A/N: Sorry for the late update; one word: Overtime--and it’s cutting into my writing schedule! Hehehe…but I am glad to be working again, and I thank those who have been with me during this hard growing period…and I thank the One above.

This bit picks up at the end of Chapter 48. It is still Thrimmidge 1421, Pippin and Rosebud are very sick. Merry has just shed his tears of despair in the dark corner of the sitting room…

Roses: The Untold Story

The hobbit-women--consisting of Eglantine and Pimpernel--left the sitting room to prepare a special recipe of broth for Pippin and Rosebud’s lunch. Only Paladin and Merimas remained behind, their downcast faces full of private thought. Merry took advantage of this, quickly rushing across the expanse of Pippin’s apartment into his own room. Fortunately, neither cousin nor uncle took notice of him. Merry was not in any mood to explain his tears.

Once inside, he closed the door behind him, allowing his mind to clear. Unable to relax or to sit down, Merry paced about in his bedroom, which still resembled the nursery it was originally intended to be. He and a group of friends had decorated it as such more than a year ago. After Lilas passed away, Pippin revealed to his cousin that he wanted drastic change in his quarters. The apartment held too many memories of his late wife. As a result, Pippin asked Merry to move into the nursery, and he, in turn, would move Rosebud in with him.

Presently in the bedroom, Merry tried sitting down, however, he sill felt too restless. He decided to get up and rinse his tearstained face in the washbasin. As he finished drying his face, something caught the young hobbit’s eye: a letter he had received from the Quick Post earlier in the morning still lay upon his desk unopened. It was from Frodo. Merry would normally have opened it right away, except now he felt taking care of Rosebud and Pippin took precedence. He knew a quiet moment would come later in the day to sit in peace and read it while his charges slept.

With nothing else to do at the moment, Merry walked over to his desk and sat down. He held up the envelope in his left hand and a letter opener in his right. He hesitated, staring at the familiar artistic script that Frodo used, wondering what news the letter contained. Without another thought, Merry slid the opener across the top, pulling out the folded paper.

In the letter, Frodo wished his young cousins good health and well-being--dreams free from evil shadows and sinister figures lurking dark corners. Merry grinned sadly; in his heart, he wished the same for Frodo. The letter went on about the new Bag End, New Row, and how Sam and Rosie were faring with their first baby, Elanor. The last parts made Merry smile, reminding him of the triumphs and trials of Rosebud’s first few months. As he read further, Merry came across something that made him give a small yelp of delight. Merry quickly refolded the paper, stuffing it back inside the envelope then into the pocket of his breeches. He rummaged around his room looking for his cloak and rucksack. Picking them up, he ran out of his room.

Paladin watched his nephew shut his bedroom door in haste then walk by in a rush. He looked at Merimas sitting in the other hearthside chair, “I wonder what that is all about. Do you know where he’s off to?”

~ ~ ~

Pippin swallowed another spoonful of broth his sister had brought in. It was a special recipe his mother would make whenever he was sick. Pippin loved his sisters dearly; however, it just wasn’t the same without his favourite cousin. “Where’s Merry at?”

Pimpernel stirred the sediments from the bottom of the bowl, scooping another spoonful. “I was told that he left.”

“Left?” Pippin wondered, ignoring the spoon in front of his mouth. Merry never went any farther than Pippin could yell when he was ill. “To go where?”

Pim shrugged her shoulders. “Father told me he took his bag and cloak with him.”

Pippin didn’t know if he should be hurt or put out. “He left--just like that? No message for me?”

Pimpernel just about gave up on helping her brother to eat. “He’s a big hobbit, Pippin. He can come and go as he pleases. Now sit still and eat.”

“But that isn’t like him, Pim,” said Pippin. Sighing, he leaned back onto his pillows. “Did he say when he’d return?” Pimpernel shook her head in response, then shoved a spoonful of broth into his mouth. “Not even a thought for Rosebud,” Pippin mumbled as he ate. “Some hobbits.”

* * *

The sun was still high in the Shire sky as Merry left the Greenhills behind, riding straight north between the Smials and the East Road. He crossed over the road, heading north towards Bywater. The wind rushed past his cheeks, his pony at full gallop. Soon he would have to stop again and let Stybba rest and drink. Merry’s mind went back to the letter in his pocket…his mind had a single purpose: Bag End. Onward he rode.

* * *

“More tea?” asked Rosie, smiling at her husband.

“No, thank you,” answered Sam. He returned her smile with one of his own. “I think I’ve enough tea in me to last ’til suppertime.”

Rosie walked over to Frodo with the steaming tea kettle. “How about you Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but not because of Rosie. It was the fixed gaze of his guest that made him feel uneasy. “No, Rosie, but thank you.”

Rosie offered tea lastly to the guest of Bag End, however, after the first two negative responses, she held little hope that the guest would take a third cup. “I don’t suppose you’ll want any, will you Mr. Gandalf?”

“Yes, thank you,” said the wizard, smiling kindly at the hobbit-woman. “I have not tasted tea such as this in a long while, and tomorrow it shall be a long ride back to Rivendell.”

Rosie filled his cup then returned the kettle back to the hearth. After setting a tray of cakes and scones on the table, she took her leave. “If you lads will excuse me,” she said, “it’s almost time for Elanor to take her tea.”

Three of the former Nine members of the Fellowship waited until the young mother departed before letting their conversation turn to more serious matters. Sam spoke in a low, conspiring tone, “I’ve not seen him ill with my very own eyes, but Mr. Cotton--Rosie’s dad, mind you--found Mr. Frodo one day fingerin’ that jewel he keeps round his neck.”

“It felt a bit snug, Sam,” corrected Frodo. Though his eyes met no one’s. “I was merely loosening it.” Gandalf saw through the Ringbearer’s façade. It was just as he and Elrond suspected; the Ring had taken its toll on the hobbit’s mind long before it was ever destroyed at Mount Doom. Gandalf guessed what the Elf Lord had in mind, however, he would not brooch the subject here in mixed company. He would speak to Frodo alone later or at some point before he left the Shire. His thoughts were interrupted by someone pounding on the door. Before anyone could answer it, it flew open.

“Merry!” called Frodo, happy to see his cousin--and for a wee diversion. He rose up from the table to embrace his dear friend and cousin. “I’m so glad--” Frodo stopped short; he had a bad feeling something was about to happen.

Merry quickly hugged his dear cousin, patted Sam on the shoulder and then went straight for the wizard. “Gandalf! You’re still here--thank the Overheavens!”

~ ~

“So…you say that our young Peregrin has had a very demanding year and a half,” said Gandalf in a musing tone. “I am very sorry about his wife.” The old wizard felt the word roll flat off his tongue. Peregrin was not yet old enough to have a wife--nor a child! “Gracious me,” he mumbled to himself. “And you say that his daughter is…ill?” Merry nodded, gazing intently at the wizard. Gandalf remembered the last time Merry had that look in his eyes…it was on the field of Cormallen, when his dearest friend’s broken body lay before him. “You can heal him, right Gandalf?” the large, blue eyes beseeched him. Although in the end, it was the hands of the king who healed Peregrin. Gandalf made no guarantee of healing back then, and so he would not make any now. “Very well. I will do what I can for the child, Meriadoc, but I will not make promises.”

Soon, the little group, minus Sam--he and Rosie had a young infant to care for--were on their way to Great Smials. Gandalf insisted on travelling the roads vice the fields and meadows as he was driving the same cart that would take him back to Rivendell the next day. So far, all he knew was that the youngest hobbit of the Company had mysteriously taken a wife the year before--both under aged, of course. Now the young perian had a baby who was gravely ill. Gandalf took this opportunity to catch up on the busy lives of his young friends. Riding in his cart, thoughtfully smoking his pipe, Gandalf asked, “Just how did Peregrin and his wife meet?”

“They um…they sort of met at the Green Dragon,” Merry answered evasively. “After a couple months they were married.”

Frodo laughed, “That isn’t all of the truth, cousin.”

“It’s all that need be said,” Merry replied, signalling to Frodo to keep silent.

“You forget, my dear Merry,” said Frodo. “Gandalf has seen the likes of…well…he’s been around.” Then added for good measure, “For a long time.” Frodo turned towards Gandalf to answer his question more fully. “Pippin and Lilas unintentionally had a tryst behind the Green Dragon.”

Understanding came to the wizard’s mind. “Ah.”

Frodo continued, “Even though both were at fault, Pippin despised his marriage and begrudged Lilas--but as we know our beloved Pippin, his heart couldn’t stay cold forever. He did a lot of growing up this past year--even more so than what he did while on the Quest. However, his beautiful baby daughter was born much too early--just as her father. She easily succumbs to illnesses the same as Pippin did when he was a babe.”

“Rosebud is her name,” put in Merry. “She had her first birthday party a few weeks ago. That’s when a strange dream began to plague Pippin. He dreamt of seeing Rosebud as a young lass…and she would repeatedly ask him to make a promise that he couldn’t bear to make.”

“What promise is that?” asked Gandalf, riding between the hobbits.

“At first, Pippin wouldn’t talk about it,” said Merry, “but eventually he told me. She wants him to promise that when the time comes, he would let her go.” Gandalf nodded in acknowledgement, gradually sinking deeper into his thoughts. For the rest of the trip to the Smials, the old wizard was silent.

~ ~ ~

Arriving at the Smials, the trio made their way into the ancestral home of the Tooks not through the main entrance, but via one of the many service entrances. Gandalf was relieved to finally see the Thain’s quarters with their lofty ceilings--his hunched back began to ache something terrible. So many memories; he had not been inside the Thain’s portion of the Smials since the days of the Old Took.

“Let’s stop here,” said Frodo, but said nothing else. How does one tell a wizard that his presence may upset some of the residents?

Gandalf caught on to Frodo’s thoughts, understanding most hobbits were wary of him. “I think I should stay out of sight and hearing, my lads. I shall wait for your word…,” he looked around for a proper place to hide, and then spied a familiar room where he used to tell stories to twelve young hobbit-children. “…in here. I trust you will inform me when all is ready.” Merry and Frodo left Gandalf hidden in a storage room where old furniture was kept.

~ ~ ~

“Really? Gandalf is here?” whispered Pippin, drowsy from having just woke up from a nap. He didn’t know if he was in the middle of yet another odd dream. Then he looked beside him where Rosebud lay asleep. No, not a dream. “I’m…glad he is here…but why?”

Pippin’s voice sounded dry and hoarse. Merry poured a glass of water for his dear friend. The lad was looking more ill than earlier. “He’s here to see Rosebud, Pip.”

Pippin took a sip of the cool, clear liquid, though his fatigue remained. “But how did he learn that she was sick?” asked Pippin, his eyelids barely able to stay open. Merimas had given him a cup of hot tea earlier to help him sleep.

“He was visiting at Bag End,” Frodo smiled kindly. He watched Pippin let out an exasperated breath. “Don’t worry, Pippin. He knows everything and he still came--he would’ve come anyway. Nothing short of death would keep him from at least checking on you…and Rosebud. So, how ‘bout it? Shall we send for him?”

Pippin looked from cousin to cousin in confusion. “I don’t mind, but…Rosebud is sick. I don’t want her to catch anything else, and I’d hate to think that she would make him ill as well.”

“Pippin,” Frodo replied, “I have never known that old wizard to be ill, so don’t let that hinder anything.”

“All right,” whispered Pippin wearily. The more he tried to stay wake, the more his mind yielded to the relaxation that lured him into blissful slumber. His head had gown heavy so he lay back, letting himself slowly drift off to sleep.

When Pippin woke up an hour later, he thought he heard the sounds of familiar laugher and giggles. His mind still foggy, yet Pippin was firmly resolved that he felt large hands touching his forehead and his face while he slept. Little by little, his thoughts became clearer. He opened his eyes.

“Good evening, Peregrin,” said Gandalf, pausing from the laughter he shared with the baby lass sitting on his knee. A rather large and comfortable chair from the Thain’s office had been brought into Pippin’s bedroom by his friends to accommodate the tall wizard.

Pippin leaned up onto his elbows, befuddled. “What happened?” he asked. His own voice sounding less weary and much stronger. When he sat up, a small draft was drawn under the bed linen; Pippin’s nightshirt felt damp. He felt his own forehead; it was mildly warm. In the time it took for the tween to wake up, his eyes were constantly fixed on Gandalf. Until now, Pippin didn’t realize just how much he missed his mentor. “Gandalf! I thought I was dreaming when I heard Frodo speaking earlier” Then he saw the small bundle wrapped in a pink knitted baby blanket. “Rosebud--you’re awake! And feeling better, too, from the look of things.”

“Would you care to hold your daughter, Peregrin?” asked Gandalf. Deep inside, he was happy to witness a new generation of Tooks. Old Gerontius would be proud of these young hobbits.

Pippin held forth his arms, nodding. When he kissed Rosebud’s cheek, he noticed that he wasn’t the only one without a bad fever. She still had somewhat of a cough, though it sounded as if the congestion had already broken. Pippin put his ear to Rosebud’s chest, listening for the bubbling sound within; nothing. He lifted his baby daughter up in the air, “You’re all better! What happened, Muffin?”

Frodo sat near the hearth, smiling, “Let’s just say that we had…help from our old friend here.”

Gandalf smiled, “After a few days of convalescence, you both shall be hale enough for a walk in the garden.” He then gave a wink to Rosebud, “Would you like that?”

Although Rosebud was still getting used to the big “Man“, her timidity was gone. Whilst sucking on her forefinger finger, she reached out with the other hand. Pippin thought she wanted to sit with Gandalf again, so he sat up, leaning forward towards the wizard. Without warning, the babe reached and snagged Gandalf’s white beard. She then smiled with delight at the wiry feel of the hair. She then put a hand to her own head of curls. The wizard and hobbits watched the entire performance with amusement, laughing at her Tookish curiosity. “Just like her papa,” observed Merry.

“Baba!” Rosebud shouted, hearing the reference to her father.

After untangling bits of the long beard from her wee hand, Pippin held his daughter close to his heart, wrapping Rosebud in a soft, loving embrace. “Kiss for papa?” he asked. Tears spilled from his eyes, feeling her tiny lips touch his face. “I love you, Rosebud.” He turned grateful green eyes to Gandalf. “Thank you.”

* * *

Rosebud Grows Up…

“Happy birthday, Rosebud!” shouted a group of young children. They were the Birthday Faunt’s cousins and playmates: Hilly, Tilby, Gelly, Laurelie (Everard Took’s daughter), Brody, and his baby sister, Rosmarine, and Pearl’s children. Only her two youngest children, Wil and Juniper, participated in the festive games. Her older daughters assisted the grown ups with the party games after the Faunt Blessing was over. The head of the family always gave the ceremonial Blessings, which is the Took--in this case, the Faunt’s proud grandfather. The youngest member of the wee party troupe was Kalimas--Merry and Estella’s firstborn, a mere 18 months old.

Rosebud developed into a very social little faunt; she enjoyed being at the centre of activity. Every now and then she would break from her play to run into her papa’s arms for a bit of emotional assurance, but generally, she played well with her cousins Hilly, Laurelie, Brody…and Kali. Kali was yet a bit young for rigorous play, but Rosebud felt there was something special about the lad-baby. Merry showed Rosebud how to play gently with him.

Rosebud still loved her Uncle Me-mi the best of all her uncles. He was her favouritest. There would always be an invisible connection between these two; however, it would be a few years before Rosebud was old enough to understand why. Until then, Merry doted on his favourite niece whenever he had the opportunity, slipping a toffee or two into her palm whenever they visited one another.

Her Auntie Pim was her favourite aunt. Wanting to preserve as much lass in her young niece as possible, Pimpernel would often bring Rosebud along whenever she received an invitation to a ladies’ tea. Rosebud liked going to the teas; she always had a passion for custard tarts. Truth be told, Rosebud had a passion for all food, most especially sweets. Her voracious appetite was inherited from both her mother and father.

Her Auntie Saborra and Uncle Sabo came to visit whenever possible. They would walk with her in the gardens, or on a cold rainy day stay inside the Smials drinking hot apple juice while telling stories. Rosebud had a few big ones up her ruffled sleeves no doubt told to her by her own papa.

Moreover, Grandmamma Lilly and Grandpapa Silas kept in touch, however, the two closest grandparents to her in proximity and heart, were Paladin and Eglantine. Tina minded their granddaughter whenever Pippin helped his father at the Thain’s office. Along with Pimpernel, she did her utmost to teach Rosebud how to play with rag dolls.

Rosebud was indeed an exceptionally brilliant little lass, taking up after her father. As was family custom, when she was four, Pippin began tutoring Rosebud in her letters and numbers. Rosebud picked it up fast. Before, Pippin was able to spell out words to his siblings or parents that he didn’t want his daughter to hear, but soon could no longer do so. Whenever she had the sniffles, Rosebud quickly learned what the first three letters of “medicine” were m-e-d. Off she would run and hide away in her room until her papa called off the search. Pippin knew where her secret hiding place was: inside her wardrobe while holding her momma’s rag doll. Fortunately, each had the other wrapped so tightly around a finger that Pippin was usually able to coax his Muffin into taking her medicine.

From her days as a fauntling, Rosebud became Pippin’s wee shadow, following him nearly everywhere he went. Many times Pippin and his little lass were seen tramping in the nearby meadows, stopping along the stream to skim stones, or catching frogs in the ponds they passed by. She climbed her first tree at the ripe old age of five--with the help of her papa.

When Rosebud was six, Pippin let her spend a few days at Whitwell with her Aunt Pimpernel to learn about life on a farm. Rosebud wasn’t too keen on cleaning out the stalls, but she enjoyed the rest of it. She quickly learned the ins and outs of how to care for the animals and to feed them. Her most favourite part of the day was when the work was finished, when she and her cousins were free to swing on the rope in the barn. Bales of straw were stacked high up enough for the children to swing out on the rope from the loft and land safely on their backsides.

One night, when Rosebud was eight years old, she woke up in the night crying from a nightmare she had. As soon as her papa walked into her room and sat on her bed, Rosebud wrapped her arms tightly around him.

“Shhh…,” he said, stroking her long, curly tresses with his hand. “You’re safe here with me, Rosebud.”

Rosebud cried for a bit more before loosening her grip on his waist. “I…I had a bad, bad, dream, papa.”

Pippin had re-married the year before and been recently blessed with a new baby son, so he was already reacquainted with getting up in the middle of the night. “What was it about, love?”

“We--you and me,” she began, “were walking in a field near a stream. There were lots of pretty trees close by. Then…then…” Rosebud stopped and started to cry again.

“Tell me, Muffin,” Pippin spoke in a soft, calming voice, though this dream was ringing bells in the back of his head. His hair stood on end on the nape of his neck.

“I wanted to go away and wanted you to make me a promise to let me go…but I didn’t really want to go away. It frightened me, papa.”

“Yes, that is frightening,” said Pippin, still rocking his young daughter in his arms. “I once used to have a dream that scared me, too--when you were a sick baby.” Pippin gave a short account of the strange dream he experienced when she was a baby teetering on the brink of death.

“Papa…does that mean I will die?”

“I don’t think so, Muffin,” he gave her a kiss atop her auburn hair. “Have you gone away?” He felt her shake her head no. “Do you want to go away?” More shaking of her head. “I want to stay here with you, papa,” came her muffled response.

“Then so shall it be.”

“But yesterday, the other lads and lasses were teasing me, telling me I look sick all the time. Dolbert called me Tiny Rosebud. They don’t want me on their teams to play games.”

Pippin worried. “Was Till or Gel there?”  Dolbert was eleven years old, and sometimes was a bully.

“No--they were off with Brody climbing trees. Hilly and me were catching up to them when we went through Whitwell.  He gave Dobert a bloody nose.”

“Hilly and I,” Pippin unconscientiously corrected his daughter. He breathed a sigh of relief. All of his young nephews were quite protective of their lass cousin, treating her just like a sister.  Pippin hated to think of what would've happened had heard their "sister" being called names.

Pippin recalled having the same painful memories of when he was a young lad. He gave Rosebud and extra loving hug. “I know,” he said. “Someday…you just may grow taller than any of them.” He had an idea….Fangorn Forest wasn’t too far away where his wee darling daughter was concerned. When she would be ready for courting and marriage (Pippin guessed around the age of…fifty or even sixty!), she wouldn’t be Tiny Rosebud anymore!

Rosebud lived a very long time…and anyone who came to know her couldn’t help but love her. Even me.

~~The Absolute Final Alternate End~~