Merry had enjoyed the big dinner in the main dining hall. The food and drink were what he was used to seeing in Brandy Hall--good Hobbit cooking, and plenty of it. Sitting at the head table with his parents and a few other close family members, he had also liked catching up on family news, and told a few carefully chosen anecdotes from his travels. And his mother had pleased him by wearing her new necklace, to the admiration of all.

But he was tired. And now that the meal was over, he had to mingle a bit. He could not slip away before his father did, at least. And the Hall was crowded with not only its usual inhabitants, but also with a lot of the East Farthing guests, many of whom he did not know.

Now he moved from group to group with an occasional word, but no more than half an ear to the conversation, until he heard a familiar name.

“…and it looks like that Frodo will be the last of ‘em; I say the Baggins line can’t die out fast enough. It’s brought nothing but trouble to the Shire for years, first that old Bilbo, then Lotho, and now that Frodo…” The speaker stopped abruptly as he felt a heavy hand upon his shoulder, and he turned to look *up* into the grim face of the Son of the Hall.

“Sir.” said Merry, making no effort to keep his voice down or to hide his anger, “under this roof you will *not* speak that way of my cousin.”

 Suddenly there was a clear space all around them, and silence in the room. Merry continued, his voice ringing out “Know this: if it were not for the courage of the Baggins, you would have been dead or worse than dead a year ago. Whether you know it or not, *Frodo Baggins* saved us all at considerable cost to himself, and I will hear no ill spoken of him in my presence!”

Merry lifted his hand from the Hobbit’s shoulder and left the room abruptly. The unfortunate object of his ire, a Chubb from Whitfurrow who had taken a drop more ale than was good for him, found himself suddenly alone and sober.

The room buzzed. Those who knew Merry were shocked to see him lose his temper; those who knew him *well* were not. Saradoc and Esmeralda exchanged glances, and Esmeralda went after her son.

Merry had rushed outside. He needed the cold night air. How could he not have realized it before? His mind raced among the tangles of the Baggins family tree seeking a new shoot, but he knew better--the last branch came to an abrupt dead end with Frodo. Frodo was it. No more Baggins in the Shire. It was unspeakably sad.

And of course, Frodo had known all along. It was one of the costs his cousin had counted and set aside, when he offered to take the Ring.

He felt Esmeralda’s presence behind him. “Hullo, Mum. I can’t say I’m sorry.”

“No one would expect you to apologize for defending Frodo. What did the fool say to upset you so?”

When Merry told her, she was puzzled. “Son, I know Frodo has long been a confirmed bachelor, but now that you’re back and the ordeal is over, could he not yet find a lass to lighten his heart?”

Merry shook his head sadly. “I know Sam and Pippin still hope so; but Frodo considers himself to be damaged goods. He’ll never ask a lass to share that.”

She did not ask how he knew. From the day he was born until he was seven years old, Merry’s first study had been Frodo’s heart, and he’d never forgot those early lessons. Now, she too felt sad for the cousin who had once been like another son to her. “Your father’s waiting for you in his study.”

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Frodo had retired early. He was not sleepy, but he wanted to take his melancholy presence away, before he dampened the spirits of others. He lay upon his bed, clutching Arwen’s jewel, and allowed the waves of loneliness to wash over him.

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