with Eomer. He was wearing a less dazzling waistcoat than usual because his wife had given him a look of wifely disapproval at his first choice and sent him back to 'find something which won't draw attention away from the bride!'

       Elanor's sisters and close friends, like so many bright and beautiful flowers, were gathered outside Bag End's gate, waiting to accompany her and strew flower petals in her path. Rosie-lass was in pink, Goldie in green, Daisy in a soft blue, Ruby wore red and Primrose yellow, with Violet Sandyman wearing the colour of her nameflower, Columbine in a lovely sea-green, Tansy Bunce clad in a bright gold, Teasel in apricot, Lass and Dilly Took in pale lilac and cream respectively, and Simmie Brandybuck in a colour the Queen called turquoise. .

       Rose appeared in the parlour doorway, dressed in lavender silk, her eyes bright with happy tears. "She looks so beautiful, Sam. Our little lass about to wed! It don't seem five minutes since she was born and now she's all grown-up and about to set out on her own." Rose dabbed her eyes and laughed suddenly. "Who'd have thought our lass's wedding would be so big and important!"

       Sam smiled. "More royalty than anyone's ever seen before, and a huge gathering of Elves. What would the Gaffer think? There's three kings down there and one of 'em's an Elf too!"

       Rose giggled. "It's a good thing we didn't ban Big Folk altogether, isn't it? I'm off down to join the gathering. Just give her a few moments to gather her thoughts and then she'll come out."

       "Frodo wants to have a word with her too - wants to give her something special, he says."

       Rose kissed him and departed, accompanied by her eldest son, and Sam fidgeted nervously with his cravat. The thought that his little Elanorelle was about to wed was one he had tried not to contemplate but the day had finally dawned and he was determined that it would be the happiest day of her life.

       The bedroom door opened slowly and Ellie emerged. "Sam-dad?" she said tremulously.

       Sam turned. His mouth fell open and he could do nothing but stare. How had he fathered such a beauty? She had always been lovely but when had she grown up and blossomed into ..........into this?! She was wearing a dress so magnificent that its like had never been seen in the Shire. Embroidered by the Queen and made by Ivy Noakes, the bodice was of gold silk decorated with a blossoming White Tree in mithril, crystal and seed pearls. The sleeves and skirt were of embossed magnolia silk, the sleeves edged in finest lace, the skirt sprinkled with elanor flowers in gold thread and sparkling yellow beads. Her hair, dressed simply with white and yellow ribbons, was crowned with a wreath of elanor and she carried a bouquet of elanor, white and gold roses, baby's breath and myrtle.

       "Oh Elanorelle!" he breathed.

       "Do I look alright, Daddy?"

       "Alright?!" he spluttered. "You look like a queen, my lass. However did I manage to have such a beautiful daughter?" Afraid to crush the dress, Sam contented himself with taking her hands and kissing them. "I am so proud of you, lass."

       "Oh Daddy, I will miss you and Mummy and Uncle Fro and everyone."

       "Even young Tolman and Robin?" Sam asked, his eyes twinkling.

       "Even Ruby!"

       "Your Uncle Fro wants a word. He's in the study."

       Ellie placed her bouquet on the hall table and knocked on the study door. She peeped round when she heard him call.

       Frodo's expression was very much like her father's. He stood there looking truly amazed, moved beyond words by the sight of the sweetly beautiful hobbit lass.

       "My Elanorelle. I am so thankful that I did not leave the Shire. I would not have missed this day for the world!"

       She sniffed. "I'm glad you didn't go. I can't imagine life without you."

       "I have something for you." He held out a long box. "I hope you like it. You don't have to wear it today though, but I wanted you to have it."

       Tentatively, Elanor opened the box and gasped. Inside was a yellow jewel the size of a pigeon's egg, on a fine gold chain. "Ooohhh! It's ............it's.....so lovely!"

       "It belonged to my mother. I put this aside twenty years ago, to give to you on your wedding day or for your coming-of-age, whichever came first."

       "To Aunt Primula? Oh please, Uncle Fro, I want to wear it. It was hers and it matches my dress so perfectly." She turned her vivid aquamarine eyes on her doting uncle and he laughed and lifted the chain and fastened it about her neck.

       "This jewel has quite a history - even I did not know it until yesterday. It was given to my mother by Bilbo, as a birthday gift, on the day I was born."

       "That make it even more special," she murmured, her fingers straying to the jewel which lay upon the curve of her breasts, catching the sunbeams and sending them in spinning shards around the walls.

       "More special than you know, lass. It was found in a dragon's horde........"

       "Smaug?! Bilbo found it in Smaug's lair?"

       "Well, it was found there after Smaug was dead and was given to Bilbo by the Dwarves. When he decided to give it to my mother he asked Gloin if it could be put on a chain. I asked Gimli to polish it for me three weeks ago and he returned it to me yesterday, while you were down at Ivy's. Lord Glorfindel was nearby and he recognised it, and he told me its remarkable history - it was once worn by a princess."

       "A princess?!"

       "Bilbo told me it was a topaz but Glorfindel says it is a yellow diamond, very rare. He said it was shaped in Valinor and taken to Numenor as a gift for the king at that time. He in his turn gave it to his daughter. Her name was Silmariën, and I'm sure you know who she was."

       "All those history lessons taught me something! She was the daughter of Tar-Elendil, fourth King of Numenor, and from her were descended the Faithful including Elendil and Isildur and everyone down to Uncle Estel." Her hands flew to her face. "Oh! He doesn't want it back, does he?"

       Frodo laughed. "No my dearling, he doesn't want it back. I asked him the same question. He said it had never looked more lovely than it would on you." Her relief was obvious. "Glorfindel told me that the diamond has a name. It was known as the Tear of Anar."

       "The Tear of the Sun - what a lovely name. Thank you, dearest Uncle Fro. I shall treasure it always."

       He kissed her brow. "Now we must go, or your future husband will have paced a large hole in the Party Field." She giggled and tucked her arm through his.

       Sam was waiting in the hall. He blinked at the sight of the diamond, and Ellie, bubbling with excitement, began telling him of its history as they stepped out into the sunshine. Anar would shed no tears this day, unless they were tears of joy.

A sequel to 'A Merry Meeting,' Chapter 1 in this little group of stories.

Wedmath 1461 SR

The guests had been arriving all afternoon. The Mayor and his wife, together with Frodo, were settled comfortably within serving distance of the ale barrel and the Gamgee offspring had darted off to greet their eldest sister and her family. Even young Rosie had managed to wheedle Garnet Tunnelly into allowing her a week off to travel to Whitwell. Everyone was thrilled to see their cousins and friends again. Goldilocks was especially pleased to see Fari Took, the Master of Buckland swept Frodo into a warm and powerful hug and the Thain took a swig from his large tankard, which held a pint of Tuckborough's finest.

       Daisy, Primrose and Ruby hastened to greet their great friends, the Thain's daughters Athelas and Niphredil - known as Lass and Dilly - and the Master's only daughter Simbelmynë, although everyone called her Simmie. Merry called her the Flower of Buckland and was very proud of her. The six lasses had formed a huddle and were chattering animatedly.

       The young Hobbit Rangers were there - Freddy and Fari Took and Theo and Tornilac Brandybuck among others - and most of the lasses eyed them as they strolled past. Theo and Fari were still in training but the older lads were now fully-fledged Rangers showing off their cloak clasps and new swords.

       Rose and Frodo noticed Merry-lad's impatience and restlessness. He paced up and down, fiddled with his cuffs and muttered to himself.

       "Now what's up with Merry I wonder?"

       Frodo smiled. "He had a very soppy expression on his face when he came back to the inn last night."

       Rose chuckled. "You don't miss much, do you! I wonder if he's met a lass?"

       "Well, I remember that expression on his da's face at my forty-fifth birthday. I hope he doesn't take as long as Sam to declare himself - or need to go on a journey half-way across Middle-earth!"

       Sam leaned over. "Not him - he has his mum's determination and plain-speaking way. He won't act like a ninnyhammer!"

       "I wonder who's caught his attention?"

       "I daresay we'll find out soon enough. I don't know as I can keep up with all this." Sam shook his head. "When they were little I knew what to do and now they're leaving me behind."

       Frodo patted Sam's shoulder. "Don't worry, they will never leave you, even if they live on the other side of the Shire. Here comes Ellie now."

       "Hello Sam-dad. Hello Mum. Hello Uncle Fro." Elanor threw herself at her beloved parents and uncle. Seven-year-old Elfstan bounded over and jumped on his Gaffer's lap and little Bella, now a faunt, squealed with joy as she spied her adored Gammer and Gaffer and 'Nuncy Fo.' Her brother Drogo, two years older, regarded her with amusement and allowed her to take her turn before adding his own greetings in his own quiet way.

       Elanor was as lovely as ever, if not more so. Marriage and motherhood gave her an added radiance. She was carrying her fourth child but wore her bump lightly and moved with her usual grace. She wore a dress of rich amber silk and her beautiful pendant. Fastred followed, still unable to take his eyes from his wife after ten years of marriage.

       Tolman, the youngest Gamgee child, hastened back for more pie and some banter with his Uncle Merry. He was nineteen years old and growing rapidly. It was clear he was going to take after Uncle Jolly and be one of the tallest in the family.

       "Stars above! What are they feeding you, lad?" Master Merry greeted him delightedly.

      "Pardon?" Tolman cupped a hand to his ear.

       "I said what are they feeding you? You've grown so tall since I last saw you. You'll be catching me at this rate. Are you sure you've had no ent draught?"

       "I still can't hear you, Uncle Merry."

       "Are you going deaf, lad?"

       The cheeky young hobbit's lips twitched. "I think I must be - all on account of that waistcoat of yours." He clamped his hands over his ears. "It's very loud!" He ducked the inevitable swat.

       "You saucy young scamp! There is nothing wrong with my waistcoat. I bought the material from a merchant in Gondor."

       "Colour-blind, was he? Really, Uncle Merry, it's a bit ............."

       "A bit what?"

       "A bit like a storm in a paint store," said Frodo, appearing at Merry's side. He looked his cousin over. "Red and pink? Ouch!" He winced.

       "I happen to like it," replied the Master with as much dignity as he could muster. "We Brandybucks can carry off these bright colours. We have style - unlike stick-in-the-mud Bagginses with everything tasteful and co-ordinated."

       "Yes, Merry, we believe you. I have never accused you of being tasteful and co-ordinated."

       "You impertinent Baggins! Have you no respect for Meriadoc the Magnificent?"

       Frodo laughed and threw his arm round his cousin. "None whatsoever!"

                                                                         ************

       Merry Gamgee peered into the crowd and sighed. Still no sign. He was beginning to wonder if the person he was hoping to see was ever going to arrive. He tugged at his collar and brushed bits of invisible fluff from his cuffs. The musicians began to play and some couples drifted towards the lawn to begin the dancing. Suddenly there was a buzz of excited comment which rippled from the farm outwards. A stifled whimper of two from the lads followed and the crowd parted as if by magic.

       Sashaying across the grass as though she had all the time in the world, her hips swaying hypnotically, was Persimmon Took.. If she had been beautiful the previous day when clad in her brother's shirt and breeches then she was now a vision beyond description. She wore a dress of emerald green silk, low cut to reveal her creamy shoulders. A great froth of white petticoats was visible at the hem and a fine mist of lace trimmed the three-quarter length sleeves. Her rich auburn hair was dressed with dark green ribbons and she carried a little emerald silk bag and a white swan's feather fan. Around her neck she wore a breathtaking square-cut emerald on a silver chain. This Frodo recognised. It had once belonged to Primula Baggins and Frodo had gifted it to Esmeralda Brandybuck more than thirty years before. She left it to Pervinca Took in her Will and Vinca had loaned it to her daughter for the occasion.

       The crowd and particularly many envious lads gawped as the lass strolled up to Merry Gamgee.

       "Master Gamgee! What a surprise to see you here. I hope you are well?" She offered her hand and smiled at him, her smoked jade gaze warm beneath auburn lashes..

       Merry bowed low over her fingers and kissed them. "Miss Took. It is a pleasure to see you. May I have the honour of this dance?"

       She curtseyed. "You may." She rested her hand on his as he offered her his arm, and they walked into the group of dancers.

       "Well!" Rose was shaking her head and laughing. "Looks like there may be more than one match between the Tooks and the Gamgees."

       Frodo patted a startled-looking Sam. "Don't you dare say it isn't proper, Sam. You know what Pip says about needing some good Gamgee stock in the family. Everyone will be delighted if that match happens."

       "I hadn't realised little Miss Persimmon was quite so grown-up. She looks as though she knows her own mind though."

       "I'm sure she does. And young Merry is an honest, down-to-earth, plain-speaking hobbit, just like his da. He's probably a refreshing change from some of the lads she meets. Anyway, she won't be the first Took to fall in love with one of your children." Frodo nodded over to where Goldilocks and Fari were talking. "One day one of your grandsons will be the Thain, my dearest Sam."

       Sam was so shocked by that information that the Thain had to supply him with a tankard of the Bouncing Bunny's finest. Frodo decided not to add that he was sure another grandson would be the Master of Buckland. One step at a time, he thought. One step at a time.

Michel Delving 1490 SR

On a hot summer afternoon the interior of the Council Hole in Michel Delving was a delightful place to be. With its whitewashed walls, gleaming dark wooden floors and window ledges, and brass jugs and bowls full of bright summer flowers it was soothing and shady. There was a comforting smell of old documents and polish.

       The most powerful hobbits in the Shire sat around the large oval table. Seated at the back, in the centre, was the Mayor, Frodo Gamgee-Gardner, looking so much like old Mayor Samwise that it seemed as though time had stood still. To his right was Thain Faramir Took, fidgety as only a Took could be, alive with nervous energy and ideas. On the Thain's right was Fastred Fairbairn, Warden of the Westmarch and the senior hobbit present. He was a remarkably handsome hobbit with light brown eyes and a ready smile. To the left of the Mayor was the Master of Buckland, Theoden Brandybuck, vigorous, impatient yet always considerate of his friends, and staunchly loyal. To his left was his younger brother Frodoric, a scholar, artist and draughtsman who was also a genius at managing the affairs of Buckland and the Brandy Hall estate. Theo was well-aware that, although he himself was charismatic, debonair and charming, with good leadership qualities, wonderful in a crisis, he was not as industrious or clever as Frodi. Paperwork bored him and he had no patience for dealing with the small affairs of estate management and farming.

                                                                         ************

       Watching in the Great Palantir from far away Minas Anor - and wishing he could be there, enjoying an ale and a pipe - was King Elessar. He was feeling in particular need of hobbit company following the recent loss of Merry and Pippin, and had sought some visions of the Shire to restore his spirit. He could understand why so many Elves refused to befriend the Second-born; it was hard to endure so many losses. He had therefore sought the comfort of a visit to the Shire, to immerse himself in the lives of his beloved hobbits for a while.

                                                                         ************

       Facing the senior hobbits of the Shire were those of the next generation. To Fastred's right his son Elfstan, astonishingly handsome with his mother's fair hair and aquamarine eyes, his gentle smile which hid a fierce sense of justice.. He was the oldest of the younger hobbits, thirty-six years old, keen on books, history and the law. He possessed a formidable mind and a dry sense of humour. To his right sat Frodo Took, his hair a vivid red-gold. Next to him sat Holfast Gardener, the most solid and down-to-earth of the eager lads. He had his Gaffer Sam's wheaten curls and soft hazel eyes but he also had his gaffer's stubborn chin. He exchanged a grin with the youngest hobbit present, Halimac Brandybuck, heir to the Mastership of Buckland. Master Theo and his wife had five bonny and beautiful daughters but the birth of the youngest had almost killed her mother, and both doctor and midwife said there should be no more children. Theo adored his wife and was thankful that she had survived. His brother would be his heir; Frodi had had the good sense to marry Daisy Gamgee and they had six children - Halimac, Fern, Bramble and Buttercup, and the twins Iorhael and Panthael.

                                                                         ************

       Aragorn chuckled to himself. All the youngsters looked like Sam, some more than others. Hardly surprising since they were all grandsons of Samwise the Brave. The one-time gardener and Mayor had been as shocked as anyone to discover that his daughters were marrying into the 'gentry' although Frodo had never been in doubt that his friend's descendants would one day hold the Shire's highest offices.

       He smiled tearily as he realised the young heir to the Thainship had his grandfather's questioning expression and way of tilting his head slightly - a bitter-sweet reminder of Pippin. Aragorn was delighted that a Frodo would one day be the Thain and Took His dear friend and brother of the heart would be remembered in a way he might not have been had he taken the gift of the Valar and left Middle-earth. By his decision to remain, and his recovery, he had changed the course of history and much had been healed by his continued presence.

       The hobbits were gathered to examine the plans, drawn up by Frodoric Brandybuck, for another Shire school, this time in the Westmarch. The young hobbits looked carefully at the beautiful drawings, asking questions and discussing them with a great deal of animation. It was clear that their questions were thoughtful and intelligent, judging by the approving looks from their fathers. They were clearly all going to be responsible and worthy leaders in their turn.

       The King nodded to himself as he watched them finally break for tea. As he returned to the royal apartments he realised that he was humming under his breath. The restorative power of hobbits had struck again, he mused. It was clear that the future of the Shire was in safe hands. Very safe hands indeed.

Afterlithe 1475

Although the hour was late and the sun had slipped down into the west, the sky was still filled with the clear light of high summer. A few pink streaks of cloud promised another fair day to come. The tall young hobbit leaning on the gate sighed in contentment as he savoured the view and the perfume of the flowers all around him. Tolman Gamgee-Gardener was home from his final training session with the Rangers of Eriador. In four days time he would come of age and then return to take his oath before the Steward of Arnor and join brother Robin as a fully-fledged Ranger. The thought was thrilling and a little frightening.

       He had returned to find his parents away at Great Smials, visiting Goldie and seeing the new baby, another little lad for the Tooks. It was strange without them and he found himself rather nonplussed, although Frodo-lad and Violet welcomed him and their children were all delighted to see him. Violet had cooked a superb dinner and the brothers sat out in the garden for a while, sharing ale and a pipe before the elder hobbit went inside to read to his little ones. Now Tolman stood in quiet contemplation in the flower-filled gardens of Bag End, allowing the peace of the Shire to soak into his soul.

       Only one thing was lacking - his beloved uncle. Uncle Fro had passed almost three years before, slipping peacefully away just after his hundred-and-fourth birthday. His death left an aching void in the smial which time had not filled. Coming home to the empty study was poignant in the extreme but the noisy exuberance of the children helped him to adjust. He had been out to the burial ground to pay his respects and admire the creamy white roses which grew in such profusion around the grave.

       Tolman stretched his long legs. He was the tallest hobbit in the area. His father always maintained that his height was due to being born in Gondor among all those tall Numenoreans, an assertion which made Uncle Frodo laugh.

       "Oh Sam!" he would say. "As if height were something to be caught!"

       Certainly being born 'down south-a-ways' had given Tolman a fascination with other races and a taste for travel. He had served the King as a squire in Anuminas, journeyed to Rivendell and lived with the Rangers in the Breelands. He had met Elves, Men, Dwarves, Ents and Eagles and counted many of them his friends, spoke several languages and called the Thain and Master his uncles.

       The sky was almost dark by the time he emerged from his musing. Tapping out his pipe he slippped inside and closed the door quietly. The smial was quiet; Frodo and Violet had obviously retired for the night. Tolman did not feel quite ready to sleep, despite a busy day. He moved as silently as a hobbit can, down the passage to the study.

       The familiar smells of leather-bound books, ink, pipeweed and, underneath all these, a hint of lavender. Even after three years Uncle Frodo's favourite bath oil still lingered. It was surprising but oddly comforting. A copy of the Red Booklay on the small lectern near the window. Only his da and brother used this room these days and it seemed a little stuffy. Tolman opened the window, letting in the fresh smell of the Shire. An owl hooted from the tree atop Bag End - no doubt one descended from the baby tawney owl found by the the older Gamgee children many years before. Uncle Frodo had mended the baby bird's broken leg and when it was old enough to be released it had set up home in the great oak tree, found a mate and reared its own young. Uncle Fro had certainly treated and healed a number of waifs and strays over the years - frogs, owls, sparrows, hedgehogs, squirrels, the grumpy badger with a leg wound, the young vixen with a raging fever. His gentle and wise advice was there for the asking for so long. He never turned the children away when they came to him seeking answers and glowed with pride as they took their first steps into the wider world. He sat on the couch and leaned back, staring at the portrait of Uncle Frodo, immersing himself in the memories.

       The room was very dark when he awoke. He realised that a blanket had been placed over his legs - most likely Frodo-lad, who was as solicitous as Sam-dad. As he glanced towards the window he saw he was not alone in the room, and it was not his brother. The moonlight behind the figure made it difficult to see, but Tolman felt no fear as he recognised his beloved uncle, though it was Frodo as he was before the Quest, young, sparkling with life and energy. Moonbeams dusted his hair and the ethereal glow which had enchanted Tolman and his siblings all their lives was even more evident.

       "Uncle Fro?"

       "Hush lad, I'm here."

       "We miss you." He felt like a small child as he said it.

       "I'm never far away, dear lad. That new road runs both ways you know. Sleep now." He began to sing very softly in Sindarin, the lullaby he had sung for all the Gamgee children, and Tolman found he could no longer keep his eyes open, despite wanting to ask his uncle a hundred questions.

                                                                         ************

       Sunlight was streaming through the study window when Tolman woke. He started up and then fell back. I must have imagined it, he thought. I wanted to see Uncle Fro so much that I dreamed it.

       "Don't tell me you spent the night in here!" Frodo-lad poked his head round the door.

       "I thought you knew. Didn't you come in and throw this over me?" He indicated the blanket.

       "Not me. I was sawing logs all night. Perhaps it was Holfast. Vi's making griddle cakes with blackberry sauce for first breakfast." He hastened away in the direction of the kitchen.

       "I'm coming! Don't eat them before I get there!" Tolman threw back the blanket and made for the door when a glimmer of white caught his eye. Under the chair by the window were a few perfect creamy-white rose petals, and the book on the lectern lay open. He gathered the petals and held them until they yielded the last of their fragrance in the warmth of his hand, then slipped them into his shirt pocket and followed his brother to breakfast.