They didn't argue, that last day. Rosie was going to, but she woke up cold and sad, Frodo already out of bed and Sam curled in on himself, and she knew there wasn't a point to wasting these hours with fighting. They'd be off too early the next morning for any sort of real goodbye, so this was the time that had to count.

She cooked all the breakfast foods they'd eaten together, a little bit of egg and a few small pancakes and bacon on fresh bread. She kissed them both good morning as they came to the table, then asked them to watch Elanor as she ran out to the tree near the washing line and tried to stop her tears.

Sam tried to do odd jobs to keep his hands busy, but there was nothing that really needed to be done and the sky felt heavy above them, raining for a while every so often.

Eventually Frodo thought he'd be smothered by the density of emotion in the cosy little home, and went out for a walk. It was wet and cold and windy, but it didn't seem fair to the Shire he loved so much to rug up against it, to hide from what it was.

He was lost in his own thoughts when he heard the first scream, down near the river. The water was slate-grey and fast flowing, utterly wrong for any sort of swimming or boating. The shout came again, and as Frodo drew closer he could see a child submerged up to his neck, splashing out near the middle of the widest stretch. Breaking into a run, Frodo raced down to the bank, looking around for a way to get closer. There was half a cut-down tree lying in the mudflats, mostly covered by the current but with some branches still above the tide. Frodo held onto them as he lowered himself into the water, ignoring the shock of the cold, and moving towards the boy.

It was Fastred, his heavy clothes weighing him down as he struggled to stay afloat, teeth chattering together and chopping all his words apart.

"Jacky," he managed to gulp out as Frodo got him back to the shore. "Jacky's still there. We were in the boat and it tipped..." Frodo ran back to the river, gasping for breath, a stitch burning up his side, and dived in before he could think twice about it.

The water bit deep, a chill knife through to the bone, washed to the Shire by the storms from colder parts. Frodo kicked down, moving with the agonising dreamlike slowness of swimming. It was grey, it was freezing, murky and difficult to see, and for just a moment it seemed like the simplest thing in the world to let go and drift, let the river decide all the things too confusing to face on the surface.

Then Frodo caught sight of the upturned boat on the river bottom, Jacky's waist and arms tangled in the cord he'd been using to fish. Shaking the wheedling promises of oblivion out of his skull, Frodo redoubled his kicks. Jacky's eyes were wide and scared, freckles like dark splotches against his white skin in the roaring blackness of the water. He had struggled so much that the cord around him was impossible to untangle, without hesitating Frodo grabbed the lines that connected the boy to the ruined rowboat and bit down hard on them, snapping the strong black threads. He caught the edge of his tongue in the bite too, and tasted hot copper in the cold silt.

Frodo turned to see if Jacky's legs were free enough for him to kick, but Jacky's eyes were half-lidded now and bubbles were escaping his blued lips. Ignoring the fire of his own lungs, Frodo grabbed Jacky by the collar of his shirt and kicked up, trying to reach the branches above again. The undertow wasn't as strong as it might have been, which was lucky because Frodo certainly wasn't up to fighting anything more powerful than the slight current. It was a small mercy, but enough to get him to the surface.

As soon as he saw the pair of them Fastred ran to the water's edge, dancing from foot to foot in worry and fear, as Frodo inched his way along the branch back to the bank. Jacky's nose was bleeding, and there was a little watery blood seeping from his ears as well. He didn't breathe.

"Come on, Jack, wake up," Frodo said, in the same voice he'd used to scold his cousins when he was a child himself. He pulled the cords off as quickly as he could, leaving long bruise marks on the skin of Jacky's arms and legs. "Jack, Jack, come on, breathe."

"Jacky, Jacky," Fastred sobbed. Frodo rolled Jack onto his side, ignoring the angle his head lolled with the movement. His skin was waxy and waterlogged, hair caught with twigs and dirt. After a terrible, eternal second, Jacky coughed a gulp of filthy water out and gasped wetly, eyes springing open as he vomited up half the river.

"Jacky!" Fastred shrieked, throwing one of his arms around his brother's neck, holding the other at his side carefully. Frodo fell back against the ground, suddenly the softest thing he'd ever felt. Softer than a bed, softer than skin. Soft enough to sleep on, and never wake up.

When he did wake, he was wrapped in a blanket so tightly it felt as if he was a caterpillar in a cocoon, stifled by the warmth. His hair was still damp. For a moment, everything was fuzzy and comfortable, a hazy memory of rain and water, Elanor's coos from where she lay in her crib lulling him back towards sleep. Then Frodo sat up sharply, the memory coming back.

"The boys, are they going to be all right?"

Sam and Rosie were both sitting beside the bed, looking relieved that he'd finally stirred.

"You saved them, no mistake," Sam assured him. "Their father couldn't decide whether to beat them or hug them when I got them home."

Frodo sighed with relief. "Oh, thank goodness... so they're not hurt? Jack had blood in his ears."

Rosie nodded, biting on her lower lip. "He's lost his hearing, the force of the river made something tear. One of his eyes might be hurt, too, they can't tell as yet. And Fastred's broken an arm. But they're safe, at least, and well apart from that."

"Oh," Frodo said softly, sinking back with a shuttered expression on his face. "I didn't pull him out fast enough, then. He won't be able to do so many things, now. He'll miss half the fun of being alive."

"Better half than none," Sam pointed out diplomatically. "If you hadn't happened by when you did, I don't reckon he'd have that."

Elanor's burbling turned into irritated little mewls, the sound she always made just before one of her crying fits. Rosie went over and picked the baby up, singing nursery rhymes under her breath and bouncing Elanor against her hip.

Frodo sighed. "Well, I'm glad they're safe, but I wish I could have saved Jack's hearing and eyes, too." His fingers plucked at a loose thread on the hem of the blanket, unravelling the weave. "But there's no reason for me to be talking about it now, is there?"

Sam shrugged. "We've nothing else to do, it's too early in the day to sleep and no chores need finishing."

"You used to tell me there was no sense in dwelling on things, that I'd never forget them if I kept talking about them. I try not to."

Sam rubbed at his forehead with an exasperated sort of smile. "You know I'd never speak a word against you, Mr Frodo, but you take what others say without minding what was meant by it. There's no logic in walking old paths time and again, that's right enough, but there's no harm in telling people when you're wounded by life."

"How could you ever think Sam doesn't like to talk about his troubles? Never met anybody so prone to bellyaching," Rosie put in from the other side of the room, earning a small chuckle from Frodo. "Come now, tell us what you're thinking."

Frodo was silent for a long pause, then spoke softly while his fingers continued to pull on the wool of the covers. "When I was living in Brandy Hall, I used to tell myself that if I'd been out with my mother and father the night they died, I could have saved them. But today, at the river... I did all I could." His voice caught in his throat and he looked up at Sam, eyes shiny with tears. "I did all I could, and it wasn't enough."

"Oh..." Sam touched at Frodo's shoulder softly, and then pulled him into a gentle hug. "It were more than enough, never doubt that. Nothing turns out perfect, but everything's far closer now thanks to you."

The tears turned into crying and the crying into sobs, Frodo's hands shaking like the falling leaves outside as he clung to Sam's arms, face against his shoulder.

"It turned out to be three times what anybody ever could have asked of you, and enough. It's finished and done," Sam whispered. "Please believe that."

"No, no," Frodo choked out.

"Yes." Sam's voice was firm; he held Frodo's face carefully between his palms and met his eyes. "Don't you leave us, Frodo Baggins. Don't you dare. I walked the world with you, and all I'm asking now is that you don't walk at all. Time will heal you yet."

"Sam, I-"

"Don't say anything." Rosie shook her head, climbing back onto the bed beside them and putting Elanor in Frodo's arms. "Unless it's a 'yes, dears, I won't go anywhere' promise. We've all talked ourselves a hole in the ground. Home and hearth's got more healing in it than a lifetime in -" she stopped for a fraction of a moment, blinking three times fast. "- in Rivendell."

"Frodo," Sam said, then didn't say anything more, kissing Frodo's tear-salted lips as lightly as a breath.

Frodo began to cry again, then. Rosie couldn't remember ever hearing anybody cry like that, much less Frodo, who always seemed so wise and tired. He cried, holding them both as if he'd drown if he let them go, and despite the early hour fell into a deep sleep when the tears were used up. Sam sat and cradled him, and Rosie kissed them both gently, and went to unpack the bags they'd meant to take on the journey.

Merry and Pippin turned up in the late afternoon.

"Didn't expect to find you here, we heard you were going away," Pippin said to Frodo, exchanging a furtive glance with Rosie. She nodded her head once and his mouth curled up in a wide and happy smile. "We were on our way to see you off."

"Decide to stay, did you?" Merry guessed. Frodo nodded. Sam knew what it was that nobody was saying, but seeing as how it wasn't happening anyways there didn't seem to be a reason to talk of it.

"And here I was, thinking I'd get a few weeks' peace." Rosie refilled everyone's tea, pausing to drop a kiss on the top of Frodo's head. "Though I can't say I'm sorry to have lost that chance. This place would be right lonely without you."

"To staying, then," Pippin toasted.

"To staying!"

~

1423

"At this rate, Frodo-lad will talk before she does," Fastred said with a sigh, holding Elanor with the careful earnestness of one child rocking another.

"She's only two and a half, May didn't say a word until she was four," Sam pointed out diplomatically as they lazed under the shade of one of the sturdy fruit trees.

"Yes, but for all your sister's good qualities, she's not the brightest twig in the kindling," Rosie teased gently. "I think Fastred's right, it's about time she started talking."

1422 had been as good as the year before it, and this year seemed to be following suit again. There were still bad days, but they were somehow more tolerable, not as wrenching on the heart. Sam supposed it was because now they all knew that a good day would follow the bad one eventually.

Frodo-lad was a bonny little baby, with warm hazel eyes and sturdy legs that invariably kicked off any blankets. It was almost a joke that they'd named him Frodo, because he looked so much like Sam.

Elanor loved her little brother, she'd chat to him for hours in her cheerful baby talk. She was very clever and quick, getting in everywhere underfoot and patting the soil down around the yellow flowers Sam had planted for her. But talking seemed to be something that held no interest for Elly, and whenever anybody tried to teach her she'd just giggle and put her hands over her face.

"Can you say Fastred?" Fastred asked her. She wrinkled her nose and giggled. "What about Mummy? I bet you can say Mummy."

Elanor shook her head with a contrary grin.

"Dad. Say Sam-dad, Elly," Rosie coaxed, but the little girl would have none of it. Frodo took her out of Fastred's hands and threw her up in the air, catching her gently.

"You'll talk when you're good and ready, and once you start you'll babble on until we long for the silence. You're going to love words, Ellyelle, but don't feel you have to hurry to them. There's all the time in the world." Frodo tossed her again, not as high as the first time.

"No, Fo, up, up!" Elanor squealed. "Up!"

~

1428

Sam-dad was crying. Sam-dad hardly ever cried, and when he did it wasn't like this, big sobs on the bed while Mummy rocked him. Uncle Frodo had made all the little ones come into the study, Frodo-lad sitting with little Rose on his lap by the window, looking out at the garden, baby Merry making grumbly noises and banging his rattle on the floor.

"I'm not too small to understand," Elanor insisted, tugging on her uncle's sleeve, even though she was a bit too small, really. She didn't quite see why Sam-dad's Gaffer was gone for ever and ever. Nothing had ever changed without changing back eventually in Elanor's memory. Summer always came back after winter.

"Shh, Elly, hush," Uncle Frodo soothed her, stroking her hair. Everyone liked to touch Elanor's hair; it was all soft and shiny. "Your dad's very upset right now, you don't want to disturb him when your mother's almost got him to sleep. He's been sitting up in a vigil for two days, he needs to rest."

"I was mean to Dad's Gaffer last week, I called him a stupid old goat and stuck my tongue out at him, because he said I shouldn't be playing wrestling with Frodo-lad. I was going to say sorry the next time I saw him, because you always tell me I should try and understand him better. How am I going to say sorry now?"

Then she started to cry, she wasn't exactly sure why but she felt terribly, terribly sad, and she wanted to see her Sam-dad's Gaffer again and pull on his hair and ask for a story. "Is everything going to go away? Will all the trees die, too? And the stars?"

"No, Elly, no. The stars are still there." Uncle Frodo kissed her forehead, and held her until she fell asleep.

~

1430

That summer was a fertile one, for crops and for children. Estella and Diamond gave birth within a month of each other, boys named Boromir and Faramir. If people thought these queer names for hobbits they didn't say it, because everyone knew that with parents like that no child could expect an ordinary name.

Rosie fell pregnant too, but lost the child, and nearly her life as well when she fainted while swimming. Frodo sat by her bed, and thought of his mother and father.

To console Rosie, and cheer Frodo out of his guilt, Sam went and got one of the litter the Rumble hound had recently sired. A puppy coloured grey as storm clouds, it romped from room to room and then sat down decisively on the floor between Rose-girl and Goldy's beds.

"What's his name, Dad?" Frodo-lad asked.

"That's for you to decide between you, though I don't recommend anything you can't shout across a field."

"Ark ark arky." Merry piped up, toddling a few steps towards the small dog before falling on his backside.

"Yes, lad, that's near to the noise he makes." Sam agreed.

"Arky, then." Elanor said happily. "Arky Gardner of Bag End."

~

1432

When she was eleven, Elanor liked to spend her free time (of which there wasn't much, because with her new brother Hamfast taking up her parents' time it was often left to her to see to the other five) down by the mill, watching the wheel turn in the water. She had several good friends, and was well liked by most people. Her favourite playmates were Dora Bracegirdle, Goodwill Whitfoot, and Fastred, who loved reminding her of her strange exploits as a small child. Elanor's worst enemy in the world was Adaldrida Boffin, who would talk loudly about how ugly tall pale hobbits looked whenever Elanor was in earshot, about how Gardners had even more queer blood than Tooks.

Adaldrida liked Fastred, and hated Elanor because it seemed Fastred had eyes for no other. Elanor considered this the stupidest thing she'd ever heard, because Fastred was silly and loud and had once rubbed a cowpat in her hair when she'd stolen his red whistle. And even if Fastred did like Elanor (which he most certainly did not), that didn't mean he couldn't like Adaldrida as well (except she was a mean smelly witch who deserved to fall in the river). After all, Elanor's Mum and Dad and Uncle Frodo all liked more than one person at once.

She had a cut on her hand, because her uncle had taken one of his turns and Pip had been so scared and had screamed for Ellyelle to save him. Not knowing what else to do, Elanor had knocked Frodo over the head with a nearby vase, which had shattered and cut into her palm.

She'd felt horribly guilty for a week, Frodo wouldn't meet her eyes and Elanor hated herself. But then one day he came and sat on the end of her bed, and said how very, very sorry he was that she'd had to do that, that she and her brothers and sisters should never hesitate to protect themselves from him. He'd been crying by the end of it, and Elanor had scrambled in close to him and thrown her arms around his neck, and called him Fo, like she had when she was small.

Everyone else called her Elanor the Fair, but Uncle Frodo called her Elanor the Brave.

~

1434

Sam paced back and forth because he didn't know what else to do with himself. Even at the worst moments in his life, there had always been something required of him, and that made things simpler. Now he couldn't fight or walk or help, not even sit beside the bed and wish like he'd done in Rivendell so long ago.

Rosie's ninth pregnancy (if the two that were lost weren't counted) had been different from the start. Where the other babies had plumped her pretty face up and filled her eyes with a happy glow, this time left her pale and tired and cranky. She wasn't entirely well from one month to the next, and in their darker moments Sam and Frodo almost wished the whole thing over, though they never said a word to that effect out loud.

"I hope it's a girl," Rose-girl declared whenever anyone would listen. "With brown hair, like me. It's not fair that Ellyelle and Goldy and now Daisy all have golden hair and I'm just mud-coloured like the boys."

"Oh, hush, Rose-red, you'll wake your mother if you complain so." Sam pulled her onto his knee. "You're as pretty as your sisters, and I reckon you know that. 'Sides, when you're a mite older I fancy you'll find that many a hobbit is more partial to dark than to fair."

"I hear the women talking when they're picking fruit and reaping fields. The say Oh, those Gardner girls, heart-breakers the lot of them with their yellow hair, but I'm a Gardner girl and my hair's not yellow."

"That makes you special, silly," Elanor chimed in, coming into the room with fat little Daisy in her arms. "You're different to the rest."

"Not for long! Just you wait and see, this baby's going to be as dark as I am!"

The months wore on, and Rosie seemed to be losing life rather than growing it. Whenever Frodo tried to say what he and Sam were both thinking, Sam would shake his head and walk away.

Lily, Rosie's mother, and Marigold and May, two of Sam's sisters, came to stay in the final month. Elanor wanted to help with the midwifery but Sam and Frodo forbade her. It seemed unlikely things would turn out well.

And now the fateful night had come, weeks early, and Sam paced to and fro, and Frodo sat by the bedroom door with Goldy and Hamfast on his lap and tried not to despair before anything had happened. They flinched at each cry of pain from inside, each panicked remark between the three nurses, and wished the shouts would stop. Then they did stop, and the silence was a thousand times worse.

Finally, as dawn broke, the children all dozing in a heap in the corridor, the soft mewl of a new voice came from inside the bedroom. Sam and Frodo nearly fell over themselves in their hurry to get the door open.

The first thing Sam saw was Marigold's face, dark as thunder, eyebrows knit together in a hard v-curve. For a moment he faltered, fearing the worst, his blood going cold in his veins. Then he saw his Rosie, lying sweaty and worn out on the bed, the sheets marked red in places and crumpled under her. She smiled at him, and Sam's heavy heart leapt with sweet relief.

Rosie held a tiny bundle in her arms, smaller than any other had been at birth but otherwise perfect, little face screwed up in confusion, fingers grasping at the air.

Lily and May were just as stony-faced as Marigold, but Sam and Frodo didn't notice at all as they gazed at the little boy. He had a shock of black hair already, and delicate points on the tips of his ears. Wide and impossibly blue eyes and a tiny bow of a mouth.

"He certainly didn't come out without a fight," Rosie said, offering the baby up to Sam and Frodo. "I think I've earned a good long rest, now."

"Yes, Rosie-sweet, you certainly have," Sam said with a soft laugh as Frodo took the child. "I thought I'd lost you."

Rosie snorted. "What, leave you two to raise the brood? I wouldn't wish our children such a fate."

"What's he called, then?" Lily snapped, arms crossed and a scowl in place.

"Sam," Frodo said, stroking a lock of babyfine hair off the small forehead. "His name's Sam."

May stormed out of the room, slamming the door only to have Lily and Marigold open it again as they left too. There would be a wildfire of gossip all over the Shire before long, but Sam and Rosie and Frodo couldn't have cared less. Awoken by the slammed door, the children ran inside to see their new brother.

"Not another boy!" Rose-girl wailed in dismay. "Oh well, at least his hair's not just brown like everyone else's."

"Hullo Sam," said Frodo-lad, taking the bundle from his namesake. "I hope you like us."

"Of course he will!" piped up Merry. "We're the best family in the whole world."

~

1435

Rosie recovered from Sam-lad's birth fast enough, and in the following autumn Rose-girl got her dark-headed sister; named Primula but always called Primrose so they would match. Estella had a beautiful daughter that she named Molly, and Diamond gave birth to an equally lovely girl called Meli. It was a good harvest year. The only dark spot on that season was Arky, who grew thin and listless and then lay down on the hearth and didn't get up again.

"There now, don't cry," Sam comforted the children. "He had a few good summers and all the scraps he could eat, and you lot threw sticks whenever he was in the mood for a play. That's as much as any pup could want from life, and more than most get."

~

1441

When Elanor was invited to stay in Gondor for a year as a maid to the Queen, she was so happy she climbed to the top of the tallest tree she could find to whoop with delight, realising too late that she had no easy way of clambering down. Her brothers had to help her, and she tore her skirt on one knee when she landed.

"She wants to go with all her heart, and that's a fact," Sam mused as he sat drinking with Frodo and Rosie that evening. "But she's still young in her head, I don't know that I'm happy to see her go off for so long alone."

"Well, why don't you two go with her? Go have a holiday." Frodo had recently started another book, this one a story about a king who drew a sword from a stone, and his fingers were splotched black and purple from the ink.

"What about you, thought? And the other children?" Rosie asked.

"Don't worry about us, we'll be fine. And Tolman could take a turn as mayor while you're away, Sam, you know he's had his heart set on it for years."

"I don't know..." Sam shook his head.

"Come on, we've been talking about you showing Elanor the world since she was a baby. Rose, don't you think it's a good idea?"

"I do. But it's a long way to go, and a long time to be gone."

"Not that far, and not that long. Elanor will be pleased to have you there."

"Your brother Tom has had his eye on governing for a while," Sam conceded to Rosie. "If you want to, Rose-flower, we will."

Rosie sat for a moment in thought, taking a gulp of her ale and then nodding.

"All right, then."

~

1442

"Uncle Frodo?" Rose peeked her head around the edge of the doorframe. "Are you busy?"

"No, no, come in Rose-girl. How're you?" Frodo paused for a moment. "You smell like an orange tree."

"Lemons, actually." Rose looked down at her feet. She was wearing a dress she'd owned for years, it was a little short in the length but still fitted well enough across the bodice, for compared to most hobbits Rose was slim as a willow switch. Unfortunately for any pride she may have felt, Elanor was far thinner still, and though in the last few months Rose's blouses had begun to fill out with the same round swelling curves her mother had, Goldilocks was obviously going to be rounder and curvier. There was a bright tree stitched onto the fabric of the skirt, when Rose had been younger she'd loved nothing more than stories of Ents and Entwives. Now the only time she climbed trees was to see if she could do it better than any of her siblings.

"And why," Frodo's mouth quirked up at the corners. "Do you smell like lemons?"

"Sweetpea Chubb told me that putting lemon juice in your hair makes it turn fair if you sit in the sunlight. But it's just made my head itch." Rose sighed. "I'm never going to be pretty."

"If you're ugly, 'pretty' must be an amazing sight indeed."

"Oh, I know I'm not hideous." Rose curled up in a chair, resting her chin on her knee. "But I'm not special. There's nothing about me to set tongues wagging."

"Get your foot off the cushion, or I'll tell the gossips what a great clumping brute you are. You're never content; if I'd behaved as you do when I was young my uncle Scattergold would have ducked my head in the water barrel. For a whole month last summer you wouldn't eat crusts because you wanted your hair to go straight as an ironed shirt. That's not behaviour for someone of your age. Come on," Frodo patted her shoulder and guided her to the door. "I've got an idea."

They went along to one of the back storerooms, where things unused from one year to the next were kept.

"I knew this was still here." Frodo held up a long case, a sheen of polish still visible through the dust. "This was my mother's, your sister Primrose takes her real name from her."

"A fiddle?" Rose eased the lid open with an intake of awed breath. "For me?"

"It's going to need tuning, but yes. Unless you'd rather improve your embroidery skills until people talked about that, instead."

"Blow embroidery! Any boys who care about that are too stupid for words. I bet you and Dad don't care at all if Mum can sew."

"Ah, so that's it. I thought it might be." Frodo smiled softly. "Why do you want a boy so badly? You're still so young."

"Because soon enough Goldy will be big enough for them to notice, and Elanor's going to come back even more lovely than she left. This is my only chance."

"Rose," Frodo hugged her. "You silly, silly creature. One day you'll fall in love with someone who loves every hair on your crazed little head, and he'll think you twice the beauty of your sisters."

"When you say it, I almost believe it," she whispered. "Now come on, I want to show the others my fiddle."

~

1443

"Isn't my fault," Daisy said, chin stuck up half in defiance and half in a pout.

"Oh yes?" Goldilocks raised one eyebrow, curls bouncing haughtily. Daisy's own hair, brushed so carefully that morning, was a tangle of disarray, ribbons halfway pulled out. Her nose had a smudge of icing across it and her pretty little lip was spilt and bloodied. Her white muslin party dress, however, was spotless. Daisy was always careful of her clothes.

Sam-lad's good shirt and pants were less uninjured, a tear at the collar and dirt on the knees. One of his eyes was purpled and shut.

"Isn't," Daisy said again. " 's Jeremy Tunnelly's fault. He called Sammie a runt and a changeling, and a dozen worse names too. I don't care if it's his birthday, no hobbit talks about my brother like that. I just wish I'd gotten more hits in before they pulled me off him."

"From what I hear, you got quite enough in. Young Jeremy's lost two teeth and cracked a finger," Rosie said, coming in with a cold cloth to put on Sam-lad's eye. "And what were you doing attacking him, either of you? First Daisy jumps him and then little Sam enters the fray. You're as bad as each other."

"He didn't have the right to say those things." Daisy sniffed at the same moment that Sam cried "He punched her! I had to get him for that!"

Even Goldy couldn't hide her grin as she cleaned Daisy's lip.

"In future, just laugh at the stupid things people say, all right? You end up less damaged that way."

"He's a nasty so-and-so," Daisy grumbled. Sam-lad leant over and kissed her on the cheek.

"You're the best sister ever, Daise," he said quietly. She hugged him, mussing his dark hair.

~

1449

There had been bad winters before, like the year Ham and Merry and Goldy all caught a cough within two days of each other and didn't recover for three weeks, or when the damp made everyone ill and tired. But 1449 was worse than any before it, and seemed to stretch on forever. None of the Gardner children would ever forget that year, not even Tom, who was only seven at the time.

The year began well enough, with Fastred proposing to Elanor and Primrose winning a contest with her baking. Then, in March, Frodo fell ill. This happened quite often, but this time he couldn't shake free of the sickness. Through April and into May he kept to himself, not interested in anything, books left to gather dust, his ongoing chess game with Ruby unplayed. Sam and Rosie did what they could, but nothing roused him out of the darkness he was caught in.

Though Frodo's mood picked up a little as June began, his health failed, leaving him pale and feverish.

"Are we going to be sent away?" Robin asked Frodo-lad, trying to ignore the sounds of their mother crying in the hallway. "Like my friend Catrie was when her mother was sick?"

"No, Catrie's mum had scarlet fever, what Uncle Frodo's struck with can't be passed by breathing or sharing food. It comes from inside him," Frodo-lad answered.

"Is he going to die?"

"I don't know, Robin, I don't know."

In July Elanor overheard her parents talking softly, watching Frodo as he slept. They spoke of elf-ships sailing, of the three of them together over the sea. But the children weren't all old enough to be left, not yet, and time might not give them the same chances later.

"I'll stay," Rosie said, stroking Frodo's hair off his forehead. "You and Frodo go, Sam. Let him heal. I'll raise our babes, and tell them all our stories."

"No!" Elanor cried, running in to hug at them, careful not to wake Frodo. "I can raise the little ones, Mum. You know I can. Me and Fastred."

"No, duck, you have a life of your own," Rosie said. "This should have been your year, El, for dreams and planning. I'm sorry it turned out as it has."

"Frog-spit. Fastred's not my family yet, and Fo always will be. So this year is just as I'd want it, with all of you most important in my heart. Though, of course, I never would have wished him this illness."

"None of us would have, El," Sam said in a tired voice.

It became a treat for Frodo to sit at his place at the table's end at meals, Daisy and Prim would put vases of flowers and the best spoons and forks out for him. Nobody would bicker and they'd act as sweet as kittens. August and September were almost peaceful, in their way.

But as the weather grew colder Frodo slipped into a fever that kept him half-asleep. The children went to stay with their Aunt Marigold and Uncle Tom, which didn't please any of them.

"She says I'm skinny as a dead pony," Elanor groaned.

"I have to help with hammering and sawing and whitewash," Hamfast grumped.

"They never give us second breakfast," wailed Merry.

"They pinch Sammie," Daisy implored.

"Let us stay, Dad!" they chorused together as he walked them down the hill.

"Hush. You'll be back in a month, things will be decided by then, for good or no."

Robin hugged Sam. "We'll be strong, Daddy. Tell Mum and Uncle Frodo that we love them, and you as well. We want him to get better."

"I know, Robin, I know."

They all endured the visit as best they could. Primrose and Hamfast made sure that one or the other of them was with Daisy at all times, so she didn't have the chance to go spare at her aunt and uncle. The way they treated her Sam rubbed at her like anything.

Marigold's vitriol at her brother's family had mellowed slightly over time, and she did love a good number of the rabble that called her auntie. Sam-lad, though, and Elanor, and Daisy, felt the sting of her dislike, and the weight of the chores she found for them.

Goldy contented herself with flirting with the uncle's apprentice, then felt guilty and spent long hours writing soppy letters to the half-dozen suitors she was stringing along like beads on a necklace.

Merry, Pippin, Frodo and Bilbo, with Robin and little Tom in tow, spent the days as far away from their cramped little room as possible, venturing out to see what adventures they could find. Ruby kept to herself and always seemed fresh from a long cry, her eyes red and sore.

Rose would sleep late, ignore the names her uncle called her like lazybones and layabout and goodfornothing, and then stay up into the night staring out at the lights of Bag End on the hill. Her brothers and sisters would join her for a while, then go to bed, but Rose never seemed to tire of it.

Then, in the third week they were there, no lights could be seen up at Bag End. All the children stayed up that night, pacing and fretting (but quietly, so they wouldn't wake their aunt and uncle).

"What does it mean, El?"

"I don't know, Robin, I don't know."

In a voice soft as a kiss, Rose began to sing an old lullaby their father had soothed them with from time to time.

"In western lands beneath the Sun
the flowers may rise in Spring,
the trees may bud, the waters run,
the merry finches sing."

Primrose came and sat beside her, and took up the harmony.

"Or there maybe 'tis a cloudless night
and swaying beeches bear"

Now Ham, Daisy, Sam-lad, Bilbo and Elanor were all singing too.

"the Elven-stars as jewels white
amid their branching hair."

All the children, even those who weren't children anymore really, sang together in hushed voices. It was something they never would have done usually, but on this night in this room it somehow felt right.

"Though here past journey's end we lie
in darkness soft and deep,
beyond all towers strong and high,
beyond all mountains steep,
above all shadows rides the Sun
and Stars for ever dwell:
we will not say the Day is done,
nor bid the Stars farewell.

Still we sit and think of you;
We see you far away
walking down the homely roads
on a bright and windy day.
It was merry then when we could run
to answer to your call,
could hear your voice or take your hand;
but now the night must fall.
And now beyond the world we sit,
and know not where you lie
O Frodo, will you hear this call
and answer to our cry?

Though here past journey's end we lie
in darkness soft and deep,
beyond all towers strong and high,
beyond all mountains steep,
above all shadows rides the Sun
and Love for ever dwells:
we will not say the Day is done,
nor bid our Heart farewell."

There didn't seem to be any more to say, so then they slept.

Daisy was the first one awake in the morning. She thought about getting as much extra rest as she could before everyone woke up, but her curiosity won out in the end and she decided to wake Sammie and get some extra breakfast, because Marigold was always stingy with them when it came to food.

She shook him awake, putting a finger to her lips so he'd know to be quiet. Bilbo stirred too, and they beckoned for him to follow.

They found dried apple pieces in the pantry, and each grabbed two handfuls, heading out to the front step to eat their spoils.

"Dad!" Bilbo shrieked, dropping the fruit slices as he ran down the path to meet his father. Sam obviously hadn't slept in a while, his eyes dark and skin pale, but he was smiling as he caught Bilbo up in his arms.

"He's awake," he told Daisy and Sam-lad before they could even ask, and their hooray-shouts were enough to rouse the whole household.

"What is it?" Marigold asked, running to the door in only her sleeping dress.

"Frodo's awake!" the children cried. Marigold let out a huge breath and hugged her brother so tight Bilbo had to squirm out of the way to avoid being crushed.

They didn't want to wait about for a moment, running home in their nightclothes, shawls around shoulders slipping down over and over in their haste.

"Frodo! Frodo!" The smaller children jumped onto the bed with him, covering his face with kisses.

"My precious darlings, I've missed you all so much!" Frodo kissed them all back, beckoning the older ones to sit on the bed too.

"We sang for you last night, did you hear us?"

"I don't know, Robin, I don't know. Perhaps. I was very lost. I didn't know if I could ever find my way back. But your Mummy Rose and Sam-dad made me promise long ago not to leave them, so I kept looking for the path home until I found it."

Elanor's eyes stung and her heart hurt at the sight of Frodo, so exhausted, face lined and cheeks sunken. He kissed her and stroked her hair, and smiled to show it wasn't so bad.

Winter barely came at all, the weather sunny and a little cool. Frodo stayed in the big bed, and that room became the hub of household activity. Tom learnt to read sitting beside the window, reciting bits of stories and poems for Frodo and whoever else was nearby at the time. It seemed the season would never turn.

Then, on the last night before Old Year's Day, the whole Shire was blanketed in snowy white. The children tumbled outside, building forts and starting wars.

"You haven't been out of bed for weeks," Sam pointed out with his arms folded when Frodo wanted to join them. "You're not going out in that cold, no mistake."

"Come on, Sam, one snowball fight. You, me, Rose and the children."

"Oh no, you're not getting me out there," Rosie cut in. "Anyway, I've got a feast to cook. Go have your play like the overgrown faunts that you are, I'll have mulled wine and hot chocolate ready to warm you when you come in."

"I'm not playing war," Ruby sniffed. "I'm making snow babies. Holly and Ivy, pretty little ice girls."

Bilbo threw a handful of slush at her then, and with a scream of outrage she chased after him.

There were two teams, the girls and Sam in one camp, hiding behind a hastily constructed half-wall to avoid the onslaught from Frodo and the boys. Marigold and Tom arrived, Elanor and Goldy and Rose followed them inside.

"I'm going to go have a nap by the fire before lunch," Tom declared, tipping his hat to them as a hello.

"Layabout," Rose-girl said softly. Uncle Tom gave a big jolly laugh and handed her a toffee as she ran to join the others outside again. Marigold went to help Rosie with the food preparation, but when Elly and Goldilocks tried to do the same their mother thwapped them with a tea towel.

"Out! Too many cooks spoil the broth."

"Broth?" Goldy made a face. "I don't want broth. I want pumpkin pie, and leg of lamb with mint sauce, and strawberry jam tarts."

"Then clear out and let us work," Marigold snapped, and the girls remembered that their aunt was more than capable of being sour, and they shouldn't take the sweetness for granted.

The two of them went to the front windows to watch the snow games.

"Look! Here comes Meli and Molly and their folk!" Primrose called as Merry and Pippin herded Estella and Dinny and Boromir and Faramir over the hill, the two girls running ahead in their half-matched coats of red and green.

Sam and Prim ran down to meet them, and Frodo called 'strategy meeting!' and beckoned all the girls to huddle into the discussion too, planning a full-scale attack on the approaching visitors. Goldy sighed, and turned to Elanor.

"He'll never be well, you know."

"He's well enough."

"Or strong."

"He's strong enough."

"Or happy."

Now Elanor grinned, tearing her gaze away from where Frodo spoke in earnest tones with the children. "He's happy enough, Goldy. And loved enough. You can't deny that."

"All right, he's happy and loved. That doesn't give him his health back, or put more years in his future. You can see as well as I can he don't have long to live."

"Long enough," Elanor nodded, fingers playing with the thin chain at her throat. "I don't know how I know it, Goldy, but the story's all played out in my head. My heart knows it, and it's a happily ever after."

"Nobody gets a happily ever after."

"Well, this is so close the difference can't be told, anyway. And that's enough."



More West of the Moon stories
~*~

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Pretty Good Year