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A Tale That Grew in the Telling  by GamgeeFest

Chapter 9 - Denial

Astron 1

“Is he awake?”

“I don’t think he even slept.”

“He would have had to sleep at some point. Wouldn’t he?”

“Robin says no. He was awake all night.”

“Just staring at the wall as he is now? I don’t like this. If he hadn’t been breathing, I’d of thought…”

“He’s got to get up and eat at some point. He can’t just lie there all day.”

“Well, he can’t be expected to go to work either. You can’t send him to Bag End today Gaffer.” May turned to her father, and Marigold nodded in agreement.

“I don’t think there will be any fear of that, loves,” Hamfast said. “We’ll do good just to get him out of bed.”

They were in the parlor before a dwindling fire, talking in hushed voices and holding tepid cups of tea. None of them noticed that the fire was failing or that the smial was gradually growing colder. In their worry for Sam, they noticed nothing but the echoing silence of their little hole and the lack of Sam’s cheerful voice.

They had stayed up long into the night and early morning. Robin had been reluctant to leave after reading the Master’s letter and had stayed to help. Once Sam’s tears were spent, Hamfast had steered his son to bed, and he and Robin had stayed with him through the long, endless night. Robin had managed to stay awake even after Hamfast drifted off on the desk chair, and he sat next to Sam until morning.

They had not spoken, for what really could be said in a time such as this? Robin had never lost anyone close to him and Sam had now lost two. Robin simply did not know what to do or how to help. He had heard Sam weeping silently off and on, and all he could think to do was keep a constant, comforting hand resting upon his friend’s shoulder.

Finally, when the moon had set and the sky began to pale with the coming of dawn, Robin had to leave. He did not know when he would be back in town, but he promised to check on Sam as soon as he was able. Before he left though, he had beckoned Hamfast outside. When they reached the gate, Robin turned to Hamfast and looked him in the eye.

“There’s something you don’t know about all of this,” Robin said in a confiding voice. “It seems Sam was invited to go to Buckland with Mr. Baggins, but he turned the offer down. He’s somehow turned that around to mean that Mr. Baggins’s disappearing was all his fault. I’ve tried explaining that it isn’t, but he won’t hear of it. He’s convinced he could of done something had he been there. He was barely hanging on before and now this… I’m scared for him Gaffer. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“So that’s why he wanted to go to Frogmorton so badly,” Hamfast realized and hung his head in regret. “And I yelled at him. Thank you for telling me Robin. We’ll keep an eye on him, and I’ll sit him down for a chat. He’ll come round, it’ll just take time.”

Hamfast did not tell the lasses what Robin had said. They were worried about Sam enough as it was, but as he sat now in the parlor across from them he knew they were right. Sam could not be made to go to work today, nor should he be allowed to. He needed to have this time to grieve. They could live without his income for a short while, but Sam would have to get out and look for other assignments before too long. There was always the possibility that he could continue on as the gardener of Bag End, if the new Master of the Hill said so, but they could not depend on that no matter what Mr. Porto had promised. 

He turned the topic instead to more practical matters: how to survive until Sam returned to work. The advanced pay Mr. Baggins had given Sam was just about run out, and they needed to replenish much of the stores they had used while helping the Cottons. The lasses latched on to this topic at once. This was something they could help with.

“May and I could take on some extra jobs,” Marigold said. “There’s some houses we could clean, and Missus Brown said she needed someone to watch her little ones on Trewsdays.”

Hamfast nodded. “I’ve got some barrels of ale that’ll fetch a decent price, and I’ve already dug up the last of the winter taters to take into market.”

“Elson’s mother is looking for someone to stitch her some pillowcases,” May offered. “Mayhap she’ll pay me if I explain the circumstances.” For her future mother-in-law was known for being tight with her purse strings and did not part with her money easily. 

Their plans set, the lasses struggled to their feet and went to the kitchen to start breakfast. Hamfast stood and picked up the Master’s letter from the mantelpiece. He stared at the strange, black markings on the fine parchment. Somewhere in all that mess spelled Mr. Baggins’s doom, and Sam was blaming himself. 


“What happened with getting together after elevenses?” Merry whispered as he and Pippin snuck out of his bedroom and through the darkened sitting room.

“Doderic found me after supper and said there was a place just outside Bucklebury where we could have a breakfast picnic,” Pippin whispered back. “We’re to meet them in the kitchens and help with the food.”

“All right then, but hold on a minute,” Merry said. He opened the drawer of the desk and pulled out parchment, quill and ink. He scribbled a note to his parents and set it on the table where they would see it.

He followed Pippin out the door and down the silent passageways to the kitchens, where the staff was already busy kneading dough for bread. Their friends were waiting already, two picnic baskets packed and ready.

“I thought we were going to help,” Pippin said disappointedly.

“I know, but as your idea of helping is to eat the food before it’s packed, we thought it best to have everything ready before you got here,” Ilberic teased. Pippin simply rolled his eyes in response.

The cousins filed out of the kitchen through the servants’ door and stepped soundlessly towards the road. As the hour was so early, there were only a handful of servants about, who nodded politely and gave respectful good mornings as they passed. Merry was reminded sharply of Sam and wondered how the gardener was holding up. He would have received the letter by now.

“Merry?” Pippin’s voice brought him out of his brief reverie. He turned to find his friends several yards ahead of him on the path. “Are you coming or planning on growing roots?”

“I’m coming,” Merry mumbled and hurried to catch up.

Back inside the grand smial, Esmeralda returned to her bedroom, her son’s letter in hand. “They’ve left already,” she announced, a note of worried agitation in her voice. “Are you certain we’re doing the right thing? Maybe we should talk to them after all. They can’t keep going on like this.”

“We will talk to them,” Saradoc soothed. He took his wife’s shoulders gently in his hands and squeezed them reassuringly. “But we decided it would be best to wait for your brother to arrive, and I still think that’s the best course. Once Pally and Tina are here, we’ll sit down and we’ll talk it all out.”

Esmeralda shook her head and waved the letter in her hand. “So we’re just to let them do as they please until then? They’ll wind up hurting themselves or worse.”

“Why would they do that?” Saradoc asked. “They’re just trying to sort everything out in their own way. They’re not getting into trouble.”

“They’re avoiding what’s happened,” Esmeralda said. “That’s the worst thing they can do. Don’t you remember how it was with Frodo? I can’t do that again.”

“We won’t let it get that far this time,” Saradoc said. “We know what we’re doing this time around, and most importantly, we know Merry. It won’t be the same, I promise.”

Esmeralda slipped out her husband’s grasp and shook her head. “No, Sara, it will be the same. It’s already started; Merry’s just better at hiding his despair than Frodo was. And Pippin, the only thing keeping him going is Merry. If Merry falls apart, we’ll lose them both. I know what we agreed to, but they cannot be left to deal with this on their own for a week or more until my brother arrives. We’ve got to do something now.”

Saradoc sighed heavily and nodded. “Very well. When they get back tonight, we’ll talk to them. We’ll tell them how we feel about everything first, that’ll help them to open up.”

“I can’t go through this again, Sara,” Esmeralda said, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I can’t.”

“I know, love. I know.” He took his wife in his arms and held her gently. “It won’t be the same,” he repeated, wondering who exactly he was trying to convince.


Doderic led his siblings and friends along the outskirts of Bucklebury and into a small grove of trees. At the center of the small forest was a clearing, and here they put down their picnic baskets and spread out the blankets they had brought to sit upon. Celandine and Ilberic brought out the food, while Merry and Pippin set up the plates and Doderic poured the juice. Once everything was ready, they served themselves and settled down to discuss their plans for the day.

“They’re opening the Hay Gate today,” Ilberic said. “Hob told us, when we went to tell him about Fr… Um, well he told us it would be at noon. Interested?”

Twice a year, the Hay Gate was opened to allow the other side of the Hedge to be tended. The more adventurous teens and tweens would line up just inside the gate to run short races into the Old Forest. Everyone knew the Old Forest was haunted and the race was more to see who could run in the farthest without getting scared and turning back.

“I’m not much in the mood for dare runs into the Old Forest,” Merry said.

“No, that doesn’t sound much to my liking either,” Pippin agreed. 

“We could go back to Jumper’s Point,” Celandine suggested.

Ilberic shook his head. “No, let’s go to the bell tower.”

“No,” Merry and Pippin said hurriedly and ignored the curious glances of their friends at their refusal.

“We could go to Fosco’s,” Doderic said. Fosco was a friend of his who lived about five miles south on Buckland Road on one of the most productive and reputable vineyards in the Eastmarch. He also had seven brothers and sisters. “We could get some teams together and play horseshoes or something.”

“That sounds good,” Ilberic said and everyone agreed.

That decision made, they turned their full attention to their food and finished their breakfast in silence. A half hour later, they packed up their things and marched south through the forest. When they came to the edge of the woods, they found themselves already on the lane leading to Fosco’s house, which could be seen a quarter-mile away to the east, a vast vineyard stretching out behind it. Doderic steered them in that direction.

They came at last to the courtyard to the house. A small, brown fluffy dog ran toward them as they stepped onto the walk path. Celandine dropped to her knees and opened her arms, and the dog flew into them. “Hello, Bickie,” she greeted and the dog yipped excitedly and licked her face.

She stood up and set the dog down on the ground. She and the others continued up the walk path, with Bickie bounding happily between them, looking for attention. They reached the house just as Fosco came out the front door, and the friends grinned at each other.

“Hallo Fosco,” Doderic greeted. “I hope you don’t mind us just dropping by.”

“Of course not,” Fosco said. “I missed you at the Feast. How was Crickhollow?”

“Horribly dull,” Doderic answered, then indicated the others. “We thought, if you’re able, that we’d play some games.”

Fosco nodded. He was older than Doderic, and even Merry, and was the eldest of his siblings, but he still enjoyed whatever games his friends and siblings would come up with. “I’ll get everyone together,” he said, with a brief glance toward Merry and Pippin before he disappeared back into the house.


“Please Sam? You need to eat,” Marigold said and held the forkful of sausage up again.

Sam gave no indication of noticing his sister or the food. He was lying on his side staring blankly at the wall just as he had been since their father laid him down hours earlier. He had not moved an inch since.

“Sam,” she said again and placed her hand to her brother’s forehead, then swept his curls off his face. He did not stir or give any acknowledgement of the touch. “Sam? Do you even know I’m here?” she asked, her voice straining with despair.

She dropped the fork with a clatter to the plate and buried her face in her hands. She breathed deeply and slowly, blocking out temporarily the image of her brother lying so still and lifeless. When her tears were in check and she had control of herself once more, she lifted her head and reached out for her brother. She took his hand in hers and pressed it gently. 

“Sam? Look at me, please. Say something.”

Just then, May knocked on the doorframe and stepped into the room. “Any luck?” she asked.

Marigold shook her head. “He won’t eat.”

“Let me try,” May offered. She came to the bedside and took the plate from her sister. She took up the fork and held it right up to Sam’s mouth. “Now I know you’re hungry Sam,” she said in the no-nonsense tone their older sister Daisy would always use. “You’re going to eat this, and then you’re going to drink your tea and wash up.”

Nothing.

“I’m not taking no for an answer Samwise. Open up.”

Still, no response came. May turned to Marigold and shrugged. “Let’s leave the food here then. He’ll eat when he’s hungry enough,” she said without conviction. She put the plate on the table and helped Marigold to her feet.

In the kitchen, Hamfast was gathering the items to take into market. The lasses had some loads of laundry to return as well, and May had gathered them together while Marigold was attempting to feed Sam. Now they carried everything to Daddy Twofoot’s pony trap and loaded the cart. Hamfast and Marigold climbed into the cart and Hamfast took up the reins.

May waved them off and returned to the smial to begin cleaning it out. The hole needed a thorough going-over and May started with the dirtiest work first: the hearth and oven. She turned next to dusting and polishing the furniture, and washing the mirrors and windows. She dragged the rugs outside to beat the dust off them and give them a thorough scrubbing. When all the stains were washed clean, she left the rugs to hang dry and went back inside to sweep out the hole and mop the floors. 

May was resting in the parlor, letting the floors dry themselves, when Hamfast and Marigold returned. They were not in good moods. Their time at market had been spent mostly listening to one hobbit’s theory after another about Mr. Baggins’s disappearance. They did not bother correcting anyone to tell them the truth: that news would spread fast enough without their help once Ponto Baggins, the head of the Baggins family, declared the news. They even held their tongues when hobbits mentioned Mad Baggins and how they were surprised this didn’t happen sooner.

Marigold and May finished cleaning the smial, scrubbing down the kitchen and cleaning out the pantry before putting their market purchases away. Hamfast returned the cart to Daddy Twofoot, then retreated to the parlor to work out their finances. They would have to watch their money tightly for the next week or so. Hopefully by then, Sam would be working again. He would have little choice in the matter really. Necessity came before anything else, even grief. As hard as it was to continue on after the unthinkable, it was just something Sam would have to learn to deal with. The end of life was inevitable; so too was its continuation. Sam would learn that lesson anew and he would have to learn it soon. 

“Gaffer!” Marigold’s cry sounded through the smial. She ran into the parlor with May close behind.

“What’s the matter, lass?” Hamfast asked, rising from his chair as quickly as his old bones would allow. It must be serious indeed if Marigold had called him by his nickname.

“It’s Sam,” she said. “He’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” Hamfast asked and turned to May.

May shook her head. “I left him alone so he could rest, but I didn’t hear him stir. He must have gone out when I was round back cleaning the rugs.”

“You don’t think he…” Marigold started.

“Went to Bag End,” Hamfast finished. He went to the door and grabbed his jacket off the coat rack. “That’s as good a place to start as any. I’ll check. You lasses stay here in case he returns.”

Hamfast didn’t have to search long once he reached the top of the Hill. He found Sam standing just inside the garden gate, staring up at the round green door with sunken, bloodshot eyes. Hamfast cleared his throat to announce his presence and stepped into the garden, softly closing the gate behind him which Sam had left open.

“Sam?” Hamfast said hesitantly. “You shouldn’t be up here today lad. Come back to the Row and rest up while you can.”

Hamfast took his son firmly by the elbow and attempted to steer him out of the garden, but Sam did not budge. For all that he looked like a slight wind could topple him over, Sam was rooted to his spot and he stood firm, his hard, accusing stare never wavering from the door. If Hamfast didn’t know better, he’d almost think that Sam was having himself a staring contest with the door, as if he was willing it to open simply by standing there. ‘And how long has he been standing here?’ Hamfast thought. 

“Sam?” Hamfast ventured again. Still he got no response. He shook his son and stepped around him to stand between Sam and the door. “Samwise, I’m your father and I will not be ignored. Now, you best tell me what’s going through that head of yours. Do you want I should fetch a healer?”

At last, Sam shifted his attention to his father. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on their new target, and when they did, Hamfast nearly quailed at the vacant expression in those usually cheerful brown eyes.

Sam swallowed, preparing himself to talk, and his voice came out scratchy and hollow. “He said he’d be home today. I need to finish everything up. It should look nice for him.”

Hamfast shook his head and tenderly lifted a hand to Sam’s pale face. “He’s not coming, son.”

Tears welled up instantly in Sam’s eyes and he shut them tightly. He steadied himself with several deep breaths before trusting his voice again. “He said he’d be here, so I’m going to be here too.”

“You haven’t eaten. You haven’t slept. I’m not letting you work today. Now come on. You need to take care of yourself now.”

Sam shook his head stubbornly and stepped away from his father’s touch. “I have to be here. He’ll be expecting me, to take his bags and get his clothes that need washing and light the fires and fix him tea, and if he’s not too tired, he’ll want to talk about his trip. And Mr. Pippin will be here again too. I’ll have to see to him, that he’s fed and all. That lad is always hungry, even ate half of Mr. Frodo’s mushrooms afore they left and don’t think Mr. Frodo won’t have a word or two for him when he finds out.”

Hamfast shook his head and took his son’s arm again, gentle and firm. “He’s not going to find out. He’s gone, Sam. Don’t do this to yourself, lad.” He tugged on Sam’s arm but the result was the same.

Sam put a hand over his father’s and gently but firmly pushed it off his arm. “I need to be here today Gaffer. He’s never lied or been late afore. He said he’d be here today, so if he doesn’t show up, then I’ll know it’s true. Without a doubt. Then I’ll rest some. But I just… I need to be here today. I’m staying here alone.”

Hamfast nodded, agreeing against his better judgment. “Then I’m staying with you, but you’re eating something before you do anything else.” He turned and went back out the gate, and paused on the lane. “I’ll let your sisters know where you are and bring you some lunch. Don’t lift a finger until I get back, but get yourself to that bench of Mr. Frodo’s and in the shade.”

“Yes sir,” came the automatic reply, but Sam did not move and Hamfast could tell his son was studying the door again. The old hobbit hurried down the Hill, moving more quickly than he had in years. He did not want to leave Sam alone for too long.


They had been playing most of the day and talking about everything other than what was on everyone’s minds. Merry and Pippin were trying not to notice how Fosco and his siblings kept throwing curious glances their way. Why they had thought leaving Brandy Hall would keep curious onlookers at bay was beyond them. Now that the word was out, they would not be able to go anywhere without being so attentively regarded. Not for a while anyway, not until something else came along to distract everyone’s attention.

Afternoon tea came, and everyone sat down for a light meal. There were twelve of them in all and the seating at the table was tight. Merry and Pippin found themselves sitting between Doderic and Fosco at one end of the table. Fosco handed them a pitcher of tea and looked at them long and knowingly.

“I heard about your cousin,” he said and continued before either of them could get up or protest. “It doesn’t seem fair at all, does it, the way it happened or that it happened at all. You must be so angry, if it’s not too forward of me to say.”

Merry smiled gratefully. “It’s not too forward.”

“And it’s not fair,” Pippin said and relaxed visibly for the first time since they arrived. “Thank you for understanding.”

Fosco shrugged. “I think everyone understands; they’re just not very good at saying so.”

“No,” Merry dissented. “Not everyone does understand. Some don’t want to, others don’t care, and still others only pretend they do. I imagine there will even be a few who will be happy to hear the news.”

Ilberic shook his head. “Lobelia isn’t hearing it from us. Father’s told Mother that she’s forbidden to tell that old hag anything, even if Lobelia is her aunt.”

“She’ll hear it anyway,” Doderic said. “She lives in Bywater after all. As soon as Ponto makes the announcement, don’t think she won’t be up at Bag End taking measurements.”

Celandine shook her head. “Don’t you remember? They’re in Sackville right now, and everyone knows how long it takes for news to reach the Southfarthing. It’ll be another month at least before she’s taking measurements.”

Merry clenched his teeth and noticed Pippin doing the same with his fists. “She won’t get it,” Pippin said. “Frodo wouldn’t leave Bag End to her lot.”

“He may not have had a choice, having no heir of his own,” Merry said and conversation lulled as everyone thought through this unsettling news. “Not to fret. Father should have everything settled before they get back. It may not be so bad,” he added unconvincingly and fell silent again.

The silence was broken by Fosco’s youngest sister, Violet. She looked up with innocent confusion and said through a mouthful of jellied bread, “Well, what I don’t understand is why Frodo couldn’t just swim out of the river. He did know how to swim, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Merry said distantly, a frown slowly creasing his forehead.

“You can’t just swim out of a flood,” Fosco explained with a worn patience. They have clearly had this conversation before.

“Why not?” Violet asked.

“Floods are too fast.”

“But it’s still just water. What does the speed matter?”

“It matters if there’s no time to react to it,” Fosco said. “Let’s not talk about this right now.” He turned apologetically to Merry and Pippin. “Sorry about that.”

Pippin nodded, but Merry made no reaction. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.

“Where are you going to bury him?” Violet asked next, oblivious to the stricken reactions of everyone at the table.

“Violet!” Fosco exclaimed. He picked her up and carried her into the house, Violet protesting the whole way. No one said a word or moved while he was gone, and when he came back alone, they pretended to go back to their meal though no one ate. Pippin was taking one deep breath after another as Ilberic unobtrusively patted his back. Merry sat stock-still, blinking at his near-empty plate.

Finally Celandine broke the awkward silence, changing the subject to planning their next game and soon everyone was debating how to spend the rest of their afternoon. They still had an hour before they needed to head home and didn’t want to waste it on dire conversations. 

A few minutes later, they were finished with their meal. Everyone stood and headed back to the courtyard to continue their play, but Merry lingered behind. Pippin stood back with him, a strained expression on his face.

“Merry?” he asked, as Merry finally stood and headed purposely toward the walk path out of the courtyard.

“Where are you going?” Ilberic called.

“Home,” Merry called back. “Thank you for your hospitality Fosco. Say good-bye to your sister for us.” With that, he went out the courtyard, not stopping to answer any more questions. Pippin ran to keep up with him and when they reached the end of the lane where it met the Road, he reached out and pulled Merry to a stop.

“Merry? What are you doing?” Pippin asked impatiently.

Merry turned to his friend, a strangely calm expression on his face. “Frodo was one of the best swimmers in the Shire,” he said. “If there was any way to swim out of that flood, he would find it.”

“But how could he?” Pippin asked. “It was too fast, Mac said so. So did that miller. We heard what it did to the ferry and all that. How could he?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out, but we need an accomplice, someone he won’t expect.”

“Who won’t expect someone? And what do we need an accomplice for? Merry, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about our cousin, who as we both know, always manages to one way or another do the impossible. What’s more impossible than surviving a flood? He’s not dead, and we’re not going to bury him. We’re going to find him, but we need more information. We need to know absolutely everything there is to know, and we’ll need help to get it.”

With that, Merry turned up the Road and walked purposefully toward Brandy Hall. Pippin followed behind, keeping a skeptical and worried eye on his friend.


Mr. Frodo had not returned. Sam and Hamfast stayed at Bag End until midnight, for Sam refused to leave and Hamfast would not leave him alone. Marigold and May brought up supper and some blankets at sunset. They were pleased to see Sam out of bed, but disheartened by the worn and weary expression on his face. Hamfast confided that Sam was having difficulty working, and he would often stop for long minutes at a time, his thoughts wandering off to the Blue.

When Mr. Frodo did not return and the night bled into morning, Sam did not speak, did not make a sound. He simply stood up from the bottom step, where he had been sitting with his father, an unlit pipe held forgotten in his hand, and walked away. Hamfast hurried to walk next to him down the Hill and when they reached their home, Sam went directly to his room and curled up on the bed. He sniffled once and the next instant was fast asleep.

Hamfast stood in the doorway and watched his son for nearly an hour, then went to bed himself. He would talk with Sam tomorrow when he woke up, would explain to him that none of this was his fault, that he wasn’t to blame. Sam would not believe it and probably never would, but maybe if he heard it enough he would be able to put aside his guilt and get on with his life. Just maybe.




To be continued…





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