Chapter 12 - Desperation

Astron 2

Frodo woke early, before the sun even began to lighten the sky outside, ready to leave that very instant. He did not tell Hazel about his latest dream, but it gave him a sense of urgency and desperation that he could not ignore. That he had no idea what was awaiting him, or if anything truly was amiss back home, only intensified his urgency.

Hazel did her best to calm him and insisted that he eat a large breakfast to hold him through the morning. Frodo did not argue but ate the food as quickly as he could, barely tasting it as his mind raced to make meaning of his latest dream.

What did it mean? Was it merely a dream, or was it a warning? It had seemed so real. Did it tie into his other dreams somehow? Someone was coming, someone was going to make things difficult for his friends, and he was too late. Too late for what? To stop it? To help? He had no answers, had not the slightest clue what any of it meant. All he knew was he had to leave, and leave now. 

He would ask Rowan to hurry, and they could reach the Brandywine Gate by nightfall. There he would have to choose which way to go next: Brandy Hall or Hobbiton. It was a three-day hike to Hobbiton, only a half-day to Brandy Hall. If he went to the Hall first, he could get a pony and take the Ferry across the River and be in Hobbiton in a couple of days. He would lose no time and would also be able to determine the state of things in Buckland while he was there. 

Finally, Rowan came into the room and beckoned him. The time had come. Frodo jumped off the bed and walked hurriedly through the house to the carriage waiting outside. 

Hazel opened the carriage door for him, and Frodo paused, both at the size of the carriage and the sight of the healer in the early morning light. He had not expected a carriage so large, though he realized how silly it was to have expected a hobbit-sized one. He simply had not given it any thought before now. 

Hazel knelt down to his eye level. Her long auburn hair was loose from its bun and was cascading down her back. The sunrise glinting off her hair gave it an appearance of a waterfall on fire. Her eyes were emerald green in the sunlight, and her smile was warm and soft. She reminded him even more of Esmeralda, and Frodo found saying good-bye difficult. In the end, they embraced gently, then Frodo bowed low, ignoring the strain to his ribs.

“I cannot thank you enough for all your hospitality and care,” Frodo said. “I have nothing to give you now, but I will send you a stipend once I return home.”

Hazel shook her head and stood to her full height. “Berwin paid for our services already. All I ask is word that you returned home safely and that all is well.”

She held out her hand and Frodo took it. She guided him up the steep carriage steps. When he was inside and seated comfortably, she handed him a parcel of various fruits, nuts and breads, and a water skin filled with tea.

“Do try to make that last until you arrive home,” she said with a teasing smile.

“I will try,” Frodo promised with a laugh.

Hazel closed the door and Rowan climbed up to the coach’s seat. A moment later, the carriage rattled and they were moving. Hazel slipped out of view and Frodo kept his eyes out the window, curious to see the town of Bree for the first time. A small thrill grew in his stomach as they left the hay fields behind for the large, cumbering buildings of Men that towered overhead. There was so much to see, he could hardly take it all in. Soon, these buildings gave way to a wide, open court. The carriage stalled for a moment then started again, and Frodo looked up as the gates of Bree slipped passed them. He was going home at last.

Melilot Brandybuck tiptoed through the library and tapped Merimac on the shoulder until the older hobbit woke up. He blinked up blearily at his younger cousin and yawned. “What’s the matter Melie?”

“Berry said you slept in here last night,” Melilot started. She stepped back and wrung her hands nervously. “I have a question, if you don’t mind.”

“You already woke me up,” Merimac said and stretched. “Let’s not have that be for nothing. What’s your question?”

Melilot wrung her hands uncertainly again and looked around to make sure they were alone. “Well, it’s just, since the storm and the flood and everything, I’ve been afraid to go near the River again. What if I’m swimming and a flood comes out of nowhere like it did with… I mean, I’m not even as good a swimmer as he was.”

Merimac sighed and moved to sit at the edge of his chair. He took Melilot’s hands in his and said calmly, “What happened with Frodo was a horrible accident. It’s unlikely to happen again.”

“But it happened once already. What if it does happen again? The weather’s not always the same here as it is up North. It could be raining fierce there and we wouldn’t know, until it floods,” Melilot explained. “You have to teach me how to swim out of a flood. If there’s anyone who knows how, it’s you.”

Merimac blinked again and studied her bemusedly. That was a very logical argument, almost a little too logical. “Teach you to swim out of a flood? Who would give you the idea that such a thing is possible?”

Melilot didn’t waver or miss a beat. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and her bottom lip began to tremble as she wrung her hands again. “You mean it’s not? I’m doomed?” She hid her face in her hands and started sobbing – hard.

“Now, now, child, don’t do that,” Merimac said and hastily helped the lass to sit down in the chair next to his. He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. She wiped her eyes dry and took deep breaths in an effort to calm down. She looked up at him with pleading bloodshot eyes and waited. Merimac sat back down and took her hand again. “Now, what did you want to know?”

Half an hour later, Melilot entered Merry’s bedroom. He and Pippin stood up expectantly. 

“So?” Pippin asked. “What did he say?”

“Is it possible?” Merry asked.

Melilot sat at the desk and shook her head. “He said no at first but I kept pushing like you said to, and he eventually said that maybe, if the initial impact didn’t knock you unconscious, you might be able to force yourself to relax enough so that you might eventually be able to float with the current and then attempt to swim out of it. But he stressed that even then, it would be fruitless. No one can hold their breath as long as it would take to do that and if they did, they would be too tired to attempt to swim for very long. In the end, they’ll drown. I’m sorry.”

“But he did say it was possible,” Merry said, stubbornly ignoring all else she had said. “As long as you can hold your breath long enough, which Frodo can do. You’ve seen him Pip. He can swim the entire length of Bywater Pool without taking a single breath, and you know when Frodo gets tired, that’s when he tries his hardest.”

Pippin nodded. He had seen Frodo do that a couple of times, dunk under the water at one end of the pool, disappear for a few minutes and resurface near the other end. He did not swim the entire length but nearly, about three-quarters of it. Pippin was always frightened and impressed to watch him do such a remarkable thing, and Merry was right about Frodo trying harder at something when he was exhausted. That’s when his famous Baggins stubbornness flared up, and he would refuse to give up until the job was done. But…

“Mac said that was only if the flood didn’t knock him out,” Pippin reminded. “Did Mac say how likely that was?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Merry said sternly. “There’s a chance and that’s all we need to know.” He turned to Melilot. “Thank you for agreeing to do this Melie. You remember your promise?”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Melilot said, “but you owe me. I had to cry.” With that, she stood up and let herself out the door. 

Merry started pacing his small room, speaking fervently as he did so. “We have to make our plans now. It’s been a week since the flood, and Frodo isn’t back. That means he was injured, it has to be. He wouldn’t stray far from the river; a fresh water source is crucial. So, we just travel down the river until we find him.”

“How are we supposed to organize everything without your parents catching on?” Pippin asked.

Saradoc and Esmeralda had cornered the lads last night after dinner to talk about the accident. They were concerned with how Merry and Pippin were handling their grief and had wanted to talk out their feelings about the accident. The conversation had been awkward and delicate. Merry had done an excellent job of appearing contrite and giving expressive yet empty answers. Pippin had said very little, not trusting himself enough to not let anything slip about Merry’s newfound beliefs.

After the conversation ended, Saradoc had told them both to stay closer to the Hall until Paladin and Eglantine arrived and had appealed to them to be more open about their feelings. Then Esmeralda had assigned them enough tasks to do each day to keep them busy from sun up to sun down.

Merry had assured his parents that he and Pippin would not run away from their grief anymore. Pippin had been impressed by his cousin’s ability to make promises that both sounded reassuring to his parents but also sounded like the plotting of a plan to his own ears. 

Merry was certain of his plan, but Pippin did not have Merry’s desperate faith. He could not help but think that Merry was indeed still running from his grief, that he was denying the truth, ignoring the things he did not want to hear and seizing onto the things that gave the slightest slimmer of a possibility, however farfetched. Pippin would go with him of course, but he had no hope of finding Frodo alive. If anything, he dreaded what they would find, a torn and battered body perhaps, and he dreaded even more being alone when that happened. Maybe if he could somehow tip off Saradoc and Esmeralda without breaking confidence with Merry.

“Pippin!” Merry said impatiently and waved his hand in front of his friend’s face. “Where did you go?”

“What?” Pippin said, coming back out of his worries. He noticed Merry’s exasperation and quickly covered. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Merry nodded understandably and repeated his question. “Do you think you can talk to Ilby? He can help prepare some of the things we’ll need while we’re busy with Mother’s little chores.”

“They’re going to Stock today with their folks,” Pippin said. “He approached me after supper last night and told me.”

“Oh. Well, we’ll manage it somehow,” Merry said, undeterred. “Come on, let’s get to breakfast before Mother and Father suspect anything.”

“Then you might not want to be so cheerful,” Pippin pointed out. He followed Merry out of the room, not looking forward to this new day in the slightest.

Sam shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Only Marigold was still there, washing the breakfast dishes. There were no other sounds or sense of movement in the smial.

“Where is everyone?” Sam asked.

Marigold jumped and turned, surprised to hear his voice. She was even more surprised by what she saw.

Sam was haggard. He looked to have aged twenty years over the last two days. His face was pale and wan. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were bloodshot and puffy from lack of adequate sleep. He had not attempted to comb his hair or change his clothes, which were now two days old and rumpled. 

“Oh Sam,” Marigold said. She quickly dried her hands on a towel and steered him to the table. She took a plate from the oven and placed it before him. She grabbed him a fork and a cup of tea. “You need to eat, dear. I’ll heat you up some bathing water and set out some fresh clothes for you. I think it’s time your hair gets a bit of a trim, don’t you?”

Sam nodded absently and picked at his food, an occasional forkful reaching his mouth. He failed to notice that his sister was indeed walking about the smial, preparing everything for him, until she returned several minutes later. She frowned at his plate, still nearly full. She sat down and watched him worriedly.

Sam swallowed his current bite and repeated his question. “Where is everyone?”

“Gaffer’s outside in the garden. May went over to Elson’s. She’s going to ask his mother if she’ll pay her for stitching some pillowcases.”

“Why is May asking that old hag for money?”

Marigold paused, stunned both by Sam’s name-calling and the edge of anger in his voice. She cleared her throat and answered tentatively. “It wouldn’t harm our purse none, nor hers if she agrees.”

“Are we out of money?” Sam asked.

“No, no,” Marigold said quickly. “We’re good for a while Sam. Don’t you worry about that. Just finish up your food, get yourself cleaned up, and then we’ll see about cutting your hair.”

Sam shook his head and put down his fork. “I’m not hungry.” He stood brusquely and went back to his room where a small copper ewer was filled with steaming water. He took his time washing, not caring when the water turned cold. He eventually finished and put on the clothes his sister had laid out for him. He ran a brush recklessly through his curls, noting with frustration that Marigold was right. His hair was past needing a trim, but he had no patience for one at the moment. 

He left his room and was out the front door before Marigold knew what had happened. She ran to catch up with him, only to find their father already speaking to him.

“…not to go out lad,” Hamfast said.

“I’m just going to The Ivy Bush,” Sam said.

“You need to stay here and rest,” Hamfast said. “You said you would.”

“Aye, and I did,” Sam snapped back. “What am I going to do here, other than get in the way and waste my time?” Sam shot his father’s words back at him, reminding Hamfast sorely of their fight from the previous night.

Sam attempted to leave, but Hamfast stopped him. “Sam, you need to take time to…”

“Do what?” Sam interrupted. “I thought I was meant to work. We need money, so I’m going to look for some jobs. I have to do what’s proper after all.” With that, he forced himself past his father and out the gate. Hamfast called after him, but Sam did not slow down or look back.

The Ivy Bush was nearly empty when Sam entered. Only one pair of elderly hobbits was present, of which Sam was very grateful. He pretended not to see them and headed for a booth near the back corner. He sat in the booth facing away from the door and blew out the lamp over the table, casting himself in shadow.

The bar maiden came over with a tankard and a pitcher of ale. “A quart, Sam?”

Sam nodded. The bar maiden filled the mug and set it before him. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here in the middle of the day,” she said casually.

“Thank you for the ale. I’ll let you know if I need more,” Sam said shortly and took a sip from his mug. 

The bar maiden took the hint and left. Sam swirled the ale absent-mindedly, watching mesmerized as the golden liquid swished along the walls of its earthenware. Around and around it went and if anything was unfortunate enough to be floating in the liquid, it would be trapped in that vortex, unable to get out. It would be drowned.

“We should leave as soon as your parents are asleep,” Pippin whispered as he and Merry made their way through the tunnels of Brandy Hall after their day of chores. 

They had done their rounds again with Berilac, and again avoided going to the River. Then Merry had needed to tend to his little herb garden, which one of the gardeners had been kind enough to take care of over the last week. They had made more plans in the garden, until Merry’s tutor found them and made up for a week’s worth of lost studies.

Merry now nodded in agreement with Pippin. “We’ll leave at midnight. I only wish we had more time to get everything ready.”

“Maybe after dinner,” Pippin suggested. “I still have my pack and we know where Frodo’s is. All we really need is food and ponies.”

“No, if we go to the kitchens now, it will raise suspicion. It’s too late in the day to pretend we want it for a picnic.”

“We can wait until tomorrow,” Pippin said.

“No,” Merry said instantly. “We’ve already wasted enough time.”

“We can’t go without food.”

They turned the last corner to the Master’s quarters. Merry put his hand to the doorknob and studied Pippin carefully. He knew Pippin didn’t believe him and would rather stay here. He knew Pippin was still grieving and probably thought Merry to be mad. Pippin had been dragging his feet about this entire plan, pretending to go along but really looking for ways to delay Merry leaving. This last attempt was his weakest yet. If any hobbit knew how to get food out of the kitchens undetected, it was Pippin. 

“Don’t be a fool,” Merry said, knowing also how much Pippin hated being called that. “All we have to do is wait until it’s late enough to raid the kitchens. I’m leaving tonight. Are you with me or not?” He would rather have Pippin go with him, but he would go it alone if need be.

“I am,” Pippin said meekly. “You know I always am. I just don’t… I don’t think it’s a good idea, us going alone. What if Frodo is injured or sick? We won’t know what to do to help. We should take someone with us. Maybe if we just explained it to your father…”

Merry looked at him as one betrayed. He released the doorknob and stood to his full height, which was significantly taller than Pippin, who had yet to hit his growth spurt. He leaned forward and lowered his voice even more. “There is no way he’ll agree and you know it. You just don’t want to go. You’ve given up on Frodo too, just like them. So stay then, see if I care. I’ll go alone. I’m not abandoning Frodo.”

He turned abruptly and opened the door. He stalked into the parlor and beelined for his room. Pippin followed close behind, desperate to make Merry understand. “Merry, please, that isn’t what I meant.” He grabbed Merry’s sleeve and turned his cousin around, only to receive a look so full of vile and contempt that he quickly dropped his hand and stepped back. “Merry?”

Merry shook his head, unable to speak, and turned to enter his room. As he reached for the doorknob, the door to his father’s study opened and Esmeralda emerged. She spotted them and smiled.

“Lads,” she called to them and headed straight for Pippin. “He’s here, dear. He arrived at noon.”

“Who is?” Pippin asked and glimpsed movement over his aunt’s shoulder. He looked up and his face lit up with joy. “Da!” he exclaimed and ran into his father’s arms. “How did you get here so fast?”

Their greetings were interrupted by the slamming of a door. Merry had gone into his room in a temper. Now that Paladin was here, he really would have no choice but to go alone.

Esmeralda stared at her son’s door, completely confounded. She turned to Pippin and asked, “What was that about?”

“We’re just having a bit of a fight,” Pippin said casually, then turned back to his father. “How did you get here so fast? Is Mum here too?”

“I came as soon as I received the first letter that Frodo was missing. I’m not sure why, I just had a feeling,” Paladin said. “Your mother stayed behind with Pearl and the lasses. Pearl’s expected to deliver any day now, as you know. Anyway, Esme and Saradoc just told me about Frodo. How have you been holding up, my lad?”

Pippin shrugged, not sure what to say. “Well enough, I suppose,” he said and hugged his father again. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“And I’m glad you’re here,” Paladin said and held his son tight, not wanting to let go.

Night settled over the Shire. The Ivy Bush was busier now, even for a Sunday. With so much good gossip to talk about, no one had been able to stay in their homes as they normally would.

Several hobbits had attempted to talk to Sam and buy him a quart, but he ignored them all until they let him be. He was in no mood to talk to anyone and was in the middle of nursing his fourth ale, feeling worse with each passing hour. He really should just get up and leave, but that would require maneuvering his way through the crowded inn and drawing even more attention to himself. So he stayed where he was, in his unlit corner, and stared at the wall.

He had not even attempted to approach anyone about a job, even though Mr. Boffin was here. Sam knew Mr. Boffin needed a gardener, as Sam’s cousin Halfast had told him so. There was Mr. Sandstone, who wanted to build a garden atop his newly built house, which he fashioned after a smial. And over there in the far corner was Mr. Hornblower, who was always trying to steal Sam away from Bag End. Well, Mr. Hornblower would have to learn to live with disappointment, but Sam had to approach one of the other two soon, or this whole day would go to waste. He would have to return to his father in humiliation if that happened. 

He downed the last of his ale and readied himself to get up. Any minute now, he would stand up, go tap Mr. Boffin on the shoulder and ask to speak with him outside. Yes, that’s what he would do. Any minute now.

Sam sighed and pushed the empty mug back and forth between his hands, focusing on the scrape of wood beneath the mug so completely that he almost failed to notice a familiar voice speaking behind him.

“Samwise Gamgee, alone in a corner. Isn’t that a sight?”

“Go away Ted,” Sam said automatically. A moment later, he started and turned in surprise to find the miller’s son standing behind him and looking at him curiously. “Ted? When did you get back into town?” he asked.

“Just about an hour ago,” he said and slid into the booth opposite Sam. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you? Everyone seems to be avoiding you for some reason, and I need some peace from all these pesky questions.” He looked at Sam for the first time and even in the dim light, he was surprised by what he saw. “By the stars, Gamgee, you look about as good as I feel. What’s the matter?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing I really want to talk about right now.” He raised his mug at the bar maiden as she walked by and the two remained silent while she came to serve them. When she left, Sam studied Ted evenly. Ted had the fading remnants of a black eye. “How was Sackville?” he asked at last, glad to have something to occupy his mind and eager to get to the bottom of this particular mystery.

Ted shrugged. “It’s been better,” he answered vaguely and took a long drink of ale.

Sam was impressed. Ted was really going to try to keep his mouth shut. Well, Sam knew how to get around that. He shrugged disinterestedly and said, “That’s a shame, but at least now that you’re back, we’ll be able to get our grain milled without having to go to Overhill. It’s getting short, you know? The grain I mean. You picked a bad time for a holiday.”

Tom snorted. “Holiday? That would have been a kind thought indeed, but you know how my father is about holidays. Doesn’t believe in them, thinks they’re only for lazy folk. No, there’ll be no holidays for us, especially now that… Well, especially not right now.”

Sam nodded as though this cryptic revelation was completely obvious. “So you’ll be opening the mill again tomorrow, I take it?” he asked.

“Well, no,” Ted mumbled, then hesitated.

“Why ever not? You’re back and not on holiday and we need flour,” Sam said, ticking off on his fingers all the reasons why the mill should be opened. He looked at Ted inquisitively. 

Ted drummed his fingers on the tabletop and scanned the inn quickly. There were no other hobbits near them at the moment. He bit his lip, then leaned toward Sam conspiratorially. “I suppose I can tell you,” he whispered, “seeing as you’re not a blabber. I have your word you’ll keep this close?”

“Of course,” Sam agreed and leaned forward himself to hear Ted better.

Ted played with the mug in his hand and downed the rest of its contents in one long gulp. He motioned for the bar maiden and drank down a second mug before she was even halfway across the room again. Feeling he was now sufficiently drunk enough, he leaned even closer to Sam and said as quietly as he could, “It’s Mr. Otho Sackville-Baggins. He’s passed on.”

Sam froze, caught completely off guard by this revelation. “But, he’s not even that old.”

“A hundred and two,” Ted affirmed.

Sam took a few minutes to process this information. How had they managed to keep this quiet for so long? And Robin had said… “I thought it was Mr. Lotho causing a ruckus and that’s why you went.”

Ted affirmed this also. “Aye, it was. See, Mr. Otho and Mr. Lotho never really saw eye to eye on things, and Mr. Otho was always blaming Mr. Lotho for everything under the sun. So Mr. Lotho was always trying to impress his dear old dad, and he finally thought he was making some headway on this trip. Seems he found a way to help the family earn more money with their leaf trade, selling out of the Shire or some other such thing. Then they had this enormous fight about Mr. Lotho’s prospective buyers or whatnot. Mr. Otho said Mr. Lotho was nothing more than a disappointment and he should never have been born, and Mr. Lotho stormed out of the house and was gone all night. When he came back in the morning, ready to apologize, Mr. Otho was dead.”

Sam shook his head baffled. “But how? Was he not healthy?”

Ted shook his head. “Nay, he’s had the drinking illness for a good long while now. I guess he finally drank one bottle too many. Mistress Lobelia was completely distraught, didn’t know which way was up or down. Mr. Lotho, well, you can imagine his reaction. He went into a rage, and no one could get him settled. Finally, one of his cousins rode all the way up here to fetch us, hoping we might be able to calm him, seeing as we know him better than they do. By the time we got down there though, the worst of it had passed. It was raining pretty hard by then, and Mr. Lotho was just standing out in it, letting the storm express his rage for him it seemed. I eventually talked him inside, and he stayed locked up in his room until we left.”

“So the S.B.-s are back now too?” Sam asked, his mind racing to absorb everything he had just learned. Was there no end to the misery going around of late?

“No, the funeral’s in two more days,” he said, then sat back in the booth and continued in normal tones. “They should be up after that, by Highday at the latest.” He motioned again for the bar maiden and again they waited until she was gone to resume their conversation.

“Mr. Lotho did that to you,” Sam said, motioning to the black eye.

Ted nodded and shrugged. “Got on his bad side,” he answered flippantly, as if this was a normal state of affairs. He took a sip of ale and leaned forward again. “I should tell you something else though. You best tell your master to keep clear of Mr. Lotho when he does get back. Mr. Lotho’s decided this is all your master’s fault, for stealing Bag End from them. I guess that’s when Mr. Otho’s drinking problems started.”

Sam felt a thrill run up his spine at the mention of his master. He realized with a start that Ted didn’t know anything that had happened while he was away, which meant the S.B.-s didn’t know either. They would learn it soon enough but not from him.

“I’ll do that,” he replied and lifted his empty mug to Ted. “I best be going though. Thanks for the news. I’ll keep it close, no worries. Give Mistress Lobelia and Mr. Lotho my regards.”

He stood and walked away before Ted could respond. He was out the door in the cool crisp air a second later. He took a moment to gather his wits before heading home, realizing too late he still hadn’t commissioned himself a new job. He would simply have to go to Mr. Boffin’s smial tomorrow and ask about work.

Inside The Ivy Bush, Ted stared after Sam, completely taken aback by his abrupt exit. The bar maiden came to collect Sam’s mug, and he turned to her, bewildered. “What was all that about?” he asked. “Do you have any clue what’s got into that Gamgee?”

The bar maiden paused and looked at Ted as though he were a fool to ask. “Didn’t you hear?” she said. “His master drowned.”

“What?” Ted asked dubiously and sat up straight in the booth. “What kind of nonsense is that? Are you trying to pull the wool over my eyes?”

“No, I swear by it,” the bar maiden replied. “Mr. Ponto Baggins, he’s head of the Bagginses you know, he said so just this morning. Mr. Frodo drowned in the Brandywine while visiting his cousins over that-a-way. Happened during the storm. I hear tell he went stark raving mad and flung himself into the river.”

An odd sort of smile slowly lighted Ted’s face and he motioned for the bar maiden to sit down. “Mr. Ponto said all this? You mean to tell me, there’s no Master under the Hill? How interesting.” He poured himself another mug and lifted it in a silent toast to the bar maiden. He took a long, lingering drink and looked over at the door Sam had just retreated through. “I want to know everything. Don’t leave out a single detail.”

Pippin lay curled up at his father’s side. They had been talking quietly on the settee in the parlor, until Pippin drifted off to sleep. Paladin remained awake for many hours after his son, but he too eventually nodded off as the last of the embers in the hearth died and cooled.

Merry’s door opened silently and Merry tiptoed out of the room and across the parlor. He looked back at the shadowy figures of his cousin and uncle, regretting his uncle’s ill-timed appearance. He could still have talked Pippin into coming if not for Paladin, but Merry was resolved. 

Ever so quietly, he opened the door to the main tunnel and slipped out of the parlor. He closed the door just as gingerly, took a few silent steps around the corner, and broke into a run. He had not a moment to lose.

Sam stared blankly up at his bedroom ceiling then rolled over to his side with a sigh. He would get no rest tonight.

Ted Sandyman staggered to a stop at the mill. He leaned against the mill house wall and listened to the swish of the great wheel turning in The Water. He looked up the Hill to where Bag End lay at the top, a sneer playing on his lips. He would find out if these rumors were true, and if they were… He laughed softly, imagining the possibilities.

To be continued…