Chapter 17 - At Journey’s End

Astron 5

Frodo and his cousins had an early start. The innkeeper woke them an hour before dawn at Paladin’s request and brought them breakfast while the carriage was readied for their departure. They thanked the innkeeper for his help and were on the road before the sun had fully risen over the curve of the earth.

Frodo watched in blissful peace as the world rolled silently by. The sky was cloudless and lightened gradually from black to red to yellow and finally blue. The lush green grass of the fields was dotted with daffodils and dandelions. The trees were blooming, fruit growing to weigh down the branches. Farmers were in the fields already, working busily to ensure a plentiful harvest after the rains. Whatever damage the storm had done, no signs of it could any longer be seen.

Frodo closed his eyes and breathed in the rich, simple fragrance of the earth. He listened to the birds in the sky and trees, the clop of the ponies’ hooves and the grind of the carriage wheels in the dirt. This was the Shire he knew and loved, the one that woke with the sun and basked in its glow, the one that rejoiced the rain and the wind, that weathered the elements and came through looking more beautiful and glorious for it.

Now that he was so close to home, he found he was more impatient than ever to get there. The nagging fear was still there, a vague worry that something was amiss, but there was now also an excitement. He longed for the privacy and comforts of Bag End. He wanted nothing more than to sit under his elm tree with a favorite book while Sam weeded a flowerbed nearby, humming while he worked. He wanted to stand against the garden gate with pipe in hand and gaze up at the stars overhead while the night flowers bloomed around him, filling the air with their sweet fragrance.

He still regretted that he could not have gone with Berwin, but he no longer regretted coming home. He was needed here, if only for a little while. Some day, when the timing was right, he would seek out Bilbo and find him, but until that day, he had his friends to keep him company. That was enough for now.

He smiled at Merry and Pippin across from him. Pippin had fallen asleep again, his head resting on Merry’s shoulder. Merry noticed Frodo watching him but did not return the smile. He had been reflecting deeply also and he now knew what he wanted to ask Frodo.

Since his friend’s return, and especially since his revelation that he might really have left them, Merry had been plagued by a single question: how? He thought back to his earliest memories of Frodo and went through them all one by one. He was struck by how often Frodo had been sad or troubled, by the number of times Frodo had disappeared and reappeared again. Frodo had never truly been happy until Bilbo took him in.

“Merry?” Frodo ventured. “What’s on your mind, dear?”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Merry started and waited until Frodo nodded before continuing. “How did you do it? I always thought I could imagine what it must have been like for you, to lose your parents so young, so unexpectedly. But I couldn’t. Not until I lost you did I realize how much I didn’t understand. I felt so lost. It was so bleak and horrible, and yet it must have been a hundred times worse for you. How did you survive it?”

“Who said I did?” Frodo answered. “There’s a lot you don’t know Merry, so much I have to tell you. You’re nearly old enough now to hear it, but I’m not quite ready to tell it. For now, know this: I didn’t survive. I was saved. Those first two years were a fog and I was stumbling blindly within it, with no way out. I kept hoping it was a dream, that one day I would wake up or turn a corner and they would be there, but they never were. 

“And then there was you. You came and I was part of a family again. It wasn’t perfect as you know, far from it, but it was something other than pain and grief. It was joy, sharp as a blade, so that it almost hurt to be touched by it but for the happiness it brought.”

“I think I understand that,” Merry said. The happiness he felt at having Frodo back was still painfully sweet, excruciating in the relief and delight it brought him. It pleased and relieved him to know he had been able to do that for Frodo as well, even if it had not been quite enough. “I’m sorry. I handled everything so poorly.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Frodo said. “You did nothing wrong, but I think you need to reassure Pippin how much he means to you. He feels left out sometimes, between you and me. I have a feeling he felt pretty helpless during all this, that he couldn’t take care of you the way you needed, that I was more important to you than him.”

“I know,” Merry said. “He handled everything better than I did really, but I didn’t make it any easier for him by fighting. I still haven’t apologized properly.”

“Don’t wait too much longer,” Frodo advised.

“I won’t,” Merry promised then said, “Frodo, I would have understood if you had gone to look for Bilbo. I’m glad you came back though.”

“So am I, more than I can say.”

Pippin stirred then and yawned widely. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, then blinked at the sunlight coming through the window. “I’m hungry,” he complained.

Frodo and Merry laughed. Frodo reached into his pack. “It’s a good thing I brought provisions then,” he said and tossed his friends an apple each.

“Gaffer?”

Hamfast stirred at his son’s voice. “How are you feeling this morning son?”

Hamfast helped Sam out of bed so he could relieve himself, then had him sit on the edge of the bed to apply the cream to Sam’s back and neck. Hamfast was please to see the medicine was doing its job. The bruises were already beginning to fade, though it would be many days before they were gone completely. The swelling around the eye and lip had also gone down somewhat, and Sam now had partial use of his right eye again. His left eye still held a haunted look in it though and Hamfast realized Sam had not answered his question.

Hamfast smiled bravely and said, “You’re looking better already. Still a bit stiff though I suppose.”

Sam nodded and lay back down against the pillows, his focus on the ceiling.

“Tom and Rosie are already here, and Jolly’s come with them. They’re helping the lasses with first breakfast. Is there aught special you want? How about those sweet berry tarts you love so much?”

“I’ve been thinking sir,” Sam said, making no sign that he heard anything his father had said. “I’ve been thinking maybe I’ll go visit Hamson for a time.”

Hamfast paused, taken aback by this abrupt change in subject and the hollowness in Sam’s voice. “Well, I’m sure Hamson will be glad to have you, but it’s a long ride up to Tighfield. You’ll not be wanting to go till you’ve healed up some more, and you need to give your brother time to prepare for you. How long will you be wanting to stay?”

Sam shrugged. “Through the summer, maybe longer. I’ll work while I’m there, don’t worry about that. Uncle Andy’s always needing extra hands. I could be a roper, maybe settle down there.”

“What are you talking about?” Hamfast asked, his alarm rising. He shook his head in bafflement. “Why would you be wanting to do that? You’re a gardener, not a roper. Your hands are meant for the earth. Roping’s no life for you.”

“It might not be so bad,” Sam said, trying to convince himself more than his father. “I could make a bit of a garden in my spare time. I’ll resign from Bag End. The new Master will have to formally request my services to continue; I’ll just turn him down. I can’t go back there.”

“But why give up gardening?” Hamfast asked. “There’s Mr. Banks you could work for, or Mr. Boffin, or any number of hobbits. They’d all be glad to have you. I’ve already got them asking me if I’ll consider letting you work for them.”

Sam shook his head. “I can’t stay here. I’ve thought this out and I’ve made up my mind. It’s what I want.”

“Hogwash. You’ll waste away in a life like that. You’re not made for it. Now you tell me what this is really about.”

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He stared down at his hands, callused and brown, so much like the earth itself. What his father said was true, but there was no helping it. He had to get away from here.

“Sam?” Hamfast pressed.

“They say Mr. Frodo threw himself in the river,” Sam said. He swallowed the bile he felt threatening to come up his throat at the thought and continued. “They could have him declared incompetent and then the S.B.-s will get Bag End. I’d have to work for them.”

“Where did you hear that from?” Hamfast asked, startled by this revelation. He had heard the ridiculous rumor about Mr. Baggins of course, but this was the first he was hearing about the Sackville-Bagginses getting their hands on Bag End.

“I figured it out on my own,” Sam said dully, still looking at his hands. “And even if Bag End were to go to someone else, I can’t go back there. There’s too much of him there, everywhere I look. I can’t bear it.”

‘So that’s the problem,’ Hamfast thought. He took his son’s hands gently in his own and said, “Sam, none of this is your fault. You might as well blame the rain for what it’s worth. It was an accident.”

“Was it? I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like an accident. Accidents happen when you don’t pay attention; this wasn’t like that. I was afraid to go,” Sam admitted. “I was afraid to leave home, to cross the River. I was afraid I’d be putting myself forward, going to stay with all them Brandybucks and other important folk. I was afraid of making a fool of myself at the Feast, of not having the proper clothes or manners. I was afraid I’d shame Mr. Frodo. That’s the only reason I didn’t go.”

Hamfast squeezed his son’s hands reassuringly. “If Mr. Baggins were concerned about things like that, he wouldn’t 0f invited you. I think he just wanted a friend along.”

“I thought I couldn’t be friends with gentry.”

“With gentry, no. With Mr. Baggins – he was always fond of you Sam. You were his first friend here, and don’t think that didn’t mean a lot to him. I think you made moving here easier for him, and that was no small favor after everything he’d been through. You’ve always had such a big heart, it’s the best part of you, and you’ve never thought twice about giving it to someone as needs it. Just like your mother.”

Sam smiled softly as a lone tear slipped down his cheek. 

Hamfast squeezed his hands again. “We’ll work something out,” he promised. “We’ll figure it out after breakfast, and Tom can send word to Hamson on his way home tonight.”

“Thank you Gaffer.”

“I love you, lad,” Hamfast said. “You frustrate me something fierce sometimes, but I love you. You’re the best son a hobbit could ask for, and I couldn’t be prouder of you if I tried.”

The tears streamed down Sam’s face now and he could only nod in response. Hamfast moved to the bed and drew his son into a tight embrace. It would be difficult to let Sam go, to see him off to Tighfield, but if it was what his son wanted, he would do it. He would do anything for his children.

Miss Camellia returned shortly after first breakfast. She was pleased with the progress Sam was making so far. She was also pleased he had so much support. She hoped that would help with the melancholy that had settled over him. The healer replaced the cold compress she had wrapped around his ribs, then took her leave again. She would stop by before the end of the day to bring more supplies and instructed May and Marigold to continue administering the tea and cream as they have been.

Jolly spent first breakfast with Sam. He exclaimed over Sam’s “battle wounds” as he called them, the only one to find anything positive about any of this. He hinted that he suspected Sam had done it just to get Rosie here and looking after him and that he thought it quite a smart move. Rosie certainly wasn’t thinking about any other lads at the moment.

“Everything’s about you, Sam,” Jolly informed him. “All through dinner last night, it was ‘Sam’ this and ‘Sam’ that. ‘Oh, Sam looks so dreadful and sorrowful, my heart was just breaking.’ ‘I can’t work at the Dragon tomorrow, Pa, Sam might need me.’ Not the way I would go about winning a lass’s favor, but it seems to have worked.”

Sam chuckled in spite of himself and shook his head. Leave it to Jolly to make light of any situation. Sam couldn’t help but tease him a bit in return. “Oh really? How would you go about it then? By pulling her hair and throwing sticker weeds at her back? Pansy must just be swooning over you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jolly said, but his bright red blush gave him away.

Sam chuckled again. “Come on, you ole romantic. Give me some expert advice.”

Jolly pretended to fume, but he quickly broke down and told Sam everything he had managed to learn about Pansy Scruttle in the last few days. He was perfectly aware of Finch’s affection for her and he was wondering if he should even make a move. Sam listened to his dilemma and offered what advice he could, knowing in the end it would be the lass’s decision anyway.

Paladin stopped the carriage just within site of Three-Farthing Stone. Frodo knew once they reached the Stone, Bywater would be peeking over the next horizon. Frodo almost wanted to tell Paladin to continue on until they reached Bag End, but he knew his cousins needed to stretch their legs and attend to other, personal matters. He also knew Merry wanted to talk to Pippin before they got home and everything became hectic with settling in.

He gave Merry an encouraging nod before leaving the carriage. Merry nodded back and held a hand out to stay Pippin. “Wait a minute, Pip. I need to talk to you,” he said seriously.

Pippin sat back down and waited, concern and confusion written on his face. “Very well,” he said. “About what?”

“About the way I treated you before, about the fight,” Merry said.

“Oh that,” Pippin said, as if he had already forgotten the whole affair. “No need Merry, I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

“It’s all right. I know you were just worrying about Frodo.”

“But it’s more than that,” Merry pressed.

“I don’t see how,” Pippin said.

“Then let me explain it will you?” Merry snapped. “Do you always have to make apologizing so difficult?” 

“It’s part of the fun, watching you squirm,” Pippin said, a mischievous glint to his eye.

Merry nodded gamely. He deserved that. He took a deep breath and started again. “Look, Pip, I should have been taking care of you, not the other way around. You were brave to stand up to me the way you did. It takes a lot of courage to try to talk sense into someone as pig-headed as I can get. I know you would have found a way to come if I had just waited, but I didn’t. Because I was afraid, that I had failed Frodo. Not you or Father or anyone else. Me. I couldn’t bear that thought and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Pippin nodded, understanding now. “You’re forgiven,” he said and started to get up again.

“I’m not finished,” Merry said, somewhat hurt.

“Oh, sorry, go on then,” Pippin said, wondering what else his cousin could have to say and thinking this apology was one of Merry’s best to date.

“You do know, that if it had been you, I would have done the same thing,” Merry said intently. “I would have gone to the ends of the earth to find you. I probably would have had to as well, because knowing you, that is exactly where you would be. But I would have gone there, without a second’s thought, and I wouldn’t have come back until I’d found you.”

Pippin smiled fondly and shook his head at his best friend. “I know that, but it’s good to hear. And I’m glad you thought I was being brave, because I didn’t feel very brave.”

“I think that’s what being brave is,” Merry said, “doing things even when you’re afraid to.”

“So to be brave, you have to be afraid?” Pippin asked. This was a thought that had never occurred to him before. He had always thought that brave people were never afraid.

Merry nodded. “If you’re not afraid, then you don’t need courage, and you can’t be brave without courage. You were very courageous Pippin. I’m proud of you, little cousin. As impossible as it seems, I do believe you’re growing up.”

Pippin beamed. “So, I’m as brave as you are?”

“Don’t get carried away now,” Merry said. “You’re nowhere near as brave as I am. If you had even a fraction of my courage, you would be ten times the hobbit you are now.”

Pippin rolled his eyes. “Meriadoc the Brave.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“I’m sure that you won’t let me.”

Merry ruffled Pippin’s hair and allowed Pippin to do the same to him. They left the carriage then to join Frodo and Paladin in the sunshine.

Jolly stayed with Sam until he drifted off to sleep, then was joined by Tom. Jolly had managed to keep the mood light, for all that it broke his heart to see Sam so abused and forlorn. He agreed with Hamfast and Tom that someone rather than something had injured Sam, and he thought he knew who. Tom was not so certain.

“Ted Sandyman?” Tom asked skeptically at Jolly’s guess. “Why wouldn’t Sam just say so then?”

“I just think it’s suspicious,” Jolly continued. “I heard Ted had a good long talk with Sam the night he got back, and Sam up and left the table in a mood. Next night, Sam’s looking like this.”

“It’s a fluke is all,” Tom said. “Besides, it couldn’t have been Ted. He was at the Bush the whole night. Several hobbits saw him.”

“Several hobbits also saw Mr. Lotho back and asking after Mr. Baggins that day. Was he at the Bush that night too?”

“Didn’t hear as he was,” Tom said, his blood running cold at the very thought. That at least would explain why Sam would lie, if it had been one of the gentry who attacked him. But Lotho? “I don’t know. He’s unpleasant enough most times, but he’s all talk. He’s never actually ever hurt anyone before, not counting Ted of course.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Jolly put in. 

Tom shuddered and shook his head. In all honesty, he did not like to think any hobbit capable of hurting one of their own so severely.

“And he wasn’t looking very good himself yesterday either,” Jolly added, interrupting his brother’s thoughts.

“You saw him?”

“He was puttering about the gardens outside his hole, looking every bit as run over himself,” Jolly informed. “Not in the bruised and battered sort of way, just drained, like there was nothing left in him, sort of like Sam now. It was rather distressing to see actually. He didn’t even threaten me when I walked by, just kept staring at this dried-up sunflower like he hadn’t a clue what it was.”

“What’s his problem I wonder?” Tom mused.

Jolly shrugged. “I heard tell his father died in some mysterious way.”

They let the conversation lull after that and they sat quietly until Marigold and Rosie relieved them at elevenses.

The rest of the day passed in hushed silence. Sam slept most of the time, his friends and family taking turns to sit with him. They did their best to entertain him when he woke, and while he would listen and smile at their ramblings, there was a vacancy in his eyes that would not go away.

May brought afternoon tea in to Marigold and Sam. Sam was awake again, gazing up at his ceiling. He sat up when the food was placed on the table and gamely ate as his sisters talked about Marigold’s time at Missus Brown’s last night. The meal was complete and May was cleaning up when Hamfast poked his head into the room.

“Marigold-love,” he said.

“Yes Daddy?” Marigold asked as she poured Sam a last cup of tea.

“I saw Master Brandybuck’s carriage going up the Hill a while back. Will you go up and see if he’ll be needing aught?”

“Of course,” Marigold agreed and took the tray from her sister, who sat down to take her place watching Sam.

“He’s here already?” Sam asked. It was like the final nail to the coffin. Master Saradoc had arrived to see to Mr. Frodo’s will, not that it would matter once Lotho had his way. The final thread of resolve unraveled and broke, and tears of defeat spilled heedlessly down Sam’s face. He rolled onto his good side and faced the wall, then closed his eyes and sobbed endlessly.

His father and sisters were at a loss of what to do. Try as they might to comfort Sam, nothing helped. Even his friends were unable to console him, and Rosie finally sent Jolly running to the healer’s house.

Camellia arrived ten minutes later, Jolly all but dragging her in his haste. She brewed a strong sleeping draught and helped Sam to drink it through his distressed sobs. Within minutes, the medicine took effect and Sam was deep asleep. Everyone else stood back, exhausted and needing a calming tea of their own. The healer brewed this as well and decided to stay until Sam awoke so she could speak with him. There was more going on here than simple grief and physical injury. Sam would not heal completely unless he cleared his conscience of whatever it was that was plaguing him.

It was with great effort that Marigold donned her coat and headed up the Hill.

As Paladin had expected, they arrived at Bag End at midday, or as Pippin put it, “just in time for tea.” Frodo had to do some quick talking to convince everyone to search the gardens for Sam while he went inside to prepare the meal. They finally agreed, knowing that once they did find Sam and explained everything to him, he would see that Frodo did not tire himself unnecessarily. 

Frodo walked up the path alone and took out his key. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, breathing in the familiar scent of his beloved home. He lit the candle sitting by the door and carefully retraced his steps from the day he left, starting with the tunnel.

He had put his cloak on the bench, had carried the cloak from his bedroom, after leaving the second parlor. He searched the tunnel, under his bed and beneath his dresser. He went into the second parlor and began searching through the trunk there. He pulled out all the contents and reached the bottom, finding nothing.

Frodo sat back on his haunches, forcing himself to think rationally of anywhere else the ring might be. He had set his cloak on the bench and then… he had left it. Sam had gone back to get it and had carried it out to the gate and handed it over the fence to him.

“The garden,” Frodo hoped but before he could get up, Merry found him.

“Sam’s not here,” Merry informed him. “I thought you were getting tea on.”

“Where are Uncle Paladin and Pippin?” Frodo asked, ignoring the hinted question.

“They’re unloading the carriage,” Merry said, a note of concern in his voice. The disarray of the room was looking too familiar for comfort. “Are you feeling well? Perhaps you should lie down. I’ll see to tea.”

Frodo dissented, quickly placing all the items back in their place and closing the trunk. He stood up with Merry’s help. “I’m well enough,” he insisted. “I’ve just misplaced something.”

“Already? We’ve only been here five minutes,” Merry said lightly. “I think Pippin’s right. That bump did do something to your head. Well, I’ll help you look then. What are we searching for?”

“Never mind about it,” Frodo said and forced himself to smile. “But perhaps it would be best if you made the tea. I’ll go and supervise Paladin and Pippin.”

Merry watched after Frodo worriedly and looked back at the trunk. This must be the same “something” Frodo had been looking for in Buckland. Not wanting history to repeat itself, Merry followed Frodo outside. He wasn’t about to let his cousin out of his sight now. He found Frodo searching the path and flowerbeds with questing eyes.

“Frodo,” he started.

“Merry, really, it’s nothing. If it’s not here, then it’s inside somewhere and it will turn up eventually,” Frodo insisted, keeping the panic out of his voice with great effort. “Go make tea, unless your new plan is to starve me to death.”

Merry relented grudgingly and caught Pippin’s eye as he turned back towards the smial. Merry gave a slight nod in Frodo’s direction and Pippin nodded in return. He would keep an eye out.

Paladin took his things into the smial and then let the ponies free from the carriage. He led them across the road to a tree where they could graze and tied them to it, then went inside to wash up and help Merry with tea. 

Pippin sat on the porch step and fished through his pack, taking out the things that belonged in Bag End. He pulled out the pans and water skins, and various other items that had found their way into his pack, all the while keeping a cautious eye on Frodo as his cousin searched about the gate. By the time Frodo gave up, Pippin had completed his own task and had two stacks of camp gear to be carried inside.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Pippin asked.

“No,” Frodo said dismally, looking at the piles Pippin had made. “Let me give you a hand with that.”

“I’ve got it,” Pippin insisted. “I know where it all goes, or Merry does. We’ll manage. But this, you should take this.” Pippin handed Frodo his diary. “I didn’t read it, but I couldn’t stand to think of it locked up in the mathom rooms for time out of memory.”

“Thank you Pip,” Frodo said, accepting the small book. He did have quite a lot to write about. He forgot about the work to be done, as Pippin had hoped, and went into the study to sit at his desk for a while. Pippin carried his piles one by one into the kitchen and set the gear in a tub for washing later, then went to clean up himself.

Frodo entered the study and sat dejectedly at his desk. He absently placed his diary on the desk and reached over for a quill. He opened his book to a blank page and stared at it just as blankly, his mind preoccupied with Bilbo’s missing heirloom. What if his assumption was wrong altogether and it had slipped from his cloak during the journey to Buckland? It could have been found and picked up by anyone. 

He was in the process of telling himself yet again not to panic when he was pulled out of his thoughts by the bell ringing. Frodo turned and saw Merry go to answer the call and listened intently, hoping it was Sam.

Merry walked to the door and pulled it open, expecting to see Sam, a speech already prepared. “Marigold,” he greeted in surprise. He rarely saw Sam’s sister here, and he wondered why she had come instead of her brother.

“Hullo Master Merry,” Marigold greeted. “Or Mr. Brandybuck, I should say now.”

“Please, that’s far too formal. I insist you call me Merry.”

“Of course, Mr. Merry,” Marigold said. She hesitated and wrung her hands nervously. Even with the healer’s tea she was still feeling frazzled, and she was hoping the Master wouldn’t need anything so she could return to her brother. She hated to leave him as he was.

“Is something wrong?” Merry asked, noticing her exhaustion and weariness.

“I was wondering if you or your father were needing anything sir,” Marigold managed politely.

Merry shook his head. “No, actually, my father’s not here. It’s just me, Pippin and Uncle Paladin. Listen, do you think you could send Sam up the first chance he gets?”

Marigold shook her head and fought back the tears that threatened to spill. “I’m afraid Sam ain’t feeling well sir, and he won’t come up here.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” Merry asked in alarm. He ushered Marigold inside and closed the door. “Marigold, what’s the matter with Sam?”

Marigold shook her head again and took a deep, steadying breath. She did not intend to spill her worries on him, but she found the words pouring out of her mouth without heed, not even noticing when Paladin and Pippin joined them. “Oh Mr. Merry, he’s a wreck. He’s fallen clear apart and Gaffer reckons he’s been in a fight but Sam says he was trampled by some animal, if you can believe that. Either way, he looks a fright and he won’t come back here for naught and now he’s talking about quitting gardening altogether and going up to Tighfield and taking up roping.”

“Tighfield?” Pippin asked. “Why would he want to go there?”

“He’s blaming himself for all that’s happened to Mr. Baggins, though how he figures it’s his fault I don’t know,” Marigold explained.

“But didn’t you hear?” Pippin asked. “Frodo’s not dead.”

Marigold stared at him in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s not dead,” Pippin repeated. “He was caught in the flood but he survived. We just didn’t know because he was found by one of the Big Folk and taken to Bree for healing, but he’s back now.”

“He is? Where?”

“I’m here,” Frodo said from the study door. He rushed to Marigold’s side and steered her to the bench. The poor lass looked ready to pass out.

“Mr. Baggins?” Marigold said in astonishment. Frodo smiled knowingly and all her despair melted away in an instant. She surprised Frodo with a fierce hug. “Oh, Mr. Baggins! Oh Sam’s going to be thrilled to see you, sir, and that’s a fact. That will cheer him up right quick.”

“I certainly hope so, but first tell me more about what’s been going on with Sam,” Frodo said. He did not like the sound of anything he had overheard.

An hour later, the tea finished, they sat around the kitchen table every bit as exhausted as Marigold. She had told them nearly everything that had happened since Sam heard the news that Frodo was missing. The news of Sam’s mysterious injuries was especially unsettling. Frodo stood up purposefully. “I’m going down there.”

“Sam’s asleep right now sir,” Marigold reminded him.

“Then I will be there when he awakens,” Frodo replied. He went into his room and grabbed an old green cloak from his wardrobe. He put it on and pulled the hood tight around his face; he did not need all of Hobbiton following him to Bagshot Row. He went back to the kitchen and retrieved Marigold. “Come lass. Take me to him.”

To be continued…