Frodo shook his head.  He could not do this.  He glanced over at the candle that burned on his desk.  There were only a few inches of wax left.  He gazed at the paper, then his quill and ink.  He had made no progress since he had sat down at his desk after supper.  It must be a few hours from dawn, he thought.

He needed to finish this before they left, and he wanted to leave soon.  But how could he record, even in scattered notes, the living nightmare that had claimed him?  How could he describe the pain, the hopelessness he had endured when he himself did not know how he had done it?  One thing was for certain: he could not continue to dredge up these memories and then do nothing with them.  That would only hurt him more.  It was too much for him to put into words; too much for others to understand how he had been broken.  He shuddered as he remembered the bliss that had surged through him when he had taken it for himself; and how, even though it was gone forever, sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night wanting it still.  No, it was far too hard a task.  Weary, he laid his head on the desk, finding himself in the all too familiar situation of knowing what he had to do and not knowing how.

Just then, he heard a tap at his door.  Sam, no doubt, wondering what he was doing at this hour, and trying to comfort him.  Hastily he tucked his quill and ink into the desk drawer.  “Come in,” he said.

“Good morning, Frodo,” said Merry.  He entered the room, carrying a lantern.  He was closely trailed by Pippin.

“We saw you were still up,” said Pippin, “so we thought you might like a bite to eat.”  Frodo looked at Pippin and saw he was carrying a tray nearly spilling over with food.

“Now, when was the last time you had your first breakfast in bed, Frodo?”

“I’m not in bed,” said Frodo.

“Right,” Pippin replied.  “Get in.  You’re clearly exhausted.”

Knowing that there was no use resisting as long as they were in the room, Frodo complied; and Pippin set the tray of food on his lap.  He caught the whiff of mushrooms.

“You know,” Merry said, “the head cook is awfully grouchy this time of day.”

Frodo stared at the food, seeing all his favorite dishes from back home on the tray.  He looked up at Merry.  “Thank you very much, but—is that a flower in your hair?”

Merry nodded.

Frodo picked up the lantern and peered at him.  “What exactly are you two wearing?”

“Skorts.”  Pippin grinned.  “And powders.  And creams.”

Frodo stared at them a little longer, until Merry and Pippin began to exchange nervous glances.  “Out,” he said.

“What?”

“Both of you.  Out.  Leave.”

“What have we done?”

“Out.”  Frodo pointed toward the door.

“Fine,” said Merry.  They both curtsied and left the room.

As soon as the door shut, Frodo let out the laughter he had been holding in.  He laughed, and was surprised at how pleasant it sounded and felt, even though this was not the first time he had laughed since the Quest was over.  He kept on laughing, until tears sprang into his eyes and his sides hurt.  And when he was done laughing, Frodo Baggins began to eat.