Chapter 8 - Adrift

Rethe 30

Robin rode up to the Cotton farm in the early morning hours, when farmers and their children were the only ones awake. He spotted Tom and Jolly out near the barn, feeding the ponies and livestock. They looked up as they heard him ride up and waved.

“Oy, Robin,” Tom called. “A bit early for you isn’t it? I thought you didn’t wake till noon.”

Robin laughed and checked his pony to a halt. “These shirriffs will turn me into a morning person yet,” he said and looked around. “Will Sam be here today? I’ve got a bit of news, and I promised I’d keep him updated.”

Tom and Jolly shook their heads. “We’re finished here. Sam will be at Bag End all day,” said Tom.

“How does he seem to you?” Robin asked. He wondered how much they knew of Sam’s self-accusations about all this.

Tom shrugged. “A little distracted, but well enough.”

“What do you mean ‘a little’?” said Jolly and shook his head. “I think you’re the one distracted, Tom. Get your mind off your lass for a moment.” He turned to Robin and fixed him with a worried expression. “We know Sam well enough to know when he’s trying to keep something close, and he’s not well. He’s hanging on by a thread.”

“So?” Sam hinted.

“So?” Marigold replied, feigning ignorance.

“So tell us what he said,” Sam continued, as he cracked eggs into a bowl. He picked up a whisk and started to whip the eggs, adding a trickle of milk every few strokes until the mix was a light soft yellow.

“It was a private conversation, Sam,” Marigold said casually. She flipped the pancakes on the skillet expertly. 

May smiled at her baby sister as she sliced a watermelon open and cut it into hand-sized pieces. “Mama’s pendant looks lovely on you,” she commented. “But what did he say?”

“Come on Goldie,” Sam pressed, “you know Tom’s just going to tell me anyway.”

May laughed to hear Marigold’s familiar persuasive phrase, used so often to coax information out of Sam, for once used against her.

The Gamgees had slipped back into their normal routine with little effort and with great relief. Now that they were finished at the Cottons, they could turn their attention to their own day-to-day affairs and all the work that needed to be done. Before they did that, however, they had to lovingly tease their sister as they prepared breakfast.

Marigold was still too overjoyed to be annoyed and she went into a very detailed account of Tom’s promise, down to the way every strand of his curly hair sat perfectly on his head. By the time she finished, Hamfast had come into the kitchen and was sitting on his chair near the oven, beaming proudly.

He watched as his children prepared breakfast, maneuvering easily around each other in the small kitchen. He listened to the sound of his daughters’ melodious, cheerful voices and laughter. They turned now to May’s wedding, and the flowers she wanted at the reception and for her bouquet. Sam offered many suggestions that would work well and May memorized them all for when she would next go into town.

But Sam did not stay in the conversation long. Gradually, he dropped out of the chatter and stopped talking altogether. By the time breakfast was ready and served, he was completely preoccupied with his own thoughts, no longer even pretending to listen to his sisters. He kept his eye out the kitchen window and ate quickly. 

Hamfast knew what preoccupied his son’s mind, for what else could it possibly be? Unlike his son, Hamfast had been in town the last couple of days and knew the rumors that were being spread about the Master of the Hill. Most folk were saying that Mr. Baggins had cracked at last and would never be seen in the Shire again, just like old Mr. Bilbo. As much as he hated to agree, even Hamfast could not defend Mr. Frodo’s actions away. There was nothing proper about dashing off into a storm.

He was glad that Sam had been busy at the Cottons the last few days, but now that their lives have returned to normal, he knew the reality of the situation would soon sink in completely for his son. Up until now, Sam had been able to feed his denial with fancies that his master would soon be returning. He might even try to trick himself into believing that Mr. Baggins would be back tomorrow, the First of Astron, the date he was originally to return to Bag End. When that failed to happen, when Mr. Baggins failed to turn up, Sam would give in to his despair at last and Hamfast knew that could prove devastating, not just to Sam but to them all. He would have to talk with Sam, remind him of his familial duties. Sam will find it difficult at first, but he would simply have to learn to live without his beloved master. They all would.

Sam was quick to leave once the breakfast dishes were washed and put away. He promised to return in time for dinner and grabbed the lunch bag that Marigold held out for him. He trotted up the Hill, and as soon as he reached Bag End, he went directly to the door. No answer came to his knock and the door remained locked. Sam had not really expected anything different. 

He left the door and turned to work. He still had the flowerbeds that needed to be planted along the walk path before anything else was done. Only the top part of the path closest to the smial needed to be replanted, along with a few other beds near the gate. 

He started at the uppermost bed and worked his way down. He sprinkled the beds with water to moisten the soil, then set out the flowers where he would plant them. Once everything was arranged, he picked up his small trowel and began, one by one, to dig the holes and plant the flowers. He watered again after he finished, packing the soil tight. With that done, he went back and weeded the other beds, pruning the flowers and shrubs as he went, watering where needed. 

He took lunch at the reading bench. Never able to stop thinking of work for a second, or more accurately never allowing himself to, Sam scanned the gardens, building a mental list of everything that was in desperate need of doing. First, he needed to water the flowers newly planted from the previous days. Then he needed to show some attention to the kitchen garden. There were also the hedges to be trimmed near the gate, the compost piles needed turning, and the outside of the windows needed cleaning. And for some reason, he seemed to think there was something that needed to be done with the oak tree that sat atop the smial. He would have to get up there to see if he could remember what it was.

Finishing the last of his lunch, he stood up and prepared to go back to work.

Merry and Pippin entered the dining hall as elevenses was being served. This was to be their first meal with the rest of the family since the day of the storm. So much had happened since then, they could hardly believe that only six days had passed. It felt closer to a lifetime ago. They did not feel up to the task, but they had lost the argument with Esmeralda. 

They would rather have remained in the private quarters, and now that they were here, they wanted more than anything to leave. Perhaps it was just their imagination, but it appeared to them that all conversations ceased when they entered the hall as everyone paused for just the slightest of moments to stare at them. They did not like it, and stayed close to each other as they made their way up to the front table where Esmeralda and Saradoc sat waiting. They sat down next to them and it was a relief to them both as the conversations began buzzing around them once more.

They ate their meal, keeping their eyes on the food. A few cousins came by to share their condolences and regrets. Melilot came to say how sorry she was. She tried to blame herself, for not thinking to be alarmed when Frodo failed to return to the Feast. Esmeralda was quick to assure her she was not to blame, and Saradoc quickly agreed. Merry and Pippin only nodded their agreement and Merry was struck with the realization that everyone seemed to be blaming themselves for one thing or another. Pippin was right; it really was pointless to place blame. So why couldn’t he stop feeling so guilty?

Saradoc turned to Merry near the end of the meal and told him he could take it easy the rest of the day. After Merry and Pippin had disappeared the previous day, he and Esmeralda decided it was best not to push the lads too much too soon. The lads could spend the next week or so until Paladin and Eglantine’s arrival doing as they wished, but they wanted to know where Merry and Pippin planned to be for the day and wanted them home at a decent hour. 

As it happened, Merry and Pippin were planning to go to Crickhollow for the afternoon with Ilberic and his older brother Doderic. They had run into their friends on their way to the dining hall and made their plans. Merry was glad his father had spoken first, for he really wasn’t feeling up to an argument, and after just an hour under the scrutiny of the rest of the Brandybucks, he wanted nothing more than to get away from Brandy Hall and prying eyes. From the hunched-over form of Pippin, he could tell his cousin felt the same way.

As soon as elevenses was over, Merry and Pippin went to the stables. They found Ilberic and Doderic waiting for them, along with their sister Celandine. They had the ponies already saddled and waited until Merry and Pippin were mounted to head out for the Road. 

“You told your parents we’re going to Crickhollow?” Doderic asked.

“Yes,” Merry replied.

“Good,” Celandine said, “because that isn’t where we’re going.”

“What do you mean?” Merry asked. At the same time, Pippin said, “Where are we going?”

Ilberic smiled impishly, the scar on his cheek accentuating the mischief in his eyes. “It’s a surprise. It’s a bit of a ride, but it should be fun once we get there.”

They turned north on the Road, then east on Crickhollow Lane. They followed the Lane until they were out of sight of any homes, then turned north again, off the road and into open fields in the general direction of Newbury. Merry began to recognize some landmarks and thought he knew where they were going. 

Eventually, they came to a narrow glade and passed through the trees to a shallow cliff overlooking a pond. The glade was quiet and serene and the sun sparkled off the water’s surface in peaceful tranquility. Many years had passed since Merry had been here last, and Pippin had never been. Pippin looked around with interest and noticed a mighty tree branch hanging over the pond. A knotted rope was tied to it.

“Where are we?” he asked. 

“Jumper’s Point,” Celandine answered. “Just four miles south of Newbury. It’s usually packed with hobbits here in the summer, but during spring it’s quite lonely. There shouldn’t be anyone else about.”

“Here, put those on,” Doderic said and threw his cousins a pair of swim trunks each.

“I don’t know,” Pippin said, hesitant. He looked at Merry to see what his cousin would do. 

Merry looked down at the pond, a stubborn expression on his face. Merry knew the pond to be perfectly safe and had no fear of it. He was nervous however, if only for Pippin’s sake. He should probably insist on leaving, or at least on sitting out with Pippin to watch from a distance. But in the confusion of his grief and guilt, he became defiant of this uncalled-for fear. He nodded. “I haven’t been here in years, it was always fun before. Come on Pip.”

They changed in the cover of the trees and came out to watch as Celandine took the first leap and swing over the pond. She released the rope on the return, and dropped into the water with a mighty splash. She broke surface only seconds later and waved up at the others. “The water’s perfect,” she called up and waved for them to hurry and join her.

Doderic grabbed the rope as it swung back toward him and soon he was flying over the water’s surface. He released at the highest point of the arch and crashed into the pond, farther out than his sister. He also came to the surface just moments later and squirted his sister in the face with water. She splashed at him and swam away laughing as he gave chase.

Ilberic grabbed the rope next and noticed Pippin’s worried expression. “Come on, Pip, it’s easy,” he assured and ran the short distance down the cliff. He jumped onto the rope as the ground dropped away and swung out over the pond. He let go and fell into the water. He disappeared for a short while, popping up near his brother to dunk him unexpectedly under the water. 

Pippin watched the horseplay and breathed deeply. He knew it was silly to be afraid. At any other time, he would have been the first person in the water. But still he hesitated. Merry came and squeezed his shoulder. “You don’t have to Pip. I’ll sit with you if you’d rather just watch.”

“No,” Pippin said and shrugged off his uneasiness. They had left the Hall to get away from the heaviness that surrounded them there. They had left to try to find something to enjoy. Why not enjoy this? Merry had done this before and said it was fun and the water did not look that deep. He took a deep breath and resolved himself. “Come on, before they start having too much fun without us.”

In the water, Ilberic stopped his play to watch his cousin and his friend. Doderic and Celandine waited also to see what they would do and looked at their brother doubtfully. “Are you sure about this Ilby?” Celandine asked.

Ilberic nodded with determination. “It’s understandable if they want to stay away from the Brandywine for the time being, but they can’t avoid water altogether, nor should they. This will be good for them.” Then he smiled and nodded toward the cliff. Pippin was preparing for his first swing. “No horseplay though, unless they want to.”

“Of course,” Doderic and Celandine agreed as Pippin joined them with a splash. Seconds later, Merry followed and soon they were all racing to the other side of the pond.

In the end, Merry and Pippin found they quite enjoyed the solitude of the little pond. There was no one there to look at them sadly and tragically, no one to ask how they were doing. Their cousins were only concerned with having fun and Merry and Pippin soon found themselves laughing and playing along with their games. Occasionally, they would become serious and forlorn, but then Celandine would tag them and swim to the other side of the pond, or Ilberic would dive under the water and sneak up on his brother to pull down his trunks and hold them out of his reach on the shore.

When they tired of swimming, they lay upon the hill and bathed in the sun, drying off and enjoying the absolute silence of their retreat. Then Pippin’s stomach grumbled, causing everyone else’s to follow suit. They dressed and walked back to their ponies. Celandine and Ilberic had packed a lunch and they brought it out and spread it on the ground in the shade of the trees. They ate slowly and talked about other times they had spent here in this favored retreat.

When they finished their meal, they left for home. If they did not return for supper, they would be questioned as to their whereabouts and none of them wanted any trouble. Merry and Pippin grew somber the closer to Brandy Hall they got and they slowed their ponies as much as they could. Ilberic came to ride beside them, offering support with his presence.

“We could do something tomorrow if you’re able,” Ilberic said when they reached the stables, five minutes before the dinner hour. “Just let us know.”

Merry and Pippin nodded. “It shouldn’t be a problem, but we should know where we’re going ahead of time.”

“Of course,” said Doderic. “It’s just, we thought if you knew, you wouldn’t come. And you enjoyed yourselves didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Pippin admitted with a twinge of guilt. Should he be enjoying himself at a time like this? 

“Let’s try getting together after elevenses again then,” Celandine said. They all agreed and went inside to eat.

Sam had not got as much done as he had hoped. The watering had gone easily enough, but the kitchen garden had taken longer to get into order than he anticipated. Snails had come out to enjoy the rainwater while it had lasted and they had found the crops in the process. They were munching happily on the strawberries when Sam found them and began the eviction. He did not kill the pests but instead gathered them into a bucket and carried them to the other side of the Hill, to a patch of wild grass and weeds where they could do some good. He then plucked the ruined strawberries and tossed them into another bucket with the rest of his trimmings. 

When he finished with the kitchen garden, he had turned his attention to the trimming, which had taken the rest of the afternoon. The bushes were far overdue for tending and had taken a lot of attention to get them presentable again. Many stray branches had to be cut back before Sam was able to find the original line to guide his shears. He was nearly done now and looked down the row of perfectly round shrubs. He checked the position of the sun in the sky and calculated how long it would take him to complete the job. He should be able to finish and get home in time for dinner. Sam started the last of the trimming, stubbornly keeping his mind on the task before him. 

When he was raking up the final cuttings, he heard at last the sound he had been waiting for all day: hooves on the lane. He looked up and saw Robin approaching. Sam finished his raking while Robin let himself in the gate and came to join him. 

“It’s Highday, Sam. You’re still working?” Robin asked.

“Never stop,” Sam replied. He dumped the cuttings on the wheelbarrow, then laid the rake and shears across the mound. He turned to his friend and asked, “Well?”

Robin shuffled his feet and fingered a newly trimmed branch. “Well, Missus Burrows found her cat,” he started. “Got itself up a tree and has been living off a bird’s nest. And the post master’s got all the water out of his cellar, but there was no saving any of the supplies.”

Sam nodded impatiently. “And Mr. Frodo? What news from Buckland?”

“Not much I’m afraid,” Robin answered apologetically. “We’re still waiting for word on the southern half of the search. They found nothing in the northern regions, but as we weren’t expecting them to, that’s not much of an alarm.”

“Still waiting?” Sam asked incredulously. “How much longer this time?”

Robin could only shrug. “A day, maybe two.”

“A day or two? I could have been in Buckland by now if I had left when I wanted. I can’t wait another day or two,” Sam exclaimed.

“I know Sam, I’m sorry. I did think we would know something final by now. It’s usually not so slow as this,” Robin pointed out.

Sam’s brow furrowed in concern as he realized the truth of that statement. News was never this slow, unless… “Do you think something bad may have happened?”

“I don’t know Sam,” Robin said, feeling useless. He knew it would be pointless to attempt any reassurances at this point, but he did have one offer to extend. “I’m leaving tonight to Frogmorton. I need to report back to my captain by tomorrow evening. They should have heard something by then. You can come with me if you like.”

Sam hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the offer, but he swallowed his fear and nodded with resolve. “I’ll come,” he vowed. He knew his father would try to argue the practicality of such a decision, but Sam was determined. He had sat idle long enough.

“I’ll fetch you after dinner then,” Robin said.

“Nonsense,” Sam chided. “Stay for dinner. There’s no need coming up here twice if you don’t have to.”

So Robin waited while Sam finished up. He sat on the top step, leaning against the door, and admired the gardens, in awe of what Sam had been able to accomplish in so short a time. He almost envied his friend’s talents, until he thought of all the work these beautiful gardens required. Far too much work, in his opinion. No, gardens were definitely much better to look at than work on.

When Sam was finished, the gardener came to fetch his friend. They walked down the Hill together, Robin leading the pony beside them. They entered Number Three as May was pulling a fresh loaf of bread from the oven. “Hello Robin,” she greeted. “Come for dinner have you?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Robin said with a polite bow of his head.

“Of course not. Take a seat and I’ll set a plate.”

Robin took the empty seat next to Sam as Hamfast and Marigold entered the kitchen. More greetings followed and soon everyone was sitting to a delightful meal of roast beef, mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy, steamed vegetables and honeyed bread.

No one asked why Robin was there, but they all knew. They knew also from Sam’s silence what Robin’s news had been. Or rather, what it had not been. Not wanting to risk depressing Sam more, they focused their conversation instead on more common things.

“I saw Missus Scarlet and the new bairn today,” Marigold said as she dished more peas onto her plate. “Little Tory is such a delightful baby, and so beautiful. He’s going to have the lasses running after him when he gets older, I can tell already.”

After Marigold stopped gushing over the baby, Hamfast turned to Robin and asked, “Any word yet on all this business of Sandyman’s? It’s odd that we’ve still heard nothing after so long.”

Robin nodded and gulped down his tea. He set his glass on the table and grabbed another slice of bread. “Aye it is, but we have heard a little, if not much. I only know there was some sort of trouble with Mr. Lotho, if you can believe that. He’s usually such a delightful lad,” Robin said with mock alarm. When everyone was finished chuckling, he continued, “Word is Sandyman was to have left Sackville the day before yesterday. More will be discovered when they return no doubt.”

When the mysterious doings of the miller and his son were exhausted, May changed the subject yet again. “The Mayor’s having the Picnic on your birthday Sam. Rosie and Goldie were going to help of course, before the storm pushed it back, and Rosie still has to go help her cousin settle in to her new house. We were wondering, would you mind terribly moving your birthday from the Party Field to Michel Delving? Sam?”

Sam stirred and shook his head. “Makes no matter to me where we have it,” he mumbled.

A few minutes of silence followed as everyone finished their meal. Then May and Marigold gathered the dishes for washing, and Sam and Robin cleared the rest of the table. Hamfast retired to the parlor, to smoke a pipe by the fireside. Sam waited a few minutes more, then looked at Robin and nodded toward the parlor. Robin nodded in return and watched as Sam retreated down the tunnel after his father.

“Gaffer?” Sam said as he entered the parlor. He sat in the chair across from his father and clasped his hands together, waiting.

“What’s the matter, Sam?” Hamfast asked and paused in stuffing his pipe to regard his son closely. Whatever his son was about to say would no doubt explain why Robin had visited for dinner.

“Sir,” Sam began, then hesitated. He had not given any clear thought to how he was going to ask permission to leave for Frogmorton and realized too late that he should have had his reasons prepared ahead of time. He took a steadying breath and plunged ahead. “Gaffer, Robin tells me there’s no news yet of Mr. Frodo, but he’s leaving for Frogmorton tonight. By the time he gets there, his captain should have word. He offered for me to come along and I want to go with him, sir.”

Hamfast studied his son sternly and shook his head. “No, Sam, I’m afraid I can’t allow it.”

“But Gaffer…”

“No Sam,” Hamfast interrupted. “There’s no sense in you wandering off halfway across the Shire just to hear something you’ll find out in another day or two.”

“I can’t just sit here, wasting my time, waiting for word,” Sam tried to explain calmly, failing utterly.

“You’re not wasting your time. You’re working,” Hamfast returned. “You’ll be wasting your time going to Frogmorton is what you’ll be doing. Really, Sam, what are you going to in Frogmorton other than get in the way?”

Sam shook his head and stood up, his hands clenched at his side. How could his father deny him this? “I need to know what’s happened to Mr. Frodo. If I go to Frogmorton, I can find out as early as tomorrow. I can’t stand not knowing any longer. It’s tearing me apart,” he exclaimed in a strained voice.

“And if there’s no word in Frogmorton? What then?” Hamfast asked, trying to keep some semblance of reason in the conversation. He could hardly stand to look at his son, who was looking down at him so mournfully. He turned back to his pipe to keep himself from caving in.

“Then I’ll go to Buckland, to Brandy Hall,” Sam replied stubbornly. “I’ll ask the Master directly if I have to.”

“Don’t be such an ninnyhammer, Sam,” Hamfast said in exasperation. He put down his pipe and stood now also. He had known Sam was slipping, but had not realized it had come so far that he would throw all sense of propriety to the wind. Such rash decisions would do no one any good and Hamfast needed to put a stop to such flights of fancy. He rooted himself in front of his son and challenged firmly, “Go to Buckland will you? And what are you planning to do once you get there? Knock upon the door and explain to the Master that you’re Mr. Frodo’s gardener, can you see him? You’ve no right to do such a silly thing as that.”

“Why haven’t I?” Sam asked hotly, his voice rising threateningly as the fear and anxiousness of the past few days gave way to anger.

“You can’t just do as you want to, Sam!” Hamfast retorted. “You’ve no right and you know it, and you know why. Lor’ knows I’ve explained it to you enough times. I’m not going to explain it again. You’re staying here where you belong and you’re going to work as you’re supposed to. You’re not taking yourself up to Frogmorton or Brandy Hall or anywhere else.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“You are not leaving here without leave.”

“I’m not waiting another day.”

“You’re going to wait if I tell you to.”

“I’m not.”

“Blast it, lad, you’ll listen to me and you’ll do what’s proper!”

“No! I don’t care about proper! I care about Frodo!” Sam shouted.

A resounding silence filled the smial. Hamfast stared at his son in disbelief. In the kitchen, Robin closed his eyes in dread. May and Marigold gaped down the hallway, dishes long forgotten. They all stood rooted as they numbly waited for the consequences of Sam’s defiance.

How long the silence may have lasted or how long the fight may have continued will never be known, for it was at that moment that a knock sounded upon the door. The call shook Robin from his stupor. He looked questioningly at the lasses, who were equally as baffled. Who would be calling at this late hour? Robin stepped carefully around the lasses, went to the door and opened it to find Porto Baggins standing on the stoop.

“Is this a bad time?” Porto asked, having only heard the unmistakable murmurings of an argument taking place when he first came through the gate. He could feel the tension in the air and thought perhaps he should come again in the morning; there would still be time.

Robin shook his head and waved him inside. “Mr. Porto Baggins, do come in. How are you this fine evening, sir?” he managed to ask politely and casually.

“Well enough,” Porto answered as the Gamgees came to stand in the entrance hallway with their unexpected guest. They looked at him curiously and with concern.

“Would you like some tea, sir?” May asked, remembering her manners.

Porto shook his head. “I have only a delivery to make. I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, especially given the news I have to deliver.” He reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded letter of fine parchment. “Sam, I’ve a letter to you from Master Brandybuck.”

Porto held the letter out towards Sam, who took it hesitantly. The letter felt like a dead weight in his hand. He turned it over and examined the wax seal. The official mark of the Brandybucks, a stag standing before a row of alders, stared back at him. Why would the Master be writing to him? He forced himself to bow politely. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

Porto cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Don’t thank me, lad, but if there’s anything you need, do not hesitate to let me or Ponto know. We’ll help in any way we can; it’s what Frodo would have wanted. I’ll leave you to the rest of your evening.” He bowed stiffly and let himself out the door, closing it gently behind him.

Once the door was closed, everyone turned their attention to the letter firmly gripped in Sam’s shaking hand. Sam’s face was pale with fear and he continued to stare at the seal. He had not taken his eyes off it.

When it appeared Sam would make no move to open the letter, Robin stepped forward and gently pried it from Sam’s hand. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Without glancing ahead to see what the message may contain for fear he may not be able to read it, he began to speak in a quiet, nervous voice.

Dear Samwise,

By now, I trust you have heard the startling news of Frodo’s disappearance, and I do not doubt that you have been waiting anxiously for the outcome of our search. On Merry’s advice, I write this to you, so that you may hear the news directly before anyone else, or before you can chance upon it and think it a cruel rumor. If only it was just a rumor…

It is my sad duty to report that Frodo was not found by any of our search parties. Though we searched high and low, we could find no sign of him. We have however learned of his fate by Mr. Alder Thatch, a miller in Haysend. The news is beyond unbearable, and I ordered this letter delivered to you at your home so that you may not be alone when you read it. You will need your family with you during this difficult time. I regret that there is no easy way to say this, so I will out with it directly and hope that the abruptness of the announcement does not make it harder for you to bear. 

Frodo was taken by the river Brandywine and was drowned on the evening of the twenty-fourth of Rethe. He went into the river, and the flood proved too great for his abilities…

Robin could not finish the last few paragraphs, nor could he look up, for fear of the expression he would find on Sam’s face. He could hear the lasses’ sobs and heard Hamfast move to embrace his son.

Sam remained silent and still. He stared dazedly at the letter in Robin’s hand, hardly believing what he had just heard. Still with eyes cast toward the ground, Robin turned the letter towards his friend and Sam took it without noticing. He stared down at the smoothly textured parchment and the fine, elegant script. Such a fair hand to write such terrible words. It hardly seemed real. 

But one word in particular jumped out at him, and it became the only reality he was aware of in the numbness that stole his breath. Drowned. He could see nothing else, knew nothing else and for the first time in his life, he hated the fact that he could read, if a single word could bring such horror. Drowned. Just like his parents. How? How could fate be so cruel? Where was the justice in this? 

Tears blurred the page. He let the letter drop soundlessly to the ground. His knees gave out from under him and he slumped down to the ground, his father embracing him still, though he was unaware of anyone’s presence. He was unaware of anything but that single piece of paper, that single, simple, terrible word.

Drowned.

He closed his eyes and all faded to blackness.

To be continued…