Evening. Rosie could hear a group of tweens playing in the twilight outside, breaking all sorts of rules and laughing about it. The laughter abruptly turned to yelps of surprise as another smattering of rain came down, it had been showering sporadically all day, a soft quick pitter-patter and then the clouds passed and the sun came back.

The interior of Bag End was bathed in honeyed light from the candles and lamps placed around, illuminating every corner and cranny and chasing the shadows away. Rosie couldn't abide dark corners in pretty rooms. Sam was playing with Elanor, reciting little rhymes and clapping her hands together gently, and Rosie was doing some mending; rose bushes were very nice to look at, but the thorns were murder on clothes. Sometimes Rosie wondered why people bothered planting and tending to the difficult flowers, when there were so many easier ones that looked just as nice. Other times, it would make the most sense of anything in the world to her.

Frodo was lying on the couch, watching them. He was in one of his sad moods, even if he hadn't said anything Rosie would have been able to tell but he'd warned them anyway. "I won't be much fun tonight, I'm sorry," he'd said, as if they'd begrudge him a little bit of sorrow.

"What's your brightest memory?" she asked him now, setting her sewing aside. Better to light a candle than curse the darkness, as her father always said.

"My..." Frodo paused, lost in thought, then smiled. "This, of course. Right now."

Sam looked over at him skeptically. Frodo's eyes were bruise-tired, hair so limp it had almost lost its wave. He didn't exactly look the picture of robust joy.

"Pardon my saying this, but you don't look very happy at all."

"I am, Sam, I am. When you've had a long and exhausting day, there's nothing so nice as falling into a comfortable bed and drifting off to sleep. And I've had such a long day."

"Oh, enough of that!" Rosie shook her head, forcing her mouth to smile merrily. "I don't want any more bellyaching or being poetical. You tell me a nice moment now, Frodo, or I'll come over there and tip water on your head. That'll wake you up right quick."

Frodo chuckled. "All right, all right. There was one... about five years ago, now."

"Oh, no, don't tell that one!" Sam cut in, covering his face with his hands and laughing quietly.

"I think I will." Frodo's smile grew wider. "What happened was, Sam was going to bake a carrot cake, but when he went to crack one of the eggs open there was a chick inside. It looked rather put out at being woken so rudely, by someone banging it against the edge of a mixing bowl. Sam fell utterly in love. What did you name her, Sam?"

"I don't know if I remember."

"Yes you do, I'd bet all of my toes on it," Frodo grinned. Sam mumbled something under his breath. "What was that? Didn't catch it."

"Rosie. I named her Rosie. You remember that as clear as I do, you just wanted to force me to say it."

"That's true enough." With a laugh, Frodo continued the story. "Now, Sam's gaffer wouldn't have a chicken in the house, of course. And Sam couldn't bear to part with her, so I said he could keep his Rosie-chick here in Bag End, in the old coop that isn't used anymore. There has never been a bird more spoiled, in all of history. Sam kept a jar beside him whenever he was weeding, to collect worms for her. Then he thought she might get lonely, so he put a rooster in with her. Rosie-chick decided she was going to crow at dawn every morning, same as her new husband, but she never quite got the hang of it. Every evening when the sun set she'd puff her feathers up, proud as anything, and cock-a-doodle as loudly as she could. So Sam tried to teach her the correct way, and one morning I was woken by the harmonious sounds of a chicken, a rooster, and a sleepy gardener all crowing at the dawn. Naturally, I did the most sensible thing, and joined in."

"You were best at it out of all of us," Sam smirked.

"Then people started coming to the door, to see if we were all right. They thought something must be terribly wrong, because of the awful noises we were making."

Rosie shook her head, shoulders shaking with laughter. "You two... I don't even know words strong enough to call you. Mad would be the easiest of course, but it runs much deeper than simply that."

"That's what you like best about us, though, isn't it?" Frodo pointed out, and Rosie had to admit he was right.

~

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