”There must be Love. Without love, you will be merely skilful.” Frederick LeBoyer, Author of Birth Without Violence.


CHAPTER 22 : CHARM and CHILDBIRTH

Frodo was not asleep, but he did not stir until there was a knock at the back door. When he raised his head, the candles told him he had been sitting there, at the kitchen table, for an hour or more. He pushed his chair back to go and answer the knock, but the latch rattled and the door opened before he could stand. It was Lily Cotton, accompanied by her husband carrying a large travelling bag.

Lily didn’t waste time on greetings.

‘Mr. Frodo, what’s happened?’ she asked, her face anxious and drawn. ‘I left as soon as were possible after getting your message.’

‘Thank you,’ said Frodo, standing. ‘Mistress Banks has been round and confined Rosie to bed. She seems to think it serious.’

Lily Cotton’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Bed? Tell me it ain’t the pregnancy sickness!‘

‘I... I don’t know, I’m afraid. Mistress Banks didn’t put a name to it. She seemed to think Rosie and the babe were both at risk, and said we should ask you to come.’ He pinched across the bridge of his nose. It didn’t bear thinking about, but he’d done nothing else for the past hour. He felt the future was a great unknown, and his foretelling so much conceit. ‘Sam’s been with her since Mistress Banks went, but I know no more.’

Lily drew her breath in sharply. ‘Looks like I’m staying, Tom,’ she said.

‘In that case, I’ll be getting back,’ said the farmer. ‘I knows there’s no one else’d look after our Rose half as well as you, me dear. If you has no objection, Mr. Frodo, I’ll call along to see her tomorrow.’

‘Tom, please, come as often as you like. No need to ask. Can I offer you anything now? Before you go?’ He took a step toward the farmer, and his left foot snagged on the chair leg. Mr. Cotton dropped the bag he was holding and with commendable reflexes caught Frodo before he fell.

‘No, no, lad. I’ll be home in no time. Looks like you could do with a little looking after yourself, if you don’t mind me saying. Now where do I put this bag?’

Frodo took them to one of the spare rooms that was always left in readiness for a cousinly visit. As they turned back to the kitchen, Sam appeared, drawn by their voices. He put a hand on Frodo’s shoulder and gripped tight. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You didn’t waste any time.’ They looked into each other’s eyes, and Frodo placed his hand over Sam’s.

‘She’ll be all right, Sam,’ he said, quietly. ‘They’ll both be all right.’ He had no idea if it was true, but he wanted it to be.

After Tom had left, Lily went to see Rosie for herself, leaving Frodo and Sam in the kitchen. As soon as she walked out of the room, Frodo put his arm around Sam, and Sam clung to him. Sam’s tears released Frodo’s tight control, and they cried together.

‘Frodo,’ said Sam, hoarsely. ‘You said you’d seen my children. What did you see?’

Frodo hesitated, but there seemed no need to express his present doubts. He could help Sam now. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

‘I see seven children at some great celebration,’ he said, smoothing his hand down Sam’s back. ‘They are dressed in the very finest clothes. The eldest boy is so like you that I can almost believe I am seeing you, a teenager again, but the younger sister next to him is Rosie’s daughter, or I’m no judge. There is no doubt in my mind that all the children are Rosie’s. There is one more I cannot see, although you introduce her with the others; I believe that she is a babe, held in her mother’s arms.’

Sam sighed. ‘Thank you,’ he said again. ‘You hearten me. I have feared losing you, and never thought I might lose Rosie as well.’

Frodo nuzzled his face into Sam’s hair. He debated whether to tell Sam that if he were wrong, and Rosie died, he would never leave the Shire. It didn’t seem the time or place. He would destroy the mood of optimism he had created for Sam, and lead Sam back to his fear of Frodo dying.

Instead, he pressed a kiss into Sam’s curls, and Sam turned his head to claim Frodo’s lips. It was a slow, gentle kiss, tainted by the saltiness of tears, and Frodo both gave and received comfort from it. It seemed unlikely that Lily Cotton would return so soon from seeing Rosie, but in this they were wrong. The kitchen door slamming, and a sharply indrawn breath, made them jump. They didn’t part from each other immediately; the harm was done, and they weren’t about to leap apart with guilty consciences. Frodo placed his hand behind Sam’s head to press him close and looked past his shoulder to the expression of outrage on Rosie’s mother’s face.

‘So this is what you do,’ she said quietly, and slowly, ‘while my Rosie’s ill from carrying your babe! I warned you, Samwise Gamgee, warned you afore you married my sweet girl. As for you, Mister Baggins, I’m ashamed of you! Ashamed of you both! I’ll be sending a message to Tom in the morning, and we’ll be taking Rosie home wi’ us.’

Frodo kissed Sam’s forehead and released him with a final reassuring rub of his back. They turned to face her, making no attempt to wipe away their tears.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Cotton,’ he said - calling her Lily at this moment did not seem wise. ‘But you do not understand.’

‘And what’s to understand, pray?’ she asked, her voice rising. ‘I knowed you’d carried on together in the past, but now I find you still are, and one of you a married man, with your wife close by. I can’t believe you have so little regard for her, it’s disgusting, and if it weren’t for the fact I can’t remove my dear girl tonight, I wouldn’t stay here a moment longer!’ Her wrath, so justifiably feared by her husband and children, was in full flood, and she obviously had a lot more to say before she would let Frodo or Sam get a word in edgewise. She never got to say it, though; she was interrupted by the kitchen door opening, and Rosie appearing.

’Rosie!’ cried Sam. ‘You must stay in bed, Mistress Banks said.’ He brushed by his irate mother-in-law to put his arm around his wife and press a kiss to her forehead. She reached up and wiped his tears away, then laid her head against his shoulder.

‘I heard shouting,’ she said. ‘I guessed what it were about.’

‘I’m sorry, Rosie,’ said Frodo.

‘Whatever for, you... you foolish old hobbit.’ They smiled at each other.

‘Well, sorry, that you’ve been dragged from your bed. Please go back.’

‘I will, if Ma promises to stop shouting at you for comforting Sam.’ She looked at her mother, who was staring at her opened-mouthed.

‘You know what... do you know what they were doing?’ Lily asked.

‘Frodo,’ said Rosie, still nestled into Sam’s solid embrace. She held out her hand. He took it, and she pulled him close to wipe away the wetness clinging to his face as well. ‘Stop worriting about me. I’ll be fine. You know I’ll be fine.’ She tilted her chin up and he kissed her. Sam’s and Rosie’s faith in his vision was beginning to restore his confidence in it as well.

‘Will you go back to bed?’ he asked gently.

‘Not with Ma angry with you.’ She looked at her mother. ‘I can guess what they was doing,’ she said, answering the earlier question. ‘I thinks it very sweet when they kiss, though it’s not something as they often does in front of me. My Sam loves me, and without Frodo’s blessing, I wouldn’t have the bestest husband in the Shire. That’s all you has to know, Ma.’

Sam kissed her. ‘Now will you go back to bed?’ he said. ‘Please?’

After Sam and Rosie had gone, Frodo and Lily Cotton were left in uneasy company.

‘Smells as though there’s some supper cooking,’ she said, rather shortly.

‘I put some potatoes to bake, and there’s a chicken ready roasted,’ said Frodo, glad that the conversation had reverted to mundane matters. One irate female in a day was one too many, and he had suffered two. ‘There’s plenty of carrots and parsnips; I can fetch some in from Sam’s store.’

The peace lasted through until supper was ready. Lily Cotton, it seemed, was unaware of any disability, and not prepared to treat him with much respect. She thrust a pile of warm plates towards him, with a request that he place them on the table. Frodo instinctively took the plates in his right hand, but before he could protest, she had let go and turned away. Without the help of a second hand to support the weight, the plates crashed to the floor and shattered. Frodo sighed. They were originally Bilbo’s plates, and he was very fond of them.

Startled, Lily Cotton turned back to the mess and stared at Frodo. He made no comment - he had other problems to concern him - and after a moment’s hesitation she apologised. He barely heard her. Wanting to step away from the broken shards of pottery, as the plates shattered around him, he had found his will and his muscles were once again at odds. As if to compound his embarrassment at dropping the plates, his legs refused to move. It was not as worrying as last time, and he was hopeful that it would pass shortly, but in the meantime, Lily Cotton had started trying to sweep up the mess, and he was very much in the way. She stared at him again - glared was nearer the truth. To her, it must seem as if he was being deliberately awkward and obstructive.

The smash must have been heard through the smial, because Sam came hurrying back at that moment, a worried frown on his face. Frodo was relieved. Although there was no way round the further humiliation of being carried by Sam, at least he didn’t have to explain. Sam didn’t hesitate but came directly to Frodo’s side, heedless of both Lily Cotton, kneeling with dustpan and brush, and of the remaining shards under his feet.

Frodo raised his right hand in a gesture of supplication, and Sam simply nodded. He lowered his shoulder for Frodo to wrap his arm around his neck, and then lifted him in his arms. Lily Cotton looked on, amazed.

‘Where shall I take you, nîn meleth? asked Sam, and the gentleness of his voice soothed Frodo’s bruised self-esteem. He gratefully laid his head on Sam’s broad shoulder.

‘If I sit with Rosie, you can come and help here,’ he suggested.

‘That’s a good idea,’ agreed Sam. ‘Rosie’s worriting herself about you.’ He turned and carried Frodo out with not so much as a glance at his mother-in-law.

In the bedroom, Rosie tried to sit up when she saw that Frodo was being carried, but Sam admonished her. ‘You stay still, Rosie,’ he said. ‘I don’t fancy telling Mistress Banks as how you’ve been up, and worriting as well. If you’ll be good, Frodo can stay and keep you company. I’m sorry to worrit you more, but if your Ma can’t accept things as they are, then she’d best go. You have the final say, my dear. If it’ll cause you distress, I’ll not ask her to leave; but you said yourself, if there’s any upset, Frodo is worse.’

‘Sam! There’s no need...’ Frodo started to protest, but he was interrupted by Rosie.

‘If Ma’s causing difficulties in this smial, she’ll have to go,’ she said. ‘I can’t lie here if I’m worriting about how she might be causing problems. I’m sorry, Frodo. Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, Rosie.’

‘That’s what you said last time. You was lying to me then.’

‘Really, Rosie, I’m fine. I feel very stupid, but all I need to do is sit quietly here, and I’ll recover.’ He hoped this was true. ‘It must be boring, lying there. Would you like me to read to you?’

It seemed Rosie would like that very much. Sam fetched some books to choose from, and then went to speak to Mother Cotton. It made Frodo feel rather cowardly, but he was glad to be out of the way. There was likely to be a certain amount of ‘Frodo’s very sick,’ on Sam’s part, and Frodo had no wish to be party to that indignity. When Sam returned, he was carrying supper for both of them and the news that Rosie’s Ma was staying. He seemed very satisfied, but neither Frodo nor Rosie pressed him for any details.

Frodo found that he was once again “Mr. Baggins” and so had no choice but to revert to calling Rosie’s mother “Mrs. Cotton.” He wondered what her reaction would be if she knew that Rosie was likely carrying his child, and decided it didn’t bear thinking about. The air of formality created an uncomfortable feeling, but Frodo mostly escaped it by shutting himself in his study, or keeping Rosie company while Sam worked in the garden.

Rosie loved hearing poems in Elvish, and many had elegant translations in Bilbo’s thin, wandering hand. Reading to Rosie became a time that he treasured, and he wondered if the babe could hear his voice. Rosie didn’t know, but she thought it likely.

‘He does jump so, when there’s a loud noise,’ she said.

The days of Rethe passed, and Frodo had a new concern as they neared the thirteenth of the month. He could expect to be ill again, but he desperately wanted to keep knowledge of this from both Sam and Rosie. He wanted to avoid burdening either of them with more worry. There was only one possible solution, and that was to confide his fears to Mrs. Cotton. She had witnessed his illness the previous year, and would be as ready as he was to keep knowledge of any repetition from Rosie.

While still at South Farm he had questioned Rosie closely about the events of that day. It seemed to him that the family’s misguided efforts had magnified the horror, as far as he could piece it together. Farmer Cotton had disturbed him and shaken him as he spoke with Gandalf, and the resulting panic had sent him into some kind of fit. Having a fiery distillation forced down his throat had fed the memory of his ordeal, as had the sudden approach of dimly seen figures. He had relived his captivity in the tower, and he had lost all help that Gandalf might have given him in the overpowering terror of it all.

If he could persuade Mrs. Cotton to avoid these pitfalls maybe he could come through the day with Gandalf’s help. He would shut himself away, but Mrs. Cotton would have to be prepared to stop Sam disturbing him. Sam would know immediately that something was wrong, might know even without seeing him. Frodo trusted in Sam’s understandable preoccupation over Rosie, although even that would be insufficient if Frodo became very distressed. Sam would know.

He approached Mrs. Cotton early in the afternoon of the twelfth, when Sam was with Rosie. Seating himself at the kitchen table, he watched her as she tidied after lunch.

‘May I speak with you?’ he asked, as she hung the tea towel to dry. It was a hard conversation to start with someone whose sympathy he had forfeited.

Mrs. Cotton didn’t answer directly; she filled the kettle from the pitcher and placed it on the hot plate before coming to sit opposite him at the table. It was a fine spring day, and the back door was open. The light breeze brought a freshness after the damp chill of winter, and the garden was already full of daffodils and narcissi. In sheltered areas, the first primroses and violets were appearing. A woodpecker had chosen a tree in the garden to sound out notice with its beak to others of its kind. A loud and frequently repeated drrrrrrrrrr punctuated their conversation.

‘I have a problem,’ said Frodo, reluctant even now to share what he knew he had to.

‘From what Samwise and Rosie tells me, you have many problems, Mr. Baggins,’ she replied. Her voice was neutral, not pitched to encourage confidence. He sighed.

‘Yes, I have many problems,’ he agreed, ‘but the most pressing is that I expect to be... unwell, tomorrow.’

‘Seems to me, someone who eats as little as what you do is asking to be unwell.’

‘Do you know what it is like to lose the taste of food?’ he asked.

‘Well, it ain’t never happened to me, but my Tom lost his taste once for a couple of days, when he had a cold.’

‘And what happened?’ Partly he was glad to be diverted from talking about his fears for the next day, but he also realised it might gain him some more understanding, and therefore sympathy. Without some sympathy from Mrs. Cotton, he doubted he could hide his illness from Sam.

‘He couldn’t eat nothing, said everything seemed like he were eating sawdust.’ She grimaced at the memory. ‘So that’s why you don’t eat?’

He nodded. Sawdust was a good description.

‘How long have that being going on?’

‘Since October.’

‘October! No wonder you’re so thin. Sam thinks you’re dying, you know.’

‘I am dying, but not yet, I hope.’ He watched as she chewed her lip and considered his regard with some discomfort.

‘I am sorry we caused you distress the other day,’ he said. ‘Rosie married Sam understanding how things stood between us. Both she and I hope that Sam’s love for her and the child will protect him from going down into the dark, when I am gone.’ He put his head in his hand, and felt tears come. ‘Rosie is very dear to me,’ he said hoarsely, ‘and I am deeply grieved at the thought of her and her baby coming to harm.’

‘Rosie seems to think a lot of you, an’ all,’ said Mrs. Cotton. ‘I don’t pretend to understand; it all seems far too peculiar for the likes of me. Rosie is my only daughter. You can understand why I do worrit myself about her happiness.’

‘Yes. Yes, I do. But I would like you to also understand that Sam and I have a deep bond. We have been through a lot together. It will be hard to hide my illness tomorrow, and yet I do want to hide it. Rosie must not be worried, and Sam has enough to cope with.’

‘You seem very sure you’ll be poorly tomorrow.’

‘It is a year ago tomorrow that I was taken ill at South Farm,’ said Frodo.

Mrs. Cotton had been toying with a napkin-ring on the table; now her head jerked up. ‘You think that will happen again? We thought you was dead. I can’t nurse you through something like that again, not without some help. There was me and Rosie, last time, and we still needed help as Tom and Jolly could give.’

‘I’m not asking you to nurse me. I wish you to make sure I am not disturbed, that Sam stays away.’

‘But... but... you can’t be left if you’re like you was last year!’ exclaimed Mrs. Cotton, and for the first time, he saw her expression soften into concern.

‘I am very grateful for the care you gave me last year,’ he said carefully, ‘but I believe your family unwittingly made things worse for me. It is the anniversary of a day of fear and despair, which I would much rather forget. I cannot forget it, and several things that happened last year coincided with my memories, until I lost all sense of reality. I was there in the past, and it had never stopped happening. My rescue by Sam, and everything that happened subsequently, were the dream.’

‘Worse! We took every care of you, Mr. Baggins! How did we make it worse?’

‘Shaking me when I seemed in a dream, giving me the apple brandy, your sons rushing toward me. I am unwilling to explain more fully; it would mean explaining what I suffered in captivity. I am aware, now, that everything was to help me, but at the time... it seemed otherwise. You must understand, I believed myself surrounded by my enemies. I ask you to excuse my fevered imagination; I had no control over it.’

She looked at him thoughtfully, and then got up to attend to the boiling kettle and make tea. ‘So what makes you think you can manage alone? If it happens again?’ she asked, turning back to him. ‘It don’t seem possible to me.’

‘I think I can keep control, if I’m not disturbed. I do not for a moment think it will be easy, but I think it can be done.’ He did not say, “with some help”. Mention Gandalf and the Lord Elrond, and she would think him crazed.

‘But I don’t see how I can stop Sam disturbing you. He’s taken you breakfast each morning as I’ve been here,’ protested Mrs. Cotton.

‘Tell him you have seen me; tell him I have eaten something and gone back to bed. Say I asked not to be disturbed.’

She came back to the table and stood looking down at him, frowning. ‘And what if you’re really took bad? What if you dies? What am I to say to Sam then, tell me?’

‘I think Sam will know if I am that bad, but you may look in on me if you wish, if it isn’t too much to ask. As long as you do so quietly.’

‘Mr. Baggins...’ she hesitated, and then began again. ‘Mr. Frodo...’

‘I like Frodo better. If you can forgive me.’

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Frodo, then.’

‘Thank you. May I call you Lily?’

She nodded. ‘What about water?’ she asked. ‘You must drink. If I’m careful, can I give you some water, now and then? It were difficult to get you to swallow last time, but Rosie and me both managed to get a little into you, without no bad reaction.’

‘I’ll leave that to your judgement. You nursed me with great care before, and I thank you.’

‘Maybe you’re wrong, maybe you’ll be fine.’

‘Maybe.’

‘You don’t think that, do you?’

‘No, Lily. I don’t think that.’ He felt drained from the effort. ‘If you will excuse me, I need to lie down now.’


The next day was as bad as he had feared, but not nearly as bad as the previous year. He had denied himself his best comfort, and it was tempting to cry out to Sam. With an effort, he resisted this desperate need for his love. Sometimes he rambled to Gandalf, and at all times the wizard soothed and comforted him. There was a darkness around him all day, but he was aware of a quiet voice occasionally telling him that it was only Lily, come to give him a drink. In the evening, he slipped into the relief of sleep, or maybe Gandalf was responsible for that.

He awoke the next morning to find the curtains already opened to a bright day. The breeze through the open window picked up the scent from a bowl of hyacinths on the sill. The woodpecker was still making his insistent noise, and sparrows were chirping unmusically somewhere close. He could hear the <i>see-sis-e-see-saw </i>of a blue tit, and the <i>see-saw-see-saw-see-saw </i>of a great tit. For the first time in weeks, months, the colours from his window looked bright and vibrant.

He turned his head, and there was Sam, sitting quietly in the armchair.

‘Good morning,’ said Frodo, and meant it. His smile widened as he realised he really did mean it. ‘How is Rosie?’

‘Mistress Banks came yesterday, and seemed pleased,’ said Sam, and he smiled back. ‘She won’t let Rosie up, but she says the baby has dropped, meaning lower in the womb, or somesuch. Means that the birth may not be far off, she says. A week maybe. What about you? How are you? I kept missing you yesterday. Mother Cotton said you were fine. She told me you’d eaten a bite and wanted to go back to bed and sleep undisturbed, so I let you be. But I got worried in the evening, not having seen you all day. You were just sleeping, though.’

‘Yes, I asked Lily to tell you that,’ said Frodo. ‘I feel fine this morning. Better than I have for a long time.’

‘Mother Cotton is cooking some breakfast. Would you like yours in bed?’

‘No, I’ll get up. I’d like a bath after, if it’s not too much trouble.’

Sam came and squatted by the bed, and stroked his hand over Frodo’s forehead. ‘Trouble?’ he asked. ‘As if anything’s too much trouble. Would you like me to help you on with your dressing gown, before I go and light the fire in the bathroom? The water’s all ready to heat.’

‘No, I can manage that, but please ask Lily if she minds me coming to the breakfast table without dressing.’ He had never seen any member of the Cotton family wander round in nightshirt and dressing-gown, but that may have been because they were always straight out to work. It was a world away from his casual life at Bag End.

‘Seems you’ve gone from the dissipate master, to the darling of her eye, in the past two days,’ said Sam. ‘I don’t think it will be a problem. How did you do it?’

Frodo paused in the act of pulling his dressing gown up over his left arm. All he’d done was talk to her for ten minutes. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, truthfully. Still holding the edge of the woollen material, he twisted his arm over his head so the right armhole slipped easily over his hand, and shrugged the warm garment on. He was finding there was more and more he could do one-handed; it just took a little ingenuity. ‘Is Rosie awake?’ he asked.

‘Yes, she is. If you’re going to see her, tell her I’ll bring her some breakfast soon.’ Sam straightened Frodo’s collar, which was partly turned under, and they said good morning again in the best way they knew how.


They settled into a routine, every day wondering if this would be the birth day. Lily Cotton spent some time with her daughter, but was mostly busy around the smial. Frodo passed his mornings in writing and his afternoons sitting reading to Rosie. Sam was busy in the garden, but sat with his wife for some of each morning and spent his evenings and nights with her. This left Frodo with Lily Cotton’s company. He was glad they were on a friendly footing once more, and said so as they drank tea in the sitting room after supper one night.

‘You have no idea, do you?’ said Lily.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Frodo, at a loss.

‘You have no idea how charming you are, do you?’ she said.

‘Charming?’ He stared at her. No one had ever called him that before, although Sam had called him a good many other fine things.

Lily Cotton laughed and picked up the latest baby-gown she was making. Frodo couldn’t see how one baby was going to need so many clothes, but kept quiet. What did he know about babies?

‘Aye. I think if you was aware of it, or did it deliberate, as it were, it’d just be like that dreadful Sandyman, always trying to worm himself into favour wi’ the girls. But you really ain’t aware of it, are you? So polite and considerate - and handsome once, afore you looked so wasted. When you was staying at South Farm, I wondered how come you was never married, until I found out more about you, anyways. I’d’ve thought the lasses would have fallen over each other to marry you.’

Frodo felt himself blushing. ‘I suppose I was never interested in marrying them,’ he admitted reluctantly. It was either that, or say nothing. ‘And I don’t think they were ever queuing up.’

‘More fool them, then,’ said Lily. ‘Anyway, I ain’t going to stay cross wi’ you. Living here, I can see Rosie ain’t harmed by your attachment to Sam, and I’m sorry I were so hasty. Any fool can see Sam loves her, and you treats her with a lot of respect and downright kindness. Talking to my Rosie, seems like you can’t do no wrong in her eyes. Now, she thinks you canoodling with her husband, in front of her eyes, is sweet, but I don’t hold wi’ that. So if we’re to stay friends, I’ll ask you to keep any o’ that sort o’ thing out of my sight. Agreed?’

‘Agreed. Thank you for understanding.’ He decided a change of subject was in order, and there was one topic that was never far from his mind. ‘Do you think the baby will be born soon?’ he asked.

‘Oh, well. Babies. They comes when they’re ready and not afore, in my experience.‘

‘Rosie will be all right, won’t she?’ If she came to harm through carrying his child, he would never forgive himself. It wasn’t something he could ask Mistress Banks. She was unforthcoming at the best of times, and she was more abrupt with him than with Sam, if that were possible. Sam was at least the husband, and presumed father, while he was just the upstart Master who had never bothered to marry and father children, and was therefore a waste of a midwife’s time.

‘Well, there’s never any promises as can be made in birthing.’ said Lily, ‘but Cottons are good child-bearers. Rosie’s got good wide hips, and she ain’t a lass to get in a panic, which helps a lot. I’ve attended births with Esme Banks afore now, and she knows what she’s doing. It’s the calming down and talking through as does it. The babe’ll be born; it’s whether the mother hinders or helps, and Esme’s a rare one for getting the mother to work with the babe, like.’ She put down her sewing, and her eyes took on a far away look. He suspected she was walking in the past. Suddenly she gave a little jerk and was back with him. She smiled apologetically.

‘There’s no two alike,’ she said. ‘Some babes are in a rush to get out, and that can be the hardest for the mother, no time to get used to what’s happening, as it were. But the very slow ones, they can be a problem, too; the mother gets tired, you see. It’s hard work, birthing is, but soon forgot, when the babe’s in her arms.’

‘You reassure me,’ said Frodo.

‘Bless you, anyone would think you was the father, you’re that jumpy about the birthing,’ laughed Lily. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to my room. We’re early to bed and early to rise at the farm, and I can’t go changing the habit of a lifetime, pleasant as it is to sit here chatting to you.’

Frodo wished her good night and lit his pipe. He sat on, deep in thought, and his thoughts were of Rosie, cradling their child in her arms.

Several days later, and his thoughts were on other things. It was the twenty-fourth day of Rethe, and he was not sure what the next day would bring. He sat, reading to Rosie, as usual in the afternoon, but he couldn’t concentrate on the task in hand.

If he followed the pattern of the previous year, he could expect his melancholy to muffle the world around him, amplifying his feelings of loss and failure. Then, Sam had kept him grounded in the Shire and stopped him from losing himself in the darkness of his mind, while finding the mallorn tree in the Party Field had brought some joy into his day.

This year, he could not expect Sam’s undivided attention; indeed, he was not sure that Sam was even keeping track of the days. Frodo took hope from the thought that he might expect to gradually regain some health in the weeks following. It was a small chink of light along a storm-hung horizon.

He realised he had come to a halt in his preoccupation, and yet Rosie had made no gentle remonstrance. He looked at her to see if she were asleep. Her eyes were closed, but her face was pulled into a frown, and she was rubbing her belly.

‘Rosie?’

‘It were just a dragging feeling, like a monthly pain,’ said Rosie, opening her eyes. ‘It’s gone now.’

‘Shall I ask Lily to come?’ asked Frodo, uncertainly. He had no idea if this was something to worry about.

‘No, it’s gone now. Will you carry on reading? It’s soothing, listening to your voice.’

Frodo picked up the book from his lap and did as she bid, but a few minutes later he looked up quickly as Rosie blew out her breath in a long sigh which lifted her hair from her forehead.

‘Oh!’ she said.

‘Are you all right?’ He could hear his voice betray his anxiety.

‘I think... I think this might be the start.’

‘Oh, Rosie! I’ll fetch Lily.’ The book slipped from his lap as he stood, and he paid it no heed. He leant over the bed to give Rosie a kiss and turned to go.

‘There’s no need to go in such a hurry, Frodo,’ she said. ‘This may be a false alarm, and if it ain’t, there’s still no rush.’

Frodo slowed down. If he went rushing out, his left foot was more likely to trip him, and where was the sense in that? He found Lily in the kitchen, baking. She took off her apron and smiled at his news.

‘Bout time that girl o’ mine was getting on,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and see what’s to do.’

It was a warm day for the time of year, a little overcast, but dry and windless. Frodo knew, without thinking, where to find Sam. Sure enough, he was in the kitchen garden, sowing seed in soil raked to a fine tilth. A length of string was stretched between two wooden pegs, and he was trickling the seed into a long furrow drawn along the line. He reached the end of the line and straightened up with a smile for Frodo.

‘The birthing may have started,’ Frodo said, without preamble. ‘Lily’s gone to see.’

Sam stretched his back and tilted his head up. The sun had found a break in the cloud, and he closed his eyes in the warmth bathing his face. With a long sigh he opened his eyes and turned to look at Frodo. ‘Seemed like it was never going to happen,’ he said quietly. ‘Shall I go for Mistress Banks?’

‘Not yet; come and see what Lily thinks,’ said Frodo.

On balance, Lily thought the midwife should be called. ‘It’s early in the birthing yet,’ she said, ‘but Rosie’s had the pregnancy sickness, so I think Esme’s going to want to look at my girl for herself. By rights, Rosie ought to be up and walking around, but I don’t know if that’s wise. Off you go, Sam.’

‘Can I do anything to help?’ asked Frodo.

‘Well now, some tea brewed would be good. Rosie’ll likely want a drink and something light to eat, and Esme always appreciates a cup of tea. There’s some biscuits cooking in the oven what need one more turn of the timer afore they’re done, and a cake cooling on a rack in the pantry. Needs a butter-cream filling. I’ll sees if I got time later; otherwise, I suppose jam’ll do, if you and Sam can’t wait. You’ll find a hot-pot in the pantry - just needs a little butter dotting over the potato, and putting in the oven.’ She bustled out, leaving Frodo feeling rather breathless.

He lifted the kettle, found it was heavy with water, and put it to heat. The last sand trickled through the timer, and he turned it to set it running again. He tapped his fingers on the work surface, thinking, and then fetched a deep bowl, sugar, butter, vanilla essence and a wooden spoon. There was no one to see if he made a mess of things, and he would rather be doing something. After further thought, he donned Rosie’s apron. Tying it was another matter, but even untied it offered some protection if the fine icing sugar flew everywhere.

He cut some butter, put it in the bowl and left it on the warming plate for a while to make the beating easier. When it had softened enough, he tried creaming it with the back of the wooden spoon, but without a second hand to steady the bowl, it slid away from him. After a little more deliberation he wet a cloth and stood the bowl on it. That stopped it sliding, and the soft butter was easy to cream. He added the sugar and a dribble of vanilla essence, and worked them all together. It was soothing work, reminding him of days spent baking with Bilbo.

By the time he’d finished, the kettle was boiling, and the sand had nearly run through the timer again. He made tea and took the biscuits from the oven, transferring them from baking tray to cooling rack. Lily might say butter-cream or jam in the cake, but Frodo knew how he and Bilbo had always done things, and that was with both. He hunted through the pantry; Rosie had made a wide range of jams, and he was spoilt for choice. Strawberry was Sam’s favourite, though, so he reached for that. He spread jam over one half of the sponge cake, butter-cream over the other and, with difficulty one-handed, sandwiched them together. A little icing sugar dusted over the top, through a sieve, and he had finished.

He cleared the dirty utensils into the sink to await some more hot water, and hung up Rosie’s apron. It hadn’t really distracted him that much from thinking about the birth, but it had tested his ingenuity, and it was satisfying to overcome the problems his disability caused.

He was just wondering whether he could concentrate enough to do any useful writing, when Sam returned with Mistress Banks. She sniffed when she saw Frodo and took off her coat without acknowledging his greeting. She thrust the coat into Sam’s arms and stalked off to see Rosie.

Frodo and Sam exchanged looks. ‘It’s hard to believe how the mothers all like her,’ said Sam, hanging up the coat and rubbing his nose. He reached for a biscuit, and sat on the table edge, eating it. ‘A hug from you would be favourite at the moment,’ he said. ‘But I guess we ain’t going to make that mistake again.’

Frodo stood in front of him and smiled. ‘I promised Lily,’ he said. ‘We could go to the study or my room, if you like, but I think Lily will come to get some tea, and I’d like to know what’s happening. There’s a hot-pot should maybe be going in the oven, but I can’t manage it one-handed.’

Sam pushed off from the table and gave Frodo a quick kiss. ‘I’ll do that,’ he said.

Lily did indeed come back soon, with the news that this was no false alarm. ‘Sam,’ she said, ‘you’ve done the cake! Thank you.’

Sam looked blank. ‘Not me,’ he said. They both turned to Frodo, who was setting out mugs for tea.

‘Well, I’ll say it again, Frodo,’ she said. ‘More fool them.’ Frodo laughed.

‘What was that about?’ asked Sam, mystified, after Lily had gone again, taking tea and cake for Rosie and Mistress Banks, as well as for herself. ‘More fool who?’

‘The lasses Lily thinks should have been falling over each other to marry me. She thinks I’m charming. I didn’t like to tell her there was never a girl that made me look twice. Now, you...’ Frodo stared admiringly at Sam, and it was Sam’s turn to laugh.

‘Well, you are charming, I can agree with her there,’ he said. He took a large slice of cake, and raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

Frodo shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he said.

After tea, they were at a loss what to do. Neither felt like settling to anything, and time dragged. Lily came and went, fetching this and that, as required, and cooked Rosie a mushroom omelette.

‘Light food is what she needs,’ she explained to the two anxious hobbits, hovering around her in the kitchen. ‘Little and often. ‘Course, once she starts in earnest, she’ll only want to drink the odd sip o’ water.’

Frodo looked at Sam, and Sam expressed their thoughts. ‘In earnest!’ he exclaimed. ‘I thought this was in earnest.’

‘Now, stop fretting, do,’ said Lily. ‘She’s doing very well. First she has to allow the way to open up, as it were, and then she’ll be ready to start the pushing. No point pushing the poor babe against a closed door, now is there? It all takes time.’

‘Does it...does it hurt?’ said Frodo. When he lived at Brandy Hall, female relations had tended to dismiss his tears over a scraped knee or cut hand. Their clear implication had been that boys didn’t know what pain was, and were lucky they didn’t have to bear babies.

‘Well, yes and no,’ said Lily. ‘It’s very powerful, you see, and you has to learn not to fight it. That’s what’ll make it really hurt bad. If you gets a very young hobbit lass, and she get herself in a panic, then she starts screaming and carrying on something dreadful. It’s hard work, and it do take a lot of effort to ride with each wave. It do hurt, but if you works with it, it’s bearable. Trouble is, it’s very tiring.’ She slid the omelette onto a plate. ‘A good midwife knows how to help, and Esme’s the best,’ she said. ‘And Rosie’s a sensible lass, as I told you afore. Now I’ll take this down for her, and see if she wants it, and then I’ll come and eat a bite with you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Frodo, as Lily was heading out of the door. ‘For explaining.’

‘Bless the lad,’ said Lily. ‘Are you sure you’re the father, Samwise?’ She disappeared, chuckling at her joke.

The evening wore on. They ate supper with Lily, and then beat a cowardly retreat while Mistress Banks came and supped. Later, Lily asked Sam to bring more logs. He reported that Rosie had been standing with her arms round her mother’s neck, and the midwife had been massaging her lower back.

‘She had a kiss for me, before Mistress Banks chased me out,’ he said. ‘And there’s one for you, too.’ He passed it on, and added one of his own.

They debated going to bed, but in the end brought warm covers to the sitting room and wrapped themselves up against the cold. They talked quietly together, and dozed on and off. Sam occasionally went to check the kitchen fire was keeping in, and made sure hot water was available if wanted. It would have been warmer to sit in the kitchen, but it was more comfortable in the sitting room. Under their covers they were warm enough, and they leaned together on the sofa, wondering what was happening.

Some time after midnight Lily came, and they sat up asking for news.

‘She’ll be ready to start pushing the babe out soon, or I’m no judge,’ said Lily. ‘They gets very irritable, just afore. Her contractions have eased off, to give her a bit of a rest. Rest and be thankful, we say. She’s being very snappy with Esme, but it’s just a step in the birthing. She wants you, Sam. Esme don’t hold wi’ menfolk present, but I think she thinks it’ll do more harm’n good to say her no. Esme always thinks you men is going to panic the mother, worrying about things as is happening as they should. Will you come?’

Sam was already untangling himself from the cover. ‘Try and get some sleep, Frodo,’ he said.


In the bedroom, it was warm and cosy. Rosie was sitting in the armchair, looking tired.

‘My feet are cold, Sam,’ she murmured, as Mistress Banks sponged her face with warm water. ‘Will you massage them?’

‘Happy to, love,’ he said bending down to kiss her. ‘How are you faring?’

‘Everything’s stopped.’

‘Don’t you fret, lass,’ said Mistress Banks. ‘The babe’ll be on her way soon.’

‘His way,’ said Rosie, irritably. ‘I told you, the babe’s a boy.’

‘Well, dearie,’ said the midwife, and Sam was amazed at her gentle voice, ‘you knows more than me, but I always thinks of them as a girl, ‘til I’m proved wrong.’

Sam fetched out some lavender oil from the bedside table, and picked up a comb. He sat crossed-legged on the floor in front of Rosie and gently combed out the curling hair of her feet, before starting to knead and press. He heard a hmph from the midwife.

‘Where did you learn to do that, lad?’ she asked, and she almost sounded friendly.

‘Rivendell,’ he answered. ‘The Lord Elrond.’ He was watching Rosie’s face. She had closed her eyes, and looked as though she were drifting to sleep.

Her feet were cold though, despite the snugness of the room, and her legs were shaking. He looked at the pillows piled high on the bed. ‘Come and sit with me, on the bed, my Rosie Posie,’ he said. He half expected the midwife to protest, but she didn’t make a murmur.

Frodo had said Sam was as good as an armchair, and he settled Rosie into the same position, sitting back against him with her legs drawn up and her knees rolled outwards. She laid her head back on his shoulder, and sighed with pleasure as he rubbed her belly and thighs.

Suddenly her breathing deepened, and then turned to a series of short pants; her belly was taut and hard under his hand. Her head fell forward, and she groaned as she bore down. Sam took her hands; her whole body was working with the sensation and she pushed against his hold. She relaxed, panting, against him.

‘Very good, my dearie,’ said Mistress Banks, ‘she’s on her way now. Don’t go pushing for longer than your body tells you. It won’t hurry things along none, and the babe will just get distressed.’

Sam didn’t feel there was much he could do as each wave of birthing possessed his wife. She seemed hardly aware he was there, but between times he soothed and massaged her, wiped the sweat from her brow, and gave her sips of water. There was no doubt that this was hard work. Mother Cotton tended the fire, fetched refreshment for them all as the night wore on, and at Sam’s request, checked on Frodo.

She reported he was awake, waiting for news. ‘I reassured him,’ she said, ‘and gave him something to eat. Poor lamb, he do worry, don’t he?’

There was nothing Sam could do, apart from sending Mother Cotton to give him regular reports.

Mistress Banks was very satisfied. She had a little wooden funnel and she placed this on Rosie’s belly after each contraction, her ear to the narrow end. Sam wanted to ask what she was doing, but kept quiet, and eventually Mistress Banks said: ‘Good, very good, my dear. The little one’s heartbeat is doing just fine.’ He wanted to ask questions, but decide that he was there on sufferance, and it was best to just help Rosie and keep his curiosity in check. It was fascinating to think the midwife could actually hear the baby’s heart beat, but he wondered what was to be done if it wasn’t fine.

The first light of dawn was spreading into the room when Mistress Banks asked Rosie to move. Rosie didn’t want to; she mumbled that she was very comfy as she was. Sam decided that Mother Cotton thought Mistress Banks the finest midwife in the Shire, and if she wanted Rosie to move, there was good cause. He coaxed Rosie up and moved out of the way so that she could kneel up and lean over the pillows as Mistress Banks wanted.

Mistress Banks looked at him. ‘Master Gamgee,’ she said, ‘you’ve been a great help, and if you ain’t going to make a fuss at some mess and blood, you can stay.’

‘I was present when the Lord Elrond cut a knife shard, deep from my master’s shoulder,’ said Sam. ‘I helped to hold him steady. I do not think you need worry about me.’

‘Good, stay then. You’ve done me the courtesy of not burdening me with your questions and worries. I may have to work very quickly, and I don’t want to be distracted. Understood?’

Sam nodded. ‘Just one question,’ he said. ‘Where will I be out of your way?’

‘Kneel at her side and keep talking to her; just tell her she’s doing fine, yes?’

He nodded again and did as she asked. Mistress Banks was also on the bed, kneeling behind Rosie. ‘Now, my clever dearie, I’m going to ask you not to push, and that’s not easy when your body’s crying out to do so. Just pant, instead. Can you do that, my dearie?’

‘I’ll try,’ whispered Rosie. It was the first time she’d spoken for some time.

Sam wiped the sweat out of her eyes. ‘You’re lovely, did you know?’ he murmured in her ear, and she smiled weakly at him. He could see the effort it was taking, not to push, and he murmured encouragement, telling her she was doing well.

‘Now, my sweet,’ said Mistress Banks, ‘you may push again, when you feel like it. That was very well done.’ Rosie strained, rocking backwards as she did so, and cried out with a loud wail. Sam couldn’t help looking anxiously at the midwife. She ignored him; her hands were busy between Rosie’s legs. It was Mother Cotton who relieved his anxiety.

‘That’s the welcoming cry,’ she whispered to him with satisfaction. ‘We’re nearly there.’

‘Just pant through the next one, dearie,’ said Mistress Banks, ‘there’s a good girl.’ She seemed to be feeling for something. ‘Now then, one more, and you’ll be having your babe in your arms, and all forgotten.’

Rosie strained again; there was a rush of fluid, and the midwife was holding a tiny scrap of baby in her hands. The baby’s chest rose and a small cry escaped. Rosie was reaching down, making ‘oh, oh’ noises. Mistress Banks passed the little form forward, then she and Sam helped Rosie to turn and lay back against the pillows. Rosie had a triumphant smile on her face, as she settled the baby onto her now flaccid belly.

‘Oh,’ she whispered, ‘He’s beautiful.’

‘He, my dear? I think not. You have a beautiful daughter,’ said Mistress Banks with satisfaction.

‘But there’s... he’s got...’

‘No, my dear, that were the cord lying between her legs.’

Rosie stared at the baby, cradled on her belly like a little frog, and slowly ran her hands over her newborn daughter. ‘She’s beautiful, oh, isn’t she beautiful, Sam?’

Sam wasn’t so sure. She had a slightly shrivelled appearance, just like skin that’s been in water too long; her colour had a blue tinge, and her head looked rather squashed. She was covered with a white substance like cream cheese. The women all seemed perfectly satisfied though, and he wasn’t about to disagree with his wife. What he wasn’t prepared for was the rush of love he felt for his daughter, piercing him, and bringing tears to his eyes. The cord stretched back to the womb, pulsing still.

‘You’re both beautiful,’ he said, his voice hoarse with his emotion, and realised it was true. His daughter was beautiful. Her head was turned towards him, and grey eyes regarded him solemnly. He felt at a loss, not knowing what name to greet her by. They had been so sure of a boy.

He watched fascinated as a tiny hand reached out, exploring this new world, and then the legs made tentative kicks. Rosie cupped a hand around her baby’s bottom and smiled at Sam.

‘What shall we call her?’ he asked.

‘Ask Frodo,’ said Rosie, still breathless. She looked drained from the effort of the birth. ‘I have a feeling he knows. I’d like him to come and see her. Will you fetch him?’

‘Not yet, not yet,’ said Mistress Banks. ‘We’re not finished yet. Wait until the afterbirth is away, and we’ll give you a little bed bath and clean the blood and the soiled sheets away. Then you can have visitors, if you must.’ She cut the cord, which had stopped its pulsing, and Rosie drew the baby into her arms, staring entranced at her face. The baby stared back at her, and a small hand curled at her breast. Her tongue worked, making little suckling movements. Rosie turned her daughter to her nipple but the babe turned her head away, towards Rosie’s hand.

Rosie’s mother came to her aid. ‘Don’t go pushing the head, she’ll turn towards that. Hold her a little higher, just so.’ The baby licked and nuzzled against the proffered nipple and then seemed to work out how to latch on. She suckled greedily. Sam watched his wife, watching the babe, and he felt so proud of her.

Suddenly Rosie frowned, and gave a grunt of surprise. ‘I thought I’d done,’ she said.

‘Your womb’s shrinking down, pushing out the afterbirth, my dearie; nothing to worry about.’ Sam saw Mother Cotton and Mistress Banks exchange looks. There was something to worry about, he thought, but both relaxed a moment later as the midwife eased the afterbirth away, and a small amount of blood trickled out.

‘Good. Very good. Some hot water if you please, Lily. I’d ask the father, but he looks too besotted to be of any use for anything.’

Sam grinned. Besotted was about the rights of it. Already he was wondering how he could have hesitated to think this treasure was beautiful. She was the most beautiful baby he had ever seen, and he’d seen a few recently. Pippin was now a father several times over, but Pippin had never had the wonder of being there, of seeing his child born. Some of his babes were very fine, but none could compare with this child. He was, however, prepared to drag himself away from the delight.

‘I’m going to tell Frodo,’ he said, and Rosie turned her head to kiss him. ‘Mother Cotton, will you come and tell us when Rosie is ready for visitors?’ His mother-in-law nodded, and just as he was leaving, Mistress Banks stopped him.

‘Well, Master Gamgee, my congratulations on a fine daughter. You did a good job of work there; I’m hoping we’ll have many more babies to deliver together in this smial.’

Outside the door, Mother Cotton caught his sleeve. ‘You probably have no idea,’ she said, ‘what a compliment that was. I’m sorry I doubted you, lad. You’re a fine husband.’ She kissed him, and hurried off to the kitchen.

Sam turned to the sitting room, and found Frodo propped against the corner of the sofa, looking tired and drawn. He sat up as Sam entered, and his expression cleared.

‘Oh, Sam. I can see by your face that everything is all right,’ he cried.

Sam sat beside him, and Frodo lifted the quilt to cover them both. Sam realised his smile must look rather inane, but he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t not smile. Soon he would laugh, and he might have to get up to relieve his feelings and dance around a bit.

‘Well,’ he admitted. ‘I’m in a bit of a fix. Rosie and me had settled on calling him Frodo, with your leave; but it’s not him, it’s her. Though as pretty a maid child as anyone could hope for, taking after Rosie more than me, luckily. So we don’t know what to do.’

Frodo closed his eyes and laid his back against the wing of the sofa, and sighed. A smile spread over his face. ‘Oh, Sam,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m so happy.’

Sam leaned in and kissed his best love. ‘Thank you, Frodo,’ he said, and now he wasn’t laughing, he was crying.

Frodo’s answering kisses roamed over his face; the pattern was so familiar, he knew where each would fall. ‘I love you, Sam,’ said Frodo, just before the last kiss found Sam’s mouth, and they moulded together, heedless of the fact they might be interrupted. In any case, Sam thought, in the brief moment before he let go of all thoughts, Mother Cotton would probably make no protest if she found them now.

As they parted, Frodo smiled. ‘Well, Sam,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong with the old customs? Chose a flower name like Rose. Half the maidchildren in the Shire are called by such names, and what could be better?’

‘I suppose you’re right, Frodo,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve heard some beautiful names on my travels, but I suppose they’re a bit too grand for daily wear and tear, as you might say. The Gaffer, he says: “Make it short, and then you won’t have to cut it short before you can use it.” But if it’s to be a flower-name, then I don’t trouble about the length: it must be a beautiful flower, because, you see, I think she is very beautiful, and is going to be beautifuller still.’

Frodo looked down, frowning. He appeared deep in thought, and Sam waited. When Frodo at last looked up, his face had cleared, and the smile he gave Sam was beautiful.

‘Well, Sam, what about elanor, the sun-star, you remember the little golden flower in the grass of Lothlorien?’

‘You’re right again, Frodo!’ said Sam, delighted. ‘That’s what I wanted. Rosie said she had a feeling you would know her name.’

‘Can I see her?’

‘Mother Cotton’s going to come and tell us when Rosie’s had a little clean up, and a fresh gown and such. Rosie wanted you to come straight away, but they wouldn’t allow that.’

Frodo sighed and leaned back with eyes closed again. ‘Elanor!’ he said.


When they were finally invited back, Rosie was sitting up, cradling the sleeping baby in her arm. She was wearing a pretty nightgown, and her hair had been combed out and tied with bright ribbons. She looked tired but happy. The baby was wrapped in a blanket, just her little face showing, and in her sleep she was still making suckling movements with her mouth. Mistress Banks and Mother Cotton had gone to the kitchen to make some welcome breakfast.

Frodo kissed Rosie on the forehead, and sat on the edge of the bed staring at the babe. Tentatively he reached out his hand and stroked the small face with his fingers.

‘Tell me her name, Frodo,’ said Rosie softly.

‘Elanor,’ said Frodo, ‘her name is Elanor.’

Rosie’s eyes brightened with tears. ‘That is beautiful,’ she breathed, and looked at Sam.

He nodded. ‘It’s the beautifulest flower you ever did see,’ he said. ‘Like a bright golden star growing in the grass in Lothlorien, where the Lady Galadriel lives.’

‘You don’t mind, do you, Sam?’ she asked. ‘That she ain’t a Frodo-lad.’

Frodo looked at Sam quickly, and Sam laughed. ‘Don’t be daft. I told you I didn’t mind; it was just what Frodo said, as made me think the first would be a boy.’

‘What did I say?’ asked Frodo, looking puzzled.

‘Over a year ago, it was,’ said Sam. ‘We were riding to Great Smials, and you had one of your visions. You said a string of names, and Frodo was the first. I thought they were the names of my children, not at the time I don’t mean, but since.’

‘Oh, Sam, Rosie, they are. They are your children, but Elanor is Rosie’s first child.’ He took Sam’s hand. ‘Our child. You’re right, she is beautiful.’

‘Will you hold her, Frodo?’ asked Rosie, holding the baby towards him. He hesitated, and Sam guessed the reason.

‘Sit in the chair, if you’re worried about dropping her,’ he said, ‘and I’ll bring her to you.’ Frodo gave him a grateful look, and Sam hugged him as he stood.

Once seated, Frodo took Elanor in the crook of his right arm, Sam supporting her head until she was settled. She slept on, oblivious, and Frodo gazed at her, as enraptured as Sam had been earlier. ‘I can’t believe she’s so perfect,’ he said.

‘Hmmm,’ said Sam. ‘That don’t sound very complimentary to me, now, do it? Nor Rosie, neither.’ Frodo looked at him quickly, and then smiled as he saw Sam was laughing at him.

‘Do you know what the date is, Sam? Elanor’s birth date?’

‘No. I’ve lost all track,’ said Sam.

‘It’s the twenty-fifth day of Rethe, Sam.’

Sam gasped. ‘Are you all right? I never realised, and you alone in the cold hours.’

‘I’m all right, Sam. I thought it was the end of all things, do you remember? And now, it seems it is just the beginning.’


After breakfast, sleep seemed the most sensible option. Mistress Banks politely declined the offer of a bed, but promised she would return in the evening, to make sure all was well. Sam saw her to the gate with effusive thanks, and then sent one of the early-bird urchins off to South Farm with the news.

He had no wish for Frodo to spend more time alone, and it seemed that Rosie was in agreement. They both insisted Frodo remain with them. ‘I love all three of you, always remember that,’ said Frodo quietly.

Peace filled the room as they joined Elanor in contented sleep.