The archery contest was down to the quarter-finals. Merry Brandybuck narrowed his eyes in concentration as he aimed at the small gold circle at the heart of the target. Out of the corner of his eye, he registered Sam raising his white handkerchief. For a moment, all was still. Then, just as Sam dropped the handkerchief --

BOOM! The calm was shattered by the sound of a tremendous explosion. Everyone on the field whirled around, arrows flying off wildly, just in time to see a brilliant ball of flame ripple over the Show Tent. A second later, as stunned Hobbits raced toward the disaster, the Show Tent began to burn in furious earnest.

Merry was only dimly aware that he was running with all his strength toward the burning tent. Something banged against his hip, and he realized that it was the silver horn of Rohan, which he had worn that day for good luck. As he ran, he brought it to his lips and desperately blew the Horn-Call of Buckland. Awake! Awake! Fear! Fire! Foes! Over and over he blew, until he reached the horrified crowd surrounding the tent.

Sam was mustering some of the stronger Hobbits into a bucket brigade, but the splashing buckets of water seemed pitifully small against the raging blaze. Merry gazed stupidly up at the fire for a moment, watching as it licked closer to the bright pennant that topped the tent. A clap on the shoulder from Sam ended his reverie.

"Get a bucket, Merry!" Sam shouted above the general din.

"What good would it do?" Merry shouted back. "The fire's too big already!"

"We have to keep it from spreading!" And then Sam was off, running deeper into the crowd.

Merry threw a bucket of water, and then another. It had no effect on the fire. His attention was drawn to the sidewalls of the tent, where he could see the silhouetted shapes of the trapped Hobbits inside, fighting to escape. As he watched, a fishing knife stabbed through the canvas of the tent and ripped a gash down the side. A sturdy young tween wriggled an arm and a leg through the slit. Merry grabbed his arm and hauled him out. He pulled out his own small pocket knife and sawed at the top of the slit. The lad with the fishing knife did the same, and together they opened up a hole in the tent big enough to allow some people to escape.

Merry realized that he knew some of the Hobbits escaping through the slit. With this realization, a horrible thought struck him. Hadn't Pippin and Diamond taken Estella to see the pony show? "Estella! Estella Brandybuck!" Merry called, as he ran through the growing crowd of escapees. "Pippin! Estella! Diamond! Where are you?"

Inside the tent, all was chaos. The initial shock of the explosion had knocked Rosie down, and she had lost her hold of both Little Rose and Merry-lad. Frantically, she cast around for her children. "Elanor! Frodo-lad! Where are you?" she called, her voice lost in the screaming press of bodies.

"Mamma!" Rosie turned and saw Frodo-lad clinging to Little Rose. She stumbled toward them, but was nearly trampled by a panicked pony that charged by. She fought her way to her children, and grasped one firmly in each hand. "Don't let go" she ordered them sharply.

A few feet away, Elanor picked herself up off the ground and looked for her Mamma. Her attention was drawn by one shrill howl that pierced through the rest of the shouting. Baby Merry-lad was sitting underneath the trampled-down gate of the corral, shrieking for their mother. Fighting down her own panic, Elanor crawled through the thicket of Hobbit and pony legs and scooped up her baby brother. Merry-lad squirmed in her arms.

"Hold still," she ordered him. "We've got to find Mamma." But how could her Mamma find her in this crowd? The Gaffer had always told her that if she was ever lost, she should stay very still in one place until she was found, no matter how long it took. But the fire raging overhead terrified the little girl. She desperately wanted to get out of the tent, but what if her Mamma never found her because she had moved? The only thing Elanor knew for certain was that she must not let go of Merry-lad. As she clutched him as hard as she could, the crowd made her decision for her. A pony and several handlers dashed by her, and she was borne along in their wake. Now that she was moving, she had to find her Mamma and get out of the tent.

Estella stumbled blindly through the mob. There was a sharp pain in her scalp, and her vision was flooded with red. She needed to find her friends, and she needed to get out, but most of all, she needed a quiet moment to investigate whatever had happened to her. The cordial barrels had exploded; she was sure of that. She had turned around to ask Diamond something about one of the ponies, but she hadn't gotten the chance. There had been a tremendous bang, and then it seemed as if the entire vegetable stand had rocketed directly toward her. Something had hit her square on, and she had almost blacked out.

She knew that the tent was on fire, because she could feel the heat stinging all over her. It felt as if she herself would burst into flame any second. The crowd seemed to be moving in one specific direction. That must be the way out. Estella reached out blindly and grabbed someone's shoulder. She clung to the shoulder and followed it through the throng. All of her concentration was directed at this one shoulder that she hoped would lead her to the open air.

The Gaffer was becoming dizzy from the smoke. His heart pounded, and he couldn't seem to get enough air. He hobbled over to a corner of the tent, and grabbed a corral post for support. At that moment, he felt his knees give way, and he sat down hard on the ground. It felt better to be on the ground. The air was clearer underneath the smoke. He decided that he would sit and rest there, just for a minute, just until his heart stopped beating so wildly.

Outside the tent, Merry knew what he could do. He ran as fast as his long legs would carry him to the blacksmith who had set up a small workshop. Just as he had hoped, there were some sharp blades on the display table. Merry snatched up the nearest strong knife. There was no time to pay, and in any event, the blacksmith was probably down by the tent. He would have to remember that tomorrow, though.

Blade in hand, he charged back to the tent. Arriving right up against the sidewall, he plunged the knife in and slashed. A child came tumbling out, then another. He moved several paces over and slashed again, each time hoping that it would be Estella tumbling out of one of his holes.

Diamond's head was in a whirl. She had been knocked down twice, but each time she had gotten up quickly. In the confusion, she had lost the rest of her friends. She decided to concentrate on finding Pippin. It shouldn't be hard, as he was easily the tallest person in the crowd. She would only have to look up to find him. As she scanned the heads of the crowd, she did not notice the small fires surrounding her as the hay at her feet ignited. A sudden whoosh near her ankles caught her attention, and she looked down, only to see that her skirt had caught fire. With a strangled gasp of horror, she pulled off her bonnet and beat the flames to death with it. The effort left her choking and coughing from the smoke and the superheated air.

She stumbled forward with the force of a cough, and ran right into Pippin. He had fallen to his knees and had gone strangely rigid. His body was shaking uncontrollably, and his eyes were wide and vague. "Pippin!" Diamond yelled. "Pippin, get up! We have to get out!" For a moment, he focused on her. His mouth seemed to move, as if he was trying to speak, and then his eyes went blank and Diamond knew that he saw nothing. A wave of hot air rolled over them. Crying in terror, Diamond grabbed Pippin's arms and began to drag him along with the mob, hoping that they were going toward the exit from the tent.

Rosie had clamped down on Frodo-lad and Little Rose so hard she was sure she would leave bruises, but she did not mean to let them go. For the briefest of moments, she had caught a glimpse of Elanor and Merry-lad. She had tried to reach them, but the crowd had swirled them away. She would find them, but she had to get these two out first. The trio was bumped and jostled, until at last they found themselves trapped against the side of the tent. Rosie leaned back in despair, and fell through a hole that opened up in the tent under her weight. Babbling thanks to whatever mysterious force had put that hole there, she snatched up the two children and ran out in the clean, fresh air, trying to put as much distance as possible between her children and the burning tent.

Inside, Elanor fought to keep hold of the struggling baby and to keep her feet on the ground. The press of bodies would sometimes lift her into the air, and then she was helpless, going where the crowd took her, until she could wiggle her way back down again. She had no idea where she was now, no way of knowing how to get out. A scrap of burning rope fell right at her feet and hissed. Elanor screeched and danced out of its way. Merry-lad began to beat her with his little fists. A hand came down on her shoulder, and she stopped screeching in surprise. A big boy squatted down next to her. "Go straight ahead to your left," he said. "The tent isn't fastened down, and you can crawl under it." And then he was gone, lost in the confusion. Elanor carefully threaded her way through the trampling legs, hoping she was going in the right direction.

Sam threw another bucket of water. It hissed and sizzled away. Another one was thrust into his hands, and he threw that. He must concentrate on the next bucket, always the next bucket. There was no room for panic and worry for his family as long as there was another bucket. A rumbling attracted his attention. He turned around and saw Fredegar Bolger driving up in his farm wagon, laden with buckets and barrels of water. "There's more on the way," Fredegar told him. "I took the liberty of sending some of the older lads off with any cart that could be spared. No time to ask, but we'll sort things out after."

"Good job!" Sam replied. "This is more important than a few carts. Take that water round to the other end."

Out of the corner of her eye, Rosie spotted Estella Brandybuck weaving through the chaos of the fairgrounds. Lifting Little Rose onto her hip, Rosie raced over to her friend. "Estella!" she called. "It's me, Rosie!"

"Rosie!" Estella gasped. "Help me, I can't see anything!"

Rosie handed Little Rose to Estella. "Here," she said. "Hold Little Rose, and let me take a look at you." Holding Little Rose steadied Estella somewhat, and Rosie was finally able to examine her. At first glance, Estella looked terrible. A shard of glass had scraped across her hairline and was embedded in her scalp. Her face was covered with blood, which had matted her eyelashes together. Gingerly, Rosie tugged at the glass shard, but stopped when Estella gasped in pain.

"Easy," Rosie said. "You've got a big piece of glass in your head. It'll have to come out sooner or later."

"Not now," Estella begged. "It hurts too much."

"All right. Let's see about your eyes." Carefully, eyelash by eyelash, Rosie pried Estella's eyes open. Frodo-lad squeaked in shock as he watched. Just as Rosie finished, a series of snaps sounded over their heads.

The main guyropes holding up the tent had finally given way. As burned, bleeding Hobbits continued to stream out, the tent billowed, then collapsed in on itself. A great roar went up from the crowd and mingled with the howls from the Hobbits and animals trapped under the remains of the tent. Sam whistled sharply to his bucket brigade. "Get the big barrels!" he called. "Spread the water as far as you can. We've got to put this out!" With the tent down, the fire was easier to deal with. Teams of Hobbits upended the great barrels of cooking and wash water held in reserve at the banquet tents and flooded the Show Tent. Clouds of steam and soot rose into the air. As soon as an area of the tent stopped burning, it was peeled away and the bodies of the injured and dying were hauled out.

Estella stared at the tent, her newly opened eyes wide with shock. Rosie looked around, trying to recognize the soot-blackened faces all around her. Suddenly, she saw someone familiar. "Sam!" she yelled. "Sam, over here!" Rosie jumped to her feet and pulled Estella up. Sam heard her call and came running.

"Rosie! Rosie! You're safe! Oh, blessed be!" Rosie was filthy, her face was burned red, and her lovely curls had been singed short, but at that moment, she was the most beautiful thing Sam had ever seen. He took her in his arms and held her gently, not wanting to aggravate whatever injuries she might have sustained. A small body attached itself to each of Sam's legs, and he knelt down and hugged Frodo-lad and Little Rose to him. After a moment, he looked around for Elanor and Merry-lad.

Rosie suddenly burst into tears. "I saw them," she said. "In the tent. I saw them, and I tried to reach them, but they vanished into the crowd. I tried to reach them. . . " Her voice trailed off into a low moan. Sam felt his heart plummet through his gut. He looked around the fairgrounds. People were huddling in small groups, some of the rescuers beating out the last of the flames, while others began to sort the living from the dead. Children ran around in panic, or stood still and silent in shock.

"We don't know," Sam said brokenly. "Maybe they got out. Maybe they're here somewhere. We can still hope." Rosie continued to moan in his arms.

Fredegar Bolger ran over to their group and swept his little sister into his arms. "'Stella," he said softly. "Oh, you're alive." Estella clung to her brother for a moment, then gave a small gasp of pain and doubled over in his arms. Fredegar eased her down to the ground, where she knelt, wrapping her arms around herself and making small squeaking noises. Her brother fussed, not knowing which to deal with first, Estella's ugly scalp wound or whatever internal injury was hurting her now. "Help!" he roared. "Somebody help her!"

Two older Hobbit women who had been helping to sort the wounded came at his call. They examined Estella quickly, then nodded to each other. Rosie leaned over to her friend, but one of the old women shoved her away. "No," she said. "Don't look at her. Won't do for you to go, too." As the two women hustled a crying Estella away, Rosie had a glimpse of a fresh bloodstain on Estella's skirt. Fredegar watched, helplessly.

"Young Tom Cotton's setting up the banquet tent for the wounded," he said. "There's tables to lay them on, so they won't be on the ground. That's where they'll take her. I should find Merry and tell him." But he continued to sit limply on the ground.

"Rosie! Sam!" They turned around at the call to see Diamond struggling to drag Pippin to them. Sam pulled Rosie to her feet, and they ran to help Diamond. She collapsed next to her husband, coughing as if she would cough up her own lungs. Rosie cried and held her as she coughed up phlegm that was black with soot. Frodo-lad and Little Rose clung to Sam as he knelt down next to Pippin.

As far as Sam could tell, Pippin was alive. He was breathing and seemed physically unhurt, but was frighteningly absent. He lay on his back, staring up at the bright blue sky with faraway eyes that did not see. Sam prodded him, shook him, and shouted in his ear, but there was no response. Pippin himself was clearly somewhere far distant, walking in dreams only he could see. Sam shook himself. "A fine pickle, and no mistake, Sam Gamgee," he said to himself. "You're the Mayor of Hobbiton. Time to buck up and start acting like it."

He called three sturdy lads over and ordered two to take Pippin to the banquet tent and one to escort Diamond after them. He strode back to Fredegar and shook him lightly. "Here, Fredegar," he said. He fished the keys to Bag End out of his pocket. "Please, take Rosie and the children back home. I've got work to do here." Fredegar nodded, took the keys, and went to Rosie.

"I'll be back," he said. "Just when I've got them settled. I'll come back." Sam nodded at him, and he left, one arm around Rosie, the other holding Little Rose. Frodo-lad tagged after his mother.

Sam heaved a great sigh and went back to the ruins of the Show Tent. He was immediately besieged by frightened Hobbits needing help and direction. Numbly, he began to give orders. All the wounded were to be brought to the banquet tent. Tom Cotton would direct things there. The dead were to be laid out in the mill, where it was dark and cool. Robin Smallburrow and Hob Hayward would be in charge of helping people to identify them. The dead animals would be piled behind the mill. Lost children. . . Sam gulped, then ordered that all lost children be gathered together under the mallorn tree in the Party Field. Perhaps the tree still held enough of the grace of the Elves to soothe the children until they were found.

Merry had run clear of the tent just before it fell. He realized that he was still holding the knife that he had used to slice the sidewall open. Perhaps he should bring it back to the blacksmith. He stared at the knife for a moment, and his hands began to shake. He dropped the knife, which narrowly missed his foot. Someone came behind him and took his elbow gently. "Here now, lad," a calm voice said. "Are you hurt? You're shaking all over."

Merry stared at the ground. "My wife," he said softly. "She was in the tent." He turned around and looked into the face of old Milo Burrows. Milo nodded understandingly.

"Go to the banquet tent," he said. "That's where they're taking the wounded." Merry thanked him and marched to the banquet tent. Inside, he wandered past rows of Hobbits, some waiting for salve for burns, some moaning quietly with more serious injuries, a few eerily silent. He couldn't find Estella anywhere, and was about to leave when he spotted Diamond sitting huddled at the end of a far row. He trotted over to her, intending to ask if she had seen Estella, but was brought up short by what he saw.

His beloved cousin Pippin lay on a table, staring absently into nowhere. Diamond sat next to him, wrapped in a shawl, the grime on her face streaked from her tears. "Oh, Merry," she said softly, and wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, you found us. I was so worried. Pippin won't wake up, and Estella --" she stopped, and her breath caught in her throat.

"What about Estella?" Merry felt himself go cold all over.

Diamond pointed to the end of the tent, which had been hastily partitioned off with a curtain. "She's in there with a healer, and I just saw old Widow Rumble the midwife go in," she said. "I think she's pretty badly hurt, but I haven't heard anything in so long."

It was too much for Merry. The horror of the fire and Pippin's strange trance would have been bearable, almost, but the news of Estella finally pushed him over the edge, and he collapsed limp and numb into Diamond's arms.

Sam was running on sheer Gamgee stubbornness, overseeing the triage efforts on the fairgrounds, when he came around to a small scrap of the tent that hadn't burned completely to ashes. He decided that it must have been one of the last places to burn and one of the first to be put out. There seemed to be something moving inside it. Cautiously, Sam pulled back the tent scrap. The Gaffer lay huddled beneath it, gasping for breath.

"Oh, Dad." Sam pulled his father free and cradled him in his arms.

"Sam. . . you're safe. . . " the Gaffer wheezed. "I got so tired. . . had to sit and rest. . . my heart was pounding so. . . but you're safe. . . my Sam. . . " The Gaffer let out one long, rasping breath and was terribly still. Sam held his father's body and stared down at it for a long moment.

"Dad?"

Sam looked up. Elanor was standing next to him, a whimpering Merry-lad in her arms. Sam wrapped one arm around his children and the other around his father. He felt tears pricking his eyes, but he couldn't cry yet. There was still so much to do. But perhaps he could spare a few minutes to sit with his family. He held them for a while, then called Hob Hayward over to take the Gaffer to the mill.

"You can put him down on your list," he said. "I do know it's him, after all." Hob nodded.

"He'll be the first one," he said. Sam ran a hand over the Gaffer's white hair.

"Goodbye, Dad," he said. "I wish I could stay, but I've got to take my children home."

Hob smiled at him. "You go on, Mr. Gamgee," he said. "We've got things under control here."

Sam nodded. He took Merry-lad in his arms and grasped Elanor's hand, and they headed up the road to Bag End, where Rosie and Frodo-lad and Little Rose were waiting for them.

Late that evening, one last casualty was dropped off at the banquet tent. Miss Melilot Brandybuck had found a half-grown lad wandering in a stand of trees, scorched, wide-eyed and murmuring in shock. She knew him by sight; he wandered through Hobbiton and Bywater doing odd jobs here and there. No one seemed to know if he had any family. Perhaps some of his kin might hear about the fire and come to claim him, Melilot thought, as she led him to the banquet tent. Perhaps some good might come of this fire after all.