January 22nd

Frodo returned to Bag End the next afternoon, silently slipping into the front hallway and softly clicking the door shut. He was hoping to not disturb the irritable Hamfast Gamgee should Sam’s father be taking his accustomed post-lunch nap. But Frodo evidently didn’t have to worry about that possibility as he hung up his cloak and gloves and put away his walking stick. He could hear voices coming from his study.

“No. I don’t think that’s right. I distinctly remember seeing the lights coming up the tree trunk our first night there.”

“No you didn’t. You and Pippin were asleep before Haldir came back up the tree. Honestly, Merry, he’s got it right. You were asleep and he stayed up all night listening to the Elves talk. You know he understands Elvish and you don’t. Maybe you heard something, but I doubt it, what with all the noise you make snoring.”

“Humph,” Merry snorted, “that was Pippin. I’ve never understood how such a loud sound can come out of his little honker.”

Frodo tip toed down the hallway and peeked in. Sam and Merry were inside his study; Sam holding up a chapter from the “Red Book” in front of him and pointing to a passage. He had evidently been reading it aloud just prior to Frodo walking in the door. Merry was standing with his back to the hallway door, looking at a new map recently inked in by Frodo.

“Oh! Mister Frodo!” Sam squeaked as Frodo strode into the room, eyes twinkling and laughing at catching his friends red-handed. “I didn’t hear you come in. Look, I’m terrible sorry about bein’ in your study and reading your book and all. We’ll just leave now. Honestly, sir, I wouldn’t mess up your work or nothing.” Sam was flustered. He quickly put the loose pages back atop Frodo’s desk. One scattered away and headed directly towards the open hearth. Sam snatched it before it had a chance to hit the fire, uncreased it and respectfully placed it on top of the stack. He patted the stack of papers such as you would pat a child on the head, and grinned at Frodo in embarrassment.

Merry wasn’t as embarrassed as Sam. He turned and simply said, “Hello, cousin. So, this is what you’ve been working on holed up in here all this time. Nice map, but it’s of the Lonely Mountain out by Dale. We didn’t go anywhere near that. But the dragon does look nice.” He continued to study it until he was satisfied, then rolled it up and tied it closed with its attached white ribbon.

Frodo smiled. “Sam, I know about your reading the books when I am not around. I know you have been doing the same since Bilbo was here. Relax. You are always welcome to browse the library any time you desire. I promise to not tell Hamfast about it. Just leave my work desk alone, all right? I am in the midst of two different projects and would hate to have them mixed up.”

Sam swallowed hard and meekly nodded. Merry grinned as he placed the map back atop the stack of papers on the desk. He had grown up with his cousin at Brandy Hall before Frodo was adopted by Bilbo, and could easily read Frodo’s moods. Frodo was actually in one of his increasingly rare happy moods today.

“Been catching up on your beauty sleep in Hobbiton again?” Merry crinkled his nose in a wicked leer and winked. Sam punched him on the arm. “Ow!”

“Naught of your business, you letch,” Sam admonished. Frodo merely crossed his arms in front, cocked an eyebrow and smiled mysteriously. “Please forgive your idiot cousin, Mister Frodo,” Sam continued. “His Da never taught him no manners. Raised in the barn, he was.”

“Well, I hear Merry’s been spreading his beauty sleep all around the Shire,” Frodo retorted. “At least I have the sense to only court one lady at a time. And I do not have irate fathers coming after me with pitchforks.”

“That was a simple misunderstanding,” Merry made innocent eyes and grinned. “Those Underhill sisters look so much alike. They kiss pretty much alike in the dark too.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Frodo laughed and hugged his cousin. “Great to see you, Merry! And Sam. I am so glad you are both here. Let me get us some ale. I feel like doing a little celebrating.” Frodo strode past his friends and off towards the back of the smial.

Merry looked at Sam and shrugged his shoulders. Sam shook his head. Neither one knew why Frodo would be wanting to celebrate, but they followed him into the kitchen. He tossed a mug to each as they came into the room, grabbed a candle, then beckoned them follow him into the cellar.

“Must be something special if you’re tapping the Prancing Pony keg,” Merry said. “So, what are we celebrating?”

“Not that you need any excuse to drink an ale, Captain Brandybuck,” Sam grinned, giving Frodo his mug for tapping.

Frodo finished drawing ales for everyone, then raised his mug. “My lads, you are looking at a gentlehobbit who is now engaged to be married.”

Sam’s mouth flew open.

“Well, I’ll be hog-tied and gagged with a duck!” Merry slapped Frodo on the back. “Never thought I would see the day when a Baggins got married! Especially not you. Congratulations, Frodo. Sam…Sam…Close your mouth before it becomes a fly trap.”

Frodo grinned at seeing Sam so stunned and took a sip of his ale.

“So,” Merry wiped the froth from his upper lip, “who’s the poor old sod who agreed to marry you?”

“Meriodoc Brandybuck,” Frodo wagged his finger at his cousin and laughed, “you are a rascal through and through. Some day I am going to tell Iris you called her a ‘poor old sod’ and then you will have to deal with her wrath directly, and I shall not come to your rescue.”

Sam finally recovered and cleared his throat by taking a long sip of his ale. “Congratulations Mister Frodo! So, when are you and Miss Proudfoot jumpin’ the broom?”

“Sometime in mid-March. But we are traveling to Rivendell to get married. I want Bilbo to officiate the occasion.”

Merry suddenly frowned and put down his mug atop the barrel.

“But, Mister Frodo,” Sam sputtered, “that’s close by when Rosie’s due to deliver. She can’t ride to Rivendell. I mean … We can’t go. Couldn’t you get married here sometime after the baby’s born? Or have Master Bilbo travel over and have a big ole proper weddin’ and all?”

“Um, Sam,” Frodo gently smiled, “to be quite frank about things, I do not know how much longer Bilbo will be with us. After all, he is extremely old, and I do not wish to make him travel at that advanced age. Iris and I will go to Rivendell for a very private ceremony – just us and Bilbo and Lord Elrond, I imagine. And Gandalf, if he is around. It will really please Bilbo for us to come over. Then when we come back, we can have another, larger party, if that is what Iris wants. That will be after your baby is born. How does that sound?”

“Well, I can see your point about Master Bilbo,” Sam had to admit. “I just wish…Well, you deserve a right large wedding and all. I mean, something with fireworks and poetry and dancing and lots of friends. Gandalf should be here. Aragorn and Arwen and even the Lady of the Woods too. If anyone deserves it, you do.”

“No thank you, Sam,” Frodo shook his head. “I prefer a very quiet, small ceremony. Nothing loud. I do not think I could take a public celebration. My nerves cannot handle much excitement anymore.”

Merry cleared his throat and spoke up. “There’s another problem, Frodo. One you probably don’t know about. Why don’t we go back to the study?”

Frodo looked at Sam, who once again shook his head. Sam suddenly felt like he didn’t know anything anymore. Frodo shrugged his shoulders and they followed Merry back into the study. They all sat down and Merry continued.

“I frequently travel between Buckland, Crickethollow, Hobbiton and Bree. You know…doing a bit of trade with the Breelanders and overseeing the Shirriffs.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

“Look, there’s been a lot of movement of Men from the East up into the Old Forest and into the Bree area. Deserters and former members of the defeated Easterling armies. I don’t think Tom Bombadil is in the Old Forest anymore and the trees are growing wild again. And there are few Dunedain left to provide safety on the East Road and the Greenway Road south to Rohan and Gondor, much less protect the Shire borders. I’ve organized the Buckland Shirriffs into a volunteer hobbit patrol to at least keep the Shire borders secure. I’m working with the Breelanders on getting patrols started on the East Road from Buckland to Bree. But that’s not in place yet.”

Frodo was beginning to look worried. This was not good news. Sam frowned and turned his chair around to straddle it. Merry continued.

“Frodo, the last time I was at the Prancing Pony I overheard some troubling news. There’s a price on your head. My dear cousin, the Easterling men have a good description of you too – dark haired pale skinned hobbit about age 50 with only nine fingers. And they know you live in the Shire. You’re wanted dead or alive by the captain of the Easterling army. They blame you for their defeat. You and Strider that is. And since they can’t touch the King, they’re going after you. I’ve increased the Shire border patrols, but it’s not safe for you to be traveling out of the Shire. I’m afraid some of our own might even be tempted to violence against you in order to claim the reward.”

“I bet I can guess who you’re talking about too,” Sam said darkly, setting his ale down. “Look, Mister Frodo, with that sort of news you shouldn’t be traveling about for any reason. Especially not to and from Rivendell. And especially not with your lass.”

Frodo set his own mug down atop some papers on his desk and crossed his arms. “Sam – I will not be caged simply because some idiot has blamed me for their misfortunes. I am a free citizen of the Shire and the Kingdom, and I will come and go when and where I desire.”

“That’s all well and good for you, but what about Iris’s safety?” Merry asked. “There are plenty of free warriors in Bree wouldn’t think twice about killing anyone in your company as long as they ended up with your head on a pike.”

“And if they knew you two were engaged, well, they might hobbitnap her to get at you,” Sam quietly said. The air suddenly became thick with imagined unpleasantries.

Frodo unconsciously started rubbing the stump of his missing finger. He couldn’t risk telling Merry and Sam the real reason behind his decision to go to Rivendell in late February. “This does complicate matters. But I am determined that Bilbo is going to officiate at our joining ceremony. I will not let a rumor change my plans. And we won’t be leaving until later. We have time to take precautions.”

“Precautions?” Sam sputtered. “It’s best to not go! Jump the broom here and stay here. That’s all there is to it. No need to be taking unnecessary trips.”

“At least start wearing your mithril coat again, please?” Merry said. “I am serious about this, Frodo. Take precautions. And start taking them now.”

“I hate wearing that thing,” Frodo frowned. “I mean, it is not uncomfortable or bulky, but it reminds me so much of…of…well, you know. I really am loathe to wear it again.”

Sam got out of his chair and walked over to a large cedar chest under the window. He pulled out a non-descript brown wooden box and brought it over to Frodo. “Merry’s right. You may not want to wear it, but it’s the best protection for you, and you know it.”

Frodo held the box but would not open it. Sam removed the lid and pulled the luminous chain mail from its protective paper wrapping. It made a soft chinking sound as he shook the kinks out.

“If you don’t start wearing it, I’ll start following you around,” Sam stared intently at Frodo. “Somebody’s got to protect your stubborn skin, even if you won’t. And carry Sting with you when you go out again.”

Frodo stood up and took the mithril coat out of Sam’s hands, the box and lid falling to the floor with a clatter.

“No! I told you before that I will not carry a sword ever again.” Frodo was now angry. He looked between his two friends. He could read the unspoken determination in their eyes. Sam’s threat was genuine. And Merry would back him up on it, possibly even bringing in the Shirriffs as an armed escort. Frodo would see no way out of this dilemma except a partial capitulation.

Frodo looked down at the chain mail in his hands. He sighed and looked up at Sam. “I will endure the mithril coat again for your sake,” he said, poking Sam in the chest, “but I will NOT carry Sting around inside the Shire. I will carry it outside the Shire, but I will travel unarmed in my own homeland.”

Sam knew it was time to back off. “Well, all right, as long as you wear that mithril. Promise Merry and me that you’ll wear it any time you go outside.”

“All right. I promise. I do not like it, but I promise.”