Frodo knocked softly on the door to the barn as Nahar nudged impatiently at his shoulder, not certain why they had stopped. "Patience, boy." Frodo pushed the door open slowly. "It's just Frodo," he said loudly into the dimness. "I need to get Nahar--" A lamp flared in the depths of the hole and Glaurung eyed him grumpily from his stall. "I'll take care of him for ya, Mister Frodo." Old Snivey limped out with a makeshift wooden crutch under one arm. Frodo noticed he was putting little weight on the injured leg. "Are you certain--" "I'll get him," Snivey reiterated firmly, putting out his hand for the reins. "He an' I have an understandin'." Frodo watched as he managed to lead Nahar into his stall. The tired pony didn't seem to notice the peddler's awkward gait. He went over to check on Glaurung. The old pony shone. Apparently Snivey had groomed him thoroughly after the little disaster with the cart. He certainly looked better than Bilbo. "He's sound. Amazin' what with the Baggins banged up so. Sturdy fella." "And are you--" Frodo glanced back into the depths of the barn, spotting the boxes Snivey had pulled into place in one stall and the pile of blankets behind them. "Getting enough to eat? Are you warm enough down here?" Snivey nodded. "Miz Gamgee traded me a fine stew and bread for milking yer cow. And I churned her some butter too." "Good. Anything you need--" "We-- I'm set--" Frodo watched as Snivey carefully tied Nahar up and set to work on his saddle. "Well, just keep an eye--" "I know. It ain't gonna crest the Hill Road, Mister Frodo," Snivey said authoritatively. "And I'll be leavin' tomorrow. I gotta get to Needlehole." "Well, I hope there's no hurry. We-- We can certainly use your help here since Bilbo is laid up for a while." Snivey peered at him for a moment then back at the makeshift smial in the stall. "Well-- I would be surely pleased ta be of some service to the Baggins, special if he is feelin' poorly." "We would be most beholden. And I'll make certain that there is a hot bowl of porridge with your eggs in the morning -- and hot cider as well." He glanced towards the pile of blankets. Snivey grunted assent as he heaved up Nahar's saddle. Frodo stepped back out into the rain, pulling the door shut behind him. He could make it up the Hill, but only if he took a short cut through the paddock and the kitchen garden. He couldn't manage the trek back around to the front gate, and at this point he couldn't do any more damage to the garden than had already been done. Ignoring the squishing mud, and who knows what else between his toes, he cut through the paddock gate and over the pasture fence then up the Hill to the kitchen garden, grimacing at what he could see of the destruction to Sam's plantings. He peered towards Bilbo's window as he climbed; hoping 'the Baggins' was very soundly asleep. He rinsed his feet in the water ponding at the side door and quietly opened it. The kitchen was dimly lit, as was the parlour beyond. A plate rested on the sideboard covered with a towel. His stomach grumbled loudly, but he steadfastly ignored it and padded back through the corridor to Bilbo's door. Marigold slumped in the armchair, sound asleep, but no such luck with Bilbo, who was propped up in bed reading, although looking a bit sleepy. There was a tray on the bedside table bearing the remnants of a meal, and a nearly empty tumbler of brandy. Apparently Bilbo had won that battle. "Frodo, my lad!" Mari started up with a squeak. "Bilbo, you are looking much better." "I am. Slept the whole of the afternoon away. You, on the other hand are looking rather frayed, and wet, around the edges." "Yes, well." Frodo slumped into the chair at Bilbo's bedside. "Well-- just yes." "Mmmm. Marigold my dear, would you mind getting Frodo something hot to drink? Perhaps mix up a nice big toddy with this." He lifted the Withywindle. "No. Just tea Marigold, if you don't mind." "No bother, Mister Frodo." Mari skittered over and picked up the tray and the bottle. "I've a plate saved. I'll make sure it's het up." She was down the corridor before Frodo could protest. He wasn't sure he could manage the energy to eat. Then his stomach growled again. "So, the mill?" Frodo made a derisive sound. "Where to start--" "Oh, no doubt, somewhere around 'Baggins don't own my mill--' or 'What's a queer river hobbit know--' " "And a few others." Frodo managed a smirk. "But that stopped pretty quickly. Sandyman and I have an understanding now, since the whole incident with that scale of his. I just walk in that general direction and he starts singing a different tune." Bilbo smiled and nodded approval. "They were 'too busy' to get everything gathered and ready, but of course I found Ted and Carl deep in their cups at the Dragon later and Sig told me they'd been there all day. So I rousted them out of there. I told Sandyman I'd be back tomorrow to check on the supplies." "And the wheel?" "He swears it's ready, although I heard a racket while I was there and he turned a bit pasty. I'm thinking he's not willing to lose any business to old Turner and he really has done his best. Short of climbing out there and checking the kingpin myself--" "Sad that it could come to that." Bilbo shook his head. "But you've really learned how to handle him well, Frodo." Frodo didn't know how to respond to that. He supposed he had, although he preferred leaving confrontations with the cranky miller to Bilbo. "And the tenants? Anyone hurt?" "A few were banged up, but nothing broken. The Haywards lost a calf, but they're hoping to find her. The Browns' old pony died in the midst of it all--" "Peppermint." "Yes, Peppermint." Likely Bilbo knew the name of every animal, right down to the number and exact colour of the eggs the hens laid on a daily basis. "Their barn blew over and she just -- well, I suspect the old girl just decided it was time to go. They couldn't find a mark on her." "Their barn--" Bilbo snorted. "Shack was more like it. I told him--" Frodo nodded. "He's decided to make a decent barn for the next one. Just like the Borrages." Bilbo beamed. "Excellent." "Why don't you just forbid buildings like that on your land, Bilbo?" Frodo asked tiredly. "You don't like them and--" "Not a good enough reason. And they have to come to the understanding on their own, just like Rufus did. The old ways are sometimes best." "But it would save them a lot of grief finding out for themselves that some buildings are just a waste of a good tree." "And a lot of elbow grease as well." Bilbo shook his head. "There are just some things that folks need to learn the hard way. You can't learn it for them." Frodo had to agree. He had tried to tell Tim Whibourne not to rebuild his garden shed in the same spot because of the lack of a windbreak. It was like talking to a tree. No, trees were more responsive. "As long as no one gets hurt--" "Well, I've found that sometimes folks have to hurt before they really listen. It's hobbit nature to be stubborn and hang on to things long after they should've let go. And if you force things or, worse, do things for them to save them the pain or effort -- well, they don't value it as much." "Yes, well. The team working on Bywater Road ran into a bit of a problem with a big willow that wasn't quite on the road -- yet. There was a great deal of discussion about whether they should just leave it until it fell or finish the job the wind started." "But of course, no actual work on the task." Frodo smiled tiredly and found himself yawning widely. "Nahar and I broke the tie and helped get it pulled down. It was dangerous hanging over the road like that. And I got the team set to go up the Overhill Road tomorrow. And I asked Wilcomb if he could go over and help the Leagallow's with that broken pump. Mostly I spent a lot of time reassuring folks that we'd only lost animals so far and we'd made it through worse in the past, we would make it through this." Marigold bustled in at that point with a tray and set in on the bedside table, handing Frodo the mug. He cradled its warmth and sipped at it carefully. "Will you be wantin' me to stay the night, Mister Bilbo?" "No, you go on home and get some rest. Frodo here can help me I if need anything tonight, I think." Frodo blinked at that, but Marigold looked relieved. "May I walk you home?" Frodo stood. Marigold's relief vanished. "Oh no. I mean, no need. Da's waitin' up. He was set to come up and get me once he knew you was back. I imagine he's at the gate if he heared you come up the Hill." Normally it would have been Sam waiting up with Bilbo. Sam banking the fires and filling the boxes for the morning and trimming the lamps. Sam waiting for him in the shadows of his bedsmial -- braces down and shirt partway undone -- breathing fast and blushing hot at his own eagerness. Frodo sat back down quickly when he realised how furiously his body was responding to that memory, his own face warm. Luckily Marigold had already turned to go down the corridor and didn't see his reaction. "Nearly falling over, eh? You had better eat as well, lad." Frodo rubbed at his eyes. "I don't think I can manage to lift a fork, Bilbo." "Did you hear the door? Is Marigold gone do you think?" Listening intently, Frodo finally heard the distant sound of the front door shutting, then, through the window, they both heard Marigold's voice, muted, from the road below, answered by deeper tones. "She is. I think I'd best sleep here in the chair though, in case you need me." "If you don't mind helping me use the chamber pot, you can go be comfortable in your own smial. I'll be fine till morning. I haven't got the knack of managing the dratted thing with one hand yet and I get all unbalanced. I've been waiting since Peony left and I--" Frodo snorted. "Waiting--" He calculated when the Widow's apprentice had likely left Bag End and launched out of the chair, setting down his mug. "Stars, Bilbo. You'll make yourself ill doing that." Bilbo grumbled something about Marigold's impressionable age and dratted females as Frodo helped him clamber awkwardly out of the bed and manage his business. "Thank you, lad," Bilbo muttered gruffly. Frodo held his tongue. No use berating the old hobbit about his modesty at this late stage. By the time he had settled Bilbo back into his pillows, with only a couple of groans, his food was no longer warm and his hot tea was no longer really hot. Sitting once more, Frodo balanced the tray carefully on his lap, and ate a piece of buttered bread, suddenly ravenous. He had taken two bites of the fried potatoes before he realised Bilbo was talking. "And those in the low holes?" "Ammmmpf?" Frodo managed through a mouthful. "Did you get farther downriver, to the low holes?" Frodo washed down the potatoes with a gulp of tea. "Yes sir. The Neerlocks had already gone to her sister's. The Broadbelts said they planned to move up to his aunt's place if the time came. They needed some sacks though, so I told them to go up to the mill for them. And I told them not to try to take much, but just get out as fast as they could if need be. The Headstrongs -- well, they wouldn't hear of moving out until the water was coming in the door. She's impossible and he's henpecked." Bilbo nodded. Frodo managed a forkful of sausage and another bite of bread. "Stu had already seen to the rest, but I made sure they knew the mill had sacks and crates if they needed them. And they could use our pony cart." "And they know they can come up here--" Frodo nodded as he took another swig of the tea. "And Aunt Dora's fine. She sent her best and said she hoped you would be up to visit when you felt better and it was not quite so muddy." Frodo smiled indulgently. "I don't think she approved of my appearance in the least, nor the mud I tracked in to her parlour. She has no idea of what is going on outside her doorstep, but Aster is taking good care of her." "Good. Good." Bilbo seemed to relax at last. "So everyone has been warned and we know where the work needs to be done. Excellent job, Frodo." "Tmmmkfoo," Frodo acknowledged as he attempted to finish the food on his tray. "You will make a fine Master one day," Bilbo went on sleepily. "It is good for the tenants to see you out there, taking charge -- taking care of them." Frodo looked up at that, pausing mid-bite. Bilbo grinned at him. "If I didn't know better, I would think you set up this whole thing." He poked his fork in Bilbo's direction for emphasis. "Couldn't have planned it better myself. Although I would have preferred to avoid the painful part." Bilbo settled back into the pillows and closed his eyes. "Fool beast." Frodo's mouth quirked and he dug into the warm apple compote. "Speaking of the fool beast, did Glaurung really come through that spill without a hurt?" Bilbo had cracked open one eye and raised his head. Frodo should have known Bilbo would worry about his pony. "From what I could see. Old Snivey had him polished till he shone and said he checked him over thoroughly. Not a scratch." "Aptly named, that beast." Bilbo lay back again. Today had been -- enlightening. Frodo had found that standing in Bilbo's shadow over the years as the Master of Bag End negotiated all manner of dealings with town and tenants had taught him more than he realised. And oddly, he had enjoyed it. It was something that his cousin Merry did naturally, even at his young age, falling into the role of future Master of Brandy Hall with more ease than he liked to admit. Frodo, on the other hand, didn't really enjoy being the focus of everyone's attention and having them all hang on his every word, but it was apparent they needed that focus and they needed his advice. It was rather intimidating and fulfilling at the same time. They were a good lot. Friendly for the most part, once you got past that initial reserve. A bit provincial compared to the folks of Buckland. A bit inclined to be distrustful of those that were different. But when need be, they were generous and good-hearted to a fault. Their children were healthy and happy, and loved. Their land was lovingly tended as well. The storm had battered them all when it had battered their land. Now they feared the river would take more than just a tree here and a chimney there. And Frodo felt it too. The gold and green patchwork that spread out beyond Bag End's window was more than just a landscape to him. And the little silver river had wound its way through his heart just as surely. If it tore at its banks-- "Bilbo, the Water--" he looked up and realised that Bilbo's mouth was open and he was snoring softly. *** "Well?" Hamson prodded. "I didn't know the storm was gonna turn so bad as that," Sam responded, knowing he was stretching the truth a bit. His gardener's instincts had told him. His plants had told him. "I mean I-- "What do you mean?" Hamson asked impatiently. "Hamson Gamgee, you have no manners at all. Make yourself and poor Samwise a toddy." Abelia's calm voice carried in to them. Hamson made a frustrated noise and went to stoke up the fire and check the kettle, leaving Sam to try to put words around what had happened. He couldn't even explain it to himself in his own head. And Hamson, like his da, was not inclined to listen. Making odd little noises under his breath as if he were counting, Hamson placed two mugs on the table followed by a pot full of honey. Sam could tell from the smell there were some different flowers around Tighfield than Hobbiton. He wondered what they were and, for a brief moment, if he could carry seeds or seedlings back home. Then he remembered and slumped in his chair. "He did, didn't he? I can tell that look." Hamson's voice was softer now as he poured a good bit of whiskey into his mug and then into Sam's. Then he carefully spooned out a generous dollop of honey into both. "He tossed you out into the storm. You didn't run off on a lark to visit your kin. He ran you off." Sam pulled the mug to himself and breathed in the pungent smell of the honey. Hamson just sighed and retrieved the kettle, pouring hot water in both mugs and returning it to rest on the hearth. He sat down and stirred his, handing the spoon to Sam silently. Sam stirred, staring at the swirling mixture. "I knew it was gonna be bad. The-- my garden told me somethin' was coming. But-- I-- I didn't have no place else I could go. I had to come here." Drinking out his mug, Hamson looked at him over the rim, his eyes narrowing. "The Baggins wouldn't take you in? You couldn't stay at the Dragon? Or somewheres?" "No." Sam took a drink and blinked when his eyes watered. "The Gaffer wanted me-- he told me I wouldn't be a part of the family any more if I stayed around-- near-- if I was in Hobbiton." Hamson frowned at him. "That don't make any sense, Samwise." The whiskey was potent, curling warmly in Sam's middle. He chewed on his lip, hoping he wouldn't say something wrong, but not sure what was right to say. "It was one thing with me and Hal, but why you? Why now?" Abelia came in with a sleeping Manny and slipped him into Hamson's arms. He took him carefully without a word. "I'll go make up a bed for you, Samwise," she said softly. "Don't let Hamson's growling fool you. He's been talking of going back to Hobbiton ever since he found he was going to be a da." Hamson's face softened as he looked down at his sleeping son. "I thought being a grandda might change things with him. Make him-- I dunno--" Sam's heart leapt at the news. Hamson bringing his new wife and son to Hobbiton to see his sisters, to see his da? Then he felt suddenly cold. Hamson had been planning to come home? And now, because of him-- because of this-- "No, he-- I--" Sam took a deep breath. "It weren't nothin' to do with you or Hal or none of that. I doubt he cares where I've gone. I just had nowhere else to go." "You're not makin' sense Samwise. Da needs you. From what Cord tells me he's pretty near crippled up with the rheumatiz and you're a big help ta him, handling all the heavy work and the labour. Why would he cut off his nose to spite his face? What'd you do?" Sam gulped down another drink. "I-- He wanted me to stay away from someone," he managed. "He made me choose--" Hamson frowned. "Stay away--" Then his face cleared and he shook his head in disbelief. "You-- This is about some tweener thing? You chasin' some fancy piece of stuff you shouldn't be? You left for that?” Pressing his lips together, Sam felt his face heat. Hamson appeared to be speechless for a moment. "You-- You're only twenty. You-- you left them alone with a storm coming--" "I didn't notice the storm," Sam said quickly. He hadn't really paid attention. It had felt like the storm was inside, not outside. He hadn't noticed it until he was far from home and it was too late to go back. "Da was-- Well, he was angry and--" Sam felt like he should just get his pack and go. Anywhere but here. This was almost as bad as being across the table from his da, and him too tired to think straight. "I weren't thinking about that." "Doubt you were thinkin' at all." Hamson's jaw hardened. "Tweening. Hmmmf. Da never could ken it. Thought it was a waste of time when you could be workin'." "I never wasted time." Hamson eyed him speculatively. Sam blushed, thinking of the times he'd been gone just a little too long on an errand 'cause he had run into Frodo, or when he spent just a little too much time on the flowers below Mister Frodo's window. "Well, not much time." "Mmmmmm." Hamson looked down at his son then took another swig of his drink. "Probably all moony too. Likely cut yourself on a tool or dug up bulbs or sommat." Sam gulped his own drink, his face hot. Hamson's eyes narrowed, but a corner of his mouth quirked just a bit. "Halfred won't believe it. He still thinks you're a faunt. And him still acting like a tween himself." "I-- I try not to act like a tween," Sam managed. "Hmmmpf." Hamson frowned. Abelia came back in. "Your bed's ready for you, Samwise. You can continue this in the morning, when you're rested--" "Ab--" "Both of you." She held out her arms and Hamson, his face softening, lifted the baby carefully up to her. "Finish your toddies and come to bed. Whatever it is, it's waited this long. It'll wait one more night." She laid a soft hand against Sam's hot cheek. "You rest well, Samwise." Sam felt hot tears crowd into his eyes. "Thank you ma'am-- Abby." Hamson smiled at her and drained his mug. Sam did the same, his hands shaking. "She's right. It'll wait till morning. You're tired--" He paused for a moment then smiled at Sam. "Baby brother. Whatever brought you here, you're here now and we'll deal with the rest of it." He stood and clamped a hand on Sam's shoulder, pulling him up into a fierce embrace. Sam couldn't help the tears that spilled down his cheeks. He scrubbed at them furiously with his sleeve as Hamson pulled away and steered him into the parlour. "Get your things and I'll show you your bedsmial." Scooping up his pack, Sam followed his brother down the corridor. *** Sam woke with a start to the sound of a baby crying rather loudly and sat straight up in the bed. From the looks of the light coming under his door it was early, but it was still later in the morning than he had meant to sleep. He tossed back his covers and went to splash his face with cold water. Wouldn't be a good start to be seen as a lazy sod after that discussion with Hamson. He looked around for his breeches. They would have to do, stained as they were. He only had one other pair. He could wear a fresh shirt though. But they were gone along with the other dirty things he'd shoved into his pack. He blushed. Abby must've been in here and him asleep. Likely snoring. Hamson would surely think him an addle-pated worthless-- "Samwise? Did I hear you in there?" The baby was fussing outside his door now. "Yes'm." He dug frantically around for his other pair of breeches and a shirt. "I took your travel things to wash. If you need something to wear I can get something of Hamson's for you." "No ma'am. I have sommat." "Well, come on in to breakfast when you're ready. Hamson went on over to the Works." "Yes ma'am." He emerged moments later hoping that he didn't look too rumpled up. He certainly felt it. Abby smiled up from where she was feeding Manny. Clearly the baby had interrupted her in the middle of cleaning up. "Manny is definitely a Gamgee. When he wants to eat, he wants to eat." Sam smiled. "And don't get between him and the table, as my da says." Her smile widened. "You slept well." "I didn't mean ta sleep so well, if you take my meaning. Thank you for washing my clothes." "No bother. It's wash day. The rain looks like it's gonna stay well east." He looked out the window. It wasn't sunny, but it wasn't raining either. "I should get on over to the Works then." "Eat something at least. There's fresh bread and fried sausage." It did smell good. Sam glanced out again, then went over and cut himself a slice of the bread, rolling it quickly around two pieces of sausage. "Thank you." She nodded, smiling as she turned back to the nursing baby. He went out the front door and up onto the road to get his first look at Tighfield in the light of day. It was smaller than Hobbiton, from what he could tell. The Gamgee Rope Works was the biggest building that he could see. There was the Golden Spindle, down a ways, and what looked to be a stable with a blacksmith, from the sign hanging out front. The hobbit sitting out front with a leather apron on gave him a quizzical look. He nodded at him, friendly-like. He supposed he must look a bit strange, standing there gaping in the middle of the road. It wasn't as hilly as Hobbiton, or what hills there were were not as steep. He could see fields and hedgerows in the distance around the town, but they looked a different colour than home somehow. Home. He took another bite of his bread and sausage and turned to look back east. A dark grey mass banked the horizon and a chill haze dulled the sun. Somewhere under those clouds was Frodo, and the girls, and his da, and home. He turned back and looked at the rope works, then sighed and walked towards the door. *** Frodo couldn't see any difference in the clouds. No matter what direction he looked it wasn't particularly lighter, except in his imagination. In his imagination, it was lighter to the west. Where Sam was. Hopefully his letter would arrive there soon. He had picked up the Post for Bag End: two bills and one letter from his Uncle Rory for Bilbo. And one letter in Pippin's wobbly scrawl for him. He closed his eyes. At least he knew the storm had not reached Tuckborough. The Post had affirmed that Needlehole and Hobbiton and Bywater were the hardest hit, with Frogmorton getting a bit of it. But the storm had blown out before it reached Pincup. Upriver, whole swaths of Bindbale Wood had been flattened and it was still raining. Hobbiton would be buzzing with the news. There was already an undercurrent of dread that he could feel. The expressions on the faces of those he passed on the road reflected it. But they were as ready as they could be. Stu confirmed that all the locations were assigned and the Watch would set out when the Water hit the mark on the bridge. He and Nahar would play a part, if it came to warning those much farther downstream. Frodo could see the brown water frothing against the bridge, nearly splashing high enough to reach the mark. Branches and clots of grass swept by, and now and again something odd, like a piece of sacking. Well, nothing for it. First to the mill, then home to see how Bilbo was faring, then up to help the crew with that huge old tree blocking the Overhill Road, then-- Well, deal with it as it came. Something bobbing in the water upstream caught his eye and he peered into the mist as it moved rapidly towards him. It was bright blue, in stark contrast to the current, and as it slid toward the bridge, he realised with horror that it was a cradle. When it passed beneath, he was relieved to see that it was far too small to be anything other than a doll's cradle. Then he remembered-- He had been nine, fishing from the bank of the Brandywine with his da, and they had hooked a pair of breeches. His da had laughed and made up some silly story about the poor half-dressed idiot upstream who had somehow contrived to drop his trousers into the river. But then when he was twelve, he had stood on that same bank alone, feeling as if the Brandywine had swept his heart downstream like so much debris -- thinking that someone might fish it out and make up a story about the foolish hobbit that had managed to lose his heart in the river. And yet just last year, he remembered sitting on his special rock next to the Water on a warm, spring day. The air had been full of fluffy floating seeds and dragonflies and pollen and all the detritus of spring. He recalled watching that dance above the placid current and puzzling over why someone would be afraid of a little river like the Water. Now he wondered how he could have ever mistaken this rolling brown monster for a little river. ***
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