CHAPTER 7: ...AND BAD DAYS

Pippin and Merry arrived early the next morning, having ridden over from Buckland and stopped the night at the Green Dragon. Sam fetched Bill and Strider up from the new stables in a corner of the Party Field, and together the four hobbits rode out of Hobbiton. There was a lot of interest in seeing the four Travellers together, and a crowd of hobbit children ran along behind them for some way.

They crossed the Water by the Bridge, and turned West on the Great Road from the Brandywine Bridge. After a few miles, they left the road and headed south, across country. As soon as they left the road, they were in Tuckborough.

The road was muddy after the heavy rain the previous night, and the ponies occasionally slithered and slipped, but it was easier going once they were riding on close cropped turf. The day had started cloudy, but brightened as the morning wore on.

Grazing sheep ran away in foolish clusters as they approached, and then turned to stare at them. Small copses of trees, hawthorn mostly, were scattered over the open countryside to provide shelter for the sheep - shade in summer and a wind break in the winter. There was a little gorse to give some colour, otherwise it was rather featureless. The land was rising towards the uplands of the Green Hill country, and high overhead a kestrel hovered and dipped, hovered and dipped, until at last they saw it plummet down onto some unseen prey.

Frodo was silent for the most part. Merry rode by his side, but the conversation did not flow. Frodo felt the greyness roll over him, despite the strengthening sunshine and the cold breeze which at least made him feel a little more awake. He found it came and went like this. Good days and bad days, and no way of knowing beforehand. The feeling of unrealness about him was worse this morning: Merry was there but not there, valiantly trying to keep up a rather one sided conversation.

Frodo had felt easier for the last few days, and had even dared to wondered if the improvement was a trend, that every day would be a little better until he found himself again. He had enjoyed his service to Sam, but the aftermath had left him full of discontent and - what? Envy? He sighed. Yes, he had felt envy. Wanting to want. Needing to need. His body denied him, but his mind...

He sighed again, and Merry looked at him quickly. ‘Are you all right, Frodo?’

‘No, I am not all right. I want what I have lost. I remember, Merry. I remember how it feels. I remember the power of it, the raw, blazing passion of it. I don’t want to just give, I want to take. I want to feel alive. This is my punishment for failure, Merry. I do not deserve any better.’

‘I’m fine, Merry. Just a little tired.’

Well, tired was the truth. Tears of self-pity had kept him awake, and when he had slept he had been plagued by bad dreams, dreams of loss. He had been looking for something, but he could not now remember what. He saw Merry’s worried face, and forced himself through the fog that cloyed his mind.

‘So how are things at Buckland?’ he asked with an effort. Merry stared at him an instant too long before he started to answer, and Frodo realised that Merry had probably been telling him just that, and he hadn’t been listening. He made himself listen now, and managed to think of some questions to ask, to show Merry he was paying attention.

Merry briefly ran through the gossip of Brandy Hall, and then laid a hand on Frodo’s knee.

‘Are you sure you want to meet Uncle Paladin today, Frodo? If you don’t feel well we can turn back.’

Frodo shook his head. He liked Paladin, and had been disappointed not to have met with him sooner. ‘No, I’d rather get it over with. I’m not sure what the purpose of the meeting is, though. I’m not going to apologise for taking Pippin into danger, if that’s what he’s expecting. For one thing, you both forced yourselves on me,’ he smiled at Merry and glanced forward to Pippin, who was chatting happily to Sam, ‘and I love you both for it. For another, Gandalf spoke truly when he said the evils of the war would have been worse if you two had not set out.’

He tried to block his thoughts, but thinking of what Merry had accomplished dragged his mind inexorably to the Witch-king. He felt as though there were a tight band around his chest, and his breathing quickened. Cold sweat formed on his face, and the pain in his shoulder flared into a sharp stab of agony, before settling back to its normal dull, pervasive ache. He managed to stop himself wincing, but knew his behaviour hadn’t gone unnoticed. Merry was looking at him with an anxious frown.

‘Pippin doesn’t know what Uncle Paladin’s intentions are,’ said Merry after a moment. ‘Maybe Uncle Paladin doesn’t know either. I think he is simply taking advantage of Aunt Eglantine’s absence to meet you and find out more.’

Frodo nodded. That is what he suspected. He saw Sam looking back at him and nudged Strider into a trot.

‘Let’s catch up with Sam and Pippin,’ he said. He wanted to be part of the group where he could let the talk wash around him without having to contribute. He loved Merry, and it deepened his misery to find he didn’t know what to talk about with him. Merry was so busy, and he made Frodo feel that he should be busy as well. Sam’s busyness never had that affect on him. Sam always worked with the aim of saving Frodo trouble or giving him pleasure, while at the same time managing to convey that there was nothing he would rather be doing. Frodo was never left with the nagging feeling that he ought to be making more effort himself.

As he rode up, Sam half turned to smile at him, a wide smile that eased Frodo’s pain and made the world around him appear a little more real; the grass was suddenly greener, and the gorse flowers a brighter yellow. He wanted to lean into Sam’s arms, and for Sam to whisper loving words in his ear. He wasn’t worthy of Sam’s love, but that just made it all the more precious.



Merry followed, full of disquiet. Pippin had reported his recent conversations with Frodo and with Sam, and Merry could see for himself that there was cause for concern. Frodo was distant and uncommunicative. What little he said had seemed forced, so unlike his former, easy self. They had walked or ridden this route together many times in the past, and conversations had ranged freely over everything and anything: from Shire gossip to the Elves, from bawdy songs to politics. He was still not sure what he had seen when Frodo’s face had suddenly paled, and sweat had gathered on his lip. Was he in pain? In fear? One thing was certain, “I’m fine” was a lie, and it pained him more than anything that Frodo was lying to him. He corrected himself, hiding things from him.

He came up level with Frodo just in time to see Frodo smile at Sam. It was no more than a slight lift at the corners of his lips, and a relaxing of the tension around his eyes, but somehow it changed his whole expression, and he lost the guarded look. Merry felt a pang of pain at this, and mentally berated himself for his pettiness. It was hard to accept that Sam could do this for Frodo, and he could not. He had been Frodo’s closest friend, and now he had been supplanted by Frodo’s lover. He loved them both dearly, but the way Frodo responded to Sam’s presence was hurtful, when he himself was unable to lift Frodo’s mood. He felt shut out from Frodo’s friendship and confidence.

It was perhaps just as well that Pippin had started a Gondorian drinking song that they all knew; it meant conversation was not necessary. Sam joined in, and then Merry. At the first chorus, Frodo added his voice, and Merry watched Sam watching Frodo sing. There was a delighted smile on his face and his eyes were full of love. There was no doubting that soft, shining gaze, and Merry wondered how it was the whole Shire didn’t know exactly what these two Travellers felt about each other.

Merry was still looking at Sam when Frodo’s voice fell silent, and he saw Sam’s face lose expression as he reached out for Frodo’s reins. Merry turned his head quickly to look at Frodo. At first glance Frodo looked quite normal; he was still sitting his pony, although his hands were rather slack on the reins. Merry manoeuvred his pony so he could see Frodo’s face, and was shocked to find his eyes were unfocused and empty. He looked back at Sam.

‘He’s all right,’ Sam said in answer to his look, and Pippin stopped singing in mid line.

‘What?’ he said, and then looked where Sam and Merry were looking. ‘Oh!’

Merry didn’t waste time in asking what was happening, he eased his pony into position on the opposite side to Sam, knee to knee with Frodo. Now if his cousin fell he would be caught on either side. Sam pulled Strider to a halt, and made Bill step and sidle until he was turned around, also knee to knee with Frodo, but facing him.

Pippin reined in next to Sam. ‘What is it, Sam?’ he asked quietly. ‘He looks as though he’s gone somewhere else.’

Merry peered round Frodo to get a look at Sam’s face. Sam didn’t appear unduly concerned, and Merry trusted Sam’s instincts on this. If Sam wasn’t concerned, then there was no real cause for worry, but he was surprised that Frodo could appear so blank, and Sam could be so calm.

‘He does this sometimes,’ said Sam in explanation. ‘I worry that if I’m not there he’ll walk into a tree or something, but he’s never come to harm, and wherever it is he goes, it seems to do him good. He says he sees things, but he don’t say what. They ain’t bad, that I do know. He’s always happier after, so I don’t disturb him; he’s more confused if he gets disturbed out of them. Better that he comes back when he’s ready.’

‘Are things any better, Sam?’ asked Pippin, after a short silence.

‘Well, yes and no, as you might say,’ answered Sam, not looking away from Frodo for a moment.

‘Sam! Explain!’ said Merry.

‘Sorry, I thought he was coming out of it. Yes, he has been a little better these last few days. I’m not really sure if that’s because he’s feeling better or just getting better at hiding how low he is. He tries to hide it even from me, you know. But today, he seems worse again; and ‘better’ wasn’t much, and that’s the truth. ’

‘What about you?’ asked Pippin.

‘Me?’

‘Yes, Sam. You. You were low, yourself, when I last saw you, and that’s an understatement, if ever there was one.’

‘Thank you again, for that day, Pippin,’ said Sam. He took his eyes off Frodo long enough to smile at Pippin. ‘I took your advice and, well, I was being foolish, and I’ll ask you to forget that I... that I doubted... Oh, bollocks. Just forget it.’

‘Wasn’t really paying attention, Sam,’ said Pippin, and winked at him.

Frodo sighed deeply, and the attention of all three of his companions was fully on him again. He murmured something they did not catch, and then more clearly: ‘Iorhael, Meril, Gelir, Cordof, Glorfinniel, Baravorn, ar Eirien.’ He opened his eyes and smiled at Sam, then reached out to grasp his forearm. Strider fidgeted, nodding his head vigorously, and Frodo jumped and clutched the reins. Sam and Merry were there instantly with an arm to steady him.

Merry peered at Frodo closely; he looked slightly dazed, but Sam was right. He did look happy and relaxed, and by contrast his earlier demeanour seemed even more guarded, fenced about with unseen barriers. Merry found himself relaxing as well; he hadn’t even realised how tense he’d been - trying to put Frodo at his ease, trying to find their old comradeship. He reached up and touched Frodo’s cheek, and Frodo turned towards him. The dazed expression had vanished, and his eyes smiled into Merry’s.

‘Gelir!’ he said softly.

Pippin dismounted and hooked his reins over his saddle. He came and stood at the heads of Merry’s and Frodo’s ponies, holding their bridles. Strider was still trying to nod his head, but Pippin held him steady.

‘I’ve got some food in my saddle bag,’ he said. ‘Let’s stretch our legs and have some elevenses before we carry on. There’s time to stop.’

Sam glanced up at the sun. There was indeed time. He dismounted and helped Frodo down. Merry thought he detected a little stiffness in Frodo’s movements, and a new anxiety came to him. Bilbo had aged tremendously after he had given up the Ring. And not just in the seventeen years between him leaving the Shire and their first arrival at Rivendell, which was to be expected. There might have been a decade between leaving Rivendell and returning again, instead of only nine months, so greatly had age touched Bilbo while they were away. Bilbo was a hundred and twenty-nine, after all, but it gave Merry a pang of fear. Would Frodo start to physically deteriorate, to age before his eyes? His cousin had never looked any different since Merry had been a teenager. Was that going to change now?

He looked at Frodo standing wrapped in Sam’s arms, his head on Sam’s shoulder, and felt like crying. It really was not fair that Frodo should do so much and lose so much.

‘Panthael, meleth anim,’ murmured Frodo.

Sam closed his eyes. ‘Iorhael, nîn meleth,’ he answered, so quietly Merry could only just catch the words. Sam leant his head against Frodo’s so that his face was buried in Frodo’s hair, and Frodo’s hands slid round Sam’s waist. They stood pressed together in silence, their hair blowing and mingling in the wind.

Merry hated himself for his earlier jealousy of Sam. Frodo had not lost everything. He loved, and he was loved. If it wasn’t for Sam, what sort of empty life would Frodo be living now? But that was a silly thought, wasn’t it? If it wasn’t for Sam, Frodo wouldn’t be there. Frodo had endured, and Sam had hoped, and together they had done the impossible.

‘You’re a bastard, Merry,’ he told himself, ‘for even wishing Frodo was not so close to Sam.’

He went and put his arms around the pair of them, as they stood under the ragged cloud shadows. High above them, the strong breeze chased the small cumulus clouds across a bright sky. Sam released Frodo into Merry’s arms, and Merry bent over Frodo and let the tears flow. He was only half aware of Pippin’s and Sam’s arms around them, one on either side of them, and of Frodo’s murmured words of comfort. That Frodo should be comforting him seemed like the final straw, and he broke down completely in great shuddering sobs. He wished he wasn’t so tall, so he could lay his head on Frodo’s shoulder, as he had when he was younger. Pippin cupped his hand behind Merry’s head, and Merry thankfully used Pippin’s shoulder instead.

Pippin turned his head one way, then the other, to kiss first Frodo and then Merry. ‘This is very cosy,’ he said. ‘Can we do this more often?’

Merry hiccupped as laughter bubbled through his tears. Trust Pippin to strike the right note, to bring him out of his mood of pathetic misery and self recrimination. He straightened and looked down at Frodo.

‘My gentle Frodo,’ he thought. ’If I could have one wish it would be for you to be happy.’ He started to apologise for his behaviour, but was silenced by Frodo kissing him.

‘Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, Merry,’ Frodo said. ‘Pippin’s right. We should do this more often.’

‘What? Drowning you in tears?’

‘No, Merry dear. Or yes, if that’s what you need. But I meant together and close like this. I’ve not seen nearly enough of either of you since we got back.’

‘I’m sor -’ Frodo’s lips, cool from the wind, touched his again.

‘If you keep trying to apologise, Merry, Sam is going to get jealous.’

Sam laughed, and Pippin said, ‘I’d like to say I’m sorry, too, Frodo.’ He raised his eyebrows hopefully. Merry clipped him round the head, and Frodo kissed him anyway.

The mood of sadness broken, they shared cheese and apples, sitting under one of the stands of hawthorn, out of the wind but facing the sun.

‘Frodo, what happened just now?’ asked Merry, not sure if it was a wise question, but wanting to know. At least it hadn’t seemed an unpleasant experience, and therefore he was unlikely to cause Frodo distress by referring to it. Frodo rubbed his hands over his eyes and down his face before replying. He seemed to be considering how much or how little to say.

‘I suppose I daydream,’ he said at last. ‘It seems very real, as though that is where I really am.’

‘You said your name and mine and Pippin’s. Was it some memory?’

‘No, I can be sure of that. Is it the future? How can I tell until we arrive there. It seems as though it is the future. I believe it is.’

‘The future?’ exclaimed Pippin, with interest. ‘What did you see? And I didn’t know the other words you said apart from “Glorfinniel.” That means golden-haired, I think. Like Glorfindel, but a girl’s name.’

‘Very good, Pippin.’

‘Who is she?’

Frodo smiled at Pippin. ‘One day you may find out.’

‘Frodo!’

‘Then again you may not.’

Pippin pulled up handfuls of grass and threw them at him.

‘Two of them others were flower names,’ said Sam suddenly. ‘A rose and a daisy.
I learnt some of the flower names in Minas Tirith.’

‘You learnt well, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘And now I think we should ride on, or we will stop being in good time, and be inexcusably late.’

They rode on to Great Smials, pine trees replacing hawthorn as they climbed the soft undulations of the Green Hills. Passing through a narrow gap between two long ridges, the land opened up before them in a great, natural, sandy bowl. Curving around the top of the bowl, pine trees clustered, their roots clinging to the narrow topsoil. In the steep slope surrounding the dell a myriad of windows reflected back the sunlight. The Hills around provided a perfect natural defence; it was not surprising the ruffians had failed to gain any control here.

The visit started badly. Pippin swore later that he thought he had made it clear to his father that Sam was an equal among the Travellers, but Paladin had obviously not grasped this fact, and expected Sam to eat with the servants in the kitchen. Still, there had been a good side to this, thought Merry. The confrontation between Frodo and Paladin had been worth seeing. Just for a moment the old pre-quest Frodo had appeared, all icy politeness and suppressed rage. He had threatened to go and eat with the servants himself, and pointed out that, without Sam, none of them would have lived through the War to tell the tale.

Paladin had backed down with a fulsome apology and invited Sam to join them.

They dined in one of the Smial’s small inner rooms. The lack of windows made it more private, and there was a wealth of candles to light them as they ate. The table was laid with silverware and fine napkins, but Sam was obviously not discomforted by this display of wealth; he had eaten at much grander tables and in much grander company. He asked Paladin how they had managed to keep the ruffians at bay. Since this was a source of great pride to Paladin, Sam both endeared himself to the Thain and gave him a topic of conversation that carried them through until the dessert plates were cleared.

Cheese and fruit were set on the table, along with a fine selection of tobaccos, and the dessert-wine was removed, to be replaced with a decanter of rich ruby-red Old Winyards. This was almost a local wine, fermented just over the border, in the South Farthing. The hobbits were at that happy filling-up-the-corners stage, and the atmosphere had mellowed considerably.

Paladin lit his pipe and offered tobacco to his guests. The Travellers’ pipes were all beautifully inlaid with silver, a small parting gift from the King Elessar, and he admired them.

‘I should like to know more, Frodo,’ said Paladin, when the business of lighting pipes was over, and smoked curled up to the ceiling. Merry looked quickly at Frodo, as did Sam and Pippin. Frodo’s face had gone from relaxed to guarded in an instant, and Sam withdrew his pipe stem from his mouth to purse his lips. Merry sighed inwardly. It was a pity to bring Frodo’s mind back to the Ring, assuming it ever truly left it, but Frodo had been under no illusions as to what the invitation entailed, and Merry kept quiet.

‘I will answer what I can, Paladin,’ Frodo replied, carefully.

Paladin nodded, and Merry thought the questions that followed showed a good understanding of the War of the Ring, as related by Pippin. Paladin was interested in hearing more about Frodo’s role and the nature of the Ring. Merry wondered if his uncle could see the strain around Frodo’s eyes at each mention of that malign object.

‘And you destroyed the ring?’ Paladin asked at last.

‘The Ring was destroyed, but not by me,’ Frodo said, and now the strain was plain to hear, as well as see. He rubbed the ugly scar on his right hand, and offered no explanation. Paladin looked in fascination at the gap where the finger should be, his eyes following the movement of Frodo’s left hand. Frodo hastily released his maimed hand and reached up for the white gem. His three remaining fingers folded around it, and his knuckles whitened as they clenched tight.

Merry looked with concern at Frodo’s face. All colour had left it, and he looked ill.
‘This has gone far enough,’ he thought. Even as the thought came to him, Frodo pushed his chair back and stood swaying. Sam was on his feet and at Frodo’s side so quickly, that Merry could only assume he had been poised to move before Frodo did. Sam’s chair fell backwards unheeded as he reached Frodo and supported him with his arm.

‘It’s all right, Sam. I’m fine. I just need some fresh air, I think.’ Frodo’s shaking voice and nauseated expression belied his words. He looked as though he would collapse without Sam to lean against.

‘Well let’s get you to some air, then,’ said Sam. He picked up Frodo’s napkin. ‘If you will excuse us, I’ll just be taking this in case we need it,’ he said, matter of factly. ‘Do you mind coming, Pippin? To show me where he can lay down, with a window to open for preference.’

Pippin answered by jumping up and leading the way to the door. ‘My room isn’t far,’ he said as he held it open for them. Frodo was taking deep breaths and swallowing hard. Merry realised his cousin really was likely to be sick, and tipped out the pile of apples from a large bowl. He hurried after them, and caught up in time to put the bowl to use. He hadn’t noticed how little Frodo had eaten, until the evidence was staring him in the face.

Once in Pippin’s room, Sam helped Frodo lay down on the bed, while Merry opened the window to let the cold Foreyule wind do what it could to revive him. His face was still too pale and beaded with sweat. It reminded Merry of the brief change that had occurred as they rode over. This was far worse, though. Frodo’s eyes were closed, and he was trembling. Sam sat by his side, holding his left hand and wiping his forehead.

‘Pippin,’ Sam said. ‘There’s some athelas in my pack, if you could get some hot water. His arm’s gone cold; it might help.’ Pippin was gone in a whirl, almost running into Paladin, who had come to see how Frodo was faring.

‘I’ve come to apologise for causing distress,’ Paladin said, looking distressed himself, as he gazed down at Frodo. ‘Will he be all right?’ He glanced at Merry, who in turn looked at Sam.

‘Some peace and quiet is what he needs most, just give him some time,’ said Sam.

‘In that case, I’ll leave him in your hands, but I think it best if you all stay the night and travel back tomorrow. I hope he will feel recovered enough to take some tea with me later, but you can give him my promise: we will not speak of his ordeal.’


As they left the next day, Merry supposed that, overall, the visit could be considered a success. Frodo was still not looking well, but Paladin had been warm and friendly towards him, and genuinely upset by his physical appearance and illness. Moreover, his uncle seemed to have grasped what a sacrifice Frodo had made.

For Merry himself, the whole visit had given considerable food for thought. Since their return to the Shire this was the first time he had spent more than an hour or two in Frodo’s company. He resolved to see more of him from now on. He was angry with himself for being so wrapped up with his busy life that he had not made time to get to Bywater very often.

And was his busy life the only reason? Merry looked with honesty at his motives and realised that jealously of Sam had also kept him away. It was inexcusable. The day had made him realise that Frodo suffered, and that Sam eased his cares. He thought with contrition of Frodo’s words the previous day: ‘I meant together and close like this. I’ve not seen nearly enough of either of you since we got back.’


But it was one thing to make a resolution and another to keep it. It was nearly Yule time before the last remnants of the ruffians were rounded up and escorted over the border, and the Captains were kept busy.

Sam, also, was busy. The weather stayed mild, which allowed some tree planting, and the craftsmen at Bag End worked as fast as he could make them. He listened to endless tirades along the lines of, “Well, Master Samwise, I’ve no doubt you knows best, but if we take short cuts like that, I can’t answer for the consequences. You mark my words, it’ll all need doing again in fifty or sixty years’ time.”

At least the mill had been demolished, and that was a great eyesore gone, although Sandyman went around the village scowling. Not only, Sam suspected, because of the loss of his ugly brick building; Frodo was compensating him for loss of livelihood while the new mill was built, and the miller was small-minded enough to resent this generosity on the part of his new landlord.

It was therefore Afteryule before they all met again. Merry and Pippin had split the six days of Yule festivities between their two families. Frodo had been invited to Great Smials, but had declined; even the thought of going appeared to exhaust him, and Sam didn’t push the point. He sent a note privately to Pippin, suggesting that Paladin invite Frodo again on a quieter occasion. Pippin wrote back to say he had passed the message on to his father, and that he and Merry would ride over on the fifth day of Afteryule. Sam met them in Hobbiton, and together they rode to South Farm.

They found Frodo in the study surrounded by a confusion of papers and quills. He took a moment to refocus from the written word to the wider world, then he pushed back his chair with a cry of welcome. Papers spilled onto the floor, and Sam rescued them as Frodo hugged his cousins.

There was a fire burning in the grate, but no candles lit, despite the fact that the room was gloomy.

‘You’ll ruin your eyes. Writing in this poor light,’ grumbled Sam, putting all the papers he had collected back on the desk and hugging Frodo to him. He smiled as Frodo reached up to tidy wind-swept hair and kiss him. They never did any more than lightly touch lips in front of Merry and Pippin. Only once had they done more than this in public, and neither Merry nor Pippin had been there. It was not something they had ever talked about, or even really thought about, it just seemed to happen that way by mutual understanding. This was what they were both comfortable with in front of their friends.

Frodo collected up all the papers, locked them away in a drawer, then went to get his coat and cloak. Merry, Pippin and Sam waited in the hallway, and Sam marvelled again at how large his two companions were. It was much more noticeable in the narrow confines of the corridor, and when Rosie came past with a pile of ironing, they had difficulty squeezing out of her way.

‘Forgive me for getting in the way of such a pretty lass, Miss Rose,’ said Pippin, smiling and bowing. Rosie blushed and giggled at his admiring expression. She smiled at Sam who in turn scowled at Pippin. Pippin was getting far too bad a reputation around the young hobbit maids. He had not been joking when he said wearing his armour was with “an eye for the lasses.” Although, if rumours were anything to go by, the lasses were more interested in getting him out of his uniform and into their beds.

‘Pippin,’ said Sam, seriously, ‘don’t go trying out your charm on Rosie.’

‘Now, now, Sam,’ said Merry. ‘Any one would think you were jealous.’ He and Pippin both laughed at this, but Sam and Rosie stared at each other, embarrassed. Rosie gave Sam the ghost of a smile, then her expression froze, and she turned and walked away.

Frodo laid his hand on Sam’s shoulder. ‘Are you going to share the joke?’ he asked.

‘It’s not a joke,’ said Sam, angrily. ‘Pippin, I’m serious. The Cottons are good friends. I don’t want you bringing trouble here.’

‘Me?’ said Pippin, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘Trouble?’

Sam had to laugh. ‘Yes, you, Peregrin Took. Trouble.’

‘You’re a dog in manger, Sam. But I’ll promise I’ll be good around the lovely Miss Rose. How’s that?’

‘If you two have both finished arguing over a lass neither of you are remotely interested in, maybe we could go and get this beer,’ said Merry. He took Frodo by the arm, and left Pippin and Sam to follow on behind.

‘The wind is very cold,’ said Sam, apparently to no one in particular, ‘for all that it’s from the west.’ Frodo laughed, rolled his eyes at Merry, and buttoned his coat across his chest.

They walked down South Lane in silence initially, matching their strides with easy precision born of long journeying in each other’s company. The wind was strong, and their cloaks billowed around them. All of them felt a comfort from being together, almost as if the four of them made one whole entity: the Travellers. Sam felt an easing of his worry and concern for Frodo. It was shared out between himself, Merry and Pippin, like a load divided. They had shared so much together, they understood each other, and words were not necessary. Watching Frodo, as he walked on ahead with Merry, Sam wondered if they would ever share peace. Really share it, all four of them equally, instead of the best one amongst them pretending.

Merry said something to Frodo, bending slightly to hear his reply, and then laughed. The conversation became quite animated, but Sam couldn’t hear what it was about, the wind snatched the words and whirled them away.

‘Frodo seems a lot better,’ said Pippin.

‘That he ain’t,’ said Sam, kicking a flint lying in the lane so that it bounced and skittered off into the drainage ditch. Pippin frowned at Sam.

‘But he seems quite happy and chatty. Better than he did last time we saw him.’

‘He’s getting better at hiding it,’ answered Sam. ‘Don’t get me wrong, he’s very pleased to see you. He’s been looking forward to you coming over. But he’s making an effort, and he’ll be tired later.’

Pippin seemed to change the subject. ‘The North-tooks came over at Yule and stopped off on the way at Hobbiton for the Yule Feast, did you know?’ he asked.

‘Yes, they spent a lot of time during the feast talking at Frodo,’ said Sam, disappointed that Frodo’s health was no longer under discussion.

‘At Frodo?’ asked Pippin. Ahead of them Merry laughed again and put his hand on Frodo’s shoulder. Sam wondered what they were talking about.

‘Yes, at him. Every detail of doings in Long Cleeve down to the last sneeze. Not one of them asked him how he was, nor about his own concerns. I’m guessing you enjoyed the company of that pretty Miss Diamond, she looks a sweet lass.’

‘She’s far too young, Sam,’ laughed Pippin.

‘Well, so are you,’ Sam replied, his eyes still on Frodo.

‘I don’t feel young,’ said Pippin. His voice sounded so wistful that Sam looked at him quickly, but Pippin was smiling as though he didn’t have a care in the world. ‘Now Rosie Cotton, she’s more to my taste,’ he said.

‘Damn you, Pip,’ said Sam, anger rising in his voice. ‘I told you...’

Pippin nearly choked with laughter, and Sam clipped him round the ear. He couldn’t help laughing as well. He’d been caught by one of Pippin’s baits: hook, line and sinker, as the saying went. He wondered if he’d been mistaken about the note of sadness in Pippin’s voice.

‘Anyway,’ said Pippin recovering enough to get the conversation back on track, ‘the point is that the North-tooks all agreed Frodo gave a very good speech and seemed very relaxed. Father asked them, otherwise I doubt they’d have mentioned the doings of the Deputy-Mayor. Father’s very worried about Frodo, you know.’

‘Good,’ said Sam. ‘So he should be. Frodo gave an excellent speech, but he was exhausted afterwards. He spent the next two days in bed. Nothing to pin down, as it were, but every time he tried to get up he looked like a dishcloth that’s been wrung out and left to dry.’

‘But that’s only a few days ago!’ exclaimed Pippin.

‘Just over a week, so you’ll do me the favour of not encouraging him to drink too much and not keeping him out too late - and don’t look at me as though I’m a mother hen, Pip. I know what I’m talking about.’

By the time they reached the Hobbiton Stone, which marked the boundary between Bywater and Hobbiton, they were walking together and listening to one of Pippin’s long jokes. He had spun it out with skill, and even Frodo was laughing as they turned into the Green Dragon, but their laughter was cut short.

Passing the archway to the stables, they were almost ridden down by Ted Sandyman. If they were shocked, so was his bay mare. Their sudden appearance and flapping cloaks, startled her. Sandyman pulled back savagely on her bridle, cursing them loudly as they leapt out of his way. The mare reacted by rearing and snorting, her eyes rolling, and the miller was nearly unseated. He cursed them again, and brought his whip whistling down on the mare’s haunches as she continued to side-step and dance.

‘I’m going to have words with that Sandyman one day soon,’ said Merry, watching the departing pony and rider with a dark scowl.

Sam ignored him. ‘Frodo,’ he whispered, fear closing tightly around his chest. Merry’s head jerked round as Sam leapt past him, but Sam hardly noticed his shocked expression. His only concern was to reach Frodo’s side.

Frodo himself was leaning back against the inn wall, his breath ragged and uneven, his body shaking. His eyes were glazed, and all the colour - brought to his cheeks by the blustery walk - had drained away. He looked as white as a bleached sheet, and his forehead was beaded with sweat. Just as Sam reached him, he slid down the wall onto his haunches and curled into a tight, whimpering ball.

Sam was barely aware of Merry and Pippin. He put his arm around Frodo and spoke to him quietly, fighting to keep his voice calm.

‘It’s all right, Frodo. It’s all right. You’re safe. You’re in the Shire. It’s me. It’s Sam.’

Frodo clutched Sam’s arm, but his expression was one of terror. Suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head, and Sam caught him as he slumped sideways. Pippin cried out in distress, and Merry bent over Sam as he cradled Frodo in his arms.

‘What is it Sam?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t think he was that close to the pony. Is he injured. What happened?’

Sam tasted salt on his lips and realised it was his tears. ‘Merry,’ he said, his voice tight, ‘just shut up. Go and see if the small back parlour is free. If it ain’t, get Fil to make it free or see if he has another room we can use.’ Merry didn’t hesitate, but turned and ran to the inn door. Pippin went to follow him.

‘Pippin, stay here,’ said Sam, ‘in case I need some help. If we get a crowd, I can’t deal with them and look after Frodo.’ Pippin came and crouched beside them.

‘What’s happened, Sam?’ he asked, his voice shaking.

‘He’ll be all right, Pip,’ Sam said. It didn’t answer Pippin’s question, but that could wait until they were somewhere more private. It was, in any case, what Pippin most needed to know, and Sam was glad to see he looked a little less haggard for this reassurance. He wished he felt better for it, he wished he believed it were true. Just the fact this was happening was proof enough that Frodo was not all right. As if he’d needed any proof of that.

Merry came hurrying back with Fil, the landlord, following him.

‘The room’s free, Sam. Let me help.’

‘I can manage,’ said Sam fiercely, and he picked Frodo up, one arm under his shoulders and the other under his knees. He steadied himself, and then stood with a soft grunt of effort.

‘Let me help, Sam,’ said Merry again.

‘NO!’ No one else was going to carry Frodo. Sam shifted the inert body so Frodo’s head rested against his shoulder, instead of lolling back unsupported. One of Frodo’s arms was trapped against his chest, but the other dangled freely as Sam followed Fil into the inn, carrying his burden. Merry and Pippin fell in behind, exchanging anxious looks.

It was unfortunate that they had to cross the crowded bar to get to the back parlour. Heads turned, and conversation died as they passed through, then rose again in a babble of sound that followed them down a narrow corridor. Fil threw open the door to the parlour, and stood aside to allow the Travellers to enter, before following them in. Merry and Pippin had to stoop to avoided banging their heads on the lintel.

‘Would you like me to bring some apple brandy?’ asked Fil.

‘No. No brandy,’ said Sam tersely.

‘Thank you, Fil,’ said Merry smoothly. He ushered the landlord out and shut the door.

As soon as the door closed, his face lost its look of bland reassurance. ‘Sam, what is it? Is it serious?’ he asked. ‘Wouldn’t some brandy help to revive him?’

Sam looked around without answering. A bright fire was burning in the grate, the flames lapping at two large apple logs; Sam could smell the hint of apple-scented smoke. There was an oak table with ladder back chairs in the centre of the room, and, pushed back against the wall, a few comfy chairs and a large sofa. Dark red curtains were closed over the window, and the room had a warm cosy appearance that Sam was in no mood to notice. He carried Frodo to the sofa, but instead of laying him there, he sat down himself, still cradling him in his arms. Allowing the sofa to take the weight of Frodo’s legs, Sam pulled his arm out from under Frodo’s knees; he undid the mallorn leaf brooch, followed by Frodo’s coat and top shirt buttons. Slipping his hand inside the neck of Frodo’s shirt, he felt his pulse. He was relieved to find it was strong and even.

‘I’ll take a wager it was the whip,’ he said.

‘What?’ said Merry.

‘The whip?’ exclaimed Pippin at the same time. They looked at each other puzzled.

‘The whip!’ said Sam impatiently. ‘The noise of the whip. It -’

Frodo made a distressed cry and turned his face into Sam’s chest. In an instant Sam forgot about what he was saying. He took his free hand away from Frodo’s neck and ran it down the arm that still dangled. In a deft movement Sam both raised the arm onto Frodo’s lap and captured the hand in his. He linked his four fingers into Frodo’s three.

‘Frodo, my love. Dear Frodo, I’m here,’ he murmured. Frodo took a shuddering breath in his arms.

‘Sam?’ he whispered, his voice shaking. He turned and opened his eyes, and Sam realised he was still not in the present. They were as full of fear and pain as when he had lain in Sam’s arms in the tower of Cirith Ungol.

Sam lifted the hand he held to his lips and kissed it. ‘Frodo,’ he said again, his voice soft, trying to get Frodo to focus on him. ‘You’re safe, we’re in the Shire. Merry and Pippin are with us.’

‘Sam, there was an orc with a whip,’ muttered Frodo, and Sam could feel him trembling.

‘No orc, my love. Look at your Sam.’

‘Am I still dreaming? But the other dreams were horrible.’

‘Frodo, look at me.’ Sam couldn’t prevent the sob that rose from deep within. He could hardly see Frodo for his tears, this was all much too real. The redness of the curtains disquieted him, reminding him of the dim red light in the tower. He saw again his beautiful Frodo lying naked in his own urine and vomit, his skin scarlet in the reflected light of the red lamp overhead, slashed by a darker red of welling blood. He felt sick at the memory.

Now Frodo was lost in the foul, black memory, and needed his help. When Frodo dreamt of this horror, and lost his way back, the surest way to awaken him was by kissing him, coaxing him back with lips and tongue. Sam thought it was maybe because it was so at odds with the memory. Being held by Sam, being reassured, these were things that had happened, and Frodo seemed to weave them into the nightmare of his memories. Being kissed by Sam, really kissed, not just a touch of his lips to Frodo’s forehead, shattered the horror because it wasn’t a part of it.

Sam only debated what he should do for an instant. He laid Frodo’s hand in his lap and caressed his cheek, bending down over him, but the next moment his head jerked up again as he heard, rather than saw, the door begin to open. There was a crash as Pippin slammed the door shut again, and a muffled exclamation from the outside. Frodo’s body jerked at the noise; he cried out and clutched Sam tightly. Pippin leant his not inconsiderable bulk against the door, and folded his arms across his chest. He caught Sam’s eye and unfolded one arm to gesture to him to carry on.

Sam bent back over Frodo, and stroked his face again, before covering his mouth with his own. He ran his tongue over Frodo’s slack lips, probing lightly, asking for both a response and permission to enter. He was ready to withdraw at the first sign of resistance or fear, if Frodo did not know his touch.

He felt Frodo’s mouth stir to life beneath his, and they both relaxed into the kiss. Frodo’s hand slid up over Sam’s chest, and slowly up his neck, his fingers tangling in Sam’s hair. Once Sam was sure Frodo was with him in the present, he regretfully withdrew. Frodo sighed.

‘Sam,’ he whispered, a merest exhalation. He opened his eyes and gazed into Sam’s. ‘Where am I?’ he asked simply.

‘You’re in the back parlour of the Green Dragon, love.’

‘What?’ Frodo struggled to sit up, and saw Merry and Pippin smiling at him with relief. ‘Oh!’

Pippin was still firmly wedged against the door, but Merry came and knelt by Frodo’s side. ‘Frodo! Are you all right,’ he asked in a choked voice.

‘I’m... I’m fine, Merry. Sam, put me down.’ Sam stood up and set Frodo on his feet, making sure he was steady before taking his supporting arm away.

‘Kiss him again, Sam,’ said Pippin.

‘What!’ Three heads turned towards the speaker.

‘Well, I liked it,’ Pippin protested in the face of continued stares from his companions. ‘Very loving; very... educational,’ he added and grinned his wicked Took grin. The atmosphere in the room lightened. Sam looked at Frodo rather sheepishly and mouthed ‘Sorry.’

Merry got up and put his hand on Frodo’s shoulder. ‘Do you want us to borrow Fil’s pony and trap, to get you home? Or would you like a drink?’

‘I’m fine,’ Frodo repeated. ‘I’d welcome a beer.’

Sam could see that Frodo was shaking, giving the lie to his assertion that he was fine. He put his arm around him again, and Frodo leant against him, breathing fast. Pippin levered himself away from the door.

‘I’ll get the beer,’ he said, ‘but I’ll get Fil to bring it, so he can spread the word he’s seen you, and you’ve recovered.’ He wagged a finger at Frodo and Sam. ‘So behave, and don’t let him find you ravishing each other on the hearth-rug.’

Sam sighed. Pippin was obviously going to get a lot of enjoyment at their expense, but he could appreciate that Pippin’s approach was a better one than a lot of hand-wringing and fussing over Frodo.

Merry grinned. ‘At least I know what to do when the next young lass swoons at my feet, overcome by my rugged good looks and shiny sword,’ he said. Pippin made a snorting sound.

‘You don’t have any rugged good looks!’ he said.

‘I’ve got a shiny sword!’ protested Merry. Pippin laughed and went in search of beer.

Merry put his arms round Frodo and Sam, remembering Frodo’s “we should do this more often.” No, he thought, we shouldn’t, not if it’s because of so much pain. ‘You know we only joke because you gave us such a fright,’ he said. ‘When Fil’s been and gone, I’d like to know what happened, but for now break it up and act naturally. Frodo, sit on the sofa and do up your buttons. Sam, he can do them up himself. Go and sit by the fire, and I’ll sit at the table. There,’ he winked at them, ‘not cosy at all.’

Pippin came back, whistling loudly, and set four tankards on the table. He was closely followed by Fil, carrying a large jug of beer.

‘I apologise that the beer ain’t up to my normal standard, gentlemen,’ Fil said. ‘It’s too young, and that’s a fact, but it’s the best I can offer. Since those ruffians took all my ale, I’m having to start from scratch. Now Mr. Baggins, are you quite sure you’re all right? Very poorly you was, when Master Samwise carried you in.’

‘Thank you, Fil,’ said Frodo, getting to his feet to show the landlord he had recovered. ‘I just came over dizzy.’

‘Well, that’s good that you’re better now,’ said Fil. ‘I’m more used to gentlemen being carried out than in, so to speak. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be getting back to the bar.’ He bustled out, and Pippin closed the door behind him.

‘It’s a pity there’s no lock,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think he’ll disturb us again without knocking. He wasn’t too pleased - said I nearly broke his nose - but I gave him a dressing down, and he ended up very apologetic. I think he’s got the message.’ He grinned. ‘I took lessons from the Captain of the Tower Guard. Well, when I say lessons, I was on the receiving end, but very useful none the less.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Except I didn’t quite see it that way at the time,’ he added.

‘If we all sit round the table,’ said Merry, as he poured the beer out, ‘we won’t have to raise our voices.’

‘So what happened?’ asked Pippin gently, as soon as they were seated together. Merry took Frodo’s hand.

‘I don’t know,’ said Frodo, staring into his beer. ‘I was... I was somewhere else. It seemed very real.’

‘You were in that foul prison at the top of the Tower,’ said Sam, grimly. Without looking up, Frodo nodded. A little beer slopped from his glass, and he hastily took his hand away.

‘It was very real,’ he whispered. ‘I thought I was there.’

Sam laid his hand over Frodo’s. Frodo turned his hand palm up, and they linked fingers together. Sam squeezed reassuringly, and felt answering pressure.

‘It’s mostly bad dreams as does it,’ he explained to Merry and Pippin. ‘But occasionally some noise or memory just seems to snap him into the past.’ He turned to Frodo. ‘Ted Sandyman was mistreating that pretty little mare of his, and he set his whip on her.’ He wasn’t sure if the shaking he could feel was coming from Frodo or himself. Merry and Pippin both stared at him.

‘You mean...’ Merry seemed to have trouble speaking, he swallowed and tried again. ‘You mean Frodo’s been whipped?’

Sam nodded. ‘Enough to scar, I found him -’

‘That’s enough, Sam!’ Frodo’s voice cut across Sam’s. ‘I don’t want to talk about it!’

There was silence. Frodo turned to Merry and Pippin. ‘So how are things at Crickhollow?’ he asked with an obvious effort, and freed his hand from Merry’s to take a draught of his beer. Sam’s hand he held on to tightly. Sam was grateful for the pressure from Frodo’s fingers, entwined with his own.

‘Frodo, you and Sam must come and stay at Crickhollow for a few days,’ said Merry seriously. ‘I know you don’t want to live there, but you need to have some time to just be together, with no...’ he nearly said worries, but that was a daft thing to say... 'need to do anything, or be anywhere.’

Sam started to protest, but Pippin cut across him.

‘Sam, if Bag End is ready a few days later it isn’t the end of the world, especially if you’ve had a chance to be with Frodo more. And you said yourself that the tree planting is going to be a slow business, so a little slower won’t hurt. I’ll come and help you when I can. If you come to Crickhollow for a few days at a time, once a month, or twice if we can persuade you, it’ll be good for you both.’

Sam looked at Frodo, and Frodo nodded.

‘Good,’ said Merry, that’s settled then. ‘Can you come back with us tomorrow?’

‘No,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve got a meeting with the tunnellers tomorrow, but the day after would be fine.’ He felt suddenly light-headed, as if he’d already drunk some of Fil’s beer. He took a sip now. The flavour of hops was a little stronger than it should be and the beer tasted rather weak, but it was drinkable. Warm and wet, as his Gaffer would say.

The talk gradually turned to the small doings of Buckland in particular and the Shire in general. With the help of the beer to ease things, they slipped back into their familiar banter. They put the Shire to rights and performed assorted character assassinations, Ted Sandyman’s first and foremost. There was a lull in the conversation as Merry went to get the jug filled, and Pippin put more logs on the fire. When they were reseated, Sam suddenly patted his weskit pocket with his free hand. He smiled triumphantly, and drew out the small box of plain grey wood, gifted to him by the Lady Galadriel. He placed it on the table.

Merry and Pippin leaned forward to look, and Frodo smiled at Sam, rubbing his thumb up and down against Sam’s hand. ‘I wondered when you would think of it,’ he said, tracing the silver G rune with the forefinger of his free hand.

‘G for Galadriel or garden,’ said Sam.

‘Or Gamgee,’ added Frodo. ‘Open it! Let’s see what’s inside.’ He released Sam’s hand and pushed the box back to him. Sam very carefully released the tiny catch holding the box closed, and lifted the lid. Inside, it was filled with a grey dust, soft and fine, in the middle of which was a seed, like a small nut with silver shale.

‘What can I do with this?’ said Sam. ‘It’s soil from the Lady Galadriel’s orchard.’

‘Throw it in the air on a breezy day and let it do its work!’ said Pippin.

‘On what?’ asked Sam.

‘Choose one spot as a nursery, and see what happens to the plants there,’ said Merry.

‘But I’m sure the Lady would not like me to keep it all for my own garden, now so many folk have suffered,’ said Sam, looking anxiously at Frodo.

‘Use all the wits and knowledge you have of your own, dear Sam,’ said Frodo, leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead, ‘and then use the gift to help your work and better it. And use it sparingly. There is not much here, and I expect every grain has a value.’

They talked a little longer, and then drained their tankards. They let Frodo lead the way out through the bar, hoping it would go some way to staunch new rumours about his health. Sam fell into place at Frodo’s right shoulder, and smiled at the thought of staying at Crickhollow. Merry was right, they should have done it before.