11. Something New

They arrived in Hobbiton on the 23rd of March, on a bright morning full of sun and the smell of coming spring. Rosie greeted them at the front door with a smile, and led them to the kitchen, explaining that Sam had gone off to the market and their cousin had yet to emerge from his study. They followed her slowly, still recovering from their surprise at her very pregnant appearance. It was the first time they had seen her in many months, and though she carried the new weight remarkably well, with the strange beauty and grace that is granted expectant mothers, it was a far cry from the slip of a girl they had danced with only a year before at her wedding. As they entered the kitchen, Pippin dashed to the windowsill and leaned down to take in the sweet scent of the tarts that had been left there to cool.
“Apple tarts, Merry!” he exclaimed happily. “Rosie dear, you’re a treasure!” he said, leaning in to kiss her rounded cheek.
“Why thank you Mister Peregrin, sir,” she replied, blushing shyly. “It was expecting you that set it in my mind to bake them.”
“But that’s quite enough work for you today on our account, Mistress Rose,” Merry said, seeing her poised to begin setting out the necessities for the next meal. “You settle yourself by the window here, and guard those tarts, while my cousin readies the tea for us,” he added, steering her gently to the cushioned seat that had been set there.
He didnÂ’t remember it being there in previous years, but it was one of the many small changes that had crept in with the new female presence in the old bachelorÂ’s den. He and Pippin busied themselves putting together a small assortment of sandwiches and pastries under the shy direction of SamÂ’s young wife.
“You finish setting the table, Pip,” Merry said, heading for the hall. “I’ll go and fetch Frodo from his books.”
He walked slowly down the long passage, PippinÂ’s voice and RosieÂ’s clear laughter following his steps. He stopped before the study door, hand on the latch, and took a deep bracing breath. When he had come last November with the news of PervincaÂ’s death, he had been shocked by the changes that two short months had made. Frodo had looked worn and faded, like a painting left too long in the sun, though the brilliant blue gaze still shone clear and the sharp intellect behind it was yet undimmed. He had welcomed them at the front door that day, still gaunt and hollow-cheeked despite a yearÂ’s feeding up at the GamgeesÂ’ generous table. He had been quietly cheerful and had obviously enjoyed their visit, but he had tired quickly and taken to his bed soon after the sun had set. Later that first night, after far too much ale and talk, Sam had told Merry and Pippin of FrodoÂ’s strange words on the anniversary of his wounding on Weathertop. He had tearfully confessed his fears that far from healing with time, his Master seemed to be failing slowly, day by day.
“He eats little and sleeps less, just writing, writing all day and night… We manage to coax him out to the garden every now and again, but it’s no use…” Sam had sobbed quietly into his hands. “It’s like the Ring never left him.”
“Can we not send to Rivendell?” Pippin had asked.
Merry had shaken his head. “I don’t think there is much they have not already done. Frodo spent a lot of time with Lord Elrond when we stopped there on the way back. But I don’t think this trouble comes from the wounding itself, it’s his spirit that fades…”
“What can we do then? We must do something,” Pippin had said into the silence that had followed. The young hobbit had somehow continued to hold back the storm of tears and rage Merry could see brewing behind his eyes, and he had quietly reached out to his young cousin under the table, gently clasping the slender fingers in his own. The crushing strength of Pippin’s response promised a long night ahead.
“Keep watch, draw life and light around him. Perhaps when the book is finished he will turn to us again,” Merry had replied, but the words had tasted false on his tongue. If his own nights still brought restless dreams, what must roam his cousin’s nightscape, he who had been ridden by the Ring through terrors unknown and unknowable by any save Frodo himself?
No better answers had found their way among them that night, though he and Pippin had stayed up until the weak November sun had peaked through the shutters. They had left Sam asleep, head pillowed on the kitchen table, and walked out into the fields beyond the Hill. Crisp cool darkness had surrounded them, stars clear in the windswept sky, and Merry had silently followed his cousin, allowing him to set their pace and direction. As they had reached the prickly hedge that bordered the field, Pippin had veered off, and they had soon found themselves in the Party Field. The pale light of the stars glinted softly on the graceful mallorn and the young hobbit had stopped beside it, reaching up to stroke its silvered bark.
“It’s not right,” Pippin had started softly. “Heroes go home to wife and kin and plenty, not a slow death by inches, unknown and alone… It just isn’t fair!” he had continued, voice rising as the tenuous control over his emotions slipped.
Merry had stepped up behind his cousin and placed gentle hands on his shoulders. “Life isn’t fair, Pip… It never was, we just didn’t know any better.” He had felt the angry tension in his cousin’s shoulders coil beneath his fingers and suddenly realized he had badly mistepped.
The younger hobbit had shrugged him off and turned, eyes ablaze. “Don’t you dare talk down to me, Meriadoc Brandybuck, not after all that we’ve been through! I’m so sick of you taking this part with me, like I’m still a child to be soothed and cosseted.”
“YouÂ’re not…”
“Don’t!” Pippin had interrupted, fists clenched at his side. “How can you just accept that he should suffer so much and have so little peace at the end? Why are you giving up already?”
“Don’t you think I’d rather have some hope for him? But wishing won’t make it so! Some things are just too much for one hobbit to bear…”
“With that attitude maybe I should have buried you after the Pellenor Fields!”
The words had hung in the air between them, full of the anguish of every sleepless night since and the warring bonds of love, frustration and fear that tied them to each other. After long years of friendship and months of hardship on the road, the short weeks of separation during the war, capped off by deathbed vigils only mended by miracle, had been full of loneliness so painful they had done everything they could to forget it.
Merry closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of the angry sorrow on Pippin’s face. “I’m sorry…” he had murmured, the words barely carrying in the still air. He had felt strong arms about his shoulders.
“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said that… I just…”
“I know. I’m glad you’re too damn stubborn to give up, you crazy Took,” he had replied with a crooked grin.
“It takes a Took to keep tabs on you Brandybucks, or you’d forget to come back home.”
They had wandered back to Bag End arm in arm, sneaking pie and ale to MerryÂ’s room as they had often done as tweens. Merry had watched the pale dawn through half-closed eyes, red with tears and lack of sleep. He had pulled the blanket closer around his cousinÂ’s lightly snoring form and rolled into his own, comforted by the warm body at his back.

He now stood four months later, uncertain in the dim light of the hall, hand raised to knock upon the study door. He had promised his cousin to hope and to fight what had seemed inevitable. It had been easy to imagine a happier fate for Frodo while in EstellaÂ’s embrace, but reality was rarely as kind as dream. Before he had managed to work up the courage to face it however, the door opened quietly to reveal the smiling face of his cousin.
“Come on in, Merry,” Frodo said. “I’ll just finish up and we can join the others for elevenses.”
Merry followed him silently and leaned up against the small fireplace. Though still pale and drawn, he seemed at once more lively and more serene than he had been. Merry watched his cousin quickly clean and store inks and quills, and other oddments that littered the writing desk and marveled at how little the missing finger seemed to slow his movements anymore. One pale parchment page was left drying upon the wooden surface, covered in FrodoÂ’s elegant script.
Frodo smiled up at Merry and glanced back at the written page. “We have reached your part in the tale, cousin,” he murmured. “I hope I have not misstated any of the facts?”
“Of course not,” Merry answered quickly, scanning the text before him. He blinked back tears and turned quickly away.
“Merry?”
“It’s strange seeing it written like that. It’s almost as if it’s about someone else…”
“I sometimes wish it were,” Frodo said, catching Merry’s eyes with his own intense gaze. “I’d give anything to spare you lads what you went through for my sake. Yet I do not think any others could have done half so well as you two did with the cards you were dealt,” he added with a small smile.
“There’s nothing remarkable in our survival, just pure stupid luck.”
“You did a lot more than just survive Merry, and even if you choose to forget it, the written page will not,” Frodo replied softly, fingers brushing down the edge of the parchment. He shook his head and smiled up into his friend’s face.
“Come, cousin, I believe I caught a whiff of apple tart this morning, and there’ll be little left if we don’t hurry,” he said, catching Merry’s arm and turning towards the door. “I hope your appetite has grown along with your legs, my friend. Mistress Rose has decided that Sam and I should match her bite for bite, and while he’s doing well enough with it, I have been disappointing her all winter. You two rascals will be a good distraction for her, though I dare say she’ll be preoccupied enough before too much longer.”

*** *** ***

That day and the next had been spent in the kitchen and garden of Bag End, mainly scrambling about to predict and preempt RosieÂ’s every move. She seemed to have gone into a frenzied flurry of cooking and cleaning, which by FrodoÂ’s whispered report had started late last week. He and Sam had done their best to keep up with her and distract her from the least reasonable projects, but they were doubly glad for the extra help.
“I remember my sister doing much the same with her first,” Sam remarked, handing Pippin another dish to dry. “Nesting, mum called it… I’m not sure why, but she just reordered every closet in the place in those last few weeks, and well near drove her husband mad with cleaning.”
“Well, if it marks the end of her term, then it seems clear your wait will soon be over,” Pippin replied.
“That would be lovely…” Sam sighed. “I don’t doubt that the little mite will be quite as much trouble outside as in, but I’m that anxious to hold him safe and sound.”
“It’s to be a boy then?” Frodo asked from across the room where he was folding the table linens.
“Anything the lady pleases, so long as it is soon.”
“Your wish is my command, husband,” Rosie said from the doorway where she had paused, leaning hard on Merry’s arm. He had volunteered to accompany her on a short stroll in the garden while they cleared the supper table.
Sam hurried to her side, wiping sudsy hands on his shirt, and helped her down onto the bench. “Is it time then, love?”
She nodded once, and a few minutes of frantic activity saw all three of the bachelors present dashing off. With Frodo headed to the GamgeeÂ’s home and Merry off to fetch the Cottons, Pippin was left to ride about through Hobbiton, tracking the midwifeÂ’s many stops that day. His search led him to the very last hole on the road out of town, which according to her previous patient, Mistress Burrows had been following to her next call.
His knock at the front door had received no answer, though he could hear voices somewhere within. He had eased it open, the cracked blue paint peeling under his fingers, and looked into the shabby confines of the windowless room. A single candle flickered on the table, pale wax pooling into a shard of pottery. The floor sloped unevenly downward to the entrance of the next chamber and Pippin wondered what thoughtless wretch had dug so incompetently: the dwelling was sure to flood at the first sign of rain. Touching the taper he had found on the shelf by the door to the small flame, he stepped down to the second door. A soft rustle and quick movement in the darkness beyond the small circle of light made him shudder. Who lived in such a hovel with the Shire so bountiful this past year? How had this escaped the notice of the good folk hereabouts? Or had it? Pippin made an effort to push aside the questions, vowing to further investigate in the morning.
“Mistress Burrows?” he called, knocking on the thin panel that served to close what was likely a sleeping chamber.
Soft voices came clear to his ear then and he took a step back from the door.
“Hold on lass, rest a bit while you can. I’ll send whoever it is off.”
A wedge of bright light struck his eyes, and a plump silhouette filled the narrow opening.
“What is it you’re wanting, young sir?” the old hobbit’s voice grumped at him.
“Mistress Gamgee’s sent me to fetch you…” he said hesitantly, blinking in the glare.
“Things have only just started?”
“Well, it did take me an hour to find you,” he admitted, finally able to make out the midwife’s blunt features. The grim line of her mouth was set in a frown he could tell was more worried than irritated.
“And who might you be?”
“Peregrin Took, mam, at your service.”
“Hmph, well, I’ll be there soon, lad. Go on with you now,” she said and started to close the door.
“What do you mean ‘soon’? How about now?”
“Look here now, Master Took, this brave lass here is on the point of delivering her babe alone and needs me here now. Young Rose Gamgee, bless her heart, will be well aided by her mam and husband while she waits. These things take time, and if she’s sent you so soon, she’ll keep some time yet. Just you mind your manners and make yourself useful to her in the meantime.”
Pippin stared for one stunned moment at the door that had closed in his face on the midwifeÂ’s last word. Turning back into the dark kitchen, he stared at the miserable space.
“What a bleak place to come into the world,” he murmured to himself.
He blew out the small candle in his hand and set it back by the door. Striding from the tiny dwelling, he mounted his mare and turned her head towards the Hill. Riding through the empty streets of Hobbiton, he reflected darkly that more damage had been done to the Shire than he had thought when a lass was left unaided in such desperate circumstances. He reached Bag End just as Merry was leading away a pair of ponies, still hitched to the CottonsÂ’ cart.
“Come help me with these lads, Pip. There are more female Gamgees and Cottons in that kitchen right now than either of us can handle,” he called with a grin.
“I’m only back a moment actually…”
“What’s happened? Couldn’t find the midwife?” Merry asked, concern coloring his voice.
“I found her… She is presently occupied though,” he started and went on quickly to explain the situation he had witnessed. “From all I’ve seen and heard, and I grant that’s not much, a new mother needs a lot of help the first days. Pearl didn’t leave her bed for a week, as I recall. Someone should sit with her when Mistress Burrows comes here.”
“I agree with you there, but are certain you’re the right one for the job? Wouldn’t she rather have another woman there?”
Pippin scuffed the dark soil beneath his feet nervously. “There has to be a reason she was left to fend for herself in that place, Merry. I don’t know why, but I think a stranger might be more welcome than a knowing face.”
“Alright. We’ll do as you think best, but I’ll ride down with you to escort the midwife up here when she’s done.”
After settling the other animal for the night, Pippin led their ponies to the front door while Merry snuck in to the back pantry. They were both fully familiar with every possible entry point in and out of the comfortable dwelling, and he was grateful for their youthful explorations this evening. He gathered various preserves and winter vegetables and an assortment of other easily transported items he found on the well-stocked shelves. Sneaking across the hall to the spare bedroom he occupied while in town, he added several of the fat white candles that were scattered liberally around the room. As he backed out of the room with two bulging satchels he bumped into FrodoÂ’s slight form standing just outside the door.
“I trust it’s not mischief you’re up to on this night?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at the sack in Merry’s hand.
The younger hobbit remained silent, uncertain of how much of PippinÂ’s theory he should reveal. He couldnÂ’t image his cousin being less than sympathetic to her plight, but all of Hobbiton had left the lass to her fate, after all.
Frodo shook his head, puzzled but unconcerned. “I’m sure you’ve got your reasons. Tell me in the morning.”
Merry nodded gratefully and slipped out the back. Pippin me him outside and saw their cousin quietly close the door with a wave.
“He knows?”
“He didn’t ask, and I didn’t know what to tell him. We’ll have to account for it in the morning though. How did you do?”
“Well, I told them the midwife needed a report and they all trooped off to get one from poor Rosie, I guess. I did manage to swipe a tart and two fresh loaves from the sideboard before they all came back,” he said, proudly producing the snatched items from behind his back.
“Lovely, let’s go before they notice.”

*** *** ***

The ride back was short, but as they entered the dark dwelling, they could tell enough time had passed for the lassÂ’s labor to reach its peak. Loud gasping moans and sobs could be heard from the behind the flimsy bedroom door. Pippin dropped his sack upon the table and hurried across the room.
“Mistress Burrows? Is everything well?” he called loudly.
“No, Master Took, if that’s you again. Be useful or be gone!” she shouted back.
Merry stirred behind him and Pippin felt his strong hand on his shoulder.
“This is not your affair, Pippin, you needn’t do this.”
“Someone must,” he replied and slowly eased into the brightly lit chamber.
He shyly turned his eyes away from the lass on the bed and the midwife laughed.
“No time for modesty, lad. I’ve little doubt you’ve seen enough of the cause of her troubles to face for once the results. Fetch a blanket from that chest, she’ll be cold enough soon.”
He moved to the only other piece of furniture in the small room, a dark chest of fine wood, intricately carved with flowers and birds, and thoroughly out of place with its surroundings. He gently draped the threadbare blanket over the lassÂ’s straining form as she gasped through another long spasm. She fell back onto the pillow and lay shivering on the bed for a short time before curling forward again around the pain. Pippin unclasped his cloak and wrapped it about her thin shoulders. As the moment passed and she fell limply against the thin mattress, he looked down at her. Her dark curls were damp with sweat and her sunken cheeks flushed, and though she looked like a victim of fever, with dark circles beneath too bright eyes, he thought she might have been pretty once. She certainly couldnÂ’t be much older than he was. He fished out his handkerchief and gently mopped the moisture on her face.
“Is it always like this?” he asked, turning to the old hobbit who knelt at the foot of the bed.
“For some… But the babe is coming the wrong way first, and that’s the main trouble here. I’m about to try to turn him round.”
“You can do that?” Pippin asked incredulously.
“Sometimes…” she said, reaching into the battered satchel at her side. “Hold tight, lass. It shan’t be pleasant, but it is a necessity,” she added with a gentle pat on the girl’s knee. Pippin watched her take a long swig of what looked like brandy and pour a generous dose over each hand. She leaned forward and her hands disappeared under the blanket. He winced in shocked sympathy for what he imagined was going on beneath the tattered cloth and grasped the lass’s trembling hand. Her nails dug into his skin, but he bit back his complaint and simply squeezed the tensed fingers reassuringly. Beneath the sound of the young mother’s ragged breathing and her occasional whimpers of pain, he could hear the faint murmur of the midwife’s whispered prayer. He certainly hoped the Valar were listening this night.

*** *** ***

After his cousin had disappeared into the bedchamber, Merry had gone around the small room and lit every candle he had brought. The light revealed the poorly built dwelling for what it was: barely more than an oversized burrow tunneled into a low bank. Someone, likely the poor lass in the chamber beyond, had attempted to add a few comforts to it, and the space was well kept. The small table was scrubbed clean and the floor swept, though the sudden excess of light had flushed out a pair of glint-eyed rats, which he hounded until they scurried out through a small chink between the doorjamb and the wall. He jammed a handful of moist earth from the neglected garden outside into the hole and added several small rocks for good measure. It would not stop the vermin for long, but a proper job could wait for daylight. He stored away the goods they had brought down and started a fire in the small grate. He doubted that the meager stack of firewood that sat nearby would last more than one night, but he would haul back another load after taking the midwife back to Bag End.
As he swung the kettle over the flames, he mentally turned over the possible explanations for the girl’s position. Unlike Pippin, who was still somewhat more naïve about the many ways the young could fall from the path of acceptable behavior, Merry refused to assume she was necessarily innocent of contributing to the trouble she had found herself in, though he was just as shocked that no one had had the decency to find the lass a better situation, if only for the sake of the child. He was pulled from his quiet ruminations by the sudden increase in the volume and frequency of the pained moans issuing from the other room, and he silently hoped the scene on the Hill was less desperate-sounding or poor Sam would be simply beside himself.
‘It probably sounds a lot worse than it is…’ he told himself, setting out the teapot and cups.
As if to give his last thought the lie, a particularly loud groan, almost a scream, tore through the air. Merry approached the door, concerned but hesitant to distract the midwife with his presence. Another great cry decided him, and he stepped in just as the tiny newborn in the midwifeÂ’s hands let out a hiccupping wail of his own.
“Are your hands clean, my lad?” she asked him without looking up, gently wiping at the little face.
“Uhm, well….” He stammered uncertainly.
“Likely clean enough, I imagine,” she said with a frown. “Grab that towel beside me and hold it open.”
She put the squirming child into his outstretched hands and, quickly binding and cutting the birth cord, she wrapped the little lad snuggly in the soft cloth. She waved Merry towards the mother, who lay panting against his cousinÂ’s shoulder, and returned to her task. He settled himself at her side and started to hand her the warm bundle he held.
“He’s a fine strapping lad you’ve got here…”
“No,” she whispered, turning her face away.
“Will you not name him at least?” he asked softly.
Silent tears were her only response, and he tucked the child back against his shoulder. He looked up at Pippin, whose bewildered expression likely mirrored his own, and walked out with a sigh.
Sitting in the chair where he had waited by the fireplace, Merry gazed down at the infant in his arms. As he wiped at the moisture still clinging to one delicately pointed ear, the child blinked gray-blue eyes at the movements so near his face, yawned hugely and fell fast asleep, breath whistling softly against MerryÂ’s shirt.
“May grace go with you all your days, little one. Not every night is this dark,” he murmured, pressing a kiss on the tiny forehead.

*** *** ***

A long half hour later, Pippin emerged into the now well-lit main room to find Merry ineffectively nudging at the flames with the sleeping infant cradled in his lap. He took the long branch from his cousinÂ’s hands and roused the fire. He quickly set the tea to steep and cut a thick slice of crusty bread, which he slathered with dark honey. Clutching the dripping slice, he slid down next to MerryÂ’s chair, his back against the wall. His shirt was soaked with sweat and his fingers bruised, and he was dizzy with relief that the main portion of the nightÂ’s work was over.
“I can’t believe I’m the fourth child my mother bore. I don’t think I could do this more than once!” he declared tiredly.
“I don’t imagine it’s this difficult all the time, or there would be far fewer hobbits about,” Merry replied with a quiet chuckle.
“Right you are, Master Brandybuck, the lad decided to come out contrary-wise, just as you did,” the midwife said as she shut the door behind her. “Well, who else would you be, too tall and walking in with that scamp,” she added in response to his surprise at her use of his name. She sat gratefully in the seat Merry had vacated for her and quietly sipped the strong tea Pippin had placed into her hands.
She soon heaved herself from the chair with a tired sigh and picked up a small basket she had earlier set beside the bedroom door. Moving to the table, she took the little one from MerryÂ’s arms and gently lay him down. Movements quick yet tender, she cleaned and dressed the infant, talking all the while in a mixture of senseless endearments to the child and gruff advice to the two young hobbits at her side. Bundling the little lad into a warm blanket, she placed him into PippinÂ’s arms with a last pat on the cheek for each of them.
“He is lucky that it is Rose Gamgee and no other who’ll be delivered later tonight. The Cottons always had room for one more at the table and I’m afraid he may need the care of another mam before long.” She fixed Pippin with a solemn gaze saying, “I place this child and his mother in you charge for tonight, Master Took. I’ll return in the morning.” Setting her satchel over her shoulder she stepped out into the night.
“Back soon,” Merry murmured with a last glance at the babe, and followed the midwife out of the door.

After a short stop at her home for fresh clothes and a few words to her family, Merry had accompanied Mistress Burrows up to the Hill. The bright lights and almost festive atmosphere at Bag End made a sharp contrast to the benighted misery they had so recently left, and the plenty he had grown up to regard as normal now seemed to him garish and almost obscene in its excess. He watched quietly from the doorway as Mrs. Cotton greeted the midwife with a warm smile and ushered her off to the large bedroom beyond. Wandering through the small sitting room, he saw RosieÂ’s father press a brimming mug of ale on a fretful Sam who now paced the kitchen, having been firmly put out of the birthing room by the assembled womenfolk. Frodo, who had tucked himself into a quiet corner of the room to observe the nearby chaos, shot Merry an amused grin, obviously greatly entertained by the expectant fatherÂ’s discomfiture. Some of MerryÂ’s conflicted feelings must have shown on his face however, for the older hobbit quickly crossed the room and pulled him outside into the night.
“What’s happened, Merry? Where’s Pippin?”
“Minding a newborn, if you can imagine that,” Merry replied, a touch of hollow amusement in his voice.
“Where?”
Merry stared out into the dark fields below the Hill, trying to gather his whirling thoughts and emotions. Shame and outrage mingled with the bitter loss of his last illusions that the Shire was untouched by the darker tendencies of Men, and he was hard put to express his disgust without attacking the very character of the residents of this beloved little town. He dared not stretch his sight, freed by travel of the blinders of the homebound, to acknowledge that the seed of that evil could not grow in a heart without the flaws to feed it. Not yet. He let go of as much as he could of the more abstract aspects of his worries and came back to their source, to the lonely lass across town.
“It isn’t my place to say, as Buckland has no reach this far west of the Brandywine, but… none who look to us want for shelter or food, and not even girls in this kind of trouble need face the consequences alone.”
“Speak plainly, cousin. What is this about?”
“Mistress Burrows just delivered a fine lad tonight in a lightless, airless hole barely fit for a rabbit. The lass had no kin and no friends about her, save a stranger who happened there by chance,” he said, voice low and tight.
“I didn’t know…”
“I guessed as much,” Merry replied, turning to face Frodo. “But someone had to have known, and yet nothing was done.”
“’Twas done a purpose, Mister Merry,” Daisy Gamgee said, stepping into the circle of light pouring from the open door. “Her mate came down on the wrong side during the Troubles and Posey hadn’t the sense to feel shame for it. Not till much later anyways, when the scoundrel turned into a penniless sot and it was far too late. Once the Hornblowers had washed their hands of her, folks in these parts lost too much to just forget it. She was lucky he fell into a ditch before he beat the babe from her.”
“What a horrible thing to say!”
“The truth isn’t always pretty, Mister Frodo, sir,” she said, walking back through the door without another word.
The bitter weight of her revelation hung heavy in the cool night air.
“Even Buckland won’t be far enough for a fresh start for her,” Frodo murmured, shaking his head.
They both knew too well the speed that news traveled across the Shire, especially the more scandalous sort, and the poor lass would indeed find few doors open to her.
“I’ll take her out of the Shire, to Bree or Archet, as soon as the babe is old enough to travel,” Merry said quietly.
“Can we not approach her family first? Surely…”
“No. I know her sister. Pansy lost her husband to the Lockholes and was left with five little ones to see to. If Posey’s parents haven’t come for her by now, they won’t. Some things you just can’t fix and sometimes it’s best to leave the past behind,” he finished.
“Sometimes it is,” Frodo agreed, catching Merry’s eye. The young hobbit had the sudden intuition they were no longer speaking of Posey and her little lad. A queer fluttering anticipation filled him, his heart reading a world of meaning from those three words and from the sad but serene countenance of his cousin. The puzzle pieces fell into place, and the reason for the returned peace in Frodo’s face struck him: the fight against the dark slide into despair had been neither won nor lost, but his cousin had made a decision regarding his own fate, and he had the determined look of a hobbit prepared to accept what mercy would come without expectations for more. A deep swell of love surged through Merry then, and he pulled Frodo’s frail form into a fierce hug.
“Some things are worth keeping no matter what,” he whispered against his ear, voice rough with emotion.
“And some are better given away than held too tight,” Frodo replied, gentle hands smoothing circles against Merry’s back. The gesture, so familiar a thousand memories returned at the touch, threatened to break his self-control altogether.
‘Even now he tries to comfort me, but can nothing comfort him back?’ he thought, despairing.
Frodo slowly pulled away and looked into his eyes.
“Just be merry, Merry,” Frodo said with a grin.
Merry heard himself make a strange strangled sound, half giggle half sob, at the hideous play on words that had always delighted his cousin.
“That’s a truly awful joke, Frodo Baggins!” he said, gently slapping his shoulder. “It aught to be punishable by law.”
“You’ll have the ear of the Thain before too long, though I hope he never gets too serious to tease you from your worries.”
“Yes… But who’ll explain them away when you’ve gone?”
“You don’t need me for that anymore, Merry,” Frodo said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Go help Pippin, we’ll do fine here tonight.”
Merry watched him walk back into Bag End and heard his clear voice join with the others inside.

*** *** ***

She woke, curled on her side around the fading pain in her belly. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking in the wavering light. The sight of the teapot on its tray nearby suddenly brought to the fore a raging thirst she had not noticed before and she eased herself upright. As she drank down the first cup of weak tea, she twitched aside the cloth that covered the other half of the tray and discovered several slices of crusty white bread slathered with dark honey. She hungrily crammed the first into her mouth and grabbed a second as she gulped down another cup of cold tea.
“There’s more out in the kitchen. You needn’t hurry so.”
She turned to the door, startled by the quiet words from the young stranger standing there. She slowly put down the teacup and swallowed the last crumbs on her tongue. He smiled at her and hesitantly entered the room, a small bundle cradled against his chest.
“I’ll go make another pot for you, I’m sure this one’s gone quite cold by now,” he said approaching the bed. “Hold him a moment,” he added leaning down to rest the sleeping lad in her arms.
“I don’t…”
“Just a minute, I’ll be right back,” he interrupted and hurried out with the teapot.
Frowning at the half open door, she shifted the slight weight on her lap against her more comfortably. The baby, tucked deep into his blanket, made a soft snuffling snort and she looked down at his sleeping face. She stroked a gentle finger down the round cheek and the little rosebud mouth opened slightly, seeking her fingertip. A tiny smile quirked her lips.
“A right proper hobbit, aren’t you? Already looking for your sup…” she murmured.
She watched the tiny eyelashes flutter open, revealing the slate blue eyes of a newborn, and she was caught for a long moment by that unfocused gaze.
“It’s a little late for supper, lad, but if we stay up awhile we can call it first breakfast,” she finally said, tugging at the laces of her nightdress.
Peeping past the door that now stood ajar, Pippin felt a satisfied grin creep over his face as the newest resident of the Shire took his first hungry taste of life. He quietly nudged the door almost shut and set the teapot by the fireplace. Lighting a well-deserved pipe, he stepped out to smoke under the stars, watching their pale movements late into the night.

*** *** ***

Young Elanor Gamgee, the first child born at Bag End within memory of those present, made her entrance into the world with the rising of the Sun. Rosie, exhausted but radiant received those who had waited the night through in her home with all the grace of a queen. If Merry and Pippin’s absence in that first hour were noticed at all, it was quickly forgiven for the fuss they made over “the fairest babe in the whole of the Shire”, as they declared her with all the authority young gentlehobbits can muster on such matters. Only Frodo, who was privy to the night’s sad tale, spotted the telltale signs of fatigue and worry, well concealed by their genuine joy for their friends. Sam’s eyes were all for the precious child in his arms, and the awe and love in his face warmed their hearts. In the mingling and milling about in the large bedchamber, Frodo found himself standing between his young cousins and took each of their hands into his.
“While there is life, there is hope,” he murmured. “Always there is hope.”