It was still coming down steadily when Frodo made his way up Hill Road in the murky grey of dusk. He normally would have cut across the Hill, but the footing was too treacherous, and he was too tired and sore to chance it. Marigold had said Bilbo had coppers heating in the bathing room and the tub was ready, but just to be dry and out of the rain for a bit would be a relief.

The chimney at Number 3 was mostly restored and the Gamgees would have a cosy smial tonight. Daisy had offered up fried potatoes and sausages to the wet and weary workers as proof that things were back to somewhat normal in the smial. Frodo's stomach was full enough and soon enough he would be dry and warm, but he wondered if Sam would be warm and full tonight -- and if the Gaffer even gave a thought to his youngest son -- or his eldest for that matter.

Frodo looked up at the grey sky, barely tinged with light from the setting sun, ignoring the rain runnelling down his face. Bilbo's report, when he had brought the Widow home to the Row late in the day, had not been good. There was much more damage amongst the Baggins' tenants from the gale last night than could be cleaned up in one day, or even two. They must only hope the rain let up soon. If it kept up, well -- they would have much more to worry about than downed trees and damaged privies -- much more.

"Frodo? Lad?"

He heard Bilbo's worried voice and looked up to find his cousin standing outside the green door of Bag End gazing down at him, oblivious to the rain.

"I'm coming, Bilbo." He reached the gate, thinking how tired he had been last night when he stumbled through that gate after--

"Old Snivey--" He looked towards the barn. "Blast!" He had forgotten about them.

Bilbo waved his arms and walked farther out on the flagstones, holding his hand up to shield his face from the rain. "Don't worry, my boy! I had the Widow down there before I took her home. She tended his knee and I made sure he had plenty of food and firewood. He is tending the ponies for us, since Grigory has his own problems at his place. And I caught him trying to repair that small pony cart." Bilbo gestured at him emphatically. "Get in out of this downpour while you can."

Well, that was a relief anyway. Frodo didn't have to worry about Wisteria being out in this as well as Sam. He opened the gate and climbed wearily up the steps, looking in the direction of the barn one more time.

"You look much the worse for wear, my boy." Bilbo grasped his arm and pulled him towards the door.

"I'm fine -- just hungry." Frodo stopped at the sill and looked down at himself. "Although I am completely filthy, Bilbo. I need to go strip under the rain barrel first. I have mud in places where self-respecting mud shouldn't go."

"No need for that, lad. There is going to be mud and water everywhere for a while." Bilbo shut the great green door firmly behind them, but the sound of the rain was still loud. "You sound like you could use something hot to drink. I'll bring you something in the bath."

Frodo realised that he was almost hoarse. "I think I out-talked Pip today. Some tea and honey should fix it."

"Ah, yes. Well, it would take quite a bit of talking to outdo our Peregrin." Bilbo frowned thoughtfully. "But I could tell from the looks on their faces that whatever you were doing was having quite an impact. I will be interested to hear how it went."

The interior of Bag End was almost sultry in comparison to the cold damp outside. Frodo closed his eyes and sighed in relief.

"All the coppers are on and there is fresh water in the bath for you. I think you will need something to help with those hands as well."

Frodo looked down at his raw knuckles. Oh yes, he would be sore and stiff in the morning if he didn't do something -- and not just his hands. "Thank you, Uncle."

Bilbo waved off his thanks as he hurried off down the corridor towards the kitchen. "Oh, and I believe Marigold put your robe next to the stove in the bathing room to warm, so just go on down there and strip out of those clothes."

Frodo thought seriously about the rain barrel for only a moment then headed for the bathing room. He'd had quite enough of cold rainwater dumped over his head today and he could strip and stand over the drain in the bathing room -- a pitcher of nice warm water sounded delightful in comparison to the chill of the rain barrel.

***

"Then I heard that the Chubbs' chimney is still down, and a couple of big oaks went down and blocked the road towards Overhill." Bilbo had dragged a kitchen chair into the bathing room and was perched comfortably next to the hot stove watching Frodo soak. "Drink that down now, Frodo. Else you will be stiff and sore -- and hoarse -- tomorrow."

Frodo obediently took another long swig of the hot spiced tea Bilbo had brought him. He could taste the herbs in it and hoped they would ease the aches he could already feel building in his back and his arms.

"There is a big one blocking the road to Little Delving as well. I doubt a waggon could get by, though we managed the handcart, with a lot of pushing and pulling." Frodo slid farther down into the water. "Do you mind pouring in another copper? This feels wonderful."

Bilbo got up and deftly managed to pour in the steaming water without burning any appendages of his own -- or Frodo's. He shook his head as he put the empty copper back on the side of the stove. "Well, we have a good fortnight or more of repairs ahead of us. I think we shall have to prioritise. There's just so much damage and not enough able bodies to go around. The Borrages lost their barn and the Stomms had a hole torn in their roof when that great old Horse Chestnut got pulled up by the roots and then flattened their privy. The Whitbournes lost their privy as well and the garden shed ended up lodged in their back door. The Ramsons--" He saw the look on Frodo's face and stopped the litany. "Well, the list goes on."

Frodo grimaced wearily and took another gulp of tea. It was like some vicious whirlpool -- the storm, the damage, the potential for worse if the rain continued, the responsibility to their tenants -- all holding Frodo in place just when he desperately needed to leave. Bilbo's litany gave him horrible visions of trees falling and branches flying about and Sam still on the road. If only Sam was safe at home, he wouldn't begrudge anyone his time.

"I don't know why the Hill tree still stands after that wind -- there were so many others down, from what I could see at the top of Number 3. It seems so -- capricious," Frodo said. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Sadly enough, yes. The Widow was quite busy with the worst of it. One of the young Ramson lads broke his leg trying to repair their chimney and the young Miss Borrage was sliced up badly when their kitchen window blew in. Steadman said the shutters were torn clean off. Grimm Whitbourne was knocked out by something flying through the air while he was out trying to cover his tools. The Widow'll have to head back down there early to be sure he hasn't taken a brain fever. Clemson Scrobbage slipped yesterday while he was trying to pull a lamb out of that gully that runs through their pasture, nearly drowned in the mud and the Widow fears he'll get lung fever." Bilbo sighed. "That list goes on as well."

"Sounds like the Widow will need you to cart her about tomorrow--"

"No, no. She insists that she can use her own cart. You and I are needed elsewhere I fear. I volunteered you to help with the Ramson's chimney in the morning, seeing as they lost young Mort," Bilbo said quickly. "We need to check on the rest of the tenants and find out who is free to help. And then we can cart a work crew from place to place and get more accomplished that way."

"I just wish it would stop raining. It will be hard enough dealing with all the damage, but if it is still raining this hard it will slow everything down." Frodo drained the mug and held it out to Bilbo.

"It will stop soon," Bilbo said good-naturedly, taking the mug. "There can't be any more water left up there to pour on us."

Frodo listened to the constant drum of rain on the bathing room vent above them. "Sam would say -- 'Don't be wishin' the rain away, Mister Frodo. In the morning, we'll be thanking the heavens and the grass and all will be greener for it'." But without Sam, he doubted it would.

Bilbo peered at him critically. "Finish washing up so you can get to bed, lad. You are tired and sore. It makes everything look much worse than it is."

Frodo blinked and reached for the flannel and soap sitting on the edge of the tub, but his fingers felt swollen to twice their size, and stiff as well. He rubbed at them futilely.

"Wait, this will help." Bilbo stood and picked up a familiar bottle, uncorking it as he walked to the tub. "You can put it on your fingers now and everywhere else later. It should do the trick."

Frodo grimaced and reluctantly held out one hand. Bilbo poured just a bit into his extended palm.

"Rub it in well, lad."

Frodo obediently massaged his hands with the pungent oil, gritting his teeth as it stung abraded skin.

Bilbo sat the bottle next to the tub and went to sit down once more. "Absolute magic, that oil."

"Yes," Frodo managed, closing his eyes. He was not sure whether to laugh or groan. His reaction to this smell was some kind of retribution--

Sam was relating an embarrassing moment from the day that still had him flustered. "Well, the Gaffer's fingers was painin' him something fierce and here comes Mister Bilbo with that oil -- right out into the garden! And there I am standin' there havin' to hold the trellis with both hands whilst Mister Bilbo pours it out and makes the Gaffer rub it in good. And there's that smell and all and me not able to move or, well, adjust my breeches or nothing!"

"And I finally had to tell 'em I got a cramp in my leg so I could leave afore somethin' popped loose. You gotta do sommat to hide that oil from Mister Bilbo or I'm gonna be -- well, I dunno what!" Sam said breathlessly. "But if he comes at me with it, there's no tellin' what might happen. I can't afford to get no cramps or hurts no more for fear he will be after me with that Elvish stuff."

It was completely unfair of him to do that to Sam, but Sam had pressed him back into the soft grass of the Hill rather enthusiastically and the resulting activities beneath the Hill tree had left them both happily sated, if a bit stiff the next morning.

Yes, this oil was irrevocably linked in his mind -- and apparently in Sam's -- with other things besides soothing aches and pains. Frodo groaned and shifted uncomfortably in the tub, glad that Bilbo was across the room.

"It will only sting for a bit."

No, it would sting a good deal longer than that, but at least his hands might feel better, even if nothing else did -- including his heart.

Frodo picked up the flannel and soap and tiredly began washing his neck. He wondered if there was any point, considering he would be back out in the mud tomorrow. Just a soak in the hot water might be sufficient. Was Sam enjoying a hot bath or a warm fire -- or was he even in out of the rain? He looked up to find Bilbo gazing at him questioningly.

"What? I'm sorry Bilbo. What did you say?"

"Our Samwise will be fine, my lad. He's upstream and away from all this." Bilbo waved at the ceiling. "Soon he'll be with family who love him beyond measure and haven't seen him in far, far too long. He'll likely be overwhelmed with all the attention."

"I assume you plan to tell me about his family in Tighfield, since no one else has," Frodo responded. Including Sam.

"I'll tell you what I know."

"I just want to know that he is safe," Frodo muttered. "I just want to get him back home." Then he realised that he had been so set on going himself, he hadn't thought-- "Did the Post come through today?"

Bilbo shook his head. "No. We will see about tomorrow."

"I'll send a note to him, care of--" Frodo looked up at Bilbo.

"Hamson, I expect, although Sam may be the only one there who can read." Bilbo leaned over and patted Frodo's hand. "And he will come home, lad."

Frodo shook his head. "I don't know. The Gaffer is stubbornly determined to act as if he never even existed."

"So the old coot didn't respond at all to your holding forth that Sam was just gone for a visit to Tighfield. Never acknowledged what you were
saying--"

"No." Frodo sighed. "The only one who did was Horace."

"Poor Horace couldn't be devious if his life depended on it," Bilbo said firmly. "The whole thing probably just served to confuse the boy."

"I was confused by the end of the day. And the girls looked as if the ghost of the Old Took himself had walked in and sat down at their table. Especially when I mentioned Hamson and Halfred." Frodo flinched as the cloth rubbed over a particularly tender spot on his elbow. "The Gaffer blinked a few times and turned a few shades of red, but never once let slip a word acknowledging Sam or his brothers or anything that I was saying. I began to feel as if I were invisible after a while."

"That pride of his." Bilbo shook his head.

"So why has everyone let the Gaffer get away with this-- this charade for years?"

Bilbo made a frustrated noise and took a drink from his own mug. "Including you, lad. And Sam himself, truth be told." He raised his hand at Frodo's sputtered indignation. "No, no. I realise Sam was caught up in all this when he was too young to know better. And you were newly arrived to Bag End yourself and quite ill with the same fever that took Bell away from us. You couldn't have known what happened at the graveside. And afterward, well--" Bilbo gazed up at a particularly fierce rattle of the vent, leaving the rest unsaid.

Frodo frowned -- likely he would never forget that day that a very young Sam had appeared in his sickroom, devastated and lost, just wanting company -- someone to talk to. But now it seemed they had never really talked about the important things.

"I do remember wondering about his brothers. I know Sam adored both of them, but when I was finally up and about and asked where they had gone off to, Sam went all white and sick-looking. I thought it was because of his mother and I didn't want to upset him. But later I know I asked you--"

"Yes, you did and I--" Bilbo sighed. "To be honest, I didn't press the issue myself to avoid causing more pain. But it was clear that there was something wrong long before-- Well, before Bell took so very ill with that last fever." Bilbo shook his head. "I kept hoping it would all blow over -- that everyone would come to their senses."

"Sense doesn't seem to factor into this," Frodo muttered and scrubbed, wondering briefly how mud had managed to get there. "It's as if we let him create this-- this whatever it is he is living in. We let him make his own sons just disappear. And we let him do it. We politely just stood aside and let him just eliminate part of his family." Frodo grimaced as he scrubbed futilely at his feet. "And now he's trying to eliminate Sam as well."

"I am inclined to agree, in hindsight." Bilbo was quiet for a bit, listening intently to the constant sound of rain above them. "But it was far too easy to just not talk about the situation. It was a family matter. The family didn't want to discuss it. Oh yes, there was a good deal of gossip about it all, but when the lads did not return and there was nothing further said of it by the family, that died down pretty quickly and life just went on as it does."

"But the girls and Sam. How could they--"

"Well, Daisy was not even a tween, the rest were faunts really."

Frodo frowned at that reminder. "So? What do you know? Why did the Gaffer do this?"

"I don't know the whole story. I'm not sure anyone does, really. And what I do know could take a goodly while--"

"Well, I am not going to rest easy just-- just sitting here with Sam out there somewhere until I understand what is going on. I feel as if I should have pushed harder. I should have known what was happening in his family." Frodo rubbed his eyes wearily. "I was so wrapped up in-- Well, I wasn't paying enough attention to why he was so--" He made an exasperated noise. "If I am going to bring Sam home, I need to know what I am bringing him home to."

Bilbo gazed at him and sighed. "I don't know if you can bring our Samwise home, lad. I think somehow he needs to do that himself."

Frodo frowned at that. "I know I need to stay here for now -- for the tenants -- for you. But it isn't what I want to do. It is what I know I must do. As soon as I can, I am going to make sure Sam gets back home." He waved his arm in the direction of the Row. "If understanding all this helps me get him home sooner, all the better. But I will get him back home with his family."

There was a long silence then Bilbo sighed. "It probably does not make you feel any better about it, but if it had not been over Sam's relationship with you, I am fairly certain that we would have come to this-- this dilemma over something else."

"No, it doesn't make me feel any better. It was me, not something else. And I will not be the cause of this," Frodo stated flatly.

Bilbo sighed, then got up and retrieved the last copper, pouring it carefully into the water. "Well, you soak a bit more. You are beginning to look almost yourself again."

"I'm fine, Bilbo," Frodo said quickly. Actually, he didn't feel fine at all. His stomach was suddenly sour and the headache that had dogged him all day was back. At least the hot water and herbs were dulling the ache everywhere else.

Bilbo picked up the chair. "Nonetheless, don't come up until you have all the kinks soaked out. And remember to use the oil."

Frodo sensed his uncle was making a fast escape once again and turned to protest, but Bilbo raised his mug.

"If I am going to have to tell that story, we will both need some more of this -- even my bones are aching tonight."

Frodo nodded in agreement, and leaned his head back against the folded towel, closing his eyes wearily.

"It is a rather long tale, I fear," Bilbo said softly from the door.

"As long as it ends well," Frodo whispered.

***

The rain had tapered off as they passed the Waymeet crossroads, and they had stopped at a likely spot to rest and feed the ponies and to cook a meal. Once they had got back on the road, conditions had improved so much that Sam had found himself frequently gazing back at the dark clouds that seemed to cling to the eastern horizon behind them.

Cord was a good travelling companion. He had welcomed Sam's help with the cooking and the team, kept up a steady stream of chatter, and not pressed Sam overmuch for talk. That was for the best, since Sam couldn't rightly find any words in him -- just some nameless dread that built with every league that they put behind them.

Now darkness had overtaken them, and the clouds behind them had been blotted from view. But he knew the moon was due to rise at some point. He dreaded seeing those distant ominous clouds touched with light, reminding him that it was likely still raining in Hobbiton, reminding him of all the things that could have gone wrong in the storm. Reminding him of those he had left behind under all those clouds -- all he loved and held dear--

"We'll likely arrive in the middle of the night tomorrow, lad."

Sam was startled by Cord's casual remark. The merchant had fallen silent since they'd last stopped.

Sam sighed and shrugged. "Well, that's sooner'n I thought I would ever get there."

"They'll make good time now we're past the muck. They're a good team." Cord made an approving noise at the ponies. "You still havin' second thoughts? Wantin' to go back?"

Sam tore his eyes from the view behind them. "Yessir, but I can't."

"Mmmm," Cord nodded. "Mind lightin' me a pipe then, since you don't plan on jumpin' down?"

After the hours they had spent together, Sam knew quite well where Cord's pipe and leaf were. He retrieved them both, glad to keep his hands busy.

"I should tell ya a bit about Tighfield, just so's you'll not be as out of place as a Breeland hobbit in Bywater when ya get there."

Like as not he would still be out of place, no matter. "I'd be grateful for it, as I am for all your help."

Cord shrugged. "Yer family have been steady customers, and honest and true friends to me. I owe Andwise an old, old debt I'll likely ne'er repay. And Anson, and yer young Hamson and Halfred are fine fellows as well."

Sam blushed at the praise for his older brothers, his heart suddenly beating fast. It had been so very long since he had seen them. The idea that he would see them tomorrow sometime just didn't seem real. He lit Cord's pipe carefully.

"As I recall, you and your sisters have never been to Tighfield. Am I right?"

Sam shook his head as he extended the pipe. "No sir. We've never. At least, not as I recall."

"No, best I recollect, that's right." Cord took the offered pipe, shifting the reins to one hand. "Well, it is a pretty little place. And all of it based on the soil thereabouts. Perfect for growing hemp and flax." He took a long draw. "Know anythin' about rope, boy?"

"No sir, not much anyways. Other than how to use it, how to keep it from fraying, and a few knots I picked up here and there." Sam looked at his hands, remembering suddenly the feel of straw sliding through his palms.

"So, your da never taught you no knotting? Nor talked 'bout makin' rope?"

"He taught me a few, for what we needed in the garden. But mostly he taught me all I know of plants and roots and seeds -- and soil." The Gaffer had never talked much of life before Hobbiton. Neither had his mum. But he remembered his Uncle Andy telling stories--

"Well, it's certain he knew ropemakin' when he left here, but that was a long while back. Now, Hamson -- I've ne'er hardly seen that un without a rope in his hands. He ties knots while he is talkin', walkin' -- I wouldn't put it past him to tie 'em whilst he eats!" Cord grinned around his pipe stem. "You just watch him and see what I mean. Always with a rope, either makin' 'em or tyin' 'em."

Sam smiled at the picture that presented. He could vaguely remember Hamson showing him how to make straw rope--

"He's a natural that one," Cord said, nodding. "Halfred is a bit different, I think. He's like Anson. Gotta soft spot for the animal end of the makings."

"The animal end?" Sam asked, frowning.

Cord laughed out loud. "I'm a fine story teller. Wander all over the place. Ne'er could tell a yarn!" He laughed again and poked at Sam. "Yarn! That is a good un. I have to remember that un."

Smiling in spite of himself, Sam realised that Cord was just one of those folks who was always cheery and somehow made you feel that way too.

"Well, back to the beginning I always say. Tighfield and surrounds has some prime land for growing flax and hemp both. There's fine quality linen woven here. Not only that, but some of the best lacemaking in all the four farthings -- maybe beyond."

Sam had learned over the years of climbing up to ride a ways and pick up some news of kin, that Cord carried special thread and yarns from the south into Tighfield and came back with stacks of linen and coils of rope and, sometimes, delicate lace pieces to sell to merchants as far away as Bree.

"But, with the best hemp and the best ropers--" Cord poked him once more and winked. "The thing Tighfield's really known for is makin' some of the very best rope in the Shire -- truth be told, the very best rope anywheres. And boy." Cord leaned over and spoke in a low voice. "Gamgee rope ends up in some pretty far off places."

There had been times when Cord's waggon still smelled of the docks -- smelled of the ships that used the long, sturdy ropes that his brothers and his cousins made -- ships that plied the deep rivers and sailed the Great Sea.

"If ya can believe it, there's Gamgee rope on ships with masts as tall as trees and sails big enough to cover the Grange," Cord whispered. "Ships sailing the Great Sea, looking like great birds with all manner of wings. Things out of your dreams."

For a brief dizzy moment Sam felt as if he was no longer heading for Tighfield and family, but off the very edge of the earth. He'd not been far from Hobbiton in his whole life, and now he was sitting beside this jovial hobbit who had travelled to the very boundaries of the Shire and beyond, and seen things with sails and wings.

Sam stared at the stone wall meandering alongside the road, but saw other things -- things out of his dreams.

"We're still in there, Ham. Me, the faunts--"

"I want this for our Sam. You should see his face when he talks of the things the Master spins out of those books -- far off places and kings and creatures and heroes-- Perhaps he'll marry and make a good life and ne'er set foot past Bywater, but if he can read -- he'll travel farther than you or I can imagine. Those words on paper will give him wings."

"Ain't seen the biggest of 'em meself, but the ones that come up the Brandywine are plenty big for this hobbit, I'm sayin'." Cord peered at him anxiously. "Samwise? You're lookin' a bit peaky."

"No. No, I was just thinking of the places that you've been and seen." Sam looked beyond the ponies' heads at the road ahead of them. "I just didn't have much time to think on travellin' afore I set out."

"Just sinkin' in, is it? I figure you ain't travelled much, eh?"

"Not far. Fro-- Mister Frodo has been sayin' how he wants to go on a nice long walk about, farther than I've been for certain. But so far it's just a few pins on a map--"

"Yep, those Bagginses have a yen to be on the road, and off it, so it's told." Cord took a few puffs and clucked at the team. "Well, Tighfield's a pretty town to travel to. Certain times of year, it can be a bit of a strain on the nose though. When they're rettin' the plants." Cord pointed to his nose. "Gets a bit ripe for them that aren't accustomed." He laughed.

"Rettin'?"

Cord shook his head. "I keep forgettin'. It's just hard to ken a Gamgee with no knowings of rope making. They let the hemp lay in the rain and the dew -- out in the field -- to get the fibres loosened up just right. Smells something powerful around here for a bit."

"I don't think anyone near Hobbiton grows hemp. Leastwise, I've never smelled it."

"Why bother when you have the hemp from here? Best land in the Westfarthing fer growin' hemp. And your kin have about the best chunk of it hereabouts. Have had it for a long while."

"My kin?"

"Your mum's folks -- Wilibert and Mimosa Goodchild. Their land produces most of the hemp your family uses to make rope. Has for years back. Back to the days of old Hob. Between them and the Tighs, that's about all the hemp grown in these parts -- nearly in the whole of the Shire, truth be told." Cord took a long puff of his pipe and looked over at Sam. "The Goodchilds is the better of the two, terms of quality -- longer and stronger fibre and--"

Sam realised his mouth was hanging open when he saw Cord grin at him and wink.

"But don't tell anyone I said that. I don't like to take sides in that old debate. Myself, I thinks the competition is best for all concerned."

His mum's parents -- the Goodchilds -- they had a hemp farm -- farms from the sound of it. They likely had tenants farming their land. Like Mister Bilbo did.

"There was a time there when there looked to be some competition in the rope making as well, but nothing came of that."

"My grandparents--" Sam began.

Cord waited expectantly.

"How are they?"

"Well, old Bert's is a curmudgeon. Always has been. He was old before he was young, that one. Havin' some trouble with his memories these days, I hear, and don't get out much. Miz Mim's not much better, truth be told, but they have Sig ta help."

"Sig?"

Cord cleared his throat. "Sigmund Weaver. A cousin -- twice-removed -- if I figure rightly. He's set to inherit the place far as I can tell."

Sam closed his eyes. A cousin -- twice removed. He had always listened with wonder to Frodo's tales of his life at Brandy Hall and his visits to the Great Smials. Rooms and halls full of relatives -- cousins and uncles, third cousins twice removed, and crazy maiden aunts whose exploits had always made Sam laugh and somehow long for a big boisterous extended family of his own -- long for something denied him by--

By whom? By what? He didn't even know.

It was hard to imagine. It had been just them for so long -- just the Gaffer and his sisters and him -- the Gamgee family. And they had managed. They had managed and that was how it was supposed to be, wasn't it? You were supposed to stand firm and hold on to your own what needed your care. If you let anyone else hold you up, they would likely let go and then where would you be?

But he wanted so desperately to let someone else do the holding right now, and the only hobbit that he trusted to hold on and not ever let go was the one hobbit on earth that he couldn't go anywhere near. And that thought made him start hurting all over again.

He opened his eyes and stared over the ponies' heads at the dim road beyond. All he had left was those waiting at the end of this road, whoever they might be, whatever they might have done, and he just needed to stop worriting over it and get there, and see what was what.

***

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