A/N: Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has been reading this, and especially to those who have been reviewing; I know it’s a ridiculously long time between updates sometimes, but your reviews keep me going!  :)

5. Disaster

The following day found Sam back in the garden, feverishly working to undo the damage he’d done.  Frodo had gone out to look at the hall rug Pippin had soaked with bathwater, and decided if he was going to clean one rug, he might as well clean them all.  So he’d enlisted Merry and Pippin to gather up all the rugs that could easily be gathered up, and they spent the warm but overcast August morning stringing twine between trees and hanging up the rugs.  After second breakfast they began to beat the dust out of the rugs.  Merry and Pippin thought this was great fun, and Frodo was relieved to have found a way to keep his cousins busy and out of trouble.

Down on Bagshot Row, Daisy Gamgee was similarly occupying her charges; it was a little earlier than they did it most years, but Daisy was determined to refill the straw ticks they slept on.  Getting the bulky mattresses outside was no easy feat, but the three sisters managed it somehow.  Then came the fun of opening the ticking and getting the old straw out.  Hob and Petunia thought this an excellent game; they grabbed fistfuls of straw and flung it in the air, giggling delightedly as it floated down around them.

“We’ll have to sweep all that up when we’re done,” Daisy sighed as she surveyed the rapidly growing mess.

“Maybe the wind will blow the old straw away,” Marigold said hopefully.

“We wouldn’t get that lucky,” Daisy grumbled, then brightened as a familiar wagon and pony came into view.  “Oh, look!  The fresh straw has come.”

May and Marigold giggled as Holman Cotton slowed his pony and hopped down from the wagon.

“Good morning, fair ladies!” he said brightly, although he had eyes only for Daisy.

“Morning, Hol,” Daisy smiled at her beau.

May and Marigold giggled some more but obligingly helped Holman lower the bales of fresh straw from the wagon bed.

The morning proceeded, second breakfast and elevenses were eaten, and before long it was time for luncheon.  They laid one of the filled mattresses over the loose straw so it wouldn’t blow away (just in case), and everyone trooped inside.  Samwise came in just as Daisy was setting the food on the table.

“How is it up there, Sam?” May asked her brother.

Sam sighed.  “Well, I s’pose it’s not as bad as I thought at first, but Mr. Frodo’s poor garden is still in a right state, and that’s a fact.”

“At least it’s not too hot today,” Marigold observed, glancing out at the overcast sky.

“No…” Daisy suddenly looked worried, “hang on now, is that rain?”

“That’s rain, Aunt Daisy, and a whole lot of it, too,” Hob confirmed, running to press his nose against the window.

And indeed, a rainstorm was moving in, and the initial sprinkling rapidly developed into a downpour.  Daisy, May, and Marigold all scrambled to their feet and headed for the door.

“What’s the matter?” Sam asked, confused.

“Three of our beds and the fresh straw are still out there!” Marigold cried before she disappeared out the door after her sisters. The straw had to be perfectly dry or their beds would get musty. 

Sam grimaced and put down his spoon. 

Hob and Petunia watched him with wide eyes.  “Why’s everyone so tetchy?” Hob asked.

“Don’t worry, Hob-lad,” Sam said distractedly.  He got to the door just as Daisy and May came through, carrying one of the freshly-filled mattresses awkwardly between them.

“This’un didn’t get much wet,” Daisy panted as they went by.

Sam squeezed out the door and found poor Marigold struggling with the second mattress.  He hurriedly ran to help her.  When he got outside again he met Daisy and May each carrying an armload of straw.  “What about the last tick?” he asked.

“Too wet,” May gasped, “but we reckon the straw that was under it is all right.”

Between the four of them they got most of the loose straw indoors.  Daisy directed them to pile it in the corner of Sam and Halfred’s room.  The third tick would have to be emptied, washed, and refilled with clean straw, but they’d saved the two empty ones they were going to fill that afternoon, and enough straw for at least one of them.

They were all rather exhausted after that.  Hob, at least, was in good spirits, delighted by the novelty of a pile of the dry, crackling straw in his room, although Daisy had to scold him more than once for trying to jump in it.

“That’s goin’ in our beds, Hob, so it has to stay clean,” she snapped when Hob grumbled.

Finally they sat down gratefully to their abandoned luncheon.  Sam, however, bounced back up almost immediately. 

“Mr. Frodo!” he exclaimed.

“What about him?” Marigold asked curiously.

“He had all his rugs hung out to air!  I’d better run and see if he needs help getting ‘em in.”

“But Sam, you need to eat!” May called after him, but he was already out the door.

Daisy sighed.  “Well, we’ll keep some food back for him,” she decided.

“Well, I’m beat,” Pippin announced, and Merry nodded in agreement.

“We got most of them, at least,” Frodo said, surveying the pile of rugs they’d rescued from the rain.  “The others will just have to dry when the weather clears.”

Sam peered out the window.  “Rain’s starting to let up, sir.”

“We’re all of us soaking wet,” Frodo commented. “Come on, Pippin, I’ll get you some dry clothes.  Merry, why don’t you lend Sam something of yours, you’re about the same size.”

Merry stiffened and Sam looked uncomfortable.  Frodo wondered, not for the first time, why those two couldn’t seem to get along.

“Ah, don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Merry,” Sam said hastily, and rather coolly.  “I’d best be gettin' home.”

“All right,” Frodo said. 

Merry didn’t say anything, but stalked off in the direction of his bedroom. 

“Come along, Pippin,” Frodo sighed when Sam had taken his leave.  “Let’s get changed before we drip on everything.”

The next morning dawned clear and hot.  Frodo woke late, but Merry and Pippin were still asleep.  The chaos was beginning to wear him out, and he decided to let them sleep in so he could enjoy some time to himself. 

Frodo wandered out into the garden and found Samwise already hard at work.

“Good morning, Mr. Frodo!” the young gardener said.

“Good morning, Sam,” Frodo replied absently.

Sam frowned at his master.  “Beggin’ your pardon, but are you feelin’ all right Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo looked at him.  “I feel fine, Sam.  Well, maybe a little tired.” Frodo smiled weakly.  “Not used to so much excitement, you know.”

Sam’s expression darkened for some reason.  “You look kinda pale, sir.”

“Looking after Merry and Pippin is more work than I expected, I suppose,” Frodo shrugged.  “How are your sisters getting on?”

“Well enough, sir,” Sam said slowly.  “I think Daisy’s lookin’ forward to the return of our parents though, if ye follow me.”

Frodo laughed.  “I can understand that.”

Sam scowled again.  “T’isn’t right, sir,” he murmured.

“What isn’t?” Frodo asked, but Sam was silent.  “You can tell me, Sam.  What’s the matter?  I know something’s been bothering you.”

Sam hesitated.  “Well, sir, it isn’t exactly my place to say, if ye follow me.”

“I won’t be angry, whatever it is,” Frodo assured him, frowning. 

“Well…” Sam chewed his lip uncertainly.  “It’s just, with Mr. Merry actin’ sorta wild sometimes, I don’t like ta see how it worries you, and all.”

Frodo stared at him, uncertain how to interpret this.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ‘a said anythin’,” Sam said hurriedly when Frodo didn’t reply.

“Sam, Merry is family,” Frodo said, a little defensively.  “It’s not like I’ve got a lot of those, or at least not so many that want much to do with me.  Merry might be having some difficulties at present, but he’s a good lad, and I’d do anything for him.”

Sam flushed.  “I didn’t mean ta say anythin’ against Mr. Merry,” he said earnestly.  “I just… oh, what a ninny I am.  I just can’t bear ta see you all tired and sad like you are sometimes.  It ain’t fair, is all.  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve spoken, Mr. Frodo,” he added miserably.

“No, it’s all right,” Frodo said.  “You are very kind, to worry about me so.  But please, try to be patient with Merry.  I know he’ll turn out well, he just needs some time, and to be treated kindly.  He’s under a good deal of pressure, you know.”

Sam looked a little doubtful, but he said, “I’ll do my best, sir,” so hesitantly that Frodo chuckled.

“Thank you, Sam,” he said sincerely.  “I’d best get back inside, I think I hear Pippin rummaging in the kitchen.”

That afternoon Frodo herded Merry and Pippin outside to check on the rugs.

“They’re still wet,” Pippin commented, frowning as he gave one of the hall rugs a good pinch.

“It’s only been one day.”  Merry rolled his eyes and wandered away.  “Thick rugs like these take a long time to dry.”

Pippin watched him go but didn’t scamper after him, as he would have done years ago.  Frodo noted this with dismay; he just didn’t know how to snap Merry out of this moodiness.

Something else caught his attention then.  “Does that look like smoke to you, Pippin-lad?”

Pippin nodded.  “Yup.  I guess Daisy must’ve burnt the baking again.”

“So it seems.” Frodo frowned.  The smoke wasn’t particularly thick, but Frodo felt strangely uneasy.

He went over to the rear of the Hill where Sam was working.  “Hey, Sam!  Do you reckon your sisters are all right?” he called down.

Sam straightened and squinted up at him, mopping his sweating brow.  “Daisy and May went to the Cotton farm ta see about gettin' more straw,” he said.  “Marigold was gonna stay home and watch Hob and Pet.  Why, sir?”

Frodo pointed at the smoke, feeling even more uneasy. 

Sam looked, and raised his eyebrows.  “I guess she might’ve tried ta bake something…” he trailed off uncertainly.

“It’s probably nothing,” Frodo decided, “but let’s go down there and make sure they’re all right.”  He called Merry and Pippin.  Pippin ran down to him immediately, but Merry was not in sight.  Frodo sighed in exasperation.  “Merry, we’re going down to check on the Gamgees!” he shouted, hoping Merry would catch up, but he didn’t want to wait any longer.  He couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his admittedly active imagination, but he thought the smoke might be intensifying.

He ran down to Bagshot Row, no longer caring if he was making a fuss over nothing.  He stopped in front of number three, horrified.  The smoke was coming not from the chimney, but from the open windows and the door, which stood ajar.  Little Petunia sat near the door, her face streaked with tears.  “Aunty an’ Hob are in there,” she cried when she saw them.

Sam made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a scream, and Frodo had to hold him back from running in.   He couldn’t see any flames, but the smoke was so thick he couldn’t see very well.  He went to the door and pushed it all the way open.

“Hullo?  Marigold, you in there?” he shouted.  He thought Sam shouted as well, but Frodo’s heart was pounding so loudly it was difficult to focus.  He felt Pippin’s small hand seize the leg of his trousers.

They all heard coughing, and then Marigold came out.  Sam picked up Petunia and ran to his youngest sister, asking if she was all right, but she was practically hysterical, crying something that sounded worryingly like ‘Hob’.

His fear growing, Frodo made her sit down away from the door and take several deep breaths.

“Now, Marigold, where is Hob?” he asked after a moment.

“I don’t know!” she sobbed.  “Oh, Mr. Frodo, we were playin’ in the grass out front here, an’ Hob says he wants his pony, his wee wooden one, and went in ta fetch it, and next thing I knew I smelt smoke, an’ I went in an’ looked about but I couldn’t look very long, it got hard ta breathe, and I couldn’t find Hob!”

“Shush, it’s all right, I’ll find him,” Frodo said in what he hoped was a soothing voice, but inside he was quaking with fright. “Where could he be?  Where didn’t you have time to look?”

“I… I didn’t get ta Ma and Dad’s room, but he wouldn’t’ve gone in there.  I was just gonna look in the lads’ room when I heard ye shoutin’, but the door was stuck so I came out.”

“All right,” Frodo said.  “All right.  You stay here… No—take Petunia and go and find some neighbours.  Daddy Twofoot might be about, but if he isn’t you must keep looking. Get them to sound the alarm.  Sam, take Pippin and fill as many water buckets as you can.  Bring them back here, but don’t follow me inside.”  His voice sounded much calmer than he felt.

“No!  Sir, please, let me—“ Sam started to say. 

“No!” Frodo interrupted, shaking his head.  “I couldn’t abide sending you in there, Sam.”

“But—“

“Go!” Frodo shouted, the fear colouring his voice with anger.

Marigold scrambled up and seized Petunia from Sam.  She ran along Bagshot Row, toward the Twofoot hole.  Sam hesitated a moment longer, but stuttered “Come along, Mr. Pippin,” taking the younger lad’s arm with one hand and the water buckets with the other.  They hurried in the direction of the well, and Frodo turned back to the Gamgee smial.  The smoke was undoubtedly thicker now.  He got out his handkerchief, held it over his mouth and nose, and plunged inside before he could hesitate any longer.

He recognized the main room, with the hearth and the shabby sitting room, but it was dim and full of smoke, and Frodo’s eyes immediately began to sting.

“Hob!  Hob!” Frodo shouted.  He listened carefully but heard no response.  He quickly looked in the pantry and the cupboards, and anywhere else he thought a small hobbit lad might hide, but met with no success. His heart sinking, Frodo went down the short hall in the direction he vaguely remembered Sam’s room being.

The smoke was much thicker here, and Frodo doubled over, coughing.  He crawled along the floor, where the air was slightly clearer.  He stared with watering eyes when he reached the door to Sam’s room.  It was closed, but he could clearly see smoke coming from the cracks around the door.  He ran his hand lightly over the door, and reached up to feel the handle.  The door felt warm, and Frodo realized he had found the fire.  He knew with grim certainty that Hob would be in there as well.

Frodo hesitated.  It surely wasn’t safe to enter, but if he went back out and waited for help, how long would he wait?  Ten minutes?  Twenty?  With so many folk at the Fair, Marigold might have difficulty finding help.  Hob might suffocate in the windowless bedroom in the meantime.

Decision made, Frodo tried to open the door from his position on the floor.  As Marigold had said, it was stuck.  Frodo got to his feet hesitantly and put his handkerchief back in his pocket; he needed both hands.  He shoved against the door experimentally, but it didn’t budge.  He tried several more times before he began to get lightheaded.  His eyes were blurred with tears, and he wiped them on his sleeve, trying not to sob in frustration.  The effort started another coughing fit, and Frodo tried to breathe more shallowly in the thick smoke.

He steadied himself and threw his full weight against the door.  It opened at last, and Frodo nearly fell through before catching himself on the door jamb.  His eyes widened when he looked down; the large rag rug on the floor was alight.  He started coughing again and quickly got out his handkerchief.  The flaming rug blocked the doorway; Frodo tried to nudge it out of the way with his toe, but it was too heavy. 

Frodo backed up, and with a running start tried to jump over the rug.  He didn’t quite make it, and cried out in pain as his feet touched the smouldering rug.  He crouched, trembling and coughing, in the middle of the room.  It was so smoky in here he could barely see his hand in front of his face.  The flames were mostly in one corner of the room, licking up the wall near the door.

“Hob?  Hob!” he tried to shout, but again there was no response.  He was starting to panic, and calmed himself with an effort.  He asked himself where he would hide, if he were very small and trapped in this room.  Staying low to the ground he peered under each of the beds.  He didn’t see anything, so he shouted some more.  This time he heard something, a snuffling sound.  Frodo turned toward the sound, and noticed a large, dark shape on the other side of the room.  A wardrobe?

He crawled over, opened the door and nearly sobbed in relief, for there was Hob curled miserably on the floor of the wardrobe.

The air in the spacious wardrobe was much clearer, so Frodo squeezed inside and shut the door after him.  He caught his breath and felt around in the dark.  He put his arm gently around Hob’s small shoulders.

“Hob?  It’s me, Frodo.  Come on, you’re all right now,” Frodo told him hoarsely.  “Can you get up?”

Hob nodded against his side, too terrified to speak, but he took Frodo’s hand.  Frodo opened the door a crack, belatedly remembering the flames that blocked the only exit.  “Ah—stay here a second, Hob.”

Without waiting for a response, Frodo crawled out into the smoky inferno again.  He grabbed the blankets off the nearest bed and threw them over the part of the rug that blocked the door.  He patted the blanket down quickly, smothering the flames as best he could.

He went back into the wardrobe.  He could hardly breathe for coughing, but he found Hob’s little hand and gave him his handkerchief.  “Hold this over your face, there’s a good lad,” he croaked.  Then he pushed open the wardrobe door and scooped Hob up in his arms.  Bending double to stay near the ground, he ran over the smouldering blanket and out into the hall.

His eyes streamed so badly he couldn’t see where he was going.  He knew he should try and close the bedroom door, to starve the fire of air.  He shifted Hob to one arm and reached out blindly with his free hand.  He fumbled for agonizing seconds but at last he found the door and pulled it shut.  He tried to make his way back to the main room of the smial.  He bumped raggedly into the wall a couple of times, and Hob tucked his head under Frodo’s chin, whimpering.  Frodo wanted to speak, to reassure him, but he could hardly breathe. 

At last he felt fresher air on his face and headed in that direction.  He bumped into something he recognized as the Gamgees’ dining table and knew he was almost there.

Then he stumbled through the open door and felt deliciously cool grass under his feet.  He lurched forward a few paces; the world was tilting crazily and he couldn’t keep his balance.  He fell to his knees and let go of Hob.  He thought he heard someone shout nearby, but he was busy trying not to be sick.  His vision cleared enough that he could see the vivid emerald of the grass.  He had just enough time to think it looked like a good place to lay down for awhile, and then the grass rushed up to meet him.

TBC