Once again, Sam was up at dawn. He ate a quick breakfast in the kitchen, poring over the notes he, Merry and Fredegar had collected the day before. He read them over and over, searching for any alternative to the horrific scenario in his mind. Surely someone had wanted to roast sausages with the family, or had stepped behind the Show Tent to answer nature's call and carelessly laid a pipe down on the hay. But try as he might, he could not make any of the alternatives stand up to careful scrutiny. The Show Tent had been far away from all known sources of fire and upwind as well, that day. No one recalled seeing any private sausage roasts, and it was highly unlikely that a pipe could have been dropped carelessly and left long enough to start such a ferocious blaze. There was no escaping his conclusion. Someone had set the Show Tent on fire.

At that thought, Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands. He sat there for a moment, then left his notes and walked into the sitting room. Rosie was packing raw potatoes and pots of burn salve into a basket to take down to the banquet tent. Sam watched her, the enormity of his new thought taking shape in his mind. If someone had set fire to the Show Tent, knowing how many Hobbits were inside . . .

"Oh, no," he murmured to himself. Rosie turned around.

"What's wrong, Sam?" she asked.

"Nothing," Sam said quickly. "Just a thought I had about the fire. How's Diamond?"

"Still asleep, and that's best right now. You don't escape me that easily, Sam Gamgee. What were you thinking about that's so bad?"

"It's like this." Sam squatted down beside Rosie. "Yesterday, Merry and Fredegar and I went all around town, and we talked to everyone we could find who had seen the fire. Folk were pretty eager to share their tales, and we learned a lot."

"What did you learn?" Rosie asked.

"We learned quite a bit about the beginning of the fire," Sam answered slowly. "And I've been thinking about all that we learned, and one thing keeps coming clear to me. That fire wasn't an accident, Rosie. That fire was set."

Rosie stared at her husband in shock. "Set? Who would do such an awful thing as set the tent on fire? Why would anyone do that?"

Sam stared grimly at the floor. "That's just what I've been asking myself. And I keep thinking that whoever did it killed the Gaffer and scores of others, nearly killed you and the children, hurt hundreds of Hobbits including Pippin and Estella and set all Hobbiton in a terror. A Hobbit did all that, for there's only Hobbits in the Shire these days. A Hobbit like you and me."

"Not like you and me," Rosie said. "You and I didn't set fire to the tent."

"But someone did," Sam said in a strange, hard tone. "And when I find out who it was that did this horrible thing, I'll --"

"No!" Rosie grabbed Sam's hands and stared into his eyes. "Don't promise like that. Don't make a promise you'll have to keep later. Please, be my gentle Sam for just a little while longer."

Sam looked at his wife, and blew out a tense breath. "All right," he said. "I won't promise. But I want so badly . . ."

"I know." Rosie gave Sam's hands a squeeze. "Whoever this murderer is, don't sink to his level. Go and do your job and take care of Hobbiton. We need you, Sam Gamgee."

"Thank you, Rosie," Sam said. He gave her a quick hug, and then went out the door and headed for the mill.

As soon as Sam stepped inside, he was assaulted by the stench of death. Hob Hayward handed him a handkerchief soaked in peppermint oil. Sam tied it around his nose and mouth. It cut the smell a little, and he was able to look around the room. There were so many bodies, and so many small children, all wrapped in old sheets. Each body had a tag with a name attached. Somewhere in that pile was Sam's father, whom he had once thought to be the wisest, strongest, and best Hobbit in the Shire.

"They’ve all been identified," Hob said softly. "It took a while, but most everyone had a relative or a friend come through. Someone knew each one of them."

"There's so many," Sam breathed.

"Sixty-seven," Hob confirmed. "Including all of Mat Brownlock's family. Mat and Cora, and all six children."

"The whole family?"

"Aye," Hob said. "But at least they've all been named, and Robin wrote the names down neat as a pin, so they can be remembered. And your old Gaffer's first on the list."

Sam straightened. "Thank you, Hob," he said. "You and Robin have done a brave bit of work here. It's time we finished it. These bodies need burying. It breaks my heart to say it, but there's too many to give each a proper grave. We'll have to put them all together in one. Hob, you take all the Shirriffs and any other Hobbit that can handle a spade down to the meadow east of Hobbiton. I want the grave dug by tea-time, so we can bury them with the proper respect."

"I'll do that," Hob said. "And I'll get Robin to go around town and alert people to the time." He paused, as if a new thought had struck him. "Mr. Mayor," he ventured.

"Yes?"

"Do you think you might see your way clear to sayin' a few words at the funeral? I think it'd do folks a world of good to hear you."

"I will," Sam said. "After all, I'll have to bid farewell to the Gaffer then." Hob nodded and went to fetch the gravediggers. Sam stayed for a while, staring at the masses of the dead and wondering again about the Hobbit who had killed them.

When Rosie arrived at the banquet tent, she found it in a state of what appeared to be barely controlled chaos. She weaved her way through the mass of people until she found her brother. "Tom Cotton," she declared. "What is going on here?"

Tom looked up from where he had been securing a small child to a stretcher. "Rosie!" he said. "It's good to see you. We're moving as many of the wounded as we can back to their homes. We can't keep them in the tent forever, and most of them'll do far better back in their own beds. So all that can possibly survive the trip are going home. The others we'll keep here until we can move them. It'll be easier to care for those without so many others around."

Rosie nodded, seeing Tom's logic. "Well then," she said. "Seeing as how you're moving people out, I'll just drop this basket off in back."

Tom peeked inside. "Oh, good, more of that salve. Thank you kindly, Rosie, for we still need so much of it." Rosie started to go to the back of the tent, but Tom caught her arm. "One more thing," he said. "Could we send Mr. Pippin to Bag End? I don't want him going too far, not in his state, and Sam said that Mistress Diamond was there."

"Certainly," Rosie replied. "There's no better place for Pippin to be than by Diamond's side, and no better thing for her than to have him near. What about Estella Brandybuck?"

Tom shook his head. "She'll stay here at least another night. She's still sick from the infection, and what with that and all the blood she lost when . . . well, Widow Rumble won't let her go anywhere yet."

"All right," Rosie agreed. "I'll just drop the basket off in back and say a quick hello to Estella, and then I'll help get Pippin back to Bag End."

Rosie found Estella still somewhat feverish, but awake. Merry was with her. Rosie let them know about Pippin's move, and asked them to come to Bag End as well when Estella was well enough to leave. Merry agreed, and Rosie left to take Pippin home. As she tucked a blanket around Pippin's still form, she noticed Pervinca Took driving Elanor's entranced Hobbit youth away in her pony cart. That was Pervinca Took all over, she thought, taking in strays without a second thought.

When she arrived at Bag End, Diamond greeted her at the door. Together, Rosie and Diamond moved Pippin into one of the many guest rooms and settled him in bed. Diamond settled herself in an armchair, and then immediately jumped up again.

"I can't just sit here, or I'll go mad!" she announced. "Rosie, come help me gather some flowers. If -- when Pippin does wake up, I want the room to be beautiful. Maybe even a few mallorn leaves, if you think it'd be fitting."

"Of course," Rosie said. "I can think of no better use for them than to welcome Pippin back to us." Smiling real smiles for the first time in two days, the two ladies set off for the garden.

That afternoon, at tea-time, Mayor Sam Gamgee prepared to face the hardest task of his office thus far. Sixty-seven shrouded bodies lay in the mass grave at his feet. All of Hobbiton that could possibly move had turned out for the funeral. Sam looked at his feet and wondered what he could say to all the people who had lost friends and family and were looking to him to make sense of it all. His glance rested on one particular body. In a fit of childlike need, he had tied a ribbon to the Gaffer's shroud at the mill. Now he stared at the ribbon and felt the words spring to his mind.

"Brave Hobbits of the Shire," he began. "We have experienced one of the most horrible things I've seen in all my days and in all my travels. Sixty-seven are dead. They didn't die to save the world from evil, and they didn't die in their own time. They died too early, killed just for going about their business at the Fair.

"I see my own dad's body before me, and I can hardly believe that he's dead. He was my dad, and I guess somewhere I always thought he'd live as long as any Elf because of it. He died a death I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, but I don't want to dwell on that. The Gaffer loved life, and it wouldn't be fitting to remember only his death. From now on, when I think of the day my old dad died, I'll remember that he was about to win another prize for his taters, and he was watching show ponies with his four grandchildren that he loved so very much.

"I think that's how we should remember the folk who died in this fire. We should remember how much we loved them, and that before they died, they were surrounded by their loved ones and living every bit of their lives. They weren't alone and friendless in some foreign land. They were right here with us, loving and being loved. And there are far worse ways to die. The Elves and the wise Men of Gondor say they haven't any idea what comes of mortals after death, and for themselves, well, maybe they don't mind not knowing. But I'm a Hobbit through and through, and I'll just hope that whatever happens, it'll all end with us meeting again somewhere, for no Hobbit should be alone.

"These are their names." Slowly, Sam read each name on the list that Hob had given him. The list stretched on, unbearably long, and it was all Sam could do to keep his voice steady. At last, the final name was read, and Sam faced the assembly again. "Let's do as the Fair Folk do now, and sing them away. 'Our Days Are Short' would do nicely."

The gathered Hobbits straightened, and began to sing, slowly and in plangent harmony.

When the song was finished, they stood in silence for a moment and then dispersed to gather privately to mourn their dead and tend their injured. Sam waited for a while as the gravediggers began to fill in the mass grave. He turned when he heard the sound of jingling tack behind him.

Paladin Took, Thain of the Shire, dismounted from his sturdy pony. He took in the grave, and then turned to the Mayor.

"I came as soon as I received your letter," he said. "I couldn't imagine what had happened here. I rode past the Fairgrounds when I arrived, and even after that, and after seeing this, well, it's almost too much to think about. You've done astonishingly well, Mr. Mayor."

"Thank you, sir." Sam could feel a blush beginning, but he tried to ignore it. "It'll be hard for us, but with your help, we should get the place cleaned up and try to get things back to normal."

"I'll do what I can to help, certainly," Paladin said.

"Thank you again," Sam replied. "Now, sir, begging your leave, we'll go collect Mr. Merry and head to Bag End. Mr. Pippin's there, and I think young Mistress Diamond would be right grateful to see you now."

"Of course. Lead the way." And Sam and Paladin set off down the hill.

Diamond sat by Pippin's bed, holding his hand, as she had been doing for the past hour. The change of scenery had not woken him, although he looked more normal now lying in a bed rather than on a crowded table. The door opened, and Rosie entered carrying a tray with tea, fruit, and sandwiches on it.

"I thought we could eat in here," she said, setting the tray down on the night table. Diamond gratefully accepted a cup of tea and a small plate of sliced pears. Swallowing anything hard hurt her throat, so she had eaten nothing but fruit and lukewarm soups for two days. It was a good thing she liked fruit, but all the same, she began to eye the sandwiches and wondered if she could manage one in very small bites. As she was thinking about food, a terrible idea struck her.

"Rosie," she said. "Do you think it's possible that someone could starve to death while they sleep?"

Rosie frowned. "I suppose," she said. "You don't feel hungry while you sleep, but your stomach knows. After all, most people wake up hungry." Both ladies stared at Pippin, wandering in dreams.

"We'll have to wake him, somehow," Diamond said. "I don't want him to sleep until he fades away into nothing." She set down her empty plate and took Pippin's hand again. This time, instead of just holding it, she began to massage it vigorously. Rosie watched for a moment, then went to the other side of the bed and began to do the same to Pippin's other hand. "Pippin," Diamond called softly, "please come back. It's your Diamond, Pippin dear. You've slept so long, it's frightening me. Please wake up soon, Pippin."

They both looked up as the door squeaked open. Sam ushered Paladin and Merry into the room. For a moment, no one spoke. Paladin leaned over the bed and laid one hand on his son's forehead and one on his chest. "Oh, Pippin," he said softly. He straightened up, a sad, puzzled expression on his careworn face, and put an arm around Diamond. "Thank you for taking care of him, Diamond dear," he said. Merry stepped towards Pippin's bed, and Paladin caught his nephew with his other arm. "You are such good children," he told them.

Rosie continued to massage Pippin's hand. Sam sat down on a small footstool by the bed. He hadn't really examined Pippin since the day of the fire. There was something familiar about this strange trance, he decided. He noticed that Pippin's forehead was clammy with cold sweat and that his eyes moved back and forth under his closed eyelids. He appeared to be dreaming terrifying dreams. His pale, peaked face reminded Sam of --

"Frodo!"

The others paused and stared at Sam. He realized he had spoken the name, and continued to speak, "thinking aloud," as the Gaffer would have put it. "I was just thinking how much Mr. Pippin resembles poor Mr. Frodo, lying here," he said. "Mr. Frodo would have these strange illnesses, you know -- on the anniversaries of the times he was wounded on our travels."

"I remember," Rosie said.

"He would get that faraway look in his eyes," Sam mused, "and it seemed as though his mind wasn't here on those days. It was as though he was back in his memory, living the wounds again, you might say. It lasted the whole day on those anniversaries."

"Maybe Pip is reliving some old memory like that," Merry said thoughtfully. "Something that happened to him in Minas Tirith, maybe, or at that battle on the Fields of Cormallen."

"Something that being in the fire reminded him of," Sam finished.

"He used to have bad dreams when he was little," Paladin volunteered. "Eglantine or I used to hear him crying in the night, and we'd have to come into his room and wake him out of them." He bent over the bed again and placed his hands on Pippin's shoulders. "Pippin," he said. "Whatever is hurting you, it's just a dream. It's not real."

Pippin's face twitched. It wasn't much, but it was the first response he'd given to anything in two days. Rosie, Sam, Diamond, Merry and Paladin looked at each other, new hope rising in their eyes.

"Maybe we can bring him back," Diamond said. She immediately took up her old post massaging Pippin's hand. Merry sagged against a wall in relief.

"They didn't kill him after all," he sighed. Paladin flashed a strange look at Merry.

"Merry," he said. "Can you run over to Pervinca's place and tell her that Pippin reacted? If you can't find her, get one of her orphans to fetch her." Merry nodded.

"Yes, sir," he said. He paused to run a hand through Pippin's hair, and left. Paladin turned to Sam.

"What exactly did Merry mean by that comment?" he asked.

Sam took a deep breath. "Mr. Merry and Mr. Fredegar Bolger and I have been investigating the fire," he said. "It couldn't have been an accident. Someone set that tent on fire and killed the sixty-seven blameless Hobbits we buried today. We're going to have to find the Hobbit that set this fire."

"When you find him," Paladin said seriously, "see that justice is done. Mind that, Mr. Mayor. I do not want vengeance for my son. I want justice."

When Merry reached Pervinca's orphanage, one of the older lasses pointed him towards the garden shed. "Miss Pervinca's in there with the new lad," she said. "He's sick, so Miss Pervinca made him up a bed out there so he'd have some peace and quiet." Merry thanked her and made his way to the shed.

He found Pervinca sitting with the entranced boy, gently washing his face. She jumped up when Merry entered, the question she couldn't bring herself to ask plain on her face.

"Your father's come," Merry told her. "And he got Pippin to twitch his face. It's not much, but --"

"Maybe he can come back after all!" Pervinca cried, wrapping her cousin in a fierce hug. "That's the best news I've heard all day. Sit down, tell me everything."

Merry sat down on a bench with Pervinca and told her the details of the visit with Pippin. When he had finished, he glanced over at the orphan. "Looks like he's in the same way," he said. "If we can get Pippin to wake up, maybe we can bring him back, too."

"I do hope so," Pervinca said. Merry leaned against the wall.

"Do you mind if I smoke a little?" he asked. "I've been so keyed up these past two days, and I think it would help clear my mind." Pervinca nodded. Merry filled his pipe, and Pervinca brought him a chip lit from the lantern. At the flicker of the pipe, the orphan shrieked suddenly, startling Merry and Pervinca. The orphan leaped from his cot, and sat huddled in the corner, shaking all over.

"I didn't mean it!" he cried. "It burned so big! I couldn't stop it! I didn't mean for it to burn so big!"

Merry and Pervinca looked at each other in horror. A strange, hard look came over Merry's face. He pulled a handful of straw from one of the bales in the shed and grabbed a bucket of water. He set both down in front of the orphan and looked him straight in the eye. "You know something about that fire, don't you?" he asked. When the orphan didn't reply immediately, Merry lit one of the straws from the lantern and shoved the burning straw at the orphan.

The orphan shrieked again. "I burned them! I burned all the rabbits and the ponies . . . I didn't mean to hurt them!"

The straw fizzled in Merry's hand. He dropped it in the bucket and lit another. The orphan howled. "He tells me to burn things . . . I don't want to hurt, but he tells me to . . . just a little, just a little burning . . . "

Another straw. Merry could feel cold fury boiling up inside him. "Who told you to burn things?" he snarled.

"He did . . . The Chief . . . burn it, Grig, burn it . . . I don't want to hurt them . . . not the rabbits and the ponies . . . "

Merry's hand was shaking with growing rage as he lit a fourth straw. "Do you know how many Hobbits you killed?"

"It burned so big . . . didn't mean for it to burn so big . . . all gone . . . poof . . . all burned up to nothing . . . the big burning!"

Before he could stop himself, Merry punched the orphan in the jaw. The boy went sprawling backwards, gibbering in pain and terror. Pervinca shrieked and jumped on Merry, pinning him to the ground as Merry yelled "Murderer!" over and over again. Pimpernel Took burst into the shed, looked wildly around, and ran to the orphan. She wrapped her arms around the flailing form, and gradually things calmed down. Merry glared at the orphan in Pimpernel's arms.

"Tell me what you know," he ordered coldly. The orphan stared back at him, eyes wild.

"It was Sharkey," he said. "Sharkey comes to me. Sharkey tells me to burn things. I have to burn them or the dreams come. 'Burn up the Fair,' Sharkey says. I don't want to burn up the Fair, but Sharkey sends the dream monsters after me. I wanted to be brave. I'll burn up Sharkey. Sharkey before me, all dressed in white. Only it wasn't Sharkey. It was the Fair. All the little rabbits and the ponies, burned to bits. It was supposed to be Sharkey."

For an eternal moment, no one moved. Merry felt his stomach turn over in revulsion. He wrenched himself from Pervinca's grasp and barely made it out into the yard before he fell to his knees and threw up.