Frodo stood just beyond the front door of Bag End drinking his tea and watching as the sky grew noticeably lighter above him. The rain was reduced to an ill-natured spatter now and again and fog steamed up from the fields.

He and the Cottons had managed the worst of the debris they could find upstream, pulling some trees out of reach of the rising water. All they could do now was hope that if anything big did come down it would rush on by without getting hung up or damaging the mill wheel.

The easy camaraderie of the Cotton lads with their da had reminded him painfully of Sam, as if the constant empty ache of that absence wasn't enough. Tolman had complained more than once that his friend was getting out of all this work. And even in The Green Dragon, where Frodo had brought them all for an ale, Tom Cotton had mentioned missing Sam's cheerful presence.

The atmosphere in the Dragon had been subdued and quiet. The mark on the bridge had disappeared beneath the muddy water earlier in the evening and the Watch had headed out to take their posts.

Now they were all watching and waiting -- for something.

He looked back west.

"This contraption makes it impossible to dress decently."

Frodo smiled. "Good morning to you too, Bilbo."

Bilbo walked over and set his cup of tea down on the bench next to the door, then began tugging at his robe grumpily.

Frodo responded. "I'll help you get dressed after I finish this, if you like."

"Mmmpf."

Bilbo was not the best of patients, Frodo had decided.

"It seems a bit warmer, and brighter as well," Bilbo remarked. "Definitely less wet."

"You were asleep when I got in last night. They say the rain has eased off to the north of us."

"It does seem the worst of it is past here too. Is the river likely to crest today?"

"Young Brownlock rode by a bit ago. He said they are thinking tomorrow morning, hopefully after daybreak."

"So we wait."

"So we wait." Frodo gave Bilbo a look. "A difficult task for some of us."

Bilbo grimaced and then looked down at the sling. "I never realised how awkward things were with one arm. But I will keep it on until the Widow says I am healed."

"See that you do."

Bilbo made a non-committal noise.

"Our most difficult job right now is making everyone realise the worst is ahead when it seems to be clearing."

"Tis the nature of the beast, lad."

"Well, I'm going down to help Old Snivey finish the repairs on his hand cart. I'm hoping to slow him down for at least one more day. He thinks he can head out for Needlehole now that the rain is easing up. I can't convince him he needs to heal up more and let the river crest first."

Bilbo shook his head. "Stubborn old hobbit."

Frodo lifted an eyebrow at him. "I think we have more than our share of that breed about."

"Speaking of the Gaffer--"

Frodo snorted softly.

"Has he acknowledged Sam's absence to anyone?"

"Not that I'm aware. Not yet, at any rate. It will take Sam standing before him, I think, forcing the Gaffer to really see him, to accomplish that. And even then--" Frodo shook his head.

"That reminds me, lad," Bilbo said. "Daisy brought my clothes up yesterday, after working on the mud stains and such. She found your letter in the pocket of my jacket, quite thoroughly smeared and wet through, I'm afraid. I didn't make it to the Post that day."

Frodo sighed. "Perhaps it's for the best. I shouldn't have asked him to come home. He'll come when he can. Nothing I do will change that, short of leaving."

"Leaving?" Bilbo repeated anxiously.

"You can breathe easy, Bilbo. I'm not planning to leave just yet."

"You're not?" Bilbo couldn't hide the relief in his voice.

"Bag End is my home," Frodo said, then tilted his cup towards the soggy landscape of green and gold spreading out before them. "This is my home."

They stood in silence for a long moment.

"I'm glad, my boy," Bilbo responded.

Frodo sighed. "But, in truth Bilbo, I don't know what else to do. You told me I have to let Sam fight his own battles, and I understand that. But I feel helpless. Anything I do--" He shook his head wearily. "It's like trying to dam the Water and knowing you will likely make things worse. Like the Gaffer with his trellis yesterday. You can break something just by trying to fix it."

"Indeed you can." Bilbo looked thoughtful. "Perhaps, lad, you've done more than you know."

***

"Like this. You do one turn, then take the end around again and tuck it under the second turn. Then pull these." Halfred leaned back and pointed to the knot on the rail. "That's a Clove Hitch. You try."

He undid it and handed the rope to Sam. Sam did it quickly, smiling proudly. "Da taught me that one."

"Now this one. This is a good un if you're wanting something that gets tighter when you pull on it, like when you're pulling a post or a log. Take this and cross it around, then just keep tucking it around itself like this and when you pull on this end," he yanked, "it tightens. You keep pressure on it and it won't loosen, but it's easy to untie. And you can do a Half Hitch down here to stabilise it, if you're dragging a long pole. That one's called a Timber Hitch."

"I've done that'un. Didn't know what it was named though."

"Well it seems old Ham did teach you some knots then," Andwise spoke up, his eyes on the team.

"I guess so. We have to use rope for a lot of things. I just never thought about it much," Sam responded.

"Well, show him one he ain't seen then, Halfred."

Halfred untied the knot thoughtfully. "Well, there's a reason I'm more interested in sheep than rope."

Andwise barked a laugh.

"That's an old joke, Uncle. And not a good 'un." Halfred grimaced.

Samwise frowned, then he realised what they were referring to and blushed.

Halfred elbowed him. "Anson never puts up with it. He's got sommat smart to say back every time. But I can't think that fast."

"All right, speaking of sheep--" Halfred grabbed another rope and winked at Sam.

"Oh, Sam'll know the Sheepshank," Andwise said quickly.

"The Lover's Knot!" Halfred proclaimed.

Andwise shook his head. "Halfred, you're named wrong. You dig a ditch in the rain and then jump in it and wonder why you're wet."

Halfred ignored him, busily tying the two ropes together slowly for Sam's benefit.

"So, old Mister Bilbo's still going strong, I take it?" Andwise asked.

"Yessir."

"Now. You try it, Samwise," Halfred interrupted.

"He as well-preserved as they say, then?"

Sam frowned, looping the rope wrong then trying again. "I wouldn't know about that. He is pretty spry though. My da says he ain't changed a bit since, well, since a long time afore I was born."

"And Cord tells us that young Brandybuck cousin of his, Frodo, is his heir?"

"Yessir."

Andwise chirruped to the team.

"Over this way," Halfred instructed, pointing.

"Is this young Frodo looking to be a good Master, like Mister Bilbo's been?"

"Well, I'm supposing that'll be a while yet. Mister Bilbo's not showin' no signs of slowing down. But yes, I think so."

"He's about to come of age, as I recall," Andwise went on.

Sam nodded, fussing over the knot.

"And Cord seems to think quite highly of him."

"He's an upstanding gentlehobbit, is Mister Frodo. The bestest in all the Shire," Sam managed, then looked up to find Andwise watching him closely. He blushed before he could stop it.

"That's it. You did it, Samwise. The Lover's Knot," Halfred exclaimed.

Sam looked down at the two ropes knotted together side by side.

"We ain't talked yet about what-- How-- What we're gonna say to Da when we get there," Sam began, thinking on his own Knot.  "He's hard to talk
to--"

"Still?" Halfred said jokingly.

"He's always been stubborn, that brother of mine, but Bell could get around him," Andwise responded.

Sam remembered the way his da used to laugh all the time when his mum was alive. And he'd do about anything she asked; including let Sam learn his letters.

"Bell made your da-- Well, she made him whole I think. And I think when she passed, the best part of him went with her."

Andwise turned and looked back at Sam. "Do you remember the good times? Before your mum took ill?"

"Some of 'em, I think." Sam closed his eyes. "I remember Da swinging me around in a circle just holdin' on to my hands -- I thought I could near fly. And he showed me how to pick the very best conker and play it. Mine beat out all of 'em one year."

"He used to laugh and smile a lot, but he was different after mum took sick. That's when she started calling him the Gaffer. He got-- well, he just got old," Halfred said.

"Cord says he's turned a right curmudgeon since," Andwise said.

"He was a right curmudgeon afore," Halfred complained.

"You're just sayin' that 'cause he used the strap on you a few times," Andwise shot back.

Halfred grunted.

"And knowing you, you deserved it," Andwise added.

"The Gaffer's been a good da to me and the girls," Sam spoke up. "We work hard, and there's not much time for it, but-- He taught me how to carve, and I carved my own pipe. And he carved these little dolls for Marigold. And he brings things home all the time to May -- little pieces of ribbon and embroidery yarn. And he's always trying to find special treats for Daisy -- well, mostly to cook, but he's always watching for sommat she can use, and earning 'em in trade. And he takes me to The Green Dragon with him now."

Sam realised they were both staring at him. "But he-- It's like he's not happy while he's doing it. He growls a lot and people think he's a right old grouch, but I don't think he is," Sam said. "I think he just doesn't remember how not to be sad."

They were quiet for a while.

"So what are we gonna say?" Halfred spoke up.

"Well, I've been thinkin on that," his Uncle said quietly. "I'm just gonna tell him he's my brother, whether he wants to be or not. And he's the grandda to a little tiny fellow back in Tighfield who's gonna come see him, whether he wants it or not. I won't let him take my nieces or my nephew away from me -- away from Cammie -- any more. And I won't be letting him take out his anger at me on anyone but me. If he wants to take a swing at me, he can, but he don't need to be tossing his kin out in the road whenever they disagree with him."

Halfred snorted.

"It's time that what those old hobbits did to him and your mum -- and to you -- to all of us -- was forgot and buried with 'em."

"But-- Grandda Bert ain't dead," Sam said quickly.

"No, he ain't. But he might as well be. You saw how he is. He can't remember how to eat, nor where he sleeps, nor who your Gammer is. He thinks he's a faunt and he's always looking for his mum."

Sam nodded. "Da needs to know that. He needs to know Grandda Bert's forgot."

"I'm-- I'm tellin' him I want my sisters back," Halfred blurted out.

Sam looked at him.

"Oh, and my brother. I want him back too," Halfred added. "I think." Then he grinned at Sam. And after a moment, Sam smiled back.

And suddenly, after everything, he felt like crying. Tears rose into his eyes and Halfred looked dismayed.

"And you, Samwise? Do you know what you're gonna say?" Andwise asked quickly.

Sam looked away, swiping at his eyes. "No sir. But I won't disrespect him."

"And I'm not sayin' you should," Andwise said thoughtfully. "That's likely the most important thing with your da. More important than any argument you could make, I'm thinkin'. "

"What's that?" Halfred asked.

"His pride," Andwise answered, gazing up the road ahead. "Always took Ham a long time to admit being wrong about anything -- more often he just wouldn't. After a while, I just learned to let it be most times."

"Ten years is a long time," Halfred said.

"He left Tighfield with your mum forty years ago, and never looked back once. Never bowed, never broke," Andwise said softly. "Not even at her graveside."

Sam stared down at the joined ropes in his hands.

The cart was silent for a while except for the sounds of the team and the road.

"You wanna see a real interesting knot?" Halfred said. "This one you can use when you need to toss a rope a good distance -- up a tree or sommat."

"The Stone Fist. That's a good one. Show him the Rope Ladder too," Andwise agreed.

"Does it look like it's gettin' lighter up there, away north?" Sam said hopefully.

"Might be. Hard to tell, but it's not far now."

***

The mill wheel was chattering and groaning loudly. Even Ted was out watching it, his face pale in the watery morning light as his father stalked the river bank, eyeing the rushing water fearfully.

Frodo had already been down to check on the lowest holes to ensure that Broadbelts had indeed headed for her aunt's place. He caught the Headstrongs in a panic, attempting to put a couch on top of a table, and managed to get them to forget about the furniture and get themselves out of the hole. They had wandered off to her mother's, bickering as they went.

No one had slept much last night. He could tell by the haggard faces that had greeted him this morning when he had finally gave up on sleep himself and dragged himself out to see what the Water was going to bring them today.

Mostly, as Bilbo pointed out, he was letting himself be seen. The Master couldn't be perceived as cowering up on top of the Hill while the water rose. Bilbo himself had wanted to come down into town, but Frodo persuaded him to stay in the vicinity of Bag End and left him lurking around the front gate with the Gaffer.

He had finally decided the bridge was likely the best place to be. That or the mill, and he didn't want to be around Sandyman any more than he had to. He did want to keep an eye on the flood mark and an eye on what was coming downstream, just in case. He leaned on the stone wall over the rushing water, well aware that he was likely making anyone watching him terribly nervous.

Yesterday, after much foot dragging and delay, he and Old Snivey had managed to get the canvas rigged up and his hand cart set to go. Then he had asked the old tinker to help him with sorting through the dusty collection that Bilbo had in the farthest cellar. Bilbo assured him he wouldn't have any need for that many mathoms in another lifetime, much less this one. So they had passed time determining which things should really be saved for posterity and which should really go into Snivey's cart for someone, somewhere, who might be interested in a an ugly carving of a robin, an empty wasp's nest the size of a pumpkin, or the desiccated remains of a snake ingesting a chicken egg.

It had been late when they had finished carrying things down the Hill to load in the cart. Then he had exacted a promise from Old Snivey that he would stay around this morning and milk old Treacle and see to the ponies and check on Bilbo before he left. Bilbo had promised to set the old hobbit to work on something to keep him occupied for the day.

So when Frodo saw a wasp's nest speed by on the current, he dismissed it. There were likely a great number of wasp's nests upstream that had been washed out by the storm. But his heart started to hammer faster when he peered upstream and saw something else bobbing in the water: a makeshift wooden crutch.

He was running before the crutch bumped into the bridge, followed by all manner of parchment pages and bits of wooden crates. Old Snivey. And Wisteria. With the mud slipping beneath his feet and denying him traction, the distance up the Hill to Bag End had never seemed so long. He passed the Gaffer, puffing on his way down, but didn't slow or stop. No need. He knew what he was coming to tell him. He knew.

Bilbo was at the gate, gazing off to the west when Frodo ran up.

"Frodo. I'm afraid the old fool took off pulling that cart. And him just barely able to walk without his crutch. I couldn't stop him," Bilbo said quickly. "I sent the Gaffer--"

"Get help," Frodo gasped out. "He's tipped his cart over near the river somewhere. Or in it. Likely down at that second bend, or farther. I saw-- I saw his goods downstream," Frodo panted. "I hope he--"

"Go on lad. Go! I'll get--"

Frodo didn't bother to listen to the rest, he just ran.

Down the hill and past the hidden path leading off to his rock, then around the first bend. He nearly slipped and slid into the ditch going around the first bend himself. Then the straightaway farther down to the second, closer to the river, closer to that little incline--

That the hand cart had rolled down.

His heart was in his mouth. All he could see was the cart, tipped over sideways in the water, one wheel clearly broken, and the canvas almost ripped off by the current. But on the bank there were two figures. Two. He finally took a breath as he stumbled and slid down the embankment.

It was young Horace, bending over Old Snivey who was coughing and struggling to get up on one elbow.

"Mister Frodo. I got him," Horace panted. "I was scared, but I waded out and got him when I saw--"

Frodo stood, panting hard, gazing at the cart wobbling in the current, slipping ever so slowly along the shallows. He jerked off his coat and fumbled with the buttons on his waistcoat, tossing it aside as well.

"Wi--W--" Old Snivey was wheezing, but Frodo could hear what he was trying to say through the coughing. His granddaughter's name. Frodo waded out and felt the current grab at him, cold and fast.

"Mister Frodo!" Horace yelled in a panic. "What--"

"Wisteria!!" Frodo cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. "Wisteria!!"

She had to be in there. Hiding. She had to be. Not in the water. She couldn't have gone in.

"Mister Frodo! What's he doing out there, Horace?"

It was young Tin, and Frodo could hear others coming down the road, yelling to each other.

"Get a rope! Quick!" he yelled back as he waded out farther, fighting the current. "Wisteria!"

"It's just a cart, Mister Frodo!" he heard Tin yell. "Not worth risking--"

"A rope. NOW!!!"

Then he saw her, those dark eyes wide with fear as she stuck her head up at the sound of his voice. She was clinging to the top side of the cart, pots and pans swinging above her as the current tugged at the canvas, jerking at the frame. Frodo stepped forward then caught himself for a moment, glancing quickly at the current's direction and the position of the cart.

"Frodo! What--"

The cart jerked precariously sideways, water splashing into the cart bed, and Wisteria squealed and starting crying in terror. The frame and canvas ripped free and swept off downstream, dragging pots and pans behind them.

"It's a faunt-- There's a little un in the cart!" Horace yelled.

And Frodo slipped into the current, aiming himself at the cart. He misjudged it only a bit, but that meant swimming hard to head in the right direction. And at this speed, his weight might knock the cart off its mooring in the mud, or topple the little one off her precarious perch when the current pushed him into the cart. He dug in, arms and legs churning desperately in the water.

He could hear yelling behind him then he slammed into the cart hard.

All he could do for a moment was hang on, shaking his head to clear it and get his hair out of his eyes.

The screaming had changed to whimpering, but he couldn't see her for a moment.

"Stay still! Don't move!" He coughed.

His right hand had found the cart itself, but his left handhold was precarious; he was clinging to something in the bed that was sliding towards him. He groped around for a better handhold and the cart wobbled.

Wisteria screamed and someone on shore yelled as well.

"Sssshhhh, Wisteria. Sssshhh. Stay st--still. Just stay still n--now," he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. The water was cold and he was shaking with adrenaline as he pulled himself, slowly, testing which way the cart would go next. He was afraid she would launch herself at him and tip them both into the rushing water.

Slowly, he worked his way up the inside of the cart, finding a handhold then waiting to see if the cart shifted under his weight, then reaching again.

"Don't move, now. Just stay right there," he soothed.

He could hear voices behind him, but he wasn't paying any attention to who or what they were saying. He kept his eyes on Wisteria and kept repeating his litany.

Finally he reached the back and looped his arm around the rail, bracing his foot against the rail on the other side. Wisteria was shivering with fear or cold or both, as she clung to the rail. She looked as if she was going to leap at him and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Don't move now. Just stay still. When I say, we'll move real slow -- real slow. Ssshhh, don't move."

He chanced a look back at the shore. Old Snivey was still on the ground with Horace hovering over him, keeping him down. Tin stood nearby with two others. His heart stuttered in his chest. There was no mistaking that figure or that hair. He would know him from a league away. And he recognised the shirt and the pack spilling out on the shore beside him as well.

Sam. It was Sam leaning over someone kneeling on the shoreline beside him, furiously working on something. He blinked, thinking he must be imagining things, but no, it was him. Sam had come home.

Behind Sam he saw Bilbo trying to make his way down the incline with the Gaffer helping him.

Then the cart shifted, Wisteria screamed, and he had his hands full for a moment as she slid down the rail and into him.

He hung on with one hand, and managed somehow to anchor her around his neck with the other, her feet kicked at him wildly until he got them tucked around his middle. Then she was whimpering into his neck, her little heart hammering rapidly against his chest.

He gathered his strength and took a deep breath.

"ROPE!!!" he yelled with all his might back towards shore.

They could anchor the cart and keep it from going any farther, but then what? They certainly couldn't pull it towards them, against the current. They would have to go downstream--

The cart shuddered. No, that wouldn't work. He would have to tie it around them -- around her first. If they could get a rope in time--

There was a yell from the shore and Frodo looked to see the fellow who was with Sam twirling a rope with a knot on the end of it around his head. Sam was gazing up at it as it whirled above them, and then it flew towards the cart -- and missed.

The young fellow was quite adept. He skilfully pulled the rope back and began swinging it again. Frodo heard Sam yell something, but he couldn't make it out.

Then the rope was sailing towards him again. This time it landed within reach, and promptly sank, but he grabbed for it and managed to snag it and pull it to him. The end was knotted around a stone.

He heard the shout of approval from shore, but he was focused on getting the rope around Wisteria so that she wouldn't slip out of it no matter what happened. And he couldn't do it with one hand. He moved one foot carefully, realising the extra weight on that side might just twist the cart out from under them, and braced himself, then let go and hurriedly looped the rope down through her legs and knotted it, then around and under her arms and knotted it. He wrapped it once around his hand and grabbed for the rail.

He looked up. Yes. Someone on shore was thinking. The group was moving, at least two of them were, downstream along the shore. If the cart stayed put long enough, the group on shore might be able to get far enough downstream to pull them in with the current instead of against it.

But the cart had other plans. Giving one last long bumping shudder, it started to tip even farther. Wisteria screamed, the current caught the cart, and the whole thing rolled out from under them both.

Frodo felt something grab his foot and pull hard. He kicked loose and rolled over in the current as the rope jerked taut, yanking his arm in the other direction, but he managed to grab it with his other hand and hang on. Then he surfaced, face up, his arms pulled up over his head with Wisteria clinging on top of him, sputtering and coughing.

He couldn't see what was going on behind him on shore, but he could hear them yelling, and he could imagine the frantic attempts to hold them against the pull of the current. Wisteria was slipping away from him, the current too powerful for her to hang on to his neck, so he slackened the rope a bit, letting it slide through his hands as the tension pulled her up. But now she was having trouble keeping her face out of the water. Not strong enough to hold her head up, she was already beginning to choke.

They might not be able to pull both of them in quickly enough, but they could pull her alone -- tiny thing that she was. He glanced downstream. They could pull her in and he would take his chances with the river.

He let the rope slide through his hands until his fingers hit the knot and he could check it quickly.  She was secure.

Then he let her go.

As he rolled over in the current, he heard the horrified yells from shore and thought for a brief moment that he saw one particular face -- pale with fear -- one pair of gold eyes gazing back at him anxiously. He watched as Wisteria was pulled quickly and safely to shore while the current snatched at him and pushed him backward.  Then he curled up and braced his arms over his head and relaxed.

***

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