"Farmer Cotton, sir?" Halfred Gamgee's straw-coloured hair was stuck to his face with late-summer humidity, and he was out of breath from running. "Begging your pardon, barging in at suppertime and all, but I was wondering if Mrs Lily could come up to the Row for a while? Mam's taken another turn and we think this might be the crisis night coming."

"Oh, of course." Lily Cotton stood up and wiped her hands on her apron. "Rosie, get my coat."

Barely twelve years old, Rosie had watched in nightmare-inducing terror as Mrs Gamgee grew thinner and paler over the warm season, while everything else was ripe and blooming. To think that mothers could die just like weak foals and old pigs was something she couldn't make herself believe, even when it was right before her for the seeing.

Perhaps it was the extended lengths of time between when she saw Bell Gamgee that made the Gammer's deterioration so startlingly terrifying. In the long months of Summer, Rose hadn't been allowed to see Sam as much as she'd have liked to – definitely not as much as they had for the past Summers, for as long as she could remember: endless days of tumbling through thick, cushioning grass with all the Cotton and Gamgee children combined; half-drunk with the pollen-thick air of Summer. But this Summer... She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of time's she'd seen Sam; when, without fail, her mother would place Diamond in her arms and send her off up to the gardens of Bag End - a veritable paradise, with flowers and trees and arbours and hidden corners brought to life from her fairytales - to where Sam was moping about, making a show of clipping the grass under Mr Frodo's window, "filling in" for his Gaffer, who was of course, back down at Bagshot Row.

She always managed to cheer him up, though, if only by plopping Diamond down into his arms where the baby proceeded to squeal and latch onto the wooden buttons of Sam's home-spun shirt, legs kicking in excitement. Yes - an armful of warm, chubby baby was always guaranteed to draw Sam's slow smile back from where it was hiding behind a storm cloud.

Now, Rosie sat up all night, leaning out of the window of her bedroom and watching the lights of Bywater, and Hobbiton beyond it. Since she was the only maidchild in the family, her room was a small loft-space beside the store room on the upper level of the house. Rosie hated sleeping on her own, and had often vowed to have lots of both sorts of children so that they would never want for company. The wind seemed, well . . . windier somehow, up so high. Most other hobbits would have felt light-headed at such an unnatural altitude, but Rosie didn't mind it so much. Right now, she felt she'd sleep a dozen stories above the ground if only the world would go back to the usual rules.

Despite her best efforts, at some point she drifted away into sleep, because her mother's hand on her shoulder made her start awake.

"Oh," breathed Rosie, seeing the red cast to her mother's eyes. Shaking her head from side to side, Rosie felt her own eyes sting. "No. What about Sam and Marigold and all the rest? Who will read them stories and kiss them when they fall off the barn ladder?"

Lily gently stroked a lock of hair from Rosie's eyes and shook her head briefly.

"I don't know, lass... It's just the way of the world. We all have to go at some time, it's not for us to decide when, whether that's fair or not." She took a deep breath, rising from where she was sitting on the edge of Rosie's bed. "But come now, Rose-lass -- we may not get to decide, but we can help those who get taken by surprise. Or not, in this case, Bell's been wasting away for months..." her last comment seemed more to herself than to Rose, her voice quiet and sad. She lifted it again, helping Rose out of bed and handing her a dress to put on, "Sometimes death isn't sad - for the person dying, that is. Sometimes they have to go."

"That doesn't make it any less sad for the people who they leave behind, though," Rose interjected, and Lily smiled fondly at her, studying her daughter's young and determined - always determined - face.

"No, it doesn't," she said firmly, helping Rosie with laces as she did every morning. "That's why we're going to Hobbiton this morning. Young Sam, not to mention all those brothers and sisters of his, has lost his Gammer."

"I can be his Gammer, then," Rosie said fiercely. "I can kiss him when he falls of the barn ladder, and Mr Frodo can read him stories. He already does that already."

She picked a pocket full of wildflowers on the walk up to Bagshot Row, then thought that might not be a good thing to do. Pansies and posies couldn't fix anything; Rosie didn't know how anything would ever be fixed again. A tiny, terrible voice in her head kept telling her that, as terrible as today was, at least it wasn't her Gammer being washed and laid out to be sat up with. It wasn't her and her brothers facing night after night without bedtime kisses.

She felt very young and small when the Gaffer came up to her mother and grabbed one of Lily's hands between his own. He was all shaky and tired looking, and almost as thin as his wife had been the last time Rosie had been allowed to see her.

"Mr Baggins came and took the smaller ones up to Bag End about a half-hour ago, said I wasn't to ask for them back until I was good and ready for them. But I've naught idea how I can ever be ready again. Bell, oh my Bell..." he started to cry, and Rosie wondered if anyone would be giving him goodnight kisses anymore.

A dull, unfamiliar ache rose up inside her as she watched the Gaffer's shoulders begin to heave under her mother's soothing arm. It wasn't right that the Gaffer was crying; crying was for babies and for burns on the cooking stove, for nightmares pressing in on her late at night . . . Not for the Gaffer, not for any adult who ought to be smiling and patting her head as they gave her sweets, or even arms crossed and scolding. But not crying . . .

"Rose-lass," her mother said softly, perhaps sensing her distress. "Take Dia and go up to Bag End. You can tell Mr Baggins that I'm here now to take care of things."

"No need for that, Mistress Lily," said a voice from a little further up the hill, and Bilbo Baggins came walking quickly down the road, a basket slung over one arm.

"But... Mr Bilbo... You don't have to..." The Gaffer gasped, dragging a sleeve across his eyes in an attempt to wipe his tears.

"Now now, none of that, Ham," Bilbo said stoutly, handing the basket - from which was wafting a delightful (if perhaps slightly burnt) smell - to Lily as he came up to them. "You've taken care of us Bagginses long enough that we oughtn't hesitate to return the favour.

"Pies," he said, looking down as a loud grumble from Rosie's stomach caught his attention. He ruffled her hair. "Frodo-lad made some pies this morning. You can't be expected to be thinking of cooking at times like this," he said, cutting off another objection of the Gaffer's with an arm settled around Ham's shoulders. "And Frodo is watching the young ones, so there's no need for you to worry. Or you, Rose-lass," he said over his shoulder as he guided the Gaffer back through the front door. "Half of the batch is still up at Bag End, so you'd better hop up there as fast as you can before young Samwise gobbles them all up." He winked at her before he disappeared in the smial, but Rose waited for her mother's approving nod before she settled Diamond on her shoulder and set off up the Hill.

The garden outside Bag End seemed especially pretty, Rosie thought perhaps the flowers were trying to cheer everyone up. She dug the flowers she'd picked out of her pocket and put them into a cup that someone had left beside the small wooden bench out the front. Little Diamond made a complaining noise and tugged on Rosie's hair.

"All right, all right, we'll go find the pies. You behave today, you hear?" she ordered the little girl.

Daisy, May and Marigold were all swinging their feet in time, without doing it purposely, sitting in a line at the table and munching on the hot pastries. Frodo was attempting to scrape the burnt section off the side of a loaf of bread.

"Where's Sam?" Rosie asked, forgetting all the sweet, kind words she'd been turning over in her head to say to the children.

Frodo glanced up at the sound of her voice, smiling a little when he saw who it was, but Rosie could see a tight unsureness around his eyes. "Rosie!" he said, straightening from where he was scraping the loaf and turning back to the table. He gestured towards the empty tray sitting in front of the children. "Would you like some--" - then glanced down. "Oh." Marigold giggled, the sound visible through tiny flakes of pastry puffing out of her tightly not-quite-closed mouth, cheeks full. Daisy elbowed her.

"Sam's gardening," May said bluntly. "Said the violets 'round the back need taking care of."

Diamond had started shrieking again, tiny,chubby hands grasping futily in the air for the tray.

"Here." Rose thrust the baby into Frodo's arms. "She won't mind about the burnt bits."

Frodo fumbled with the baby for a moment, balancing Diamond awkwardly in his outstretched arms and looking quite sure that he was about to drop her. He didn't have a chance to reply; Rosie was already striding purposefully past them all towards the back gardens of the smial.

"Sam!" Rosie called, catching sight of him by the violets. Some of the bushes and flowers were taller than him, he'd not had the growth spurt of his teenaged years as yet and stood the same height as Rosie herself.

"Oh, hullo Rosie. Your hair's shorter again, I see." Sam turned and gave her the same smile he always had for everyone, but today it was twisted and tight, Rosie patted at her trimmed curls nervously.

"Jolly got treacle on it and my mother had to cut it out," said Rosie before catching herself and wincing internally. If there was ever a day not to mention mothers...

"Do you want a hug, Sam?" she asked after an uncomfortable moment. "I'm good at that, I've had a lot of practice with little Dia lately while Mu - while my family looks after her for the summer."

"Best not, lass." Sam looked down at his dirt-marked clothing. "I'd get your finery all stained. That's a pretty blouse you're wearing."

"It's my best," admitted Rosie.

Rosie frowned as she watched Sam absently shred a petal with his fingernails, blank gaze set on the ground before her feet. This wasn't right . . . When she was with Sam he was always open with her - head held high as he gazed her in the eye, hands on hips or caressing a nearby flower or leaf . . . Not destroying them.

"I brought Dia with me," she said, desperate to get back his attention from wherever he was. Sam looked up, blinked, frowned.

"Where is she then?"

"I left her with Mr Frodo."

Sam's eyes opened comically wide. "You left Dia!? With Mr Frodo!?"

Rosie tilted her head to the side, slightly puzzled. "Of course. But you don't need to worry about her, I'm sure Mr Frodo knows how to take care of a baby."

"It's not Dia I'm worried about," he said wryly, and Rosie chuckled softly, the sound suprised out of her before she could think about it. Sam looked at her for a long moment, lips pursed.

Rose felt something suddenly surge up in her chest to her throat, like pain but warmer; and Sam made a grunt of surprise as she threw her arms about him.

"Rose-" he said, his voice somewhat muffled, and pulled away - reluctantly, she thought. She quickly grasped his hand.

"Come on then," she said firmly, starting back to the front garden and tugging him behind her.

"But the... the garden--"

"Oh rot to the garden," she said; a bit risky perhaps in front of Sam... But she wasn't going to coddle him, she decided. He didn't need people reminding him of his pain - reminding him of what he'd lost. He needed people there to fill up the empty spaces. And that couldn't be done with quiet, pitying, meaningless words. "Mr Frodo's been baking, and you don't want to miss that rare occasion, do you?"

Sam laughed, a quiet sound that seemed to choke out after only a moment, but genuine nonetheless. "I'm not sure if I don't want to miss out, actually . . . I could smell the smoke almost from Bagshot Row."

"Well, burnt bread's supposed to be good for you, I think." Rosie nodded. "Just pretend it's on purpose and it'll go down easier. You don't want your master to think you don't like his cooking, do you?"

"He's not my master yet." Sam's face was thinner than Rosie remembered it. It seemed to her that everyone was becoming less real to her, fading away. It gave her a queer rocking sensation in her feet, like the time she'd ridden on the Bucklebury ferry, back and forth all afternoon.

"There's a 'yet' there, though," she pointed out. "If it's too terrible, just say you've a pain in your tooth and can't chew. Then he won't feel slighted."

"You know an awful lot about avoiding trouble." Sam looked wary.

"Sisters make you sweet, brothers make you wicked, that's what I've always heard. I've just got brothers, so I'm no good to anyone." Rosie made her voice breezier than she felt inside. It was just like playacting, pretending to be happy when she'd never been less happy in her whole life, ever. As they'd been talking, she'd coaxed him back through the door, and now the two of them re-entered the kitchen.

"Would you like a bit of pie, Sam?" Frodo asked, balancing a pile of plates on one steady palm, pie dish (with pie half-eaten) in the other. "And don't worry, I didn't cook it. It's one that Mrs Rumble sent up while you were out the back."

"Yes, please," Sam said with a swallow, and Rosie wondered how long it had been since anybody had offered him food.

"Good, good." Frodo nodded to himself absent-mindedly, then shook his head to clear it. "Better run your hands under the pump first, though, otherwise you'll end up with more mud than beef in your mouth."

"Erk, mud pies!" giggled Marigold, then caught herself and blinked in surprise at her own mirth. Frodo smiled softly.

"I think we're all too old for mud pies, except perhaps for little Diamond."

At the mention of her name, Diamond squealed, and Rosie started at the sound, not knowing where it was coming from at first, until she spotted a pair of chubby legs kicking energetically out of a basket near where the girls were sitting. Frodo blushed apologetically.

"I couldn't hold her and hold a pie," he said.

"Widow Rumble looked at him funny," Daisy said loudly.

"And Dia blew a raspberry at her," Marigold added.

"And the spit got on the pie," May said, wrinkling her nose. Sam choked around his mouthful.

"Baby spit is perfectly hygenic," Frodo said, sounding more sure than he looked.

"No it isn't," Rose interjected. "I spat on my brothers all the time when I was a baby, and look how they turned out."

Sam choked again.

"Enough about spit!" Frodo exclaimed, exasperated. "If you don't want to eat pie garnished with baby spit, there's always my bread." The all fell silent, except for Diamond, whose shriek was followed by a heel of burnt bread - quite soaked in spit - flying out of the basket. Frodo sighed.

"Can we show Diamond around the gardens after we've eaten?" May asked. "There's not a garden as fine in all four farthings." She held up her chin proudly. Frodo chuckled.

"That's true enough, but I think she's too small to care about well-tended snapdragons just yet."

"Sam was pulling and patting at plants before he could even walk a step," said Daisy.

"Yes, because Sam's halfway to being a plant himself, or a king of them at least," Frodo retorted. "If nobody wants my bread we could go feed some of it to the ducks down at the Pool."

"Ducks are right smart little birds, though. Mam tried to catch one for Yule and had to chase it all around the garden. Then it got out the gate and ran down the lane!" Marigold started laughing again, and didn't stop when May shot her an icy look.

"I hope you're not insinuating that intelligent animals don't want my bread, Miss Marigold." Frodo arched one eyebrow imperiously.

"I want to see a swan," sighed Rosie. "Every time I go to the Pool I check all the ugly duckings, to see if they're changing, but they just end up growing into ugly ducks."

"I don't know if we've got swans round here," said Sam. He'd brightened a little with a stomach full of food and his younger sister's laugh in his ears, but the shadows hadn't left his face and the years seemed to weigh his young heart down all at once.

"Well, we'll go on an expedition and find some, then!" declared Frodo. "And we're taking the bread along, too. If nothing else, it'll keep us from getting stuck in the mud. We can dig our feet out using the crust."

Frodo went to pick up the Diamond-basket, but it swung dangerously with the baby's excitement so Rosie leaned in to pick her up, clucking her tongue. Frodo flushed again, apologetically, then replaced the baby with the bread, which was soon joined by a pie-crust, a beetle shell and a careworn ragdoll with only one eye. Diamond grabbed at the doll and claimed it for her own, cooing happily.

"All packed then?" Frodo said, looking down at the children.

The three younger girls nodded, eyes wide and solemn.

"Right then, follow me," Frodo said, and started down the hall of Bag End at a march. The three Gamgee girls followed him in line, imitating his exaggerrated stride, and Rosie dropped in behind them, walking more smoothly with the baby in her arms. Sam fell in beside her, silent once more.

Age had never much seperated Rosie and Sam - four years wasn't really much, in the scale of things, unless it was her brothers pulling rank on her. But she'd never felt so distant from him before - He seemed thinner, smaller than when she'd seen him last, yet it seemed he'd gained many years - he was distant, quiet. Usually on a walk through the garden she wouldn't be able to silence him, reaching out absently to free tiny shoots from shady corners or guiding searching tendrils onto trellises as he spoke.

"I love the river." Frodo's voice was conversational, but there was a catch of breath behind the words. "It flows down from far-off mountains, and stops a while in pools and lakes, and then it keeps going. Carries everything away, but nothing's ever lost in the river. It just moves on to somewhere else."

Sam bit down on his lip, the delicate skin turning white with the pressure. Frodo caught the gesture and dropped back to walk beside Sam and Rosie, nodding for the others to walk on ahead. "She was very sick, Sam, you know that. Her life and light was fading away, and I know how it hurt you to see the pain it put her in. I'd say the garden got more tears than water this season, but don't be sad forever. Her light won't ever fade now, and the river." Frodo drew in a long breath. "The river keeps flowing."

Rosie concentrated on watching how Diamond's tiny dimpled fingers pulled on the wool hair of the ragdoll.

"I'm not sad for her, Mr Frodo. Our Gaffer let us have a peek before he sent us out of the house, and she looked all rested and well again. Like she wasn't hurting anymore, but a bit sad nonetheless. I fancy it's a little bit like how Elves would look, were I to see them. No, I'm sad for Marigold and her sisters, they that are to grow up in a house of menfolk. With that sort of luck they'll turn out as rough as Rosie."

Rosie cast him a sidelong glare in response to that comment, but could see that Sam was really hurting under his joke, so she put out a hand and squeezed his fingers lightly.

"It's all right to miss her. You'll find other people to love, but there's always going to be a place just for her inside your heart." Frodo touched Sam's sun-bleached hair lightly, like he was stroking the soft fur of a whimpering dog. Rosie had always thought that Mr Frodo was a distant sort of fellow, a bit cut off from everyone. Old Mr Bilbo could always be counted on for a story or a spare penny, but Frodo seemed wrapped up inside himself. This was the first time she'd ever seen him talk to Sam beyond polite questions about the garden, and for a fleeting second it occurred to Rosie that maybe this empty feeling Sam was having was something that he had in common with Frodo.

Then she shook her head, the thoughts too big and strange and sad for her, and went back to doting on the impatient baby.

"All the rivers meet the same sea, in the end."

Rosie squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to listen to any more of it, because it didn't seem to mean anything except that there was no reason to be sad. And she could think of a thousand reasons, a thousand thousand reasons, to be sad, and it hadn't even been her own mother who had up and died and left her babies all alone. Rosie was nursing a hot, formless anger at Bell Gamgee, because it just wasn't right for grown-ups to leave children behind and go off to... well, Rosie wasn't exactly sure where people went when they died, but it was somewhere too far away for her liking.

Her mother had tried to explain about living and dying, because this final outcome for Bell had been obvious for many weeks now. But Rosie didn't want to understand pretty stories about how rocks never grew or changed like flowers did, and that growing and changing had to have wilting and fading along with it.

"Diamond doesn't have any parents either," Rosie said matter-of-factly, wanting to stop the slow, inexorable sadness of Frodo's soft voice. "Her mam died when she was born and her dad soon after. So we take care of her sometimes now." She handed the baby to Sam, his arms automatically cradling her against his chest. Diamond squealed happily. "She doesn't have a proper family to take care of her anymore, but she's still happy."

"I don't see how she could be anything but, Rose, with you to care for her," Frodo said softly, a smile in his voice.

"I'm not sure about that," Sam said, face buried in fine baby-hair, voice still a little unsure, as if he were speaking for the first time. "She seems fairly happy to leave Rosie for me, don't you think?"

Rose pouted, putting her hands on her hips and trying to hide her smile. She wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or laugh, still, and Sam looked the same. Frodo looked tired. The three younger girls ran forward as they came to the last trees bordering the garden, running down the easy slope of the hill to where the river glimmered like a strand of silver threaded through the green grass.

"Ho, steady on there!" Frodo called out as a cloud of ducks, squawking quite indignantly, burst up and wheeled over their heads. "We don't want to scare them of before they've even tasted my bread!"

Diamond seemed quite happy to chew on another heel of bread herself as they sat by the banks of the river, willows weeping above them, yellow leaf-tears sticking to the legs of the Gamgee girls as they waded in the shallows, chasing salamanders with their skirts tucked up. A few curious ducks had returned, chattering sparsely to eachother as they hopped cautiously closer to the three pairs of hairy feet stretched out on the grass, startling back a little when Diamond shrieked. Frodo absently tore bits of bread from the loaf, tossing them out and watching as the birds darted forward.

"I didn't think they'd come back after all that racket the girls made," Sam mused quietly. "They're not usually that loud," he amended after a moment.

Rosie snorted. "Yes they are, Samwise Gamgee, and I think you should know that better than anyone."

Sam frowned, tearing up a few blades of grass and splitting them with his thumbnail, concentrating on them fiercely.

"Yes, but . . ." he paused, swallowed. "Not today."

"Sometimes people don't know how to react," Frodo said, his voice soft, more musing aloud than sympathetic. "They don't know how they ought to feel. The girls are younger, maybe they're feeling more the relief that it's over than grief that their Mam's gone."

Rosie swallowed. All day she'd been torturing herself with 'what if?' scenarios... What if it was her mam? What if it was her? She'd lived out in her head the imagined reactions of her family, her own reactions . . . But really, Frodo was right. Losing Bell Gamgee had seemed to lose a part of Sam as well, the bright innocent part that chattered to her cheerfully as they lay looking up at the light shifting through leaves; the part the grumbled at having to help his Mam clean up after supper, but grinned nonetheless as he splashed her with soapy water. And with that, perhaps, Rosie had lost a part of herself.

"But there isn't a way you have to feel," Frodo continued, the splashing and giggling of the girls sparkling in the background like the sunlight on the water. "And you'll be losing yourself as well if you try and force it."

Rosie looked up, startled, but Frodo was still watching the ducks, face distant and a little sad.

Sam was silent, he sat still, head bowed, strands of grass now clutched desperately in one fist. "I just..." he choked, the squeezed his eyes shut. "I just wanted..."

"She knew, Sam," Frodo said, turning to him at last, taking Sam's fist and unfurling it gently. "And she'll miss you too, no doubt, but you'll all be together in the end. Even if you have to wait a little longer." He rubbed his thumb over the back of Sam's hand soothingly. "And it's never too late. If you want to speak to her, speak to her now! I imagine she can still hear you." Frodo smiled softly.

"I don't know if I like the sound of that," Rosie said, her voice a little rougher than she thought it would be, perhaps because it was straining to get through the sudden heaviness that sat low in her throat. "I know I'd be quite glad to be free of the Gamgee children, bothersome as they are," she softened her words, placing her hand over Sam and Frodo's. Sam laughed like sobbing, smiling at her through watery eyes. Diamond shrieked again, perhaps upset she was missing out on all the fun.

Sam laughed again. "Dia doesn't seem to think so," he croaked.

"Sam!" Daisy's voice suddenly called excitedly from the river. "May caught one, Sam, come and look!"

Sam dragged his sleeve across his nose, not improving his somewhat bedraggled appearance a whit, and called back, "What colour is it, Daisy-lass? They say the gold ones are magic."

"Gold!" Marigold gave a shout of laughter. Her skirt had come untucked and a dark stain of water had seeped up almost to her thighs. "Magic! Don't be silly, Sam!"

Frodo chuckled. "She's right, you know," he said. "It's the silver ones."

"If I was magic," declared Rosie. "I would give myself spangly sparkles to wear every day, and build palaces up in trees for the birds to live in."

"Really?" Sam asked.

"Well, no, probably not," she admitted. "I'd most likely do boring things like mend the crumbled wall down on the old grain tower, and make the harvests good."

Sam shook his head, which surprised Rosie. "You shouldn't use magic for things like that, it's not right somehow. Magic's for strange things. Magical things, if you follow me. There's nothing magic in making the crops strong."

Frodo grinned and clapped Sam on the shoulder. "To you, maybe, lad, because you've got that kind of magic in your blood. For some of us, though, coaxing little green things to come up out of the ground is even stranger than making fireworks and enchantments."

Sam's eyes went wide and his cheeks flushed from the praise. May shrieked in horror as Daisy put a minnow down the back of her collar, and Marigold kicked up a bright arc of water droplets.

Diamond made a long blurting noise, smacking her toothless gums together and patting at the top of her blanket. Rosie pressed her index finger to the end of Dia's tiny nose, and giggled.

"Babies are lovely, aren't they?" she asked the boys.

"I'm a bit afraid of them, myself," admitted Frodo. Rosie saw Sam duck to hide the slight smile on his lips.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, silly. They're just extra-small hobbits, nothing scary about that. Here, you hold her."

Frodo took Dia off Rosie and bounced the baby gently on his knee. Diamond gurgled in delight.

"See? She likes you. You should hear when Tom tries to pick her up, she screams like a little goblin."

"Her eyes are darker than they used to be," noted Sam, inspecting the small face. "They were blue like cornflowers, and now they're hazel-green . . . like dry grass after rain."

"Most babies have blue eyes when they're born." Frodo sniffed the air and then adjusted his grip on Diamond. "Nobody thought to bring nappies, did they?"

"You're the one who's looking after us," Rosie teased. "So you can carry the little stinker all the way back to Bag End."

"Marigold didn't have blue eyes, hers were sort of pale and yellow when she was growing." Sam's hands were still picking at the grass and wildflowers around where they sat, skating from texture to texture as lightly as wind.

"Well, I said most babies did. Some don't. And some keep their eyes all scrunched up for days and days after they're born, like my little cousin Pippin. Now that he can walk he's getting into all sorts of trouble, getting his fingers pinched in box lids and sticking his smeary face against clean windows."

"Can I look after your babies, when you have them?" Rosie asked Frodo. He looked surprised at the question.

"Why do you suppose that I'm going to have babies, Rose?"

"Well, you're much bigger than me or Sam, so you'll be getting married before we do. And I don't want to wait twenty more years to have babies, I want to play with them now! That's why I love having Dia around, I pretend she's my own little one."

"Not everybody gets married, you know."

That one threw Rosie for a moment, then she shook her head. "Why on earth not? And you, especially, with that huge smial to play in? It's be a right shame to let that space go unused." She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I don't care what silly bread-burning folk say, I want lots and lots of babies. More than I can count, even, like the Old Took had. What about you, Sam? You're not going to be silly like Mr Frodo and say 'no babies' are you? Your babies would be quite fair to look at, I think."

Sam had lapsed into thoughtful quietness again, and just gave a small shrug in response. Rosie's throat felt blocked up and trembly again, and she dug her fingernails into her palm hard to keep from crying.

"Perhaps it's time to head back up the hill," Frodo said gently. "Come on, Sam, why don't you toss the rest of the bread to the ducks and then we'll collect your sisters, if they haven't soaked each other by now."

"All right, Mr Frodo." Sam's voice made Rosie's heart hurt. Why couldn't she be grown already, so that she could be the mother he needed? It wasn't fair at all, that she should be so small when everyone's problems were so big. She stood up.

"Here, I'll help you," she offered, grabbing the bread and breaking off knuckle-sized chunks. With a flick of her wrist she sent one sailing straight at Sam's face, catching him squarely on the forehead. Sam gave a little jump of surprise and then tossed a section of the loaf back at her. The ducks darted in and out around their feet, gobbling up the ammunition as it was hurled back and forth.

"Careful, some bits are so blackened they're likely to be hard as horseshoe nails!" Sam warned, hitting Rosie on the elbow. The girls had climbed out of the water and were sitting beside Frodo, all laughing over Diamond's expressions. Marigold watched the ducks for a little while, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"How can you make quill pens and pillows out of feathers, then? One's sharp and the other's soft."

"Different feathers, and different parts of the feathers," explained Frodo. Marigold didn't look convinced.

"Still doesn't make sense to me."

"It's like plants," Sam said, glancing back over his shoulder as he retreated under a hail of bread. "Sometimes the prettiest ones are the most poisonous."

Rosie gave a shout of victory as Sam caught his heel on Daisy's shin and sat down with a thump. He grimaced. "And some vegetables are poisonous unless they're cooked a certain way."

Frodo raised his eyebrows. "You tell me this after you've cooked me several meals."

"I'm not the one who burnt the bread," Sam retorted, and Daisy gave a surprised burst of laughter, shoving her fist into her mouth to stifle it.

"Now now, children," Rosie chided, trying to keep a straight face but glad at the re-emergence of Sam's wry humour. Frodo seemed to feel the same, grinning a little at the remark then struggling to his feet.

"Come on, then," he said, then wrinkled his nose. "I really do wish you'd told me we'd need nappies, Rose," he said, holding a wriggling Diamond at arms length.

Rosie snorted. "Where else did you think all that bread would go?"

"It's a good thing ducks don't wear nappies, then," Daisy said thoughtfully. "Otherwise the smell would be awful."

Frodo looked at her, a look of such utter puzzlement on his face that Rosie had to laugh. "You don't spend much time around children, do you Mr Frodo?"

"Can't say I do," Frodo said. "Except Sam . . . Though Sam is definitely not a child anymore."

Sam blushed, ducking his head at the praise, and May snorted. "You don't see him at home."

"I'm sure Sam is a perfect gentlehobbit at home, as he is in my gardens," Frodo said firmly.

"Mam used to say if he used his manners on his family like he did on the plants the dinner table would be a more pleasant place," Marigold piped up.

"I don't know about that," Frodo said. "Your Mam's cooking was enough to make any dinner table pleasant."

"Not any more," May said, sadly. "Who's going to cook our dinner now?"

The other girls were silent for a moment, as if sudden realisation had struck them.

"Sam's a good cook, and I'm sure you girls will learn soon enough," Frodo said.

"But who's going to mend our clothes?" May retorted. "Sam may be able to plant a seed, but he couldn't thread a needle if his life depended on it."

"I can sew," Rosie interjected. "My Mam taught me. It's easy enough, I could teach you."

"But Mam's always made my clothes," Marigold said, voice high and wavering. "She know my favourite colours, and what length to make my skirts."

"Well, you know those things yourself, so you can make up your own patterns and styles. I really don't mind teaching you the ins and outs of it," Rosie insisted. A sudden thought struck her. "Who makes your clothes, Mr Frodo?"

"My uncle Bilbo buys our things from a tailor."

Rosie snorted. "And you say you've no wish for a wife. It's a good thing that you can't get babies without mothers, or you'd end up with squalling mouths to feed and nappies to change, and no idea how to do it."

The Gamgee children were still too deep in dismay to be cheered by Rosie's gentle teasing of Frodo, and the fact made Rosie feel desperate. It was like racing against her brothers, and keeping pace for a little while but knowing that eventually it would all be too fast and too much.

"Don't worry, girls," Frodo was saying. "Until your fingers are sure with hemlines and biases, Bilbo and I will see that your clothes are made as you want them."

"Mr Frodo -" Sam cut in, hesitantly shaking his head. "You don't have to do that."

"'Have' is an odd sort of word, really. I don't see how there's much at all in life one 'has' to do at all. Except change babies, perhaps." Frodo amended his statement with a quick glance down at Diamond. "Now, what do you lot want for lunch?"

"Pickles!"

"Chicken!"

"Ham sandwiches!"

Frodo blinked. "All right. What else?"

"Sponge cake!"

"Treacle tart!"

"Candy apples!"

"Peach pies!"

"Grape juice custard!"

"Gingerbread houses!"

"You'll all end up fat as oliphaunts if you eat all of those at one sitting... gingerbread houses?" Frodo gave Marigold a long look. She shrugged.

"Well, where else do gingerbread men live, then?"

"I worry more about where the gingerbread men that don't get eaten live," said Sam. "When they're crumbled up for pie bases and suchlike."

"Doubt there's going to be any leftover gingerbread men with you lot around," Frodo assured him. "Come on, let's go take a look in the store rooms, then."

They managed to find quite a feast of cold milk and crunchy fresh carrots, and Frodo promised to make them a vanilla slice as soon as he could make head or tail of the recipe. Rosie giggled, and graciously offered to help him, but Frodo smacked her lightly on the rump with the wooden spoon and told her to go out and play with the others, which she did so without further argument. Bag End's garden was lovely for all sorts of games.

Frodo had turned out to be fairly good at changing babies, as far as Rosie and Sam could tell. He didn't poke Dia with pins or make stupid revolted faces, as Rosie's brothers tended to do at times. Rosie thought it might be very good for everyone involved if old Bilbo Baggins found a wife and had some babies, for then Frodo would have almost-brothers and almost-sisters to play with. She'd offer her services as a babysitter from time to time, of course, but really did want the wee ones to be born more for Frodo than for herself. And for Sam, too, because maybe Mrs Baggins could be like a mother to the Gamgees as well.

Getting clothes made by a tailor, what ridiculousness! Rosie held back from saying so to Sam, because she knew he was terribly protective of Mr Frodo, but in her opinion it was the silliest thing she'd ever heard. Why, the tailor might get the lengths wrong, or sew everything with itchy wool thread! Mothers and aunts knew better than to do things like that, but who knew what a tailor might end up doing?

"Would you be angry if your Gaffer decides to marry again some day?" Rosie asked Sam as they hid together from May's seeking. He shook his head.

"Mam wouldn't be cross at him for it, I reckon, so it's not something I could be angry about either. And the girls might like an older lass to help them with their growing up. But I'm too old to need mothering, so it don't matter either way to me."

"Too old..." Rosie put her arms around Sam before she could even think about making noise and being found. "Oh, don't ever say that! That's horrid!" She kissed him hard on the cheek, feeling the tremble in his arms before she pulled away. He wouldn't like it at all if he ended up crying in her arms.

"Mr Frodo seems to be doing enough mothering for five mothers anyway," he mumbled.

"He's worried about you," Rosie said, hearing a shriek from down the hall as Marigold was discovered.

"I know," Sam sighed heavily.

"Even if he shows his concern by trying to poison you."

"I heard that, Rose," came a voice, making them both jump. Frodo's head appeared, peering into the darkness under the bed.

It vanished again just a quickly with a shout, and Sam and Rose looked at eachother in silence as Frodo's - somewhat shaky - voice tried to scold over May's giggling "Now now, May, there was no need to startle me like that - I'm not even playing."

"Well now you are," she retorted. "You're it!"

Frodo sighed, mock-disappointed. "Very well, then," he said, then proceeded to thrust a hand under the bed and grip Sam's ankle. "I just discovered Sam, so that makes him it."

"Well seeing as I was hiding with Sam, that makes me it too." Rosie said, crawling out after him.

Marigold wandered into the room as the two of them straightened, Daisy in tow after her. She wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?"

Frodo went very pale, then groaned. "Oh no," he whispered. "The vanilla slice!"

"It's not all ruined," Rosie said as she watched Frodo poke mournfully at the discoloured dessert, patting Diamond's back and swaying slightly as the baby dropped off to sleep on her shoulder.

Frodo sighed. "Maybe. I think the food is trying to tell me something though."

Rosie laughed softly. "What, 'stick to books and letters'?"

Frodo quirked an eyebrow at her. "Perhaps. They certainly don't decide to burst into flames as soon as I turn my attention to them."

"I don't even know my letters," Rosie said, dropping a kiss on Diamond's sleep-warm hair.

"Don't you?" Frodo said in surprise, then quieter; "No, I suppose not." He smiled at her, listening for a moment at the sudden sound of Sam's laughter coming from deep within the smial, followed by loud complaints from one of his sisters. "Then again, you have lots of brothers to take care of, not to mention Diamond. I've had a lot of time, here on my own with Bilbo, to learn my letters, amongst other things."

Rosie pulled a face. "All my brothers are older than me, though, I don't really need to take care of them." She thought for a moment. "My Mam taught me stories, though."

Frodo smiled. "They may be older than you, but then again so is Sam - and I've seen you taking care of him quite a lot today."

"Sam takes care of you too. Well, your garden anyway," Rosie amended. "Even more than his Gaffer does, sometimes. He can't wait to take over the care of Bag End, though he'd never say so."

"No, I suppose he wouldn't," Frodo mused. "Sam is like that a bit, isn't he - never speaking for himself. Which is not necessarily a good thing." He turned to look her in the eye, strangely intent. "Sometimes he needs someone just to think of him, Rose, especially when things like this happen. He needs as much taking care of as anyone else."

Rose nodded solemnly, not fully understanding what Frodo meant but feeling the import of his words nonetheless.

Frodo sighed, finally abandoning the remains of the vanilla slice. "I suppose there are some things you can do better than me, Rose," he said wryly, pulling off the oven mit. "Though I would like to hear your stories." He leaned a little closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Don't tell Sam this, but even Bilbo's grand elf tales get tiresome after a while."

"Well," Rosie said, puffing up a little with pride despite her best efforts. "I'm sure I could tell you some, if you really want to."

Frodo smiled again. "I do indeed. But--" he raised a hand to his lips, chewing a fingernail absently as he thought. "--Perhaps we could do it in the study? I wouldn't mind taking notes."

Rosie raised an eyebrow; he glanced at her and flushed. "I'm thinking of writing a story of my own," he confessed. "And I like the idea of using other stories to explore with."

Rosie shrugged. "I do that, sometimes. Change stories around a little bit so the person I'm telling them to enjoys it more. I never write them down, though."

"Would you like to?"

Rosie thought a moment. "Perhaps. I would like to know what you see in all those little scribbles you put down on paper - I can't see the sense of it myself."

"Sometimes the letters have special meanings of their own," Frodo said as they walked down the hall. "It makes the story even better, because you can see certain sounds and imagine certain pictures when you're reading it, just from the shape of the letter."

"Like sound effects when you're telling a story?" Rose asked.

"Yes, in a way," Frodo answered thoughtfully. "And besides, having a story all written down means it lasts forever - even if the person who wrote the story dies, people can still learn from what they've written. The story doesn't die with the teller."

Rosie frowned a little. "Perhaps," she said as she stepped through the door of the study after Frodo, wrinkling her nose a little at the dry smell of parchment. "But stories change as time goes on - If I told you a story now, it would be a little different than what my Mam told me, but no less important. Stories have to change, even if it's just a little bit, if you want them to mean anything. The story my Mam told me could be a hundred years old, and changed a little bit each time someone told it - but if it was exactly the same now as it was then, it might not mean anything to me."

"You're mighty wise for one so young, Rose," Frodo said, a curious, unreadable expression on his face. He fell silent again, beginning to sort through the loose papers scattered on the desk.

At length, Rose broke the silence with a heavy sigh. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be saying, to make it better." She mumbled the admission, not looking at Frodo.

"You can't, Rose. Nobody can."

"I know that," Rosie snapped, exasperated. "I just mean, I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. Should I be giving them hugs? They don't want to be hugged, or at least I don't think they do."

"I know how you feel." Frodo looked at her with the small smile that he gave when things were bittersweet. "That's why I've been baking all day. I can't cook to save myself, but when I was small and my parents died, I remember a lot of people giving me food. Huge steaming dishes. Cooking them seemed to give everyone something to do, because they didn't know what else they should be doing."

"What did you want them to be doing?" Rosie had never really thought about Frodo's parents dying. It just seemed one of those things that had always been, but never actually happened.

"I don't know." Frodo shook his head and then shrugged. "Holding me, mostly. I was terribly lonely, and though they couldn't really stop me feeling like that, it helped a little when they were there. But here, now, let me show you how to write your name. That is, if you want me to?"

Rosie nodded. "Yes, please. Perhaps I'll write down stories of my own one day, if I know how."

Frodo smiled, finally settling on a seemingly random piece of paper from the vast piles, and scribbled down three words.

"These are our names, you see. This one," he pointed to the first. "Is Rosie. And this next one's Sam, and then Frodo. See how longer words take more letters to write?"

Rosie nodded, staring at the ink lines with deep concentration, willing herself to understand the pattern.

"And the same sounds are always written the same way. So, here, we've got an R and an O in Rosie, and here are the same letters again in Frodo. And this other one that looks like a snake is an 'ess' noise, like in 'Sam', and in 'Rosie' as well."

Rosie clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, I see it, I do! How many letters are there altogether?"

"Twenty-six in the common tongue, and then the Elves and some of the other races have their own languages as well. But we'll start with the ordinary alphabet, for now."

Rosie didn't know how long they'd been at it when they were interrupted. Long enough for her to learn how to make an 'R' shape, anyway, and 'S'. And 'F', despite Frodo pointing out that there wasn't one anywhere in her name. She vowed to herself that she'd learn all the rest eventually, and read stories in books and write them herself, but for now those were the most important three out of the way.

"You do look a clever pair," Sam stood in the doorway, watching them. "What're you up to, then?"

"I can write part of our names, look!" Rosie beamed proudly, holding up the paper with her rounded, shaky penmanship on it.

"That's a marvel, you're picking that up quick as a fish in water." Sam smiled at Rosie and Frodo. "I'll be asking you to help me with the seed lists in no time at all."

"Well, not just yet, Sam, she's only just started. I daresay your own skills could do with a polish, if you want to join us. Where are your sisters?"

"They're all asleep on Mr Bilbo's bed, if that isn't a bother. It's been difficult to shut both eyes together in our house lately, and they could do with the rest."

"You look fairly exhausted yourself," said Frodo kindly. "The letters can wait until later, if you want to have a lie-down on my bed, Sam."

"I think I might take you up on your offer, sir." Sam blinked a few times. "If it's no trouble."

"Not at all. Come on. Do you want to go in with the other girls, Rose?"

"I want to learn more letters!" Rosie said decisively, despite the fact her own eyelids were beginning to feel rather heavy indeed.

"All right, all right. you practice making the shape of those ones while I get Sam settled and check on everyone else, and then I'll come back and teach you more."

The room seemed very silent after Frodo and Sam had left - she couldn't even hear them walking up the hall. Rosie looked around her. It was late afternoon, and a small round window looked out onto the east of the house, so it was quite dark in the room - what light there was was cool and grey. She shivered. She didn't know how Frodo could work in here all day. Though, from what Sam had told her, he did come out on occasion, watching Sam absently with an open book forgotten in his lap.

She glanced down at the page. All these letters were well and good, but really - at the end of the day they were only meaningless shapes, cold and distant on the page. She rose, sighing, and settled Diamond on her shoulder before making her way up the hall.

Frodo looked up in surprise as she poked her head through the door. He was sitting on the edge of the bed by Sam, who was stretched out atop the covers.

"Rose," Frodo said. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh... yes," Rosie said, a little embarrassed. "It's just . . . well, I really am too tired to keep going." She shifted a sleeping Diamond from one shoulder to the other. "Could I... stay here?"

Frodo smiled, patting the empty space on the bed next to Sam. "Of course. That is, unless Sam objects...?"

Sam, hearing his name, started out of sleeping drifting and blinked blearily, shaking his head.

"Here, give me Diamond . . . She seems more tired than the both of you put together!" Frodo took Diamond carefully, cradling her gently in his arms - obviously more confident with the task than he had been that morning.

"She ought to be, with all the excitement she's had today," Rose mumbled, lying down on her side, pillowing her head on her hands and gazing up at th baby over Sam's still form.

"We've all had a lot of excitement," Frodo murmured, rocking Diamond slightly. He was silent for a long moment, gaze fixed on the baby, then looked up at Rose and smiled, blinking. "We should make a bed for her, I think my arms will drop off if I have to hold her for the rest of the afternoon."

Rose lay still, examining the soft lines of Sam's face and the occasional flutter of his eyelashes; his chest rising and falling with his slow, even breaths. Frodo returned, carrying the basket again, this time empty. Setting it down by the bed, he shifted Diamond up to rest on his shoulder as he arranged pillows and blankets in the basket, then lowered Diamond carefully, cradling the small head in his hand and breathing a sigh of relief as he withdrew again. Rosie propped herself up on an elbow to watch him.

"You know, you're not as bad with babies as you make out."

Frodo smiled wryly. "Maybe, but I doubt I could take care of them for longer than a day."

"You've been taking care of Sam for quite a while, though," Rose said, watching Sam for a reaction. Sam grumbled a bit, squinting one eye open.

Frodo laughed quietly, reaching out to brush Sam's hair back from his forehead soothingly. Sam grunted, eyes sliding shut again.

"Frodo," Rosie said softly after a moment, watching Frodo's pale hand move against Sam's sun-dark skin.

"Hmm?"

"Could you tell us one of your stories?"

Frodo frowned a little, a slight tightening of his brow. "I don't have any stories of my own," he said at length. "But I can tell you one of Bilbo's, or an old elf tale."

"Don't be silly," Rosie scolded gently. "Of course you have your own stories. Everyone does."

Frodo shook his head. "No, I've never written any of my own," he said.

"You don't have to write a story to make it your own," Rosie said sternly. "Just open your mouth and let it come out itself."

Frodo raised an eyebrow, looking at her dubiously.

"Oh, come here," she said, shifting over a little and patting the bed between and her Sam. "I always think up stories when I'm about to fall asleep. So it'll help if you lie down."

Frodo hesitated for a moment, then climbed over Sam and settled down on the bed, lying on his back and looking quite uncomfortable. He was silent for a long while, shifting and fidgeting.

Rosie sighed. "What's wrong then?"

Frodo started, turning to look at her with wide eyes, then starting back again when he realised how close she was. "Nothing, it's just . . . I'm not used to sleeping with other people."

"Well good," Rosie said matter-of-factly. "Because you're supposed to be story-telling, not sleeping." She settled back on her back again, and gave a contented sigh. "Go on then."

Frodo fidgeted some more. "I don't know how to start," he said at length.

"Just open your mouth."

Frodo took a deep breath. "Once upon a time there was a boy..." He paused, uncertain.

"Yes, that's a good way to start," encouraged Rosie.

"He was an only child... no, wait. He had an older brother, and his brother was a knight. His brother had gone on a grand adventure, a long time ago, and brought back a huge treasure.

"Now, the boy was very lucky to have an older brother with a huge treasure. It meant he had a nice place to live, you see, and someone to talk to when he got lonely. And he had his books to keep him company, too, full of adventures like the one his brother had been on.

"But it can be a difficult thing, too, living in the after-time of an adventure. Everyone knew his brother now, you see, for they were very famous. But the boy didn't want to be famous, he just wanted his books and his garden and a spot to sit and think."

"Why did he like the garden? You didn't mention it before." Sam mumbled.

"You of all people should know how much there is to like in a garden, Sam my lad. This garden was especially loveable, for it was the prettiest garden in all the world, and twice as nice again. The boy never felt quite so happy as when he was in his garden.

"But he felt as if he were little more than a shadow, sometimes, for his brother was so very famous, and had so many riches. And who was he, but a boy with a book in the garden?

"So one day he packed a bag and set out, to have an adventure. He was quite young, you must remember, and rather silly. This was not entirely his fault, as he had been brought up by cousins equally lacking in sensibility, but that was how things were nevertheless. He thought nothing more natural than setting off one day in search of a great quest.

"And, as tends to happen when silly boys set off without thinking, the boy became lost. He wandered deeper and deeper into the forest, having no idea which way it was to anything. Presently, he met an Elf, sitting on a fallen log and playing a song on a silver flute."

Sam opened his eyes, interest piqued. Frodo smiled, noticing, and went on.

"The Elf smiled at the boy, and smiled at the small pack on the boy's back. 'Where are you going, little mortal?' the Elf asked.

"'I'm going to seek an adventure,' explained the boy proudly. 'I want to go on a great quest.'

"'But why do you want that?' the Elf smiled curiously at him.

"'Because I want to be the sort of fellow who has been on a journey, of course!' the boy answered.

"'Very well,' said the Elf. 'I shall give you a task to complete. Fetch me the purest warmth this age has known, for a need a lining for my winter coat.'

"So the boy set off to find the purest warmth the age had known. He burnt his fingertips in the campfire when he tried to cook himself supper, but even that heat wasn't right for the Elven task he was appointed to complete. Come morning, the boy walked and walked, and reached a large gilded cage filled with beautiful and terrible birds. Phoenixes, they were, birds that burn up and rise again from their own ashes. But even with beautiful songs and firey feathers, they weren't enough for what the boy needed.

"He searched north as far as he could walk in a day, and then south, and then east, and then west, and still the boy could not find the purest warmth the age had known. Having failed, the boy went back to the Elf and apologised, saying he had not found what he had been instructed to seek. The Elf nodded, and gave the boy a penny for his trouble. The boy started on the long walk home, feeling very dejected and worthless. It was nice to see his brother waiting for him, though, for he'd missed the knight more than he had expected to.

"'I tried to go on an adventure, but I failed. I wanted to be like you!' the boy cried, and his brother just laughed gently.

"'Don't try to be me, lad, for the world already has more of that than it needs. Be yourself, and be happy with that.'

"So the boy went out to his garden, and sat down with his book. And then he noticed that there was a beam on sunlight dancing over the words, and he put his fingertips to it, and laughed. For it was the purest warmth the age had known! And he looked around his garden, and smiled.

"'Why, I looked to the north and the south and the east and the west, and all the time it was here waiting!'"

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of their soft breathing, rising and falling and filling the room with easy warmth.

"He could have just asked his gardener in the first place," Sam mumbled.

Rosie groaned, rolling over again to reach over Frodo and swat at Sam. "That's not the point, silly," she scolded lightly.

Sam poked back lazily, sleepy arm not quiet ready to be dragged back to wakefulness just yet, instead flopping heavily against Frodo's own. "What do you know about it, anyway, it's Mr Frodo's story," he grumbled.

"Yes, but if he chooses to tell it, it means he's letting whoever hears it take whatever point they want from it. It becomes their story."

"That doesn't make sense at all," Sam said, voice still thick with looming sleep.

"Yes it does," Frodo said softly, then fell silent again, as if he'd surprised himself. "What use is there telling a story if others don't enjoy it? And everyone enjoys stories for different reasons."

"But why would they write the story in the first place if they didn't enjoy it?"

"They enjoy it because other people enjoy it," Rose said firmly.

Sam grumbled again. "I think sometimes stories need to be written for the writer. Even if they don't enjoy it. It's like gardening. It hurts to pull up thistles, but come spring, there's a lot more room for the flowers to grow."

"Perhaps," Frodo murmured. "I don't know if I've read many stories like that, though."

"It don't always have to be stories, I think," Sam mumbled, sleep overtaking him at last. He rolled over, breath warm against Frodo's shoulder. Rosie gazed at him over the slow rise and fall of Frodo's chest, eyes half-lidded and heavy. "Otherwise you've been telling our story all day."

By the time Bilbo found them, they had relaxed together into a complicated tangle of arms and legs and dreaming, and it would have taken a hard-hearted hobbit indeed to wake them from it. So they stayed like that until morning, and kept each other company.