Chapter 4

When afters was finished, Frodo retrieved some books from the library to keep Sam occupied while he and Merry cleaned the kitchen and put away the leftovers, which were more than usual. The cousins worked side by side, saying little, and within short time they had the kitchen back in order. Then they consulted the herbal again and discussed how to go about making an ice pack for Sam’s ankle.

“It might be easier to use the snow outside than walk down to the cold cellar every time we need ice,” Frodo mused.

“You could have told me that before I swept all the snow back outside,” Merry said lightly. “The snow will melt faster than the ice. How do we keep Sam’s ankle and everything else from getting wet?”

“We could use a couple of my water skins,” Frodo suggested. “The trick will be getting the snow into the water skin. If we can’t figure out a way to do that, we’ll just have to use ice.”

Merry took a bucket from the kitchenette and collected snow from the back porch while Frodo located the water skins he used for his walking trips. The storm was still blowing fiercely and Merry was chilled after the few seconds he was outside. He hastened back to the warmth of the kitchen and waited near the fire for Frodo to come back.

Frodo returned a minute later with a couple of water skins. They studied the narrow opening for a time, considering what to do, for it would be impossible to get anything but water into the slit. Merry was about to suggest they just use the ice when Frodo opened a drawer, pulled out a knife and cut off the mouthpiece from one of the skins. Merry then watched as Frodo searched through a drawer filled with random spare items and knickknacks until he found some old bottle corks and attempted to fit them one by one into the new opening. Most were either too small or too big, but he did find one that wasn’t quite so fat and almost fit. Frodo cut the tiniest of tears into the skin and tried again. This time the cork did fit but it was clear that it would not stay there. “We’ll have to tie it into place with some string, but this will do nicely,” Frodo said.

“Sam’s not going to like that you ruined one of your water skins,” Merry stated.

“They’re old,” Frodo said, and cut off the mouthpiece to the second skin. “I would have wound up using them for something else before too much longer anyway. Behind you, in that drawer, should be a funnel.”

Merry opened the drawer Frodo pointed to and shuffled through the items in it. There were three tin funnels so he chose the one with the widest throat and handed it to his cousin. Frodo pushed the screen out and started spooning snow into one of the skins. “We’ll have to keep a close eye on the pack,” he said as he worked. “Once the snow is melted, it should be replaced right away. We want the packs to be full enough so that it doesn’t melt too soon, but we also need to leave enough room so that it can conform to his ankle without hurting him.”

When the skin was about three-quarters full, Frodo popped the cork into place and looked about. “String?”

“There’s some in the wardrobe in the kitchenette,” Merry said and fetched it for him.

Once the pack was finished, Frodo tested it, turning it upside down and jiggling it back and forth. The cork stayed in place and no droplets of snow or water leaked through. “We’ll keep a towel around the mouth for tonight, just in case.”

Merry took the bucket with the rest of the snow into the third pantry, away from the heat of any fire, and rejoined Frodo in the tunnel outside the kitchen.

“We’ll play a few games of draughts until bedtime,” Frodo said. “Then we’ll give Sam another dose of the tea to help him sleep. If the weather doesn’t clear tomorrow…” He trailed off, not wanting to think of that possibility.

“We’ll manage,” Merry assured.

“His ankle could be broken, Merry. If it goes too long without being fixed, it will only hurt Sam the more. It might not ever heal correctly. We’ll just have to splint it and hope for the best. We can do that after the snow treatment. There should be something suitable to use for a splint in the kitchenette or the mathom room,” Frodo said.

Merry nodded. “I’ll get the draughts board, and the set of throw dice while I’m at it,” he offered and went to the second parlor to find the games.

Frodo returned to the bedchamber to find Sam engrossed with his book, an old leather-bound tome of ballads that Bilbo had collected over his long years in the Shire. Most of the ballads were traditional songs of hobbit-make and so were already known to Sam. More than a few of the songs had changed in minor ways over the years since Bilbo’s youth and Sam studied them with interest, wondering at the differences. Many of the songs were Dwarven or Elvish, and there were even a few from the men of Dale and Bree. The rest were written by Bilbo himself. These were also well-known to Sam and much loved by all the hobbits of Hobbiton and Bywater as well as the Took, Baggins and Brandybuck families.

Sam looked up when Frodo entered and smiled. “Mr. Bilbo always liked that Man in the Moon,” he said. “I wonder if he’ll ever write another song about him.”

“He might have already,” Frodo said, glad he had chosen that book. It was thick and heavy and would keep Sam occupied for a few days, if not more.

He carefully lifted the blankets back from the injured foot, as though he were afraid the foot would shatter at any moment. The ankle looked only slightly more swollen than before, about the size of an onion. There was no bruise that he could see, though he realized one could still develop by morning. “How is your ankle?” he asked.

“I can manage it,” Sam said.

“Is it better or worse?” Frodo pressed. “Did the tea help or was the willow bark too weak?”

Sam sighed and shook his head, trying not to feel like the burden he was. He couldn’t help but think that had he been more vigilant of his feet and where he was putting them, Mr. Frodo would have been relaxing in a nice warm bath just about now, his only worry being whether to wear his blue or green nightshirt to bed.

“Sam?” Frodo asked when the pause grew too long. “You never let me get away with evading questions when I’m ill. I’m not about to let you tell me you’re fine when I know you aren’t. Now did the tea help or not?”

Sam had to concede to that point. If it had been Frodo who stumbled and hurt himself, Sam wouldn’t put up with any foolishness either and they both knew it. “I reckon a few more pinches in the next mug wouldn’t hurt none,” Sam said. “It’s still throbbing something fierce, though it’s not so bad when I hold it real still like.”

“This should help then,” Frodo said and placed the water skin over the ankle, to Sam’s immense relief.

“Aye, it does at that,” Sam admitted, as near to bliss as he could ever remember being. The chilly cold of the snow extinguished the burning in his ankle and he felt his body relax as the pain began to subside. Frodo smiled sympathetically and gently tucked the blankets back around the foot.

Merry arrived then with four different board games and the pouch of throw dice. Merry put the other games on the floor against the wall, then he and Frodo sat on either side of the bed, using the bed tray for a table to set up the draught board. Usually, only two people played a game at one time but the checkered board was big enough to accommodate a third and fourth player with a minor rearrangement of the chips. Merry selected the plain wood chips for himself, Frodo took the red-painted ones, and Sam the yellow.

They played for a couple of hours, with Merry easily winning the first few rounds until Frodo and Sam decided to get tough with him. They stopped only to rotate the water skins and to help Sam to the chamber pot when he could no longer hide the fact that he needed to relieve himself. Frodo helped him out of bed and behind the screen in the corner of the room as Merry made himself scarce, going to the kitchen to dump the melted snow from the water skins and heat more tea, adding a spoonful more of the willow bark at Frodo’s suggestion. By the time the tea was ready and Merry returned to the room, Sam was back in bed, looking rather embarrassed but otherwise composed. Frodo was setting the board for one last game.

Sam drank his tea dutifully, and by the time Frodo won the game, his ankle was feeling much improved if still painful. When Sam began to yawn, Merry packed up the game, leaving it with the others on the floor. He then banked the fire while Frodo set the tray aside and picked up the book of ballads to read the one Sam had book-marked. It was a silly nonsense poem but Frodo read it softly and soothingly until Sam dropped off to sleep.

Frodo and Merry went to the kitchenette and found a couple of peg boards that had lost their pegs. Pippin liked to use the boards now as a game, trying to see how many coins he could throw into the peg holes within a minute. The boards were rather thick and about a foot long, having originally been hung on the wall in the entrance hall as coat racks, but Frodo figured they could serve as a splint until the healer could come. All he needed to do was cut one in half somehow.

“Do you have a meat cleaver?” Merry asked.

“No,” Frodo said. “The meat comes ready to cook from the butcher.”

“What about a bread knife. The blade is somewhat shaped like a saw,” Merry suggested.

“It’s worth a try,” Frodo agreed and set the peg board on the counter, then pulled the knife from the drawer. He measured the midpoint of the board with his eyes and began to saw away. The blade was not as sharp or striated as a saw so he had to put a lot of muscle behind it, but eventually he was able to cut deep enough into the board that he could break it in two over his knee.

“Maybe we shouldn’t tell Sam how we’re acquiring all these things,” Merry said, taking one of the shortened boards and running his hand along the freshly-cut edge. “It’s a bit jagged on this side.”

“The other one is fine,” Frodo said. He took the board back from Merry and quickly cut off the rough parts while Merry cut a few more lengths of the string. “And if Sam doesn’t ask where we’re finding everything, I won’t tell him.”

Trying to splint Sam’s ankle without waking Sam was no easy task and more than a few times, Sam’s face scrunched up with pain, annoyance, or both. He remained asleep however, and Frodo and Merry stepped back to examine their handiwork. It looked clunky, truth be told, but as long as it kept Sam’s ankle from moving while he slept that was all that mattered.

“Why don’t you sleep in my room tonight? We’ll fix another guest room for you in the morning,” Frodo whispered once they were back in the tunnel. “I’ll sit with Sam.”

“Are you sure? I can relieve you after a few hours if you want,” Merry offered, whispering also.

Frodo declined. “Take your rest, I’ll be fine. I can answer that stack of correspondence I’ve been ignoring,” he said with a wry grin. Merry knew without asking that if Frodo had letters he was ignoring, they could only be from one person: Lobelia. “I just want to be there in case he wakes up and needs something.”

Merry nodded and stifled a yawn with difficulty. “Try to get some rest yourself. I’ll see you in the morning.”  

When Merry rose early the following morning, it was to find Frodo lightly dozing in a chair next to Sam’s bed, the forgotten book of ballads fallen to the floor. An empty mug sat on the bedside table next to a warm water skin, and Sam was fast asleep. Merry tiptoed past the sleeping hobbits to pick up the book and smooth out its pages before placing it on the table. He retrieved the water skin and mug, then went to the kitchen to brew more tea.

While the water was warming, Merry grabbed the bucket and walked through the smial, looking out the windows as he went, or attempting to. Ice covered the windows in every room, making it impossible to see outside. Not until he opened the front door did he know that the weather had turned again in the night. The blizzard had ended, leaving everything blanketed in deep snow. Small flakes were still falling slowly from grey skies but the wind was mild and held the promise of sun.

The snow on the porch stood a foot-and-a-half deep and came up to Merry’s hips. In the distance beyond, he could just make out the top rail of the garden gate and the very top branches of the bushes that lined the walk path from the door to the gate. Overhead, hanging from the lip of the turf roof was a row of small icicles. Winter had arrived in full force at last and was bent on making up for lost time.

Merry pulled the bucket through the snow bank, filling it easily, and hoped that Frodo either had a shovel or snow shoes somewhere in the smial. If he didn’t, then they wouldn’t be going anywhere until all this melted, which would be a couple of days at the least if they were lucky. To attempt to walk through the snow would be too much of a struggle; he would be exhausted and frozen before he even reached the gate, much less the bottom of the Hill.

Merry closed the door and returned to the kitchen. He stuffed the water skin with snow until it was nearly full, making sure that it would still bend and conform to Sam’s foot. Without waking Frodo or Sam, he applied the water skin over Sam’s ankle, which he was pleased to see did not look any worse than it had the night before.

He was nearly finished cooking first breakfast when Frodo came yawning into the kitchen, dragging his feet and rubbing his eyes in such a perfect imitation of Pippin that Merry suddenly felt an immense yearning for his younger cousin. He wondered if Pippin was feeling better and knew that either way, Aunt Tina would forbid him from going outside to enjoy the snow. He smiled to himself as he imagined Pippin’s protests, as strident and persistent as they were in vain.

“Morning cousin,” he greeted and handed Frodo a mug of coffee, which he had brewed alongside the tea. He figured Frodo would need the strong drink after his long night sitting up with Sam.

“Morning Merry,” Frodo replied, accepting the mug groggily. He drank the bitter beverage as it was and Merry was grateful that he had already treated it with cream and sugar when he first poured it.

Frodo blinked down at the mug, clearly trying to figure out why his tea tasted so funny. After a few more blinks, he figured out what the problem was and took another swig without comment. He looked next at the food Merry was preparing: eggs sunny-side up, grilled toast with melted cheese cooling on top, slices of baked ham and piles of bacon, plus the tea and coffee. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, gratitude in his voice.

“I did if I wanted first breakfast on time,” Merry quipped. Frodo was notoriously known for sleeping in late, even when he wasn’t up half the night.

“Have you been outside yet?” Frodo asked, squinting at the ice-covered window.

“I have,” Merry said. “The snowfall has slowed considerably, but its deep. I hope you have snow shoes or mud shoes. Otherwise, I’d say we’re as good as stuck. How was Sam during the night?”

“He woke about midnight, so I gave him more tea and another snow treatment. He tossed about a fair bit after that but he finally settled down just after two. He’s overdue for another treatment though,” Frodo said.

Merry shook his head. “I took care of it when I woke.”

“You are a jewel among hobbits, dear Merry,” Frodo said. He drained his mug and set it in the washbasin. “I think I saw some snow shoes in one of the wardrobes once. I’ll look for them while you finish breakfast. We’ll eat with Sam again, then I’ll go for the healer, whether or no.”

“No you won’t,” Merry said. “I’ll go for the healer. You’re exhausted and more than a little sore from yesterday by the way you’re shuffling about. Sleeping in that chair all night wouldn’t have helped.” Frodo opened his mouth to protest but Merry continued before he could make a sound. “I’m better at walking in shoes than you are. Besides, Sam will fret much less over me going than he will you, and don’t deny it.”

“Do you even know where the healer’s house is?” Frodo asked.

Merry blushed and concentrated overly hard on the cooking eggs. “I might have walked by it a couple of times before,” he mumbled.

“Is that so?” Frodo grinned. “You know, Miss Camellia is away visiting family. Miss Willow is there all by her lonesome.”

Merry blushed scarlet and did not reply.

Frodo chuckled. “I’ll look for those shoes,” he said, stifling a yawn, and left Merry to his cooking.

Frodo peeked in on Sam before continuing to the wardrobes. Sam was beginning to toss and turn again; he would be awake shortly. Frodo paused, wondering if perhaps he should wait with Sam until he was fully awake. He knew it was silly to worry but he didn’t think Sam should wake up alone. Yet the longer it took to find the shoes, the longer it would be before Sam could get the help he needed.

Frodo left the doorway. He reached the end of the tunnel and opened the door to the first wardrobe.

The two wardrobes sat between Frodo’s old bedroom and the foyer, and they had been bedrooms themselves when the smial was first built all those years before. Bilbo had long ago converted the little-used rooms into two large wardrobes to store all his various suits. No hobbit loved clothes more than Bilbo had, and he had quickly outgrown the standard-sized wardrobe that stood in his room. Rather than haul another wardrobe into his room or use the wardrobes in the other rooms, he had commissioned a carpenter to come in and convert the bedrooms into two large walk-in wardrobes. The carpenter built two rows of hanging rods into all the walls, as well as a large, circular hanging rack to stand in the middle of each room. Bilbo then had a doorway put in between the two rooms for convenience and, in true Mad Baggins fashion, had the carpenter further cut into the wall and design a series of drawers that were built through the wall next to the door so that the drawers could be opened from either room. In these drawers he put all his scarves, cufflinks, belts and other such accessories.

By the time Bilbo left, he had acquired so many suits that he had been considering building a new wardrobe. Then the Birthday Party came and Bilbo went, and there was never any need to do so. Bilbo had not designated any of the suits to be given away after the Party and Frodo found that he could not bear to part with them now. A few had been altered to fit himself for special occasions and now hung in his own wardrobe in his room, but most remained as they had been in Bilbo’s time. Every now and then, Frodo would take them outside in handfuls to hang from the clothesline for a day so they could air out, a project that easily took him a good two weeks to complete.

Frodo stood just inside the doorway as a wave of longing washed over him. He wondered, as he did more and more often, where his beloved cousin was in the wide world Outside. Was he happy? Safe? Maybe he was off gallivanting in lands unknown, ever the adventurer. Perhaps he had settled down somewhere quiet and restful where he could finish his book. Was he alone or did he have friends surrounding him and looking after him? Was he healthy? Alive? So many years had passed with no word, no letter. Gandalf had used to bring him the occasional correspondence, but he had not seen the wizard in years. Why hadn’t Frodo gone with him while he had the chance?

Frodo brushed his hand along the silky thread of an emerald green dinner jacket, the one Bilbo had worn once to a cousin’s wedding in Tookbank. Bilbo had been so happy about the color and the cut of the jacket, going to great lengths to brag about it to everyone he saw. The trousers had also been emerald green, but the waistcoat had been peridot and the shirt white. Even know, Frodo could picture it perfectly. He held the sleeve of the jacket under his nose, even though he knew that Bilbo’s scent had long ago faded from the fabric. He dropped the sleeve and glanced around the room, remembering when he saw Bilbo in every one of those suits.

Smiling fondly at the memories, Frodo bent down and scanned the walls and floors beneath the hanging clothes for the elusive shoes.  

Merry carried the tray into Sam’s room and set it on the bedside table just as Sam woke up. “Rise and shine,” he greeted as Sam stretched and yawned. “If you continue to sleep in this late, you’ll give Frodo a run for his money. You’ll have to become the master of Bag End and Frodo will have to be the gardener. May the stars protect the garden.”

Sam chuckled. He was just berating himself for sleeping so late, even though he knew there was no helping it and nothing useful he could do now that he was awake anyway. Whether Merry knew this or not, he was grateful for the young master’s teasing. “Morning Mr. Merry,” he said, pulling himself into a sitting position, being careful not to jar his foot. Merry hurried to reposition the cushions around Sam’s foot and behind his back. “Where is Mr. Frodo?”

“Looking for snow shoes,” Merry answered. “I’m going to need them to make it down the Hill.”

“You’re going?” Sam asked, and as Merry had expected, he saw a hint of relief in the gardener’s eyes.

Merry nodded. “That I am. Only seems fair, doesn’t it? If you get to slide on ice, I should get to walk on snow. Frodo can stay here and do some actual work for once.” He slid the bed tray over Sam’s lap, tea and all.

“Thank you sir,” Sam said.

“You’re welcome, Sam,” Merry returned.

“No, I mean…” Sam paused, considering what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. “Thank you for helping yesterday, with everything and all. It was right kind of you.”

“You sound surprised.”

Sam blushed. “Well, it’s just that I never could tell afore when you were being sincere or not. Begging your pardon sir, but sometimes it just seemed like…”

“Like what?” Merry asked, curious now. He sat down and waited for an answer.

Sam fidgeted with the blanket and looked down at the food, his stomach grumbling at the sight. Now that he had spoken, he was wishing he had kept quiet, but there was nothing for it now. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, then said, “Sometimes it felt like I was a game you were trying to learn the rules to. I know you didn’t really think that but… well, that’s how it felt, meaning no offense.”

“None taken, and you’re right. Sometimes I was trying to learn the rules. I didn’t mean for it to be a game but I can see how you might think that,” Merry admitted, then chuckled ruefully. “A game. Frodo once accused me of being competitive. I guess he might have had a point.”

“You guess he might have?”

“Very well. He did have a point,” Merry conceded. “To think, all those years ago I was jealous of you for being such good friends with Frodo, when he first moved here and I couldn’t be with him. Last night, I realized that I have been jealous of Frodo for being such good friends with you. Without even realizing it, I was trying to prove to myself that you and I could be just as close. Only instead of letting our friendship develop naturally, I was forcing myself on you and trying to figure out all your little quirks and idiosyncrasies: the rules as you say. I was trying too hard and that never works. I see that now.”

“What changed last night?” Sam asked.

“You and Frodo fought,” Merry said simply. “There’s no doubt that you have a good friendship, but it’s not perfect like I always imagined it was. And even if it was perfect, I was creating a competition where there shouldn’t have been one in the first place. I’m always doing that it seems. Even when I was as young as four years old I was doing that, and on one such occasion it ended in a rather embarrassing way that we don’t have to speak of right now. You think I would have learned my lesson then, or at least once I was old enough to understand why it was embarrassing, but I am getting better about it now.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sir,” Sam said, a little uncertainly. He was still confused on a few points but he was clear on one: Merry would be sincere from here on out and Sam would no longer have to double guess Merry’s motives.

Frodo leaned against the wall outside the room and waited until Merry and Sam moved on to talk about the food Merry had prepared. Only after they had been discussing this for a minute or so did he enter the room, shoes in hand. “I found them,” he announced to Merry and leaned them against the wall by the door. “After we clean up from breakfast, you can go. Don’t forget to stop at the Gamgee’s first. I’m sure they must be anxious for word of Sam by now. Oh, and take them the wood.”

“Any other errands you would like for me to perform while I’m out?” Merry asked with a grin.

“That will do for now,” Frodo said smoothly.

“Begging your pardons, sirs, but what if Miss Willow don’t got any snow shoes of her own?” Sam asked.

Frodo and Merry paused. This was a valid concern, for not everyone had snow shoes in these parts. It rarely snowed so deep as it did last night and when it did, most folk stayed inside until it was melted enough to walk through. It would be a fair guess to assume that the vast majority of hobbits in the area had no form of shoes at all. The strange footwear was really only prevalent through the mud banks of the Marish and in Buckland along the Brandywine.

Merry eventually shrugged. “Well, if she doesn’t have shoes, I’ll just have to carry her up the Hill.”

“You could hurt your back,” Frodo said with teasing concern.

“That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Merry replied, blushing again but grinning this time. “Anything for Sam.”  

After first breakfast was eaten and the kitchen cleaned, Merry borrowed a pair of Frodo’s snow breeches, having brought none of his own. Then he sat on the bench in the entrance parlor and strapped the snow shoes onto his feet.

Snow shoes, or mud shoes as they were more commonly known as, were made of thin straps of light but sturdy wood woven in a loose criss-cross pattern, and they were flat and round. In the middle of the shoe was a heel guard and a strap for tightening over the foot to keep the shoe from slipping off. Nearly four times as wide as the average foot, they were designed to distribute the wearer’s weight over a large surface and so prevent the wearer from sinking into the snow or mud.

Merry stood and tested the straps to make sure they were secure and would not break. The straps were of thick leather and ideally should be oiled regularly, or at least before being worn, but he had not the time for that now. He slipped into his jacket and buttoned it tight, then wound a scarf about his neck. Frodo insisted that he also wear a snow cap with ear flaps and Merry couldn’t be sure if Frodo was just concerned about him getting cold and wasn’t just imagining Miss Willow’s reaction when she saw Merry in the yellow yarn cap with the silly little bobble on the top. Frodo tied the strings of the ear flaps snug under Merry’s chin and tested it to make sure the cap wouldn’t slip. Then he put Merry into mittens and stood back with a nod and a laugh.

“You look just like a faunt again,” he announced happily.

“I’ll be lucky if I can squeeze through the hole,” Merry said irritably. Really, it wasn’t that cold outside.

Frodo knocked the icicles off the roof with the handle of the broom and held the door open for Merry, turning the bucket upside down for Merry to use as a stepping stool. He was then obliged to push from behind as Merry scrambled onto the snow bank, sending a cascade of displaced snow into the entrance hall. Merry was just barely able to squeeze through the opening. He struggled to his feet and turned for the basket of firewood that Frodo handed him.

“Don’t be too long. Be careful,” Frodo said with a wary glance at the sky. He was heartened to see that the mild snowfall from earlier that morning had ended and the sun was peeking through white clouds.

“I’ll be as swift as my carefulness and ten pounds of clothing allow me,” Merry promised tartly, turning around and waddling toward the lane. When he reached the gate, he turned and waved. Frodo waved back and closed the door against the cold.

Sam was sitting with his eyes closed when Frodo returned to him. Frodo noticed immediately that Sam had removed one of the blankets. It was now folded neatly on the pillow next to him. The other blanket had been pushed down to his waist.

“Is it too warm for you, lad?” Frodo asked. He took up the tongs and removed a couple of logs from the fire, leaning them against the back wall of the hearth to burn out.

“I’m fine enough sir,” Sam said, opening his eyes to follow his master’s movements around the room. “It’s just, since I’m not in danger of freezing no more, I thought I’d remove the blankets for a bit.”

“Of course,” Frodo said smiling, then instantly cringed as he glanced up and saw Sam’s breeches still hanging there, now dry. He handed them to Sam. “I forgot to tell Merry to get you some changes of clothes.”

“I’m fine as I am, sir,” Sam repeated, taking the breeches gratefully. He would feel even better once he could get those on again.

“You’re going to need to change your clothes at some point, and you’re going to want a bath before too long,” Frodo mused as he checked the ankle again, vainly hoping that if he checked it enough, it would somehow get better. “The splint is holding. It’s not too bothersome is it? Is it feeling any better?”

“It’s not as bad,” Sam said, “leastways, not as bad as I was expecting, and since I can’t move it anyhow, the splint ain’t no bother either. And speaking of baths, I know you went without yours last night. I can entertain myself for a while. Why don’t you go take a rest, Mr. Frodo?”

“What if you need to use the chamber pot?” Frodo asked.

“Well, if you find me somewhat to use as a crutch, I’ll be able to manage on my own,” Sam said hopefully.

“Oh, no, you don’t. Not until the healer says you can have them,” Frodo said as his head filled with images of Sam hobbling about the smial, cleaning up and being useful while Frodo sat in the bath, unaware of his gardener’s wayward behavior.

“It’ll be the same as it would if you or Mr. Merry helped me,” Sam pointed out.

“We can help you in and out of bed. Crutches can’t do that,” Frodo said, trying his best to ignore Sam’s imploring regard.

“I’ll be real careful, you don’t got to be worriting on that account. I promise to behave myself and use ‘em only for the chamber pot,” Sam pressed. He held his breath and looked up at his master beseechingly, taking full advantage of the big brown eyes his mother had given him. He tried never to pout to get his way, especially never with his master, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Frodo was dangerously close to caving in. He took a deep breath, looked away and shook his head. “I’m sorry Sam. Not until the healer says,” he said to the bed post, avoiding looking at Sam for as long as he could. When he did eventually look, Sam was pouting mournfully, looking similar to the way he had when his beloved cat passed away last year. Frodo’s heart twisted with empathy and he knew if he stayed there a moment longer, he would give Sam whatever he wanted. He backed away toward the door, talking hastily to the floorboards as he went. “You know, a bath does sound rather appealing. Do you need to use the chamber pot right now? Can it wait an hour or so? You have your book. Do you need more tea? No. Well, then, I think I’ll take a short reprieve, if you’re sure you don’t need anything.”

“I’ll be all right, sir,” Sam assured, only marginally disappointed. He knew it had been a long shot to get crutches so soon, but at least he had convinced his master to take a rest.

“I’ll be back shortly then. Don’t hesitate to call out if you need anything,” Frodo said from the doorway and retreated, wondering ruefully when Sam had learned to manipulate him so well and why he had never noticed before.

To be continued…