Frodo’s desk was littered with stacks of notepaper, to the point that two auxiliary piles had been formed on the floor and were in constant danger of being kicked over.  Sam was on his seventh glass of water.  “And you said it was the end.”

“And then what happened?”

“Then?  Then I woke up.  I don’t remember much else as what happened on the rock; I don’t think I cared much at that point.  I was there, and you were there, and the Ring was gone, and that was that.  I think it went dark on me, all slow-like—and then it was light again and I thought everything was a funny dream.  I don’t see why you want me to go into all this detail this time around—you were there, too, Master.”

“So I was, but my mind was clouded by despair.  You saw hope where I saw vanity—but you, not I, were correct.  I’m trying to see everything that happened through your eyes, which aside from being far easier on my nerves, is a lot kinder to anyone who will bother reading this story.  I’m afraid that after a certain point people will just see me as ‘poor old Frodo.’  They feel for you better than they would me, because back there you still felt.”

“Master, that’s not fai—”

“Samwise, I do wish you would quit interrupting my keen, insightful commentary with meaningless self-denial and elaboration upon my merits.”

Sam regarded his master with a slow, long-suffering, black look before turning away and bowing his head.  “Yes, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo laughed.  “I was teasing you, Sam.”  He clapped an arm on Sam’s back.  “Both of us know what things were really like back there.  But each of us prefers to paint it in his own light.  You have my free and full permission to rebuke me the next time you honestly and objectively feel that I am mischaracterizing myself.”

“Only once?”

“Well, I shan’t be able to shut you up if I let you do it every time, shall I?  Anyhow, I think we should call it a day’s work and prepare for whatever festivities the King has in order.”

“The festivities?  They sound like a mess, Mr. Frodo.”

“I think this matter of business is the only thing accomplished today that isn’t a mess.”

He stood up from the desk, inadvertently brushing one of the taller heaps to the floor.  As Sam dove in vain to catch it, the papers scattered all over the floor, until the last leaf gently settled on Frodo’s foot.  They laughed.

Frodo went to his bedchamber and rooted through in his clothes press for a slightly nicer waistcoat.  “Sam, I have one more favor to ask of you tonight.”

“Anything, Master.”

“I want you to stay as sober as possible.”

“Of course—why?”

“I have a feeling Merry and Pippin will be wanting to have more than a little fun this evening, and we’re going to need someone there who can keep both eyes out for them.”

“What will you be doing?”

Frodo shrugged.  “I shall be enjoying myself as well.”  It had been a long time since he had had more than a usual quantity of ale, but he had managed to make the matter into a science.  “You shouldn’t have to worry about me—I know my own limits when it comes to drink—but I may not be quite in a state to help them.  Just don’t give them anything in the morning to cure their splitting headaches.”

Sam gave a little chuckle, but his face was shadowed with concern.  “Are you sure you’re all right, Mr. Frodo?”

“I’m doing better than I have been for weeks, Sam.”