For Lindelea and the Master for their birthdays.  With thanks to Gail for the beta.

Asked for Aid

          Frodo Baggins rode into the public stable in Michel Delving, dismounted and headed for the stall in which Strider usually was settled, only to find an anxious older Hobbit approaching him followed by two younger Hobbits, equally concerned.

          “Mister deputy Mayor, sir,” the older Hobbit said deferentially, “if you wouldn’t mind….”

          But what it was that the deputy Mayor might mind he didn’t say, falling instead into flushing madly as if perhaps just speaking to Frodo might have been more forward than he’d intended to behave, and muttering to himself about it being a mad idea to think that Frodo Baggins might be able to help.

          The deputy Mayor wasn’t certain what it was all about, and found he wasn’t feeling particularly patient.  It was mid-month in Foreyule, the temperature was barely above freezing, and the bridle path from Bywater had been alternately slick with frost in the shadowed areas and muddy wherever the thin sunshine hit the ground.  He’d been forced to ride more slowly than he preferred, and to pay a good deal of attention to the path so as to not allow Strider to slip on either mud or ice.  What he wanted at the moment was to get his saddlebags into the Whitfoot hole where he stayed while in Michel Delving, and to sit in the comfortable chair at the Mayor’s desk with a hot mug of tea to ease the feeling of cold emanating from his wounded shoulder and that place on the back of his neck where the spider had bitten him, while hearing from the Took lawyers helping him as to what they’d managed to do over the past few days while he was at the Cottons’ farm.  Some days it seemed as if they’d never get the mountain of documents that had built up during Will’s imprisonment properly reviewed and dealt with!  He wished he could just tell folks to file them away for Will to sort out once he was recovered enough to return to work in the Council Hole, but that wouldn’t do.  It was important to figure out how it was that Lotho had been able to close down the inns and to tear down those of the mills he’d gained control of.  How had he managed to get so much property? 

          “Dad!” one of the younger Hobbits said, punching his father on the upper arm.  “Get to it!”

          The other Hobbit, who was better dressed but whose anxiety was even greater, interrupted, speaking directly to Frodo.  “It’s our Lacey, my wife, his daughter, his sister.  Ever since Lotho’s Big Men came on her in the field and took her to the barn, she’s not been right.  Sam Gamgee said as you might be able to help her—said as you’d been bad hurt, too, and could maybe understand how it was for her.  Maybe you could help her—come back to us.”

          The older Hobbit said, a choke in his voice, “She’s spoke nary a word since that day—nought more than ‘No!’”

          Frodo found he was shaking his head.  “But I am not any kind of healer!  What in Middle Earth did Sam say that would convince anyone that I might help someone who was so badly hurt?”  He could too easily imagine, after all that the Ring had shown him in the depths of his mind, what had happened to her once the ruffians had dragged her into the barn.  Certainly he had felt much the same sort of violation.  He felt himself shudder.

          The brother took half a step forward.  “For me, it wasn’t so much what Mr. Sam said as it was what Captain Pippin told us about how, when you went to the healers’ tents with King Strider, those as had been bad hurt would sit up and take notice, even if moments before they’d been shiverin’ with pain.  And how, when you asked them what they could do to make things better for themselves in spite of having lost eyes or feet, they’d think of just that, and all would work together to make wheeled chairs like the one old Mistress Lalia was said to use, or think how to better use a staff to find their way now they was blind.”

          “But it is the King who is the healer—it is part of the King’s Gift that his are hands of healing.  I do not have that gift.”

          “Mayhaps not, Mister Baggins, sir,” responded the unfortunate Lacey’s husband, “but it seems as your own gift is to inspire folks to think, and you can’t say as that’s a bad thing when it helps them think of how to make things better.”

          Frodo straightened, surprised by that observation.  Could such a thing be true?

          The father finally spoke up.  “Please, Mister deputy Mayor, sir.  Please come see her.  Mebbe you can get through to her where we can’t?  Please come—she’s but over to the inn, with her mum.”

          Against his better instincts, Frodo allowed himself to be persuaded.  With the help of these three Hobbits he soon had Strider stabled, fed, watered, rubbed down, and a blanket bound about him.  Pease, the stable master, assured him that he’d have one of the lads take his things to the Whitfoot house and advise the Took lawyers working in the Council Hole as to where he was.  At last, having no further reason to remain in the stable, he accompanied the three farmers to the inn.

          They introduced themselves as Tolo and Tolbin Deepfurrows, while Lacey’s husband proved to be Errol Brown, Lily Brown Cotton’s second cousin.  “My grandfather and hers were brothers,” Farmer Brown explained.  “It’s how I know Sam Gamgee, you see.  I’ve seen him often enough when we’d come to Cottons’ farm to visit.  Right tight with their lads, he is, and Young Tom in especial.  Not to mention Rosie, of course.  He asked her yet?”

          Frodo felt his cheeks flush.  “I do not believe so—not as yet,” he admitted.  “He appears to want to see the Shire much restored before he does that, you must understand.”

          Errol Brown nodded.  “Good enough.  Always was a responsible one, was Samwise Gamgee.”

          Here Frodo could agree wholeheartedly as they approached the entrance to the inn.

          Bobbin, the innkeeper, nodded at them from where he sat behind the high desk at which he registered his guests.  “You found him at the stable?  Good, then.  Will you be going back to your rooms?  Shall I send Pippa back with some tea and perhaps some mutton pasties or scones or such?  We do have some small beer as was brewed by the Goldlagers, if you’d prefer.  It’s a fresh batch as turned out quite well, I must say.  Or, mayhaps you’d like some o’ your tea heated up, Mr. Baggins, sir,” he offered, addressing that last to Frodo.  “It would warm you up right enough, I’d say.”

          Frodo agreed, perhaps a bit reluctantly handing over the water bottle he wore over his shoulder.  But finally the three farmers led Frodo back to the guests’ quarters where Lacey Brown had remained in company with her mother, Rosemary Deepfurrows.

          “Lacey is an unusual name,” Frodo commented as they walked.

          “Short for Queen Melian’s Lace,” admitted Mr. Deepfurrows.  “It’s her mum’s favorite flower, don’t you know.  But it’s a bit of a mouthful to use all the time.”

          “Ah!  I understand.  And it was the favorite of our King’s mother as well, along with violets.  That the King’s mother and mine both loved violets warmed both our hearts.”

          Tolbin stopped, turning to face the deputy Mayor.  “You know as what the favorite flower of our new King is?” he demanded.  “And just how do you know that?”

          Frodo shrugged, and he knew that his cheeks must be flaming.  “We spoke of our families a few times during our journey south and east together.  But we shared our mothers’ favorite flowers in April, while the army rested in Ithilien, after the downfall of Mordor and before the return to Minas Tirith, at which time Aragorn was crowned King of Gondor, and soon after that he was given the Sceptre of Annúminas in token of his sovereignty over the Northern Kingdom as well.  And, yes, we all know the King well, Merry, Pippin, Sam, and I, for we were all part of that journey, and all took part in the struggles to defeat Sauron for once and all.  Now, if we might go on and see to the state of your sister?”

          Tolo elbowed his son, who colored and muttered an apology of sorts, and they resumed their walk, soon approaching a door where Tolo stopped to knock before opening the door to allow the four menfolk entrance.

          An older Hobbitess Frodo suspected was Missus Deepfurrows sat on the far side of the bed, her face contorted with deep concern as she looked down at something—or someone—down in the curve of the wall, hidden from the eyes of the four menfolk by the bedstead, mattress, and bedding.  He had a sudden memory of himself, curled up into a ball, lying on the noisome rags that had filled the tower room in which he’d been kept captive, wishing he could somehow hide himself from what had been done to him, from what the orcs who’d held him might do to him in the future, and he felt himself shudder.  What he wanted to do was to turn and run—possibly crouch down in the corner of Strider’s stall in the stable and hide under his Lórien cloak.  He had to stop and take several deep breaths, knowing that was not an option he could choose.  It was not the violation he’d known from the orcs of the Tower of Cirith Ungol he needed to face now, but instead the violation known by Queen Melian’s Lace Deepfurrows Brown.

          He closed his eyes, swallowed, and took one more deep breath to calm himself before he took the steps necessary to walk around the foot of the bed to see what it was that hid in that corner.

          It was a pitiful sight he beheld as he rounded the bed.  Lacey looked less like a Hobbitess who’d been married for some time and more like a lass who’d slipped outside in her nightgown to play with the pigs.  The soft gown she wore was stained with dark brown spots, and Frodo realized they were dried blood from places where she’d most likely scratched herself with her nails.  Newer spots were still bright red, mostly there on her cuffs, along with a myriad of older stains, and he could see at least one place where she was bleeding high up on her forehead, near the hair line.  That was all he could see of her face, for she sat with her nose pressed hard between her knees and her hands clasped around her bent legs, crying and whimpering in terror.

          His heart twisted within his breast, and he slowly, carefully, went forward, murmuring softly, “Oh, my dear, dear child—what was it they did to you?”

          He raised his eyes to meet those of her mother, noting she held a hair brush.  “I was a-brushing her hair,” Rosemary Deepfurrows whispered.  “She’s been letting me do that the past few days, and it seemed to help her calm.  But when I told her as her dad and Tolbin and Errol had gone to fetch you, she shrieked and leapt off the bed here beside me where she’d been sitting, scratching at herself again and screaming as if someone had hit her in the belly.  ‘No men!  No menfolks!’ she cried.  I didn’t know what to do—I tried to explain it wasn’t any Man as was coming, but one of our own, but she wasn’t having nothing to do with it.  I didn’t know what to do!” she repeated, and she wiped away her own tears with her sleeve.

          Frodo nodded his understanding, and stood over the stricken lass trying to think what he could do that wouldn’t make things worse.  Finally, he leaned back against the wall and slid down it until he, too, sat on the floor, his own knees up with his hands folded atop them, his attention fixed upon Lacey Brown.  Her knuckles were bone white with the effort she focused on holding her knees closed.  A drop of blood dripped slowly down to further mar her gown—he judged that no more would now flow, now that she was so guarding herself.  Her gown itself was pulled so far down that only the great toe on one foot could be seen below its hem.  He no longer questioned what the Big Men had done to her, out there in the barn on the Deepfurrows place.

          He realized that the whimpering was filled with a single word—no.  “No!  No, no!  Oh, no, no, no!  No!” she kept whispering.  Then he heard the sniffs as she sought to clear her nose. 

          Automatically he reached into a waistcoat pocket, bringing out a clean handkerchief.  This he laid upon the little he could see of her near knee.  “Here,” he murmured gently.  “My beloved Uncle Bilbo always said that a gentlehobbit of good breeding should always carry several clean handkerchiefs at all times, as when one might become needed could not be foretold.”  With that he settled his hand back on his own knee and watched her to see how she might react.

          The whimpering paused, and she raised her head just enough to allow her right eye to see the soft piece of cloth that lay there.  The handkerchief, he noted, was one of those given them by the Elves, perhaps the cloth woven and hemmed by Lady Arwen herself.  As he, Merry, Pippin, and Sam had left Rivendell that last time in company with Gandalf, Healer Meliangilorith had pressed quite a store of handkerchiefs upon them, explaining that they’d made many of these for Bilbo, but he needed few new ones any more.  Best they go, she’d explained, where they would be of use.

          Well, this one would be of use now.  He prayed that the virtue of those who had made it for the love of Bilbo Baggins would ease the heart of this wounded child.  His own hand clasped the Queen’s jewel that he wore about his neck, and he sat still, watching patiently, his own heart calmed by the comforting touch of the gem Lady Arwen had given him.

          Lacey Brown lifted a finger, and with it stroked the soft linen. She unclasped her knees, reaching for the item.  She picked it up, raised her head, and examined it, wide-eyed as if surprised to find such a thing lying on her knee.  Her eyes were puffy from weeping, her skin mottled red and white, her cheeks streaked with tears, snot, and saliva.  She hesitantly wiped her face before blowing her nose soundly.

          Frodo reached slowly into a different pocket and brought out another handkerchief, one that was a soft blue.  It, too, was from Rivendell.  He smiled as he unfolded it and offered it to her, accepting the one she’d just used in return.  “You may keep this one,” he said softly.  “I have more with me, and still more where I am staying for now.  Sam always sees to it I am well supplied, seeing we were given so many as we were returning home.”

          She looked briefly at the handkerchief, but as she reached for it her eyes were fixed on Frodo’s face, searching it closely.  She took the square of fabric tentatively, and dabbed at her eyes absently.  At last she said in a soft tone, “You’re not a Big Man,” before she again blew her nose, far more decorously than before.

          “No, I’m not.  I’m a Hobbit, as you and your family are.”  He shifted slightly.  “The Big Men are gone now.  Most were captured in the Battle of Bywater and have been thrown out of the Shire.  Some are now dead, and those that still hide within our borders are being hunted down by Merry and Pippin and those that follow them.  None dares to cause harm—not now that they lost the fight in Bywater.  Fighting Hobbits who are not afraid of them is not something they had thought to experience.”

          “They’re gone now?” she asked.

          “Yes.  There are none now remaining within the Westfarthing, not that anyone has reported.  Mostly they appear to be hiding in the Eastfarthing and the Southfarthing, those few who haven’t fled out of the Shire.”

          There was a knock at the door, and it was opened by Pippa, who served in the inn.  She carried a large tray that she set down on the small table in the corner closest to the door.  Frodo rose to his feet, noting that Lacey had shrunk back at his movement but knowing he needed to speak with Pippa before she might return to her other duties. 

          “Miss Pippa, could you bring a copper bath to the room, and the wherewithal to fill it?  Mistress Brown would do well with a bath, I know.  You can put it on my tab.  And is there a lady healer that might attend on her?  She has not been well for some time.”

          Pippa appeared surprised.  “You have someone as is ill over there, the far side o’ the bed?”

          “Yes, she was badly used by Lotho’s ruffians, and is only now recovering from the evil done her.  She will need the attentions of one who is gentle.”

          “There’s Aunt Mallow as lives on Drury Lane.  Mostly she serves as a midwife, but she’s a fine healer as well.”

          Frodo breathed a small sigh of relief.  “I believe Mistress Mallow should serve well in this case.  If she might be sent for at once?”

          "Certainly, Mr. Baggins, sir.  I brought the tea and mugs and all, and sommat t’eat, if’n it’s wantin’.  Oh, your special tea?  We heated the whole bottle full.  It’s in the yellow pot, while regular tea is in the blue one.   Now, I’ll send the lad off t’fetch Aunt Mallow, and we’ll bring the copper bath right away.”

          At first Frodo felt dismayed at the thought of his entire bottle of tea he’d brought into the inn with him being warmed, but then he realized this might serve the situation better.  “Thank you, Pippa, for letting us know.  Off with you, then.”  He turned to Errol Brown as the door closed after the departing Hobbitess.  “Would you mind pouring two mugs from the yellow pot, one for your wife and one for me?  It is actually a—tonic—that was brewed by Sam for me, I believe taught him by the healers of Rivendell, who are perhaps the greatest in all of Middle Earth.  I was badly hurt while we were gone from the Shire, and it helps me deal with the pain I continue to experience as a result.  I suspect it will help Mistress Lacey similarly.”  To make such an admission was against his own intent to keep his personal situation private, but in this case it might indeed aid another.  However, he did add, “And please, all of you, I beg you not to repeat this to others, that I continue to experience such discomfort.  It does not keep me from doing my duty to our people and the Shire, after all.”

          Errol nodded uncertainly, and turned to pour a cup of tea, which he handed across the bed to his mother-in-love.  Frodo accepted it from her with a polite nod, and dropped to kneel by Lacey.

          “Mistress Brown, here is a cup of the special tea Sam makes for me.  The herbs used in it come in large part from Rivendell.  I believe it will help you feel more at peace than you have known—that is how it helps me, at least in part.”

          She raised her face once more, again searching his face before she at last accepted the mug from him.  She looked down into the drink for a moment.  “No milk,” she noted.

          “No, I don’t usually add milk to this, but it does not appear to need it.  It has some willow bark in it, but enough honey to make it palatable.”

          She nodded, and took a small swallow, then drank half of it down.  She looked up thoughtfully.  “It’s good enough,” she commented before taking another drink from the cup.

          Errol had poured a second mug and passed it to Rosemary, who gave it into Frodo’s hands.  Again he smiled his thanks, and swallowed a sizable draught, his eyes closed.  “Ah,” Frodo sighed.  “I believe I needed this.  I was so cold after the ride from Bywater.”  He took smaller sips until the mug was empty, at which time he handed it back to Rosemary.  He turned his attention back to Lacey.  “Are you feeling better, Mistress Brown?”

          She returned his gaze and managed a smile.  “Oh, yes,” she whispered.

          “Pippa will be here with the bath in a few moments, and your mother and Aunt Mallow shall help you bathe and change into a clean gown, after which they will help you with your hair.  I believe all of that will ease you even more.  I must leave shortly to go to my work in the Mayor’s office, but will visit you in a few hours, if that will suit.  Are you done with your tea?  Would you like some more, or would you prefer some regular tea?  And I see that Pippa brought some scones and strawberry preserves, should it please you.  Here, let me help you up from the floor.  You should feel far more comfortable sitting either on the bed or perhaps in a proper chair.”

          Rosemary and the others watched with amazement as Lacey allowed Frodo Baggins to help her rise and sit in a chair, and as he accepted a shawl that he settled about her shoulders.  Errol’s hands were shaking with excitement as he prepared a scone with butter and preserves and brought it to her, and Lacey accepted it with her normal courtesy rather than either grabbing it from his hand to stuff it into her mouth or knocking it to the floor as had become common lately.  Her expression was rather bemused, but it was not filled with terror as had been seen for the past few weeks.  It was as if she were awakening from a nightmare and accepting that the horrors of her dream were just that and nothing to do with the growing day.

          A knock at the door heralded Pippa with the promised copper bath, followed by Bobbin and a few others carrying jugs of water, both hot and cold.  Frodo stood now rather apart from the others, watching as the bath was set by the fire, which Pippa built up skillfully as the menfolk filled the tub with the water they’d brought.  Bobbin led the others out once their errand was done, promising to bring up another round of jugs in just a bit just you wait and see!  At that Frodo came forward and stood looking down into the steaming water, pausing for a moment before producing from a hidden pocket a parchment package that he held thoughtfully between his fingers before opening it to produce a leaf.

          “Sam sends these for me to use in my own bath, as they tend to help clear the air and soothe me.  They were sent him by Lord Elrond, although he has brought sets of the plant that produces them and promises to plant them wherever we are to live, once the Shire is properly restored after the horrors of the Time of Troubles.  He, Merry, and Pippin have been speaking of perhaps buying Bag End back from Lobelia so that I might return to the home of my heart once more—she refuses to return there, having learned that it was there that Lotho—died.  But it shall require a good deal of restoration before Bag End will be again habitable.  Sharkey left it in a true shambles.”  He stuffed the packaging back into his pocket, closed his eyes and rolled the leaf between his hands while mouthing unspoken words of blessing, then cast it into the tub.  “May it assist you in regaining your own peace, Mistress Brown.” 

          He approached her tentatively once more and looked down into her face as if he were making an important decision.  “There is one more thing I would leave with you for the next few hours, Mistress.  The Queen herself gave this to me ere we Hobbits left Minas Tirith to return home to the Shire, and it gives me great comfort when the memories of—of what was done to me out there—seek to overwhelm me again.  May it help you also to return more fully to yourself, now that you accept that was what was done to you is over and shan’t happen ever again.  It is not easy to let go all of the horror of such evil.  That I know all too well.  Here!”

          He slipped a chain from which dangled a great jewel over his head, and carefully placed it about her own neck, patted it softly, and turned to leave.  “I will return when my work for the day is done to retrieve it,” he said over his shoulder before he left the room purposefully and gently closed the door behind him.  Lacey’s free hand raised as if of its own volition to grasp the gem, and she looked at the door as if reluctant to see him gone.

 *******

          It was after dark before a knock at the door gave sign of the return of Frodo Baggins.  Rosemary opened the door, smiling broadly to greet him. 

          “Welcome, welcome, Mr. deputy Mayor, sir,” she said.  “Our Lacey’s returned to us indeed.  Aunt Mallow helped me bathe her and saw to all of the cuts and scratches, and the other hurts done her.  We have her hair all sorted out again, and she’s a good sight better than she was this morning, believe me!  We don’t know exactly as how you did it, but to have our beloved lass back—we weren’t certain as we’d see it again, don’t you know.  We can’t thank you anywhere near enough!  She’s been sleeping a good deal this afternoon, and awoke but a short time ago, ready to eat once more.  The lads have all gone down to fetch up a proper supper for all of us.  Won’t you join us?”

          He shook his head with regret.  “I am sorry, but I am expected by the Whitfoots for the evening meal, after which I shall be for a bath myself and a good sleep.  It is so good to hear that your daughter is so much recovered.  If I might approach her?”

          Lacey was propped up against a veritable mound of pillows on the bed, her hair now tousled but still clean and obviously cared for, her face blotched with a myriad of sticking plasters to protect the healing scratches, her skin color pale but far closer to normal than it had been during Frodo’s last visit with her.  The most obvious difference was that she was now smiling.  “Mister Frodo, sir—how wonderful for you to return!  And you will be wantin’ your necklace back.  Mum helped me take it off when she was doin’ my hair, and I’ve just held it in my hand.  You say as the Queen gave it to you?  You met her, then?”

          He smiled at her in return.  “Met her?  Oh, yes!  I first saw her in Rivendell, a few weeks after we left the Shire.  She is Lord Elrond’s daughter, you see.  Apparently she and Aragorn, our beloved King Elessar, have been promised to one another for many years, but were forbidden to actually marry until and unless the war against Sauron was won.  That was done last March, and she arrived in Minas Tirith with many of her kin on Midsummer Eve, and they were wed on Midsummer Day.  Sam and I were attendants upon the King for the wedding, you must understand.  She is beauty and kindness itself, and the two of them suit one another well.”  He reached out to accept the gem she held in her hand.  “I wear this day and night,” he murmured, “treasuring the gifts she has both given as well as offered to me.”  So saying, he slipped the chain again over his head, dropping the gem inside his shirt.  “Thank you for its return.”

          “Thank you for the offer of it,” she returned, her own voice soft.  “And for the tea, and the handkerchief.  I shall treasure that as long as I live.”

          “She may have made it,” he advised her.  “She weaves, and her embroidery is exquisite.  The Elves of Rivendell made many things for Bilbo, who has lived amongst them since not long after he left the Shire; and from what Bilbo and Pippin have told me she kept quite a store of handkerchiefs in her work rooms for his use, many of which were given us during the brief visit we had with Bilbo on our return journey.  As I told you earlier today, many of these came to me, and Sam always sees to it I carry several with me at all times.”

          “And you, too, were badly hurt?”

          His face grew solemn.  “Yes,” he said shortly.  “Yes, I, too, was badly hurt.  The memories of it still burden me.  But I do what I can—and what I must.  I feel that I owe the Shire a great debt, as it was due to me selling Bag End to Lotho and Lobelia before leaving the Shire that Lotho felt emboldened to lord it over our land and people.”  He looked up to meet her gaze.  “I hope that you can forgive me for that.”

          “’Twasn’t your fault as him brought in the ruffians,” she said.  “That was his own doings.”

          He shrugged.  They were quiet for a time.  At last he asked, “Can you describe the one who—violated you?”

          She shuddered.  “It was one of the ugly ones, one of them with the odd, almost yellow eyes, one with dark, rough skin, one as looked as if his blood weren’t proper red.”

          He shuddered in return.  “It is likely, then, that he wasn’t pure Mannish.  An evil Wizard was breeding Men with orcs—the greater, fighting goblins that live in the outer world, and Pippin tells me that a goodly number of those who served Lotho at Sharkey’s behest were half-orcs at best.  Know this—most Men are far, far different from the ones who came here.  Some are little different from Hobbits, and especially most of those we saw in Bree.  But many others are courteous and even noble.  For much of our history the Shire has been guarded by the King’s own people, the Rangers of the northern Dúnedain.  It was only because most of those who watched our borders went south to fight at Aragorn’s side that so many ruffians were able to enter the Shire at all.  Aragorn needed them in the last battles to fight against the armies of Mordor.  They have experience fighting the creatures of darkness, under his command, and do not need to be ever directed as to what to do.  We traveled back home with many of them, although some remain in Gondor to serve Aragorn now that he is King.  We are fortunate that they are now able to openly declare themselves his people.  But I doubt we shall see many of them here, so far inside the Shire.  I suspect that the outer guard on our borders has already been reinstated, but they trust us to rule ourselves without their interference.”

          “The others watched, and would have done the same to me if’n they’d been allowed.  But it seemed as they were to be somewhere else at a certain time, so the rest had to leave still wantin’.  All of them were vile!”

          “I know.  But such were the people Sharkey had serving him, both at his old home and then here, where he used Lotho’s ambitions to gain a foothold.  He’d planned to make us all his slaves, had he been given enough time and orcs and ruffians willing to do his bidding.  I rejoice we at least returned when we did and saw to the foiling of his plans.”

          “What’s to stop him tryin’ again?” she asked.

          “He can’t.  His own servant destroyed him, and he cannot rise again.”

          She could not understand the grief she saw in his eyes.

 ********

          A half year later Frodo met Queen Melian’s Lace Deepfurrows Brown at the Free Fair, and was delighted to recognize her.  “Mistress Brown!  How well you look!”

          She smiled with joy.  “And you, Mr. Frodo, sir!  You look well!”

          He had to avoid reaching to touch the boil on his neck that was troubling him, there where the spider had bitten him.  “Do I?”  But his attention was drawn to her midsection.  “Oh, but you are expecting!”

          She readily cradled her belly.  “Oh, yes, and Aunt Mallow is certain as it was begun about two months after we saw you at the inn in Michel Delving.  I wasn’t certain as I’d be able to—to abide that again, don’t you know.  But I could, I found, and I’m glad as Errol and me haven’t lost that!”

          He laughed with a level of joy he rarely knew anymore.  “How wonderful!  How wonderful that you and the Shire both are healing so well.”  He leaned forward to lay his hand on her shoulder.  “The blessings of all of good will, Elves, Dwarves, Men, and Hobbits, be upon you and the child you bear.  And may Errol delight in that child when it is born!”

          “And you, too, sir.  I pray as your own burdens are lightened as mine have been.  Ah, but I must be off—am to meet Mum and Dad at the ale tent.  Will you be tellin’ tales there behind it as you used to do when I was a young thing?”

          He smiled.  “In perhaps an hour’s time, all things going well.”

          She nodded.  “I’ll see you then.  Want a tale to tell the babe when it’s in my arms at last.”  She leaned forward, surprising him with a quick kiss on his cheek.  “Thank you again, Mr. Frodo, sir.  When you sat down aside me in that corner, it was as if the light had come back again after a long darkness.  And it’s good to feel alive again!  Stars bless you!”

          So saying, she slipped away, leaving him with his fingers touching the place where she’d kissed him, his eyes and mouth both open in wonder.