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Frodo smiled at her story. "Tūk sounds like an amazing hobbit. Learning to cook is so important to hobbits; I am glad he understood the best way to teach you."
She nodded. "He was amazing. His way of teaching was so patient. I tried to emulate his methods with my children, and mostly they worked. However, I had to let him teach Rowan and Aster! Their bickering nearly drove me to distraction."
Frodo laughed. "One of my earliest memories is of helping my mother cook. She used to let me turn the griddlecakes over. And I was barely out of faunthood when she taught me to scramble eggs." His smile grew distant. "Of course, there was the disaster when I spilled honey all over myself just as she was getting ready to take scones from the oven, and the distraction made her forget about them as she tried to clean me up. They were very sad looking charcoal lumps by the time she smelled them burning. We all three went down to the main dining room of Brandy Hall for our supper that night."
"You have such fond memories of your mother. You must have found much comfort in them."
"I'm afraid I found much pain in them. They were golden memories of something that had been torn from me untimely, and all I could feel was the loss; especially at first. I was a sore trial to Aunt Esmeralda and Uncle Saradoc, for I feared getting too close to them, afraid it would be disloyalty to my parents. I grew to love them very much, but never as much as they deserved."
"You find comfort in those memories now, though?"
"Yes," said Frodo, looking at her. "I do now. Do you know, your laugh reminds me of my mother?"
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