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

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

"No!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dear Mr. Frodo,

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

Your Sam"

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

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

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

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

*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC...