Chapter 7

When Merry was able to stand again, he shuffled to the back foyer and cleared the rags from the floor and tossed them into the laundry basket. He went into Sam’s room and quickly gathered up his things to take into the room next door, where Pippin usually slept during visits. Merry quickly arranged everything in the new room as they had been in the other room and dressed the bed with fresh linens before making sure there was oil in the lamp and wood in the hearth.

After he was finished there, he trudged out to the tool shed and used the bucket to dig out the shed’s door. Inside, he located the spade and set to clearing the pathways and doorways around the smial. The work was hard and took longer than he thought it would, but Willow’s tea kept him from tiring and the constant movement kept the chill of late morning at bay.

The work was also dreadfully monotonous and allowed too much time for his mind to wander. He kept thinking back to Willow’s kiss, and he thought over everything she had said and suggested. The more he thought, the more clouded his head became and the more confused he grew with each moment.

He shook his head of thoughts of the healer as best he could and tried to compose a letter to Pippin instead. They would need to send word to Pippin that they would not be going to Whitwell before his birthday and would have to meet him at the Great Smials as soon as they could. He never got very far in his letter though, for his thoughts inevitably returned to Willow and what might happen upon their next meeting.

He sighed in frustration, his breath misting the air around him even as his thoughts clouded his mind. He watched the mist for a time and that distracted him for a while, but then he caught himself looking down the Hill in the direction of the healer’s cottage, hidden from view but ever present. She had kissed him, quick and simple, shy almost and it was over before he could respond, but it was no less exhilarating for it.

He tightened his grip on the spade handle and dug into fresh snow with alacrity. He was so intent on his work and lost in his thoughts that he almost did not hear Frodo calling him two hours later.  

“Sammy, you lazy slug-about. Get up! Gaffer’s waiting on you! You’re supposed to go with him up to Bag End today!” Daisy called, her voice growing louder beyond the closed bedroom door as she made her way down the hall from the kitchen.

Little Sam struggled futilely to get up but Halfred only laughed and tightened his grip on his little brother’s arms. “I can’t get up!” Sam called. “Fred won’t let me.”

“Tattle-tell,” Fred accused from his perch on top of his brother. He was pinning his brother down to the bed and the ropes were starting to dig into Sam’s back.

“She’ll notice when she comes in, Fred,” Sam pointed out.

“Not if you say the secret word before then,” Fred said, laughing gleefully.

Before Sam could respond, the door opened and Daisy stood there with arms crossed, glaring at the both of them. She arched her eyebrow and looked at Fred pointedly. “All he has to do is say the secret word,” Fred said.

“But you never told me the secret word,” Sam protested.

“Of course I didn’t. It’s a secret,” Fred teased, laughing anew.

“Fred, let him go,” Daisy demanded but Fred still refused to move and actually tightened his grip again. The ropes pinched at Sam’s skin through his nightshirt and the sheets. “Come on, Sam,” Daisy continued. She had no time for horseplay. She went to the foot of the bed and pulled on his ankle, sending hot white sparks of pain up his leg.

Sam howled with pain but Daisy kept pulling and Fred just shook his head. “Don’t be such a baby,” he admonished. “Now, say the secret word.”

“Please!” Sam cried, guessing wildly.

“No, that’s not it.”

“Pretty please!”

“That’s two words.”

Daisy gave one last tug and gave up, much to Sam’s relief. She marched around the bed and grabbed Fred by his ear, twisting it until he scrambled off the bed. “Out!” she ordered.

“But he didn’t say the word!” Fred protested.

“I have a word for you,” Daisy said, twisting the ear even more so that Fred had no choice but to hop after her as she stormed out of the room. “And that word is out! Get out and leave Sammy alone! You are incorrigible, Halfred Gamgee. Sitting on your brother like that, making his foot go numb and hurting him.”

“You were the one pulling on his ankle,” Fred said through pain-clenched teeth.

“Because you were sitting on him!” Daisy said.

They disappeared down the hall and soon Sam could hear them in the kitchen, setting the table for first breakfast.

Sam yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He struggled to get up but his foot was weighed down and he couldn’t move it. He looked down at his foot and tried to make sense of what he saw, but it was oddly in shadow and he couldn’t make out what was restricting him. Whatever it was, it was big and heavy. He tried and tried but his foot only got heavier the more he struggled until finally he was too tired to try any more. He plopped back down and hoped that Daisy did not return to pull on his foot again, or send May in to do it for her.

Hamson entered then and smiled over at Sam. “Hullo there, little brother.”

“Ham, I can’t move my foot,” Sam said and pointed at his foot.

Ham nodded. “I know but don’t worry. That just happens sometimes. Be glad it’s only your foot. Once, I woke up real sudden like and I couldn’t move a muscle. I couldn’t even speak. It was like I was frozen or dead or somewhat. Then I fell asleep again and the next time I woke up I was fine. Go to sleep again and then you’ll be all right.” He pulled his storage drawer our from under the bed and shuffled through it for his work shirt. Finding it, he pushed the drawer back into place and walked out of the room.

Sam sighed and tried again to move his foot, to no avail. He wasn’t sleepy and couldn’t go back to sleep no matter how hard he tried and his foot was getting ever heavier and more encumbered. He was beginning to panic, beginning to suspect that something was terribly wrong. He was working his way up to tears, not able to understand what was the matter, and he did not even notice when his mother entered the room.

“Hush, love,” she said soothingly. She smoothed his hair away from his face and straightened the blankets around him. “Lie still.”

“But I can’t move it,” Sam said, lip quivering as he struggled to hold back his tears.

“I know, dearest. You’ll be all right,” Bell promised. She smoothed his brow and smiled down at him until he smiled back. “There’s my big lad. Just lie still. Ma will kiss it and make it all better.” She went to the foot of the bed and touched his ankle, leaned over and kissed it.  

Sam opened his eyes and for a moment he did not know where he was. Nothing was familiar. There was a gentle glow of a fire in the room to his left and above him a green cotton canopy blocked the ceiling from view. He blinked several times, trying to decide if he was awake or still asleep. There was a sort of haze before his eyes and he felt like everything was slow and far away. He heard more than felt the ruffle of clothe as the blankets were being lifted and pushed back from his foot and he blinked down to find Frodo staring at his feet, an expression on his master’s face that he had never seen before.

“Master?” Sam said. As he had done in his dream, he attempted to move his foot and found it just as heavy and cumbersome in waking as in sleep. He struggled up onto his elbows and glanced down his torso at his right foot and saw instead his calf disappearing into a wooden box. “Is my foot dead?”

Frodo looked up sharply at this, the odd expression clearing to one of confusion and finally understanding. He smiled wryly and rested a feather-light hand on the box. “No Sam, your foot isn’t dead. The cast is drying and the box has to stay in place until it does. Merry told me. How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?”

Sam nodded. “Aye, I did I guess. I’m still a little groggy.”

Frodo nodded slowly in return. “Me as well. It’s like I’m walking in a fog, but the fog will clear eventually. You must be hungry. I have a late elevenses cooking. You should take your medicines before you eat I think. Willow did not specify when you needed to take them but I always found them to be more tolerable when I knew food was coming shortly.”

Sam relaxed back into the mattress and closed his eyes. A moment later, or maybe it was a minute or two, he felt a cool cloth on his forehead and opened his eyes to find his master sitting next to him, waiting patiently for him to awaken again. Frodo was smiling again, but cheerfully this time. “You must be more groggy than I am.”

“I don’t exactly have aught else to do, Mr. Frodo,” Sam pointed out, yawning. Frodo helped him to sit up and fluffed up the pillows to provide more support for his friend. “I don’t reckon I can keep my eyes open long enough to read anything and the fire crackling is rather soothing really.”

“I always thought a low fire was comforting, perhaps because of all the nights I fell asleep in my father's arms next to one. Here, drink this one first.”

Frodo handed him a small snifter, the kind used for drinking brandy and other hard spirits, but it was filled with a sustenance Sam was quite certain he had never drank before. Sam took the snifter curiously, wondering what it was. He took a sniff and instantly held the glass as far from his nose as he could. “What is it?” he asked.

“A juice that Miss Willow says you have to drink three times a day. I think first breakfast, luncheon and dinner will do well, but since we’re getting a rather late start of things today, you’ll have one now and another at dinner,” Frodo informed. “Drink it up in one go, as you would a shot of brandy. Then I’ll get you the medicinal tea. The tea should make up for this I hope.”

Sam looked at the snifter warily, then took a deep breath and downed the juice in one gulp. Only a hand quickly clamped over his mouth and the horror of being sick in front of his master kept the juice from coming back up. Tears sprung to his eyes and Frodo quickly offered him a handkerchief as he went back to dabbing at Sam’s forehead with the cool clothe.

“Vile is it?” Frodo asked.

Sam nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth just yet. He gulped several times and waited until his stomach was more settled, which did not take as long as he would have thought. Then he shook his head vigorously and gasped at the taste. “Vile don’t cover it,” Sam complained, his voice strained. “That was horrid, rather like the way turpentine smells, if that makes any sense.”

“I’m sorry lad, but healer’s orders. You’re going to have to drink it again tonight,” Frodo said, taking the empty snifter away and handing him a sprig of mint. “Merry told me you might want this afterward and I can certainly see why. Chew on this and I’ll get your tea.”

The mint leaves did help to alleviate the strong and pungent aftertaste that lingered in the back of Sam’s throat, as well as settle his stomach the rest of the way. Frodo returned shortly with the tea and Sam was glad to find that it tasted normal, nearly divine compared to the last drink.

“How long do I have to drink that juice?” Sam asked.

“The instructions Merry took down says three times a day for the first week, twice a day after that. It doesn't say for how long. I suppose until Miss Willow says you don't need it anymore,” Frodo informed, sympathy filling his eyes. He had tasted a smidgen of the juice when he poured it out for Sam and even that miniscule amount had been enough to make him gag. He wouldn’t be surprised to discover that this juice could peel paint. “We have plenty of mint though. It should last a while. Is it helping?”

Sam nodded. “Aye, it is at that.”

“Merry’s outside clearing up the walk paths but he’ll be in shortly. Will you be all right on your own until he comes in? I can stay with you,” Frodo offered.

“I’m fine, sir, honest. You don’t have to be lingering about all the time,” Sam said. “I know as you have things to be doing. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“It’s only elevenses, though it would be better if it isn’t burnt,” Frodo smiled. “Just lie back and rest. Sleep some more if you can. Don’t worry, I won’t let you miss your meal. We all missed second breakfast as it is. Missing another meal would not be advisable, especially if we are supposed to be keeping you healthy.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Don’t mention it,” Frodo said and left.  

By the time Merry finished clearing and salting the doorways and the pathways to the garden gate and the shed, elevenses was finished and ready to eat. Merry came inside from the cold, stamping his feet on the foyer floor, and found that the water in the wash bucket was warm and waiting for him, fresh towels piled by the bench. The foot bath warmed him quickly and he removed his jacket and joined Frodo in the kitchen.

Frodo still looked tired to Merry’s eyes but his cousin was moving about with ease and alertness now, a much welcome sight. Just as welcome was the food. The bed tray was laden once again with three filled plates. Frodo had made crepes with cheese and a fruit salad with spiced cider.

They ate with Sam again and if the gardener was still shaken by the healer’s words of caution, he did not show it. They ate with ease and spoke little. Together, Merry and Frodo helped Sam to roll onto his side when they were finished. Sam’s back was getting sore and the weight of the cast and the box was beginning to cut into the top of his leg. The new position required them to experiment with the pillows until they finally had them piled to make Sam comfortable. Then Frodo left to clean up the kitchen, bidding Merry to take a rest and remain with Sam.

Merry picked up the book of tomes and leafed through it quietly as Sam took a short doze. When Sam woke up just ten minutes later, he blinked in confusion again but quickly remembered why his foot was so heavy. He stretched his neck and yawned with exhaustion despite all his sleeping and found Merry staring blankly at a page in the book.

“You’re awful quiet, Mr. Merry,” Sam noted.

Merry stirred, as if he himself had been dozing, and he looked up at Sam thoughtfully.

“Sam, what would you do if you liked one lass who was courting someone else, and liked another lass who by tradition shouldn’t be courting anybody?” he asked.

Sam furrowed his brow and shrugged. “Find an available lass who is willing to court,” he said.

“But what if Rosie was courting another lad? What would you do then?” Merry persisted.

Sam paused at this, considering the question carefully. Rosie, courting someone else? It wasn’t too difficult to imagine, since he and Rosie were not officially a couple. Indeed there had been a time or two that Rosie had gone to socials or festivals without Sam, when the gardener was not available to go with her. But if she were to court someone else officially? The thought prickled at the small hairs on the back of his neck and it was only with effort that he kept his hands from fisting around the sheets. “Well,” he said evenly, “I like to think I’d do the proper thing and let them be, so long as he made her happy and she loved him.”

“I figured that’s what you would say,” Merry said with a mournful sigh. He sank back into his chair, the book forgotten. “Sometimes I wish you weren’t so sensible.”

“Well, that’s not to say it wouldn’t hurt something fierce to see her step out with another lad,” Sam said. “Just thinking it might be possible is enough to make my blood boil, but short of trying to break them up, which would only make them both hate me, what is there to do? Who is it you like?”

“Estella Bolger, Fatty’s sister. Have you met her?”

“Can’t say as I have,” Sam said.

Merry nodded absently and sighed again, even more mournfully than the first time. “We used to be such good friends when we were younger. She was a bit of a tomboy back then, running about in breeches and getting up to all sorts of pranks with us lads. Then all of a sudden she turned into this prim and proper lass and she just seemed… I don’t know, far away somehow. But then she kissed me once and I thought that’d put everything back into it’s place, but it didn’t. Now we hardly say two words to each other, and she’s courting Gordi Burrows who, even if he’s dull as a wood post, is a good and gentle lad and always treats her right, unlike me. I guess it’s all rather hopeless.”

Sam’s heart went out to Merry. He knew he would feel the same if Rosie declared herself to another lad. Then he remembered Merry’s other half of the question. “Who is the other lass? Let me guess – Miss Willow. She’s a comely lass and no mistake, but she’s out of reach for a lad like me. She was flirting with you a fair bit though.”

“She’s a healer,” Merry said. “She wasn’t supposed to be interested in courting. That was part of her appeal.”

“There are healers who’re married. It’s rare but it’s not unheard of,” Sam pointed out. “And now that she ain’t so unavailable, are you having second thoughts?”

“I don’t know. Yes. Maybe.” Merry shook his head of its cobwebs as he had been doing all that morning, for the little good it did. He needed to talk this problem out and he was hoping Sam might be able to give him some perspective on it. “Estella’s never going to break it off with Gordi and they’ll be married as soon as she comes of age. Sooner, if her mother has anything to say about it. I can’t step between them. It wouldn’t be fair to either one and you’re right, it would only make them hate me.

“There’s more to it than that though. If I don’t set my cap on another lass soon, Mother will do it for me. She’s already dropping hints of who would make a good match for me and the closer I get to coming of age, the more hints she drops. She’s even gone so far as to invite some of the lasses and their parents to the Hall. Now that she’s given up on Frodo ever marrying, she’s spending all her efforts on me. I know she means well and she and Father would never dream of forcing me into a relationship that was not of my choosing. A couple of the lasses I could easily see myself spending time with, but marrying… That’s harder to imagine.

“Willow though… I always thought she was off-limits, that she’d never return my interest and so I’ve allowed myself to imagine all sorts of things with her. Not just courting her, but marrying her, raising a family. She could easily come to Brandy Hall. We could always use a second healer. Mother will be thrilled that she’s older than me. It’ll be just like her and Father; she’s fours years older than he is too. Plus, I could marry right away and she won’t have to worry about all the lasses who will try to have a go at me if I’m not courting anyone. Plus, Willow is smart and curious about things, we always have things to talk about, and she has a wonderful sense of humor. She likes to travel a bit, go on short hikes to gather up the herbs she can’t grow in her garden, and the healers these have seasonal gatherings, to discuss cases and any new developments in healing that they might have discovered.”

“And she’s interested in you as you are in her?” Sam asked. “Fancy that. I figured as there had to be more to her teasing than just humoring you.”

“She kissed me,” Merry supplied. “Before she left this morning. She said she wanted a family and needed a lad who understood how busy she’d be with her work, which I can. Mother isn’t just my father’s wife. She’s the Mistress of the Hall and every bit as busy as he is. If Willow is serious and isn’t just being a terrible tease, she very well could be the one.”

“But?”

“But she isn’t Estella.”

“Then why don’t you talk to her? Miss Estella I mean,” Sam asked.

“She’s courting Gordi,” Merry reminded. “What would be the point? Besides, every time I do try to talk to her, it only ends in awkward silence or me saying something obnoxious. No wonder she avoids me.”

“What does Mr. Frodo have to say about it all?” Sam asked.

“I haven’t talked to him about it,” Merry said. “He’s not exactly well-versed in the lasses. I don’t even remember the last time he spoke of being interested in a lass. Pippin’s too young to understand. He still thinks that all lasses are poisonous.”

“Poisonous?” Sam asked and tried not to laugh.

Merry nodded, grinning also. “Because they make older lads do silly things.”

“Surely Master Pippin’s old enough to be taking an interest,” Sam said.

“I think he just doesn’t realize that he does. Either that, or he’s resisting it so he won’t get infected.”

“Infected?” Sam said and this time he did laugh. “Oh but that does beat all.”

Merry didn’t laugh though and suddenly became very serious. “Maybe that’s what I need. A cure for Estella.”

“There you go then. Miss Willow it is. She is a healer after all, and she’s taken a liking to you,” Sam said. “Why don’t you give it a go and see what happens? It’s just courting, not a betrothal, and you might find you’re better suited to each other than you and Miss Estella.”

“What’s this about Estella?” Frodo asked as he returned.

“Sam and I were talking about lasses,” Merry informed. “I’m thinking of giving up on Estella. It seems Miss Willow is more interested than either of us thought.”

“Is she?” Frodo asked, his tone unreadable. “How do you know this?”

“Well, she said she wanted a family, if she could find the right lad. Then when she left, she kissed me,” Merry said.

“I have to admit it I do think it’s past time you start looking elsewhere for a lass,” Frodo said, taking his seat next to Sam’s bed. “If you don’t, you know Esme will.”

“She has already,” Merry said. “So far, she’s narrowed it down to Rosalba Stonebows of Stock, Ana Goldworthy, and Polly Hornblower of Waymeet. They’re all nice enough, pretty and all and I have fun enough with them but I can’t see it going any further than that.”

“And Willow?” Frodo said. “Don’t take what I’m about to say the wrong way, Merry, but I hope that your interest in Willow is genuine and not just a way of distracting you from Estella. If it is, and you do decide to court Willow, it would be unfair to her.”

Merry blushed and looked down at the book in his lap. “Maybe it is, but it will be that way with any lass I decide to court. So long as I tell Willow how it is upfront, and she does sort of know already, then it’s not like I’m taking advantage.”

“I know it isn’t,” Frodo said, “but sometimes we make the right decisions for wrong reasons. I just don’t want to see you, or her for that matter, getting hurt because you let yourselves believe something that wasn’t true. You need to really think about this Merry, and I don’t mean about courting other lasses. You need to make sure you really are serious about letting Estella go. If you are, then I think you’ll find that it will be easier for you to realize what you do want, and if that happens to be Miss Willow, then all my hopes and good wishes to you and her.”

Merry nodded and looked at Sam.

Sam shrugged. “Couldn’t of said it better myself,” he said.

“I’m tired of waiting for Estella,” Merry said.

“Being tired of waiting and being ready to move on are two different things, Mr. Merry,” Sam said. “There’s somewhat my granddad told me once, on how to tell if you’re meant to be with someone. ‘No relationship is perfect,’ he said, ‘but if you spend more time happy and less time sad then you know she’s the lass for you, and if you wake up and she’s the first person you think about and want to see and talk to, then that’s all that ought to matter.’ That’s what he said and I think he had the rights of it.”  

After Frodo retrieved his scrolls and writing things from the study and set up the bed tray to use as a writing table, Merry left him and Sam to their transcribing and returned to Number Three for the bag Marigold had prepared for her brother. He was grateful to see that the Twofoot lads had long ago finished their work at Number Three, the pathway cleared so he could stand rather than squat at the doorway. He knocked on the door which was quickly answered by Marigold. Just as quickly he found his arms full of the distraught Gamgee lass.

“Oh Mr. Merry,” she said with shaky voice. “Miss Willow come and told us about poor Sam.” She pulled away and looked up at Merry with tearful eyes, looking far too appealing for Merry's comfort. “Is he all right? He must be a right wreck, thinking as he might be crippled and all.”

Merry stood frozen and numbly wondered how many other lasses were going to go throwing themselves at him before the day was over. Merry cautiously reached a hand up and carefully patted Goldie on the shoulder, reminding himself with every breath that this was Sam’s little sister and, propriety or no, if Sam thought he had done anything to take advantage of his sister, Merry would likely find himself in a cast next. That's not to mention what Tom might do. Merry stepped out of Goldie’s reach and said, “He’s fine. He’s doing quite well, and I do believe the shock is wearing off. He’ll be more distraught to think of you and the Gaffer down here worrying about him. He will be glad for some of his own things though. Do you have his bag ready?”

Goldie nodded. “I do. I got carried away and packed it heavier than I could lift. It’s in his room.” She led him down the short tunnel to the second bedroom and showed him inside.

Merry looked around curiously. This was his first time inside Number Three. The smial was small and cozy and if the furnishings were old, they were in good condition and serviceable. Sam’s room was small, just big enough for the bed, wardrobe and ewer. The bed was large though, as it had once been used by all the Gamgee lads, and Merry thought that if they could only get a smaller bed, Sam might have room for a little desk to sit and write at. As it was, there were books piled under the ewer and Merry could see storage boxes under the rope bed. He wondered what the boxes held but did not want to pry. He stood in the doorway and waited for Marigold to gesture for him to enter.

Goldie riffled through the bag she had prepared. It was quite full and bulky and she began to list off everything she had put in it. Merry wondered how she could remember it all. “Now Miss Willow said as he’d likely be up there another couple of weeks, depending on how his foot heals up and how long this snow lasts, which I don’t think will be very long for all that it’s piled up so high. So I packed five pairs of breeches and shirts and smallclothes, and I put in here his robe and his nightshirts. This is his blanket right here. It’s been his since he was a faunt and I always make sure he’s got it when he’s not feeling well. Not that he needs it or nothing like that, but Ma made it and I think it makes him feel better to have it even if he don’t say as such. I put in his hairbrush and foot brush, and his nail clippers and what all. He’s got his journal here, he likes to keep track of things in it, things that happen or things that he remembers, or things he’s heard or read, quotes he calls them. He’s got all sorts of things like that in there and I know he’ll want it. He draws sometimes, not very well but decent enough. You can usually tell what it is anyways. There’s also the scroll he’s working on, some poem or other for Rosie that he’s been writing forever. Maybe now he can finally finish it. I’ve put in some good-sized wood blocks for whittling and his little woodworking knives and sandpaper and things. And since he’s just going to be lying there doing nothing, I’ve also got this bag of clothes that need stitching up and the thread and needles are in this little satchel. You don’t got to worrit about rushing them back down. I think the snow will be melted enough for me to come up tomorrow.”

“Is that all?” Merry asked.

Goldie thought for a moment. “He likes to play on his mouth box that he got from Mr. Bilbo at the Birthday Party. I put that in there too, even though I don’t reckon he’ll be wanting to bother you or Mr. Frodo with such a racket.”

Merry shouldered the two bags and turned to leave, only to find a weary and pale Gaffer standing in the doorway. “Master Hamfast, it’s good to see you up and about. I know Sam was worried about this weather effecting you,” Merry greeted.

“How is Sammy?” Gaffer asked, easily ignoring the pain in his protesting joints. “He’s not being no bother to Mr. Baggins is he?”

“No, not at all. Sam is the perfect guest,” Merry said.

Gaffer nodded. “You don’t think he’ll be crippled do you, Master Merry?”

“Miss Willow is confident that he will come through this without even a limp,” Merry said. “I don’t see any reason to doubt her, so long as Sam does as he’s instructed and doesn’t try too much too soon.”

“Then you best tell Sam to keep off his feet, or I’ll march up there and tie him to the bed,” Gaffer said, his voice gruff but full of concern.

“I’ll tell him just that,” Merry promised. “Have no fear, Gaffer. Your son is in good hands. Between me, Frodo and Miss Willow, he won’t even have to lift a finger, except to mend these clothes.”

“Good. I can’t thank you and Mr. Baggins enough for looking after my Sammy,” Gaffer said and hobbled back to the parlor, wincing with each step.

Goldie escorted Merry to the door and hugged him again. “You make sure to tell Sam we love him and we miss him. I’ll find some way to come up tomorrow.”

“I will. Farewell Marigold.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Merry returned to Bag End and deposited Sam’s things in his room, relaying his family's messages for him. Sam took the stitching happily, both for the work and for knowing that his family was managing without him. Merry then left Frodo to put everything away and took his turn at his own bath. When he came out of the bath, he found that the Bag End blankets were put away and Sam’s blanket was now draped over him and he was sleeping restfully. Merry helped Frodo make luncheon, frozen chicken broth from the cold cellar that they warmed and made into a light soup, alongside bread and cheese wedges.

Frodo and Sam worked some more on the translations after luncheon, Frodo carefully explaining the Elvish script. While they worked, Merry wrote letters to his parents, Pippin and Fatty. As with that morning though, his mind was not on the letters and he was thinking endlessly of Estella and Willow. If his friends noticed his restlessness, they didn’t say anything about it but Merry did catch Frodo watching him closely every now and again. Merry would then screw up his effort at writing again and would manage another few lines before his mind wandered again. Between that and helping Frodo tend to Sam, he was not surprised when teatime arrived and he had only written Pippin’s letter and half of Fatty’s.

After tea, Merry began polishing the furniture and Frodo saw Sam back to sleep before going outside for a short stroll to the garden gate and a smoke of his pipe. Dinner came and they played more of the board games that Merry had found the previous night, and when it came time to sleep, both Merry and Sam insisted that Frodo retire to his bed. He did not fight them and soon the smial was full of the sounds of three slumbering hobbits.
 
 

To be continued…