CHAPTER 14: WEDDINGS AND WORRIES

The next day Sam spent much of the time in the garden. Mrs. Cotton, full of curiosity, came with Mari and Rosie to cook supper, and Frodo had his cousins to keep him company. Sam had neglected the work for two days, and it was one of the busiest times in a gardener’s year. He planted a long herbaceous border and thought of an old adage of the Gaffer’s: “Give your plants away,” his father used to say, “and you’ll never lose them.” Many were the plants that Sam had taken cuttings from or split the spreading root-balls, and he had been generous to other gardeners, large and small. Now the same plants were coming back to him as their owners returned the favour. He left plenty of room for the plants to spread and raked the soil between to a fine tilth. A sprinkling of mixed annual seeds in the spaces would ensure a good show of colour through the summer, especially if he staggered the sowing and was meticulous in deadheading.

He stopped work in time to have a bath and scrub the dirt from under his fingernails. The kitchen was a hive of activity, and he paused only to kiss Rosie and Mari in passing.

‘And I suppose I’m too old for such foolishness!’ said Mrs. Cotton, as she straightened from the oven. Sam laughed and kissed her as well.

The supper was delicious, and there was much merriment around the crowded dining table. Merry, Pippin and Mrs. Cotton seemed to have decided that the principal characters involved were all of age and entitled to know their own minds. Only Sam’s father remained grumpy, but this was hardly remarked upon, the Gaffer being the Gaffer. ‘Thirteen,’ he said, scowling round the table. ‘Are you trying for bad luck?’

At the end of the meal, Sam rose to make his formal request to Frodo. ‘Mr. Mayor,’ he said. ‘I have a wish to take Rosie Cotton to be my wife, and I would ask you to name a day for the wedding.’ Frodo smiled at him, and Sam couldn’t help noticing Merry and Pippin were observing their cousin closely.

‘Is this your wish as well, Rose?’ asked Frodo, turning to Rosie, who was sitting next to Sam.

‘Yes, sir, it is my wish,’ answered Rosie, and she smiled at Frodo.

‘In that case,’ said Frodo, ‘I would like to name the first day of Thrimidge, and I ask you all to join me in wishing Samwise Gamgee and Rose Cotton a long and happy union, blessed with many children.’ He stood and raised his glass to Sam and Rosie. His obvious pleasure seemed to reassure Merry and Pippin; they stood with the rest of the guests, and Sam saw no sign of hesitation on their part.

The time to the first day of Thrimidge passed in a whirl of activity. At Sam’s request, and with Tom and Mari’s agreement, the weddings were held in the Party Field by the Mallorn tree. Tents went up the day before, and Sam found Frodo staring at them with a look of sadness on his face.

‘Frodo?’

‘It just reminds me of Bilbo,’ Frodo said quietly. ‘The Party and everything. That was the day the Ring first came into my keeping.’ He looked at Sam’s face. ‘Don’t worry, Sam. I think it’s a lovely idea to have the wedding here. And I know you won’t disappear at the end of it.’

‘But you will, Frodo. Do you really have to go to Crickhollow?’

‘Yes, Sam. I do. You need time to get used to each other. It won’t be for long, and then I’ll be back, and I fully expect to be looked after with more care than any other hobbit in the Shire.’

The next day dawned bright and clear, and Samwise Gamgee married Rosie Cotton in the Party Field. Sam and Tom both looked slightly uncomfortable in their best clothes, starched and stiff, and gave each other sympathetic glances. Rosie and Marigold were radiant, with flowers and ribbons twined in their hair. There was a slight pause in the proceedings when Mari got the giggles over Sam’s and Tom’s discomfiture, but the crowd there to witness the ceremony all agreed afterwards this was just bridal nerves.

Frodo Baggins made a speech in praise of the happy couples, flanked on either side by the handsome Captains in all their finery. The speech was much appreciated by the guests, being short and to the point, with great mastery of the obvious. The only part that caused some muttering was when Frodo proposed a toast to King Elessar, and mentioned the day was also the first anniversary of his coronation. This was considered foreign news and not worthy of inclusion on such an important occasion.

The celebration and feasting went on throughout the day, with two formal meals, but lots of eating and drinking between times as well. Dancing to fiddles and bodhran kept appetites keen.

By the end of the afternoon Frodo looked pale and tired, and Merry came and sat next to him as he watched the dancing.

‘Are you all right, Frodo?’ he asked quietly, setting his drink down on the table.

‘Yes, Merry, I’m fine. I just miss not having a sleep this afternoon. It seems foolish to need it, but I find I do.’

‘I think we should leave soon, if you’re set on not staying at Bag End tonight,’ said Merry. ‘I can see why you don’t want to,’ he added. His anger at Sam had resurfaced, and he had kept it in check all day. Pippin might say “trust them”, but Merry could see nothing but disaster for Frodo in this odd arrangement.

Frodo smiled at him and laid his hand over Merry’s. ‘No, Merry you don’t see,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want to talk about it here. However you are right that we should leave soon.’

The end of the dance was announced with a flourish of fiddles. Merry only had to look where Frodo was looking in order to pick out Sam in the throng as the dancers gratefully came to a halt and bowed to their partners. Sam was flushed from the exertion and panting, as were Rosie and Mari on either side of him. He bowed to Mari first and then Rosie. Offering his wife his arm, he leant down to kiss her. Merry looked at Frodo; he wanted to hold Frodo and comfort him. How could Frodo’s heart not be broken over this?

‘They make a lovely couple, don’t you think?’ said Frodo, not taking his eyes away from them. He stood up, not appearing to expect a reply, which was just as well, as Merry didn’t have anything he could truthfully say that wouldn’t risk Frodo’s getting upset or angry with him. He had decided that he would avoid any more open disapprobation of Sam at all costs. Any hint of criticism of Sam’s behaviour during their stay at Bag End had made Frodo angry. If the result of Sam’s actions was an unhappy Frodo, Merry wanted to be around to offer comfort to his friend. That wasn’t going to happen if he had made himself unwelcome at Bag End.

Frodo’s reaction to Merry, each time the subject was raised, had seemed so out of character that Merry couldn’t help feeling that all was not as Frodo made it appear on the surface. He drained his glass and followed Frodo towards Sam. It seemed that, however absorbed Sam appeared in Rosie, he was still watching Frodo carefully. As soon as Frodo stood up, Sam guided Rosie in his direction. As they met, Sam let go of Rosie and embraced Frodo. The hug was brief, but afterwards they stood for a moment clasping each other’s forearms, and smiling. Frodo turned to Rosie and kissed her.

‘Can you spare Sam for a short while, Rose?’ he asked. ‘There are some things I need to discuss with him up at the smial before I go.’

‘Of course I can, Mr. Frodo,’ Rosie replied. Merry was alert for any hesitation, but there was none. ‘Take as long as you need,’ she added and stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Have a safe journey, sir, and come back to us soon. Bag End won’t feel right, somehow, until you’re home.’

‘Thank you, Rose,’ said Frodo. ‘Take care of Sam.’

Merry watched as they smiled at each other. It was beyond perplexing. Frodo turned to him. ‘Merry, can you find Pippin and saddle the ponies? Come and give me a shout when you’re ready.’

Merry watched Frodo and Sam walk away, then turned to look around. He knew from experience that the best place to search for Pippin was in the thick of the largest, noisiest crowd. This tested method of tracking down his younger cousin did not fail him now. Pippin was in the middle of a yard-of-ale contest with Jolly Cotton. Merry sighed; he would have preferred Pippin sober for the journey, but at least they were only going to Great Smials that night. As he watched, the two contestants were nearing the end of their drinks, and the audience was beginning to chant. Pippin and Jolly eyed each other and began to spill beer as they tipped the yards higher to drain the depths.

Merry stopped worrying about Pippin being drunk and started worrying he wasn’t going to manage to finish. He joined his cousin’s supporters chanting ‘Pip...Pip...Pip.’ Pippin closed his eyes and managed to down the last of the beer without having taken a single breath. He was seconds behind Jolly, but the crowd cheered him anyway and slapped him on his back. Jolly might have won, but just finishing was an achievement.

‘Hello, Merry,’ said Pippin happily; there was a slight slur in his voice. ‘What have you done with Frodo?’

Merry took him by the elbow and steered him to the stables. As he saddled the ponies he was hindered more than helped by Pippin, who was singing love songs into his pony’s ear. He hoped Pippin wasn’t too drunk. Some sort of emotional reaction from Frodo was to be expected, since surely he must be concealing a depth of pain and anguish that could not be contained indefinitely. If he broke down while they were travelling, Merry would need Pippin’s help. Damn Sam! What was he thinking of? Merry had not really believed that the wedding would happen until they were standing in the Party Field and it was happening.

Merry tightened the girth on Strider, and the two cousins led the ponies up to the smial. They found Frodo and Sam locked together in each other’s arms. Merry looked at Pippin, and they waited patiently, no coughs this time. They had not been particularly quick. Had Frodo and Sam been clinging to each other like this all the time?

‘Must you go?’ asked Sam at last, and Merry was surprised to see it was Sam who had tears streaking his face.

‘It’s not for long, dear Sam, not long at all.’ Frodo turned his head and saw Merry and Pippin waiting. ‘Namárië, meleth anim, and I will have joy in returning.’ He gave Sam a last kiss and a hug, and walked out of the door to where the ponies were waiting.

Sam just stood there. Merry couldn’t help wondering if he had been wrong. Was this where the emotional backlash was going to happen? He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder.

‘Don't worry, Sam. We’ll look after him for you,’ he said.

Pippin hugged Sam. ‘Shhalright, Sam,’ he said.

Merry’s original assessment of Frodo was, however, correct. An emotional reaction was well overdue, but Frodo didn’t break down until they reached Crickhollow. He was exhausted with the two days of travelling by then, anyway, and Merry was prepared for him to sleep the day around, as on previous visits. Merry had planned ahead and set up a large double bed and a single bed in Frodo’s room. It had been Frodo’s choice to take the Stock road and camp out. Not a wise choice, in Merry’s opinion. Frodo had not slept well, but possibly the outcome would have been the same if they had travelled by Frogmorton, stopping the first night at the Cotton farm, as Merry had wanted.

The house looked very different for the removal of Frodo’s furniture and belongings, and when they finally arrived, Frodo stood looking around. To Merry, he seemed dull and listless, as though he wasn’t really taking in what he was seeing.

‘Do you want something to eat? Or a bath after the journey?’ asked Merry. Frodo bit his lip at the mention of a bath, and shook his head.

‘I’d just like to rest for a bit,’ he said. There was a slight shake in his voice, and his eyes were over-bright.

Damn! thought Merry. Here it comes. He put his arms around Frodo. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Oh, Frodo, why did you let him do it?’

The calm exterior crumpled, and a storm of grief was let loose on Merry’s shoulder. Pippin came running, and together they helped Frodo to his bedroom. Frodo clung to Merry, and Merry tried to contain the convulsive body. He looked over Frodo’s head to Pippin and mouthed, I’m going to kill Sam. Then all his attention was on Frodo, trying to calm him, shushing and stroking him, until the tempest abated.

Frodo seemed unable to do anything for himself, so they undressed him and pulled a night-shirt over his head. He was shivering, and they huddled their bodies against his in the big bed.

‘Oh, Frodo, how could Sam do this to you?’ asked Pippin at last.

‘You don’t understand,’ whispered Frodo.

‘Then tell us,’ pleaded Merry. ‘We want to understand. All I can see at the moment is Sam being selfish, and I’m seriously regretting apologising to him.’

‘It’s not Sam.’ Frodo seemed to have almost lost his voice; it was a mere croak. ‘I’m happy Rosie has managed to persuade him to marry her.’

‘I’m sorry, Frodo dear, you’re not making sense,’ said Pippin gently. ‘We only have to look at you to see how unhappy you are.’ Frodo gripped Merry’s arm, and Merry nearly cried out at the fierceness of it.

‘I’m leaving him. Oh my Sam...’ Frodo couldn’t speak for tears, and Merry looked helplessly at Pippin. Pippin looked back, bewildered.

‘You’re leaving him...? What, leaving the Shire?’ asked Pippin. Merry was glad it was Pippin doing the asking. He had the full force of the anguish in Frodo’s eyes, and he couldn’t find his voice. Frodo nodded.

‘But Frodo, Sam would go anywhere with you. We would, too. Rivendell, Minas Tirith, you only need to say.’

Frodo took a deep breath in a series of jerks and let it out slowly. He swallowed. ‘Oh, my dears,’ he said. ‘I’m leaving. Leaving with the Elves. You can’t come with me.’

Merry felt the bottom fall from his world. His eyes blurred with tears, as he struggled to find words, and his heart beats were painful against his chest.

‘No, oh no, Frodo,’ he cried at last, and saw the tears were running down Pippin’s face as well. ‘You can’t go. You can’t go where we can’t follow.’

His mind veered off at a tangent, shying away from the misery that threatened to engulf him. He remembered pillow fights between the three of them, as he and Pippin set upon their older cousin with shrieks of glee, long ago it seemed. As the room had filled with feathers, the pillows they held had became empty and limp. That was how he felt, now. Empty. Empty and limp.

And as Merry lay there in shock, Frodo explained, in a voice barely under his control, why he must go and why Rosie was married to Sam.

‘And Sam doesn’t know?’ asked Pippin, and it wasn’t like Pippin’s voice at all, so small and lost it sounded. Merry reached for Pippin’s hand, and their fingers clasped together.

‘No, Sam doesn’t know. But this wedding is the first step, and now my leaving seems very real.’

‘When, Frodo? When are you going?’ asked Merry and held his breath. Oh, please, please don’t let it be soon, he thought.

‘I will wait, if my health allows, until Rose has her first child.’

Merry heard a sob and realised it was his own.

‘But that could be as soon as early next year!’ cried Pippin. Frodo nodded, biting his lip.

‘Oh my dears, I love you. I love Sam, you know how much I love Sam, and I have to do this for his sake. It may be for my sake too, I don’t know. Is it too much to hope that I may find peace?’ He was shaking in their arms.

They didn’t leave him. In tears they fell asleep, huddled together, and awoke to fresh tears in the morning, as realisation dawned. It was not some cruel nightmare, and Frodo’s will was set.

Frodo was prostrate for three days, and either Merry or Pippin were constantly with him. He tried to eat but seemed to have trouble swallowing. Merry, anxious and unwashed, sent a message to the Hall, remembering the joke about soup that Frodo had made on Sam’s birthday. A servant brought a broth back, and Merry ladled some into a mug. He and Pippin helped Frodo to sit up in the bed, and Merry sat next to him, supporting him with his arm around him. Frodo sipped at the soup, both hands wrapped around the warmth of the mug. Despite the fire in the room, he seemed permanently cold.

‘I’m sorry, my dears,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to be causing you all this trouble.’

Merry fought back his tears which seemed to have been flowing on and off forever. ‘Please don’t apologise, Frodo,’ he said, tightening his hold and hugging the thin body in his arms closer.

Pippin leaned in and kissed Frodo on the forehead. ‘You are a foolish old hobbit,’ he said, ‘to think that you’re any trouble.’

Frodo actually laughed at that. ‘Why, thank you, Pippin,’ he said.

‘Any time,’ said Pippin. ‘Would you like some more soup?’

Frodo looked into his mug, evidently surprised that he had drunk it all, and held it out. ‘Yes, yes I would. Thank you, Pip.’ He leaned against Merry, and by the time Pippin returned he had fallen asleep.

‘Is he going to tell Sam, do you think?’ asked Pippin, setting the redundant mug of soup down on the bedside table.

‘I don’t think he can,’ said Merry; he’d been thinking about this himself. ‘He told me he was too much of a coward, but the idea of Frodo’s being a coward is laughable. I think he’s only managing because Sam doesn’t know. I think he’ll go to pieces at Bag End if Sam knows he’s going.’

‘And Sam will go to pieces far worse than us,’ agreed Pippin. ‘It’s a mess, isn’t it? Poor Frodo, poor Sam. Haven’t they suffered enough? When they woke up in Ithilien, I thought we’d all go back to how things were. I can’t believe I was so naive.’

‘I think we all were, Pip,’ said Merry. He wriggled his body, trying to get comfortable without letting go of Frodo. ‘Can you get me another pillow? The headboard is digging into my back, and I don’t want to disturb him.’



Frodo was a little brighter every day after that, and gradually spent more time up. He had been with them a week of his planned two-week stay when a letter came from Rosie. He read it sitting in the kitchen as Merry cooked breakfast, and handed the letter over when he had finished.

Merry read the round, careful writing.

My dear Mr. Frodo, I hope you are well. Please do not worry but I would be grateful if you came home sooner than planned. It was kind of you to go but Sam is not right for worrying about you. There is nothing wrong between us, please do not think that but he is not quite himself without you. Yours with affection, Rosie Gamgee.

He looked up to find he was alone. He hurried to Frodo’s room and found him packing. The best help he could give seemed to be practical, but a little reassurance wouldn’t go amiss, either.

‘I’ll finish getting breakfast, and then Pip and I will saddle the ponies,’ he said. He stilled Frodo’s hurried movements with a hand on his arm. ‘He’s all right, Frodo; it just sounds as though he’s missing you. I don’t think he’s seriously ill.’ Even as he said it, he realised that Frodo probably didn’t believe he was, but having been given an excuse to end his self-imposed exile, he wasn’t going to wait a moment longer than necessary.

Merry mainly felt relief. There was no doubt in his mind that what Frodo needed most was to be back with Sam, but his own suggestion to this end had met with stubborn refusal. It boded well that it was Rosie Gamgee who had asked Frodo to come back, but if Sam was ‘not himself’ after Frodo had been away for a week, what would happen when Frodo went away forever? Merry tried not to think about this, neither the going nor the aftermath, and immersed himself in preparations for a return to Bag End.

It was late the following day when they rode into Hobbiton, and Merry was glad to get to their journey’s end. Frodo was still in a weakened state from his illness after the wedding, and the journey had been too much for him. Merry dismounted and helped him down. He handed the reins to Pippin and supported Frodo with his arm as they walked slowly up to the smial. Much of Bag End was in darkness, but welcome light showed in the kitchen and sitting room windows.

They found Rosie in the kitchen, rich smells of a stew filling the air. She was sitting in the old armchair, darning basket at her feet, and her hands were busy with mending.

‘Mr. Frodo,’ she exclaimed, jumping up as they entered. ‘Oh, Mr. Frodo, welcome home.’ She ran to take his cloak and coat, adding a kiss to her welcome. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but you don’t look well. I’m so sorry if I’ve made you anxious. Sit yourself down.’ She scooped her sewing out of the way and dumped it on the table.

‘Thank you, Rose,’ said Frodo, his voice a hoarse whisper. ‘Where is Sam? Is he all right?’ He found he was glad of Merry’s steadying arm as he sat down, and he caught his hand and held it as he asked his question.

‘I don’t rightly know where he is, sir. Leastways he’s either at his Gaffer’s or helping Widow Rumble wi’ a bit o’ digging. I’m expecting him back right soon, so you just sit there, and I’ll make you some tea.’

‘But is he all right?’

‘Yes, sir. He’s just been nigh sick with worry ‘bout you. He’s not his usual self, and I was guessing you was probably no better. I was right about that, it seems.’

‘I’m sorry, Rose.’

‘Whatever for, sir?’ she asked, squatting down next to him, and laying a hand on his knee.

‘If I’ve caused problems between you.’

‘Bless you, Mr. Frodo. I didn’t think it was possible to love him more’n I did, but I keeps finding I were wrong about that. He is the sweetest body a lass could love, but loving him, I don’t like to see him so lost without you.’ She glanced up at Merry and blushed.

Merry squeezed Frodo’s hand and let it go. ‘I’ll go and help Pippin with the ponies, Frodo dear,’ he said, ‘and then we’ll be back. I’ll call in at the Gaffer’s on my way, to see if Sam’s there.’ He turned at the door. ‘Can you feed us all, Rosie? If not, Pippin and I can go to the Green Dragon.’

‘It’ll be no trouble to feed you all, Captain Meriadoc.’

Merry paused. ‘You’re married to one of my best friends, Rosie,’ he said. ‘I think Merry will do.’



After he’d gone, Rosie felt Frodo’s forehead and hands and then fetched a warm blanket and tucked it around him. She made a pot of tea and came to sit on the arm of the chair while it brewed.

‘You do look poorly, sir,’ she said gently. ‘I wish we’d never let you go.’

Frodo didn’t feel he had the energy to protest about the ‘sir’ or even make any sensible reply. He was glad Merry had spoken out; it showed he was prepared to be friendly to Rose. More than that, Merry had obviously forgiven Sam.

He took the tea when it was proffered, but had not taken more than a few sips when his eyes started to close. He felt the cup taken from his hand, and dimly, as though a long way away, heard a clatter and the door slamming shut. Strong arms were around him, and he was lifted from the chair. He couldn’t make sense of the flood of words, but he knew it was Sam.

‘Sam,’ he whispered, and remembered nothing more.



When he awoke, sunshine was streaming through the window, and he felt hungry. It was an unfamiliar sensation. There was a sweet scent on the air, carried by the light breeze that was gently billowing the curtains into the room. He turned his head to see a large vase of flowers standing on his bedside table, alongside an almost empty jug of water. A quiet snore made him look away from the window, and he smiled. There was Sam, fully dressed and fast asleep in a chair by his bedside. It was not as good as Sam curled against him, his warmth seeping into him, but just having Sam close was comforting. He realised he must have slept the night away, and part of the day.

He stretched slowly, feeling his stiff limbs protest, and started to pull himself up just as the door opened. Rosie came in backwards carrying a tray, holding the door open with her body. As she turned, she met Frodo’s eyes and gasped.

‘Mr. Frodo! You’re awake! How are you? Let me put this tray down and help you.’ She set the tray on a small side table that Frodo did not remember being in his bedroom, and hurried to plump pillows up. She slipped her arm under Frodo’s to ease him into a sitting position.

Frodo was still trying to gather his thoughts, not sure how he was, apart from hungry and rather weak, but Rosie didn’t wait for his answer. She was stroking Sam’s face.

‘Sam. Wake up,’ she said quietly.

‘Huh? What? muttered Sam, jerking into wakefulness. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, my dear, I must have fallen asleep.’

‘Look, Sam,’ answered Rosie, kissing him, ‘there’s someone else to greet you.’

Any lingering drowsiness was gone from Sam’s face in an instant, and he was out of the chair and onto the bed before Frodo could even shape a greeting. Frodo held out his arms to encircle Sam as Sam almost fell on his shoulder weeping.

‘Sam? Sam, are you all right?’ his voice was still a little hoarse in his ears. ‘I came as soon as I got Rose’s letter. Dear Sam, tell me you’re all right.’

‘I’m all right? Tell you if I’m all right? Oh, Frodo, my love, you’ve given me such a fright. Tell me that you’re all right.’

‘Of course I am. I was just a little tired after the journey.’

‘How do you feel now?’

‘Hungry.’

‘Hungry? Oh, glory and trumpets!’ Sam hugged Frodo so hard that Frodo felt he was in danger of swooning.

‘There’s some broth on the tray,’ said Rosie. ‘You can have that to be going on with, and I’ll get some proper lunch together for you.’ Rosie stroked her hand over Sam’s hair and smiled at Frodo. She looked a little tired and careworn. Sam did, as well, come to that. Frodo watched as she left the room and then touched Sam’s cheek.

‘Is everything all right? Between you and Rose?’ he asked anxiously.

Sam nodded. ‘Please stop worriting about me, Frodo. I’m fine if you’re fine. Sit up a little more, and I’ll bring you the soup.’

‘Surely it’s yours?’

‘No, this is for you. Would you like it on the tray?’ Frodo accepted the tray, but when he tried to eat the soup, he found his hand shook, and he spilled the first spoonful. Sam reached for a towel to mop up the night-shirt, and then took the spoon.

‘Let me, Frodo,’ he said.

Frodo was grateful for the help. He couldn’t remember when he had felt this hungry. His shoulder ached with the dull throb that was the best he had come to expect, but overall he felt calm and relaxed. He had recovered from his despair, and was glad that the breakdown had not come in front of Sam. Sam didn’t rush Frodo, and by the time they were nearing the end of the soup, Rosie returned.

‘I’ve set some lunch out in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘Do you feel as you’re able to get up? It’d do you good to move around a bit, I’m thinking, but if you’re feeling too weak, you can stop here, and I’ll gladly make you up another tray.’

‘I’d like to get up,’ answered Frodo, handing her the tray. ‘I really do feel fine.’ He pushed the covers away to make it easier to swing his legs out of the bed, but Sam laid a hand on his arm.

‘Just wait a bit, Frodo. Your legs may be as shaky as your hand,’ he said, getting off the bed and moving to Frodo’s side. ‘Now, try how it is.’ He slipped his arm around Frodo and supported him as Frodo set his feet to the ground and levered himself up.

Sam’s foresight was immediately vindicated as dizziness took Frodo. He would have fallen had it not been for Sam. He leaned against the broad chest, his legs spared his full weight by the encircling arm. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he fought the sensation that he was going to faint. Sam lowered him into a sitting position on the bed and sat next to him, arm still firmly around him. Frodo rested his head on Sam’s shoulder, and gradually the light-headed feeling eased and his breathing became more normal.

‘Just you sit still a moment,’ said Sam, ‘and then we’ll try that again more slowly. Or you can lay back down, if you’d rather.’

‘No, I’ll try again. I think you’re right. I just got up too quickly.’

‘I’ll be in the kitchen,’ said Rosie. ‘Shout if I’m needed, Sam.’

Frodo sank more deeply into Sam’s encircling arm and laid a hand on Sam’s chest, always a soothing position. He was aware of Sam’s strength and his deep steady breaths.

‘Oh, Sam. I’m glad to be back.’

‘Is there any point in me telling you it was foolishness to go away in the first place?’ asked Sam, his gruff voice reminding Frodo of the Gaffer. He smiled at the thought as he answered the question by kissing Sam’s neck. Fleetingly he regretted he’d never see Sam turning more Gaffer-like with the passing years, but he pushed the regret aside. In any case, Sam would never become a mirror image of his father. He had been educated by Bilbo and tempered by endurance and suffering.

He suddenly realised he had seen Sam in the future, looking prosperous and important, proud of his family as he introduced them, and as sweet and sunny as the first day Frodo had met him. He inhaled deeply and let out his breath with a long sigh. If Sam could have this, he was content.

‘I love you, Sam.’

Sam fell back onto the bed, taking Frodo with him, and laughed, but for heart’s ease, it seemed, not for mirth.

‘Oh, Frodo. Have you any idea how I’ve longed for you to wake up and tell me that? I’ve been so anxious about you.’ He pulled Frodo against him in a crushing hug. ‘Are you ready to try standing up again?’

‘Hmm? No. I find I’m not ready at all.’ He tilted his chin up, and Sam’s mouth closed obligingly over his.

When they entered the kitchen, Frodo was glad to sit down in the armchair. The high wings gave him something to lean against. Rosie made no comment on the time it had taken them to join her. She lifted a large frying pan from the hot plate and tipped mushrooms into a serving dish. The backdoor was open, and Frodo frowned slightly as he looked out on sheets and night-shirts pegged on the wash-line, dancing lazily in the breeze. Something was niggling for his attention. He listened to the quietness of the smial.

‘Where are Merry and Pippin?’ he asked. ‘Surely they haven’t left already?’

Sam paused in the act of setting plates out. ‘Merry and Pippin left five days ago, love,’ he said gently. ‘They’ve only gone as far as the Green Dragon, but they decided guests were maybe more than we could rightly manage.’

‘Five days?’ whispered Frodo. He cleared his throat. ‘Five days! How long have I...‘

‘Just short of a week,’ answered Sam, leaning on the table as though just saying it brought all the anxious watching and waiting bearing down upon him. Frodo noticed again how careworn he appeared. He looked from Sam to Rosie, not disbelieving but at the same time needing to see her nod of confirmation.

‘Oh, my dears. I’m sorry.’ Looking at their tired faces he didn’t know what else to say. Sam came and knelt in front of him and took his hands.

‘Sorry is something you don’t ever have to say to me, Frodo Baggins.’ He turned each hand he held palm up, kissed the inside of each wrist, and got up wiping his eyes. ‘Now let’s get some food into you. You’ve had naught but broths and soups, and it’s not been easy to get you to swallow much o’ those at a time, so it’s no wonder you’re hungry now.’

The mushrooms were delicious, cooked with garlic and ginger, with fresh bread to mop up the juice. Frodo ate all he was given and managed some chicken casserole as well. He couldn’t help smiling at the way Sam beamed at him. He was disconcerted by the news he had lost a week, but on balance it seemed a small price to pay for his present feeling of well-being. He just wished it could have happened without causing so much worry to those he loved. He brought further smiles to Sam’s and Rosie’s faces by eating a small amount of stewed rhubarb with some sweet pastry biscuits.

The view of the garden was bright and fresh, a haze of colour that made him want to sit out in the sun and soak up the warmth. Despite his weakness, he felt more alive than he had for a long time, and even the weakness worried him less when viewed from the perspective of a week of inactivity.

A cheerful whistling formed a counterpoint to his mood, and the Gaffer appeared in the doorway. His face broke into a broad smile as he saw Frodo sitting in the kitchen.

‘Well, well. Now if this isn’t a sight for sore eyes,’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re up at last, my lad. I’m right glad to see you, and not just for my Sam’s sake.’

‘Come in, Da,’ said Sam, beckoning his father to cross the threshold. ‘I’ve just made some tea, if you’d like a mug.’ He turned to Frodo. ‘Da’s been helping in the garden,’ he said. He went over to his father who was still hovering in the doorway and gave him a hug. ‘Do come in, Da.’

‘Please, Ham. Come in,’ said Frodo. ‘Thank you for helping Sam. It seems I’ve been giving him quite enough cares without his having to worry about the garden as well.’

The Gaffer shuffled his feet and look embarrassed. He cleared his throat, clearly at a loss as to what to say since there was nothing to grumble about. ‘Well, all right,’ he said at last. ‘If you insist. Thank you, Rosie,’ he added, as his daughter-in-law handed him a mug of tea. He sat down on the edge of a chair, looking awkward.

‘I’ve sown some o’them vegetables what you wanted,’ he said to Sam, ‘and hoed your flower border. Are you able to come take a look at them roses you was wanting to bud onto the wild root stock? Everything’s coming along so fast this year, I reckons as how they’re ready. The bark’s coming away easy from the stem, like.’

‘That’s early,’ agreed Sam. ‘I was thinking it would be at least two or three weeks before they were ready.’

‘How do you know when it’s the right time to do things?’ asked Frodo from his corner.

‘Well now, sometimes it’s the look o’ things, and sometimes it’s the feel o’ things,’ answered the Gaffer, sitting back on his chair a little more. ‘The feel of the soil and the smell of the air, that’s what I mostly go by.’ He drained his mug and set it on the table. ‘Thank ‘ee kindly for that. Are you coming, son?’

Sam nodded. ‘I won’t be long, Frodo. Are you all right there, or would you like me to help you back to bed first, or to the sitting room?’

‘I’m fine here, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘Take as long as you want.’ As Sam and the Gaffer turned to go, he added ‘Don’t feel you can only come to Bag End when you’re working in the garden, Ham. You’re always welcome to come by, at any time. This is Sam’s home.’

The Gaffer just waved a hand in acknowledgement, but his retreating back wasn’t quite as stiff as usual. Frodo could see his invitation was appreciated by the way Sam gave his father a quick hug. The last he heard as they disappeared from view was the Gaffer telling his son to stop being daft, they had work to do.

‘Would you like more tea, sir?’ asked Rosie, clearing plates from the table.

‘Only if the offer comes without the “sir”, Rose,’ answered Frodo. ‘I’m of the same mind as Merry. You can’t be married to Sam and be formal to his friends, especially not to me.’ Rosie laughed and took his mug to top it up.

‘Oh, it is good to see you looking better,’ she said, and Frodo could see the “sir” bitten back on her lips.

‘So how bad was Sam, while I was away?’

‘It were like he wasn’t whole, if you know what I mean,’ answered Rosie, pausing in the act of pouring the tea and frowning in an effort to explain. ‘Even worried as he’s been this past week, he’s still been more complete, so to speak, with you here. I think it was the imagining you might be ill and him not there for you, but it was more’n that.’ She put the cosy back on the tea pot and brought him the refilled mug. ‘He just wasn’t Sam without you. I’m truly sorry if I added to your worry, but I could see he was heading for some sort o’ collapse himself. When you’ve recovered a mite more, I’d like to talk to you about that. I’ve got something I want to ask you.’

‘What, my dear?’ said Frodo, taking the tea and looking up at her. There had been a slight tremble in her hand.

‘Here’s not the place, Mr. Frodo,’ said Rosie, turning away to collect more plates and carry them to the sink.

‘And here’s never the place for “Mr. Frodo”,’ answered Frodo. He had no idea what she was looking so anxious about. ‘Please, Rose, call me Frodo.’

‘Well, maybe I’ll wait until I’ve got together the courage and asked you... what I want to ask you,’ said Rosie, coming to stand in front of him and looking into his eyes. ‘You might not understand, and be angry with me, so I think I’ll wait and see, begging your pardon.’

Frodo raised his eyebrows and met her intent stare, but for once he was at a loss to know what she was thinking. It was obvious he was not going to find out more for the moment.

He would just have to wait with patience.