Rosie was the last to wake up the next morning. It had been a restless night, full of half-dreams and worried thoughts, and she didn't feel very rejuvenated by the experience. She splashed cold water onto her face in an attempt to wake up some, but all it did was send shivers down her back.

Still, she wasn't going to let anything ruin her day. She'd convince Sam and Frodo to come down to the river, and the sun would hit the surface and make it diamonds, and everything dark would be washed away. Rosie was more than tired of shadows, and she wasn't going to stand for it. She'd thwap the nasty little spiders of the past with her broom and then sweep them out into Sam's garden, where they'd feed the soil and make the plants grown even nicer.

Frodo was sitting in front of the fire, Rosie's new dress spilling across his lap, needle and thread in hand.

"I wanted to repair the damage before you woke up," he said with what could almost have been called a smile. "But you didn't have any red yarn." He'd sewed the ribbon back on with neat stitches of black wool, delicately enough so it couldn't be seen unless it was looked for specially. Three more stitches and he was done, and it was closer to good as new than Rosie had dared to hope it could be.

"You didn't have to do that!" she hugged him. Frodo wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Yes I did."

"Don't dwell on it," Rosie scolded. "Come and help me make breakfast. I miss the kitchen." She paused for a beat. "Usually you wouldn't let a chance to tell me I don't cook as well as Samwise slide, Mr Frodo."

Now he looked directly into her face, and Rosie wanted to cry for the pain in his eyes. "How can you stand to talk to me, Rose?"

"You silly creature!" she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed up and down his face, covering every tear-track with her lips. "If I didn't talk to you I'd have to talk to myself, and I'm not good conversation before I've had a morning cup of tea."

Frodo didn't speak again as they made toast and piled it high with sweet jam, and Rosie cooked porridge with cinnamon just the way she knew he loved it. She called Sam in from his early morning pottering about, he was no use to anybody before his first cup of tea either.

"I won't carry Elanor anymore, or sleep in a room with her," Frodo informed his plate, still not meeting their faces. "That's best."

"Don't be stupid," Rosie answered when it became clear Sam was in no condition to speak. "If you don't sleep in the same room as her, you won't be in the same room as us, either."

"I know. Perhaps that's best, too."

"I've had enough of this." Sam dropped his spoon against the china with a clatter and stood, walking over to Frodo's chair and kneeling beside him. "We knew what we were in for before we came here, Frodo. I hate to remind you of it, but I've seen you in far worse states than you were last night. If I thought for even a moment you were a real danger to my Rose or my Elanor, well, we wouldn't be here, no matter how terrible that made me feel. So stop with your sad eyes, because the turn's past and you've come back to us, same as I know you always will."

"I've put up with far too much from you to give up now," Rosie added, smiling to cover how much she felt like crying. "Oh, Frodo, don't you love us as we love you?"

"What?" Frodo's voice cracked on the word. "How could you doubt it? I'd cut my own heart out if I knew that was a way to keep you safe and happy."

"But it wouldn't, that's the point of the matter." Sam's worn palm cupped Frodo's cheek gently. "You make us safe and happy, and we want you in our room and in our bed. And we want your heart safely in your breast, if it's all the same."

Frodo laughed then, throwing his arms around Sam's shoulders and knocking them both onto the floor.

"Careful! You'll upset the porridge!" Rosie scolded.

~

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