Early August (Wedmath) 1430 SR

Takes place just after 'How to be a Gardener' and 'Convivial Evening.'

It had been a good summer so far. Pip was now a father and Estella would soon produce an heir for Buckland. The Shire was still buzzing with excitement over the Mayor's fiftieth birthday and the visit of the Men, one of whom had been the King himself, although this was revealed to them only at the end of their stay. Since his visit, when Men and Elves had spoken of the War of the Ring and the deeds of the hobbits, people had been even more friendly and sympathetic, particularly to Frodo. They realised - or perhaps Aragorn told them - that the Ringbearer disliked too much fuss and acclamation, so the hobbits contented themselves with solicitous enquiries about his welfare, and the food parcels to Bag End increased again. Frodo was amused and touched by their concern. Even the most insular were beginning to understand the ways of the outside world, and all were agreed that the King was an excellent Man, who had joined them for a game of village kick-balll, drunk ale and smoked pipeweed with them and generally behaved like a hobbit - a six and a half feet tall, bearded hobbit admittedly, but that no longer seemed to matter. Much to their delight, King Elessar Telcontar, his cousins, Prince Faramir, Beregond and his son - not to mention three Elves and a Dwarf - were now all regarded as honorary Shire-folk.

       Rose and the children had returned from the Cotton's farm, Merry and Pippin were back at Great Smials, where they would stay for a week or so until Diamond was deemed fit to travel back to Crickhollow, and life slipped into its comfortable pattern at Bag End. Frodo had taken to helping Sam in the garden and doing a little cooking whenever Rose allowed him to take over the kitchen. He also took the two older children on short day-long walking trips, and sometimes some of their friends from New Row tagged along. May's daughter Teasel and son Hobson and little Tansy Bunce, together with Will and Violet Sandyman, soon clamoured to go, fascinated by Frodo's knowledge of the wildflowers, animals and birds, and his ability to tell stories while they sat under a tree. A picnic prepared by Mistress Rose was not to be turned down either, and they would lie in a heap in the shade, filling up the corners and listening to Frodo telling them of the Silmarils, or of Beren and Luthien, or of the Lady of the Galadhrim and the beauties of the Golden Wood.

       Frodo was delighted to see that the Sandyman youngsters were settling down. Violet was no longer such a frightened little mouse and Will had discovered a real love for horses and ponies. He helped out at the stables and was paid, despite Ivy's protestations, which helped the family's income. Lily had also taken to helping out at Bag End. She was very good with children and would bathe the little ones and play with them, as well as helping Rose on busy days such as wash-day. With Teddy's pay from the Mill and Mrs Sandyman's earnings as a seamstress, it looked as though the family were finally back on their feet. Ivy's talents as a dressmaker were becoming widely known and the goodwives of Hobbiton and Bywater had begun to employ her. She was now able to pay rent and had given Frodo the money with tears of pride glinting in her eyes.

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       "Sam? I'm just going down to fetch some wine and a keg of ale. Is there anything else we need while I'm in the cellar?" Frodo poked his head into the shed, where Sam was sorting some of his tools and putting nails into jars. The shed smelt warm and woody and safe, reminding Frodo how he and Sam used to hide there during thunderstorms, singing and telling tales and eating Bilbo's pastries while the storm raged and thunder crashed in the hills.

       Sam looked up and smiled, his hazel eyes soft as he observed his Master. "I don't think so, m'dear. Can't think of anything else offhand."

       "Well, if you think of anything just yell down the stairs. I won't be long. Oh! Rose said to tell you lunch should be ready in a quarter."

       Frodo-lad was in the rose garden, carefully dead-heading the roses which had been Belladonna Baggins' pride and joy. His father now had mixed feeling about that area, after Frodo's illnes when he had gouged at his shoulder and cut his wrists before collapsing. Sam still experienced vivid flashbacks to that night - Frodo in his nightshirt, pale as death, blood everywhere - and it sometimes made his time in the rose garden a little strained. He remembered scrubbing the blood from the grass beneath the swing-seat in the days which followed, as much to keep himself occupied as for any other reason. However, his lad loved the place, and Frodo himself had no recollection of the events, so Sam kept his counsel and watched with an indulgent smile as his son and his soul's brother stood side by side, admiring the roses.

       "Alright, lad? You'd better come in and wash your hands. Your Mum says lunch will be ready soon."

       "Just coming, Uncle Fro. These are so pretty. They were Mister Bilbo's favourites, weren't they?"

       "They were indeed. Partly because his mother planted them I suppose."

       "Did her ghost really come back and frighten off the ruffians?"

       "So the Gaffer said, and he wouldn't lie. He didn't normally believe in that sort of thing, but he said the ruffians took off and refused to go near the place after that. Lobelia couldn't find anyone willing to do it."

       "Do you suppose Mistress Belladonna likes me?"

       "I'm sure she does. You love her roses and look after them, so she approves."

       Inside, Frodo paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloom after the piercing brightness outside, then made his way down to the cellar. He hunted among the racks of bottles until he found what he was looking for - a pale pink wine ideal with the chicken planned for tonight's dinner - then placed it on the botton step, together with the small keg of Golden Perch ale. Dusting his hands, he was about to return to the kitchen when he halted and cocked his head, as though listening. After a few moments he nodded decisively and made his way through several different sections of the extensive cellar until he found what he was looking for.

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       The King was uneasy. He was uncertain as to the cause of this but he was unable to shake the feeling that something was not quite right. When he had sighed and paced across the room yet again Arwen looked up from her embroidery and gave him a searching look.

       "Something troubles you. Is there anything I can do, dearest?"

       "I don't..........it's just..........I have the unpleasant feeling that smething is amiss, but I do not feel the problem is here in Gondor."

       Arwen thought for a few moments. "Then why not have a look in the Seeing-stone and find out what is going on."

       Aragorn smiled gratefully and allowed his thoughts to search throughout his kingdoms, then hurried towards the room high in the White Tower.

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       Lunch was a cheerful affair. They ate in the garden, with the children having a picnic under the table. Pip-lad was experimenting with feeding himself and shovelling his food into his mouth at a considerable rate, although it must be said that a great deal of it did not reach its intended target. Rufus sat under the high chair, leaping to catch any morsel which fell. This also sometimes resulted in pureed food dropping on his head and back, which required a long washing session afterwards.

       When the younger hobbits had been taken off for a nap, Frodo and Sam sat finishing their pipes before starting on the project they were planning - a tree house for the children in a large old chestnut tree behind the hill.

       "We'll give you a hand with the washing-up, lass, then we'll do some work on the tree house."

       "They can't wait to be able to climb up there and have picnics. I'm hoping we'll be invited too." Rose smiled and carried the plates inside.

       The washing-up was almost finished when there was a furious pounding at the door. Sam opened it, to find Will Sandyman standing there, panting and distressed, his shirt sleeve torn and hanging off.

       "Master Sam! It's me da! He's turned up and he's tryin' to get in. Ma's keepin' him out but he's drunk and gettin' right nasty."

       "Stay here, Rose-love," said Sam, then he and Frodo were gone, running down the Hill towards New Row.

       The commotion had brought May and her family from their smial. Ted was standing near the gate of Number 2, shouting and waving his arms somewhat unsteadily. Ivy stood inside the gate, wielding a large iron frying pan in a determined manner while her daughters hovered nearby.

       "Don't you dare take another step, you drunken fool!" she shouted. "I took all I'm ever goin' ta take from you, so you can turn round and go back ta Bree."

       "You're my wife, you lazy slut!" he shouted. He looked dishevelled and wild-eyed, his mouth hanging slackly, spittle on his chin.

       "Lazy? I've brought these children up single-handed, with no help from you!"

       "I was busy workin'!"

       "Workin'? Drinkin' more like! I fed us out of the money I earned takin' in washin' and sewin'. And I was never a slut, so don't you start name-callin'."

       "I've a right to come in."

       "Actually you don't," said Frodo coolly. "I rented the smial to Mrs. Sandyman, not to you."

       Ted turned, his mouth curving in a sneer. "Oh, you did, did you? And why would you do that, Brandybuck? Is she warming your bed for you then?"

       "How dare you, you scoundrel! That's the drink talking."

       "That's enough of that sort of talk!" snapped Sam, interposing himself between Frodo and Sandyman. The former miller looked completely irrational and Sam was concerned that he might strike Frodo.

       "It's all your fault." Ted resorted to whining. "You've....turned my wife and children against me."

       Frodo sighed. "You did that yourself, I'm afraid. Now calm down and sit before you fall down. If you wish to be reconciled with your family this is not the way to go about it."

       Ted ran at the gate again. It shook but held, thanks to Hobson Shortburrow's added weight on it. The miller cursed, giving voice to a string of profanities.

       "Show some decency, you fool!" said Sam. "There's little 'uns present!"

       "You!" Ted glowered at Sam. "Who do you think you are, telling me to mind me manners? A gardener, that's all you are!"

       "Aye, I'm a gardener - and proud to be so - but that's not all I am. I've seen more than you can ever imagine, not all of it pretty neither. I'm not the little lad you tried to bully forty years ago, Ted Sandyman, so don't try it. I've faced orcs, trolls, a Balrog, a spider bigger than this smial and been chased by the Nine, so I'm not feared of a drunken idiot who thinks using his fists on women and children is the way to behave!"

       With a howl of rage Ted threw himself at Sam, but he bounced off the gardener's muscular frame with a grunt. This only enraged him more and he moved in again. Something flashed in the sunlight and Frodo yelled a warning.

       "Sam! Look out - he has a knife!"

       Sam's reactions had always been fast and he jerked his head back. The blade intended for his neck merely nicked his ear, pain blooming as he felt warm blood drip onto his shirt collar. As he stepped away he was aware of something flying past him in a flurry of fine linen and velvet and the scent of lavender and soap.

       Frodo launched himself at Sandyman with a snarl of visceral fury. Caught by surprise, Sandyman staggered back. He weighed more than Frodo but he was flabby and unfit while his opponent was 'all wire and whipcord' as Bilbo used to say. He went down with Frodo on top of him, both of them struggling for the knife. Frodo grasped one of the miller's flailing hands. Ted's right hand swung out and slashed Frodo's left sleeve. Lily screamed as blood stained the creamy linen. Again Frodo made a grab for the remaining hand but Ted pulled away and raised his arm above his head.

       Dabbing at his ear and trying to work out how to separate the two hobbits, Sam watched in dazed horror as the gleaming knife descended in a slow arc. Time hung suspended as the point of the blade found its mark in the centre of Frodo's chest.