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I stopped short in the doorway, surveying the scene before me with barely concealed dismay. Frodo Baggins lay on the settle, propped up on a pile of pillows, and aiming a dart at the opposite wall of the Bag End study. On a small table next to him lay a smouldering pipe, clearly not the first of the evening, since the small room was filled with an aromatic brown haze. "Good heavens, Baggins, how can you breathe this foul stuff?" I demanded testily. "It's positively murky in here."

Baggins did not reply, but let the dart fly. It was only then that I noticed the darts already embedded in the far wall of the study were beginning to outline what looked remarkably like a map of the boundaries of the East Farthing. "Hmmm," Baggins did not glance up at me. "Very nearly to Crickhollow, I should think. Gamgee, do hand me that case, there's a good chap."

I gave an inward sigh, but did as requested. At least he couldn't smoke any more of that foul weed as long as he was scraping on that infernal fiddle. But Baggins, after withdrawing the instrument from its case, gave it only one plangent pluck before setting it down again, and turned his attention back to me. "It was the Toddles, was it not?" he mentioned, nearly indifferently. "And did they all manage to survive?"

"Well, yes, although I'm not sure that I had anything to do with that outcome," I sighed, as I settled down in my favorite chair near the fire and gratefully propped my feet up on the accompanying footstool. "Good sturdy stock, those Harfoot. Just as well, since they insist on making their homes in those eternally damp riverbanks."

"Ah, you are being much too modest again, my dear Gamgee. There is no finer healer in all the greater Hobbiton area, as you yourself well know." Baggins' voice was warm as he studied me in the unmistakably hazy room. "The Toddles were quite lucky to have you, whether they acknowledged it or no, old friend. And at least you had something with which to occupy yourself. I am not nearly so fortunate, it seems, and the criminal element in Hobbiton is either defunct, or trying its utmost to force me to retire and keep bees in the Wild Woods out of sheer boredom."

"Unlikely, I should think," I gave an amused smile at this familiar complaint. "You've been bored before, my dear Baggins, and you shall, undoubtedly, be so again, and yet here you still are. Why not simply relax, dear chap, and content yourself with a good book, or perhaps the paper? Something will present itself in a day or two; it always does."

But indeed, that proved to be a generous estimate, for not a moment later, a fierce pounding was to be heard on the round green door of Bag End. The rather excited piping of a young voice was heard, and then Widow Rumble escorted the owner of the voice down the hall and to the doorway of the study. She announced the visitor, who could be seen peering from behind her elbow, in a dubious tone, and gave the young hobbit a clearly unimpressed eye. "He wouldna stay in the hallway, as he was asked, Mister Frodo, but I suppose as it's that important he mustna listen to his betters."

"No matter, Mrs. Rumble, please don't trouble yourself on the matter." an amused Baggins surveyed the young tween, who was fairly bursting with the importance of his mission. "I believe the both of us will be most interested in whatever news young Ned has to convey to us."

With a parting polite cough of doubt, the ample housekeeper wordlessly expressed her opinion to the contrary, and departed back towards the kitchen and the preparations for the evening's meal that had been thus interrupted.

"Now then, Neddy," I turned my attention to the newcomer, not before drawing a grateful sip of the mug of hot toddy with which the housekeeper had just presented me. Capital women, I thought briefly to myself. It was a fine thing, however, that Bag End was large enough to accommodate her in a manner that allowed her to remain, for the most part, quite unnoticed. With a bit of difficulty, I snapped my attention back to the young hobbit, who was twisting a worsted cap in his hands and looking up at me hopefully, as the more approachable of the pair in the room.

"It's the Missus, sir," he squeaked deferentially. "She's that upset, sir, and banged me off to fetch Mister Baggins, and I was not to have no for an answer, sir, no ways."

"Then I expect you might want to ask me directly," responded Baggins mildly, examining another dart.

The young hobbit gave a convulsive gulp at the thought, and continued to mutely beseech me for assistance.

"Oh, good heavens, my dear fellow, can't you see the little chap is awestruck in the presence of the great Baggins?" I gave a comfortable chuckle. "And would not the Missus to whom the child refers be a relative of yours?"

Baggins let the dart fly in an unmistakably peevish manner. "So she claims," he retorted. "I've never quite sorted out the Sackville business, but I suppose there is a Baggins connection somewhere. I assume she's misplaced her umbrella again, or something of the sort, but since there is little else to do in this dismal burg, I may as well pay a visit. I'd be glad of the company, if you'd wish to accompany me, Gamgee, but if you've better things to do, I'd entirely understand."

&&&&&

The autumn breezes were sudden and fierce, and the red and gold leaves gusted about our legs in swirls, as we set off on the road to Mistress Lobelia Sackville-Baggins' smial. It lay at the far side of Hobbiton, and was one of the finest in the area. Indeed, some privately considered it a bit too fine, for not an opportunity had been lost to add a brightly colored decorative eave, or a finely-fretted window frame, and the gilded front door was indeed a marvel to behold. Baggins gave a dismissive sniff when the edifice came into view as we walked up the long walkway from the main road, lined with stately lime trees which were now all nearly bare. I quite agreed, but said nothing. Baggins' relationships with what remained of his closest relatives were notoriously poor, and I thought it prudent to remain supportive but silent for the moment.

The door was whisked open very nearly as soon as Baggins could knock on it, and a gawky stripling in an elaborate outfit of a ceremonial nature bowed quickly to the both of us visitors. "Mistress Sackville-Baggins' best to you, good sirs, and please follow me, as she is ready to see you."

"That would certainly appear to be the case," Baggins gave me a wry smile, and followed the awkward footman into a room that was as elaborately arrayed as could have been expected.

The mistress of the house, equally elaborately arrayed, rose regally at our entrance. "Frodo," she murmured, holding out her hand to him. "How marvelous to see you again."

"I am as equally enchanted, my dear lady," Frodo briefly touched her hand, giving it a perfunctory brush with his lips. "However, I understand that there are matters of import regarding which you wish to consult me?"

"Ah, a hobbit of business these days, are you not, dear Frodo?" she gave him a frosty smile. "But excuse me, my dear sir," she turned to me, with a haughty glance. "I'm not entirely sure that we are acquainted?"

"Samwise Gamgee, my friend and consultant." Baggins allowed a testy edge to enter his voice. "I find him invaluable on these matters of, as you say, business. You may feel quite free to discuss anything you wish before him."

"Now I remember you," she continued to study me coldly. "The gardener's son, I believe. Very well, Frodo, I suppose that is entirely your own affair. You may as well both be seated."

Baggins' face remained impassive, but I noticed the subtle tightening of his jaw. Fully aware of what that implied, I hastened to take a seat on one of the ornamental and unwelcoming chairs, and gave the mistress of the house a slight bow of deference. "Thank you kindly, my lady, for remembering me. Indeed, that is who I am."

Baggins shot me an undecipherable glance, but silently took my lead in finding his seat as well.

Satisfied, Mistress Sackville-Baggins walked to a chest at the side of the room, and pointed to it. "It's my silver. Twenty-four teaspoons and a silver teapot. All were present at tea time yesterday, and this morning, when I required them for breakfast, they were quite gone."

At this announcement, I started trying to work out how one hobbit could require four-and-twenty teaspoons for breakfast, but Baggins stifled a yawn of boredom, and rose again to examine the chest. "Locked, no doubt?" he drawled.

The owner nodded sharply. "That goes without saying, surely. One can never trust the help. The keys to the chest, as well as the smial itself, were in my possession and under my pillow. Everything was locked quite securely; I checked the doors and windows last night as I do every evening."

"Of course," murmured Baggins, and moving over to the window near the chest, he withdrew a small glass from one of his pockets and began to examine it minutely. "Nothing here," he muttered, "solely the normal streaks of a hasty autumn cleaning. A smallish amount of dust, nothing out of the ordinary. Fingerprints on the glass to be sure, but with no attempt to wipe them clean, so assumably those of the housemaid. Footprints below, those of a female, Harfoot by the spread of the toes, but wait…" he lapsed into silence, studying the floor carefully. "Gamgee! You wouldn't happen to have an envelope on you, would you, old chap?"

I sprang up, recognizing that particular timbre in his voice. "Here you are, Baggins." I thrust a sheet of paper originally intended for a bill, that I had carelessly stuffed in my pocket before setting off for the Toddles, out to him. "You could fold that up, I suppose."

"Capital, capital," Baggins exclaimed with poorly disguised excitement. "That will do nicely indeed." He bent over the floor near the window, scooping up what appeared to be dust into the paper, and then rose, giving the puzzled mistress of the smial an animated nod and smile. "Indeed, my dear Lobelia, if I may be so bold, I do believe you've given me the first stimulating puzzle I've had in months. I am most indebted to you. Oh, and I shall certainly endeavor to find your teaspoons while I'm at it. No, I beg you, don't bother yourself. We shall find our own way out nicely enough, Gamgee and I. You shall hear from me before long. Come, Gamgee, we must be off!"

And we were gone before it quite registered to an obviously dazed Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that her upstart remotely-connected cousin had addressed her by her proper name.

&&&&&

"The first thing to be done," an energized Baggins informed me, undeniably puzzled as I was by his actions, as we walked out the garish front door, "is to find out who's been about the place. No point in asking the haughty Lobelia herself; I doubt that she knows half of who goes in and out of her smial. No, Gamgee, we must be asking a more lowly member of the household, and one who is trustworthy. What do you know of young Ned? He seems taken with you, I couldn't help but notice."

"Got his mother through a bad spell of the winter fever, last year," I answered promptly. "Decent boy, and quite perceptive, as well. He might indeed be the one you'd wish to speak to. Can't say much about the rest of the staff there, as I doubt that I've ever had occasion to call on any of them."

"Then Ned it is," Baggins agreed decisively. "He must be the hobbit she sends off on errands and marketing. I can hardly imagine that she sends that footman of hers out and about much, especially dressed the way he is. And I suspect young Ned will be sent off soon enough to replenish the supply of wood for the fires, for it promises to be a wet evening. She was down to her last log in the drawing room, and I noticed the pile under the left side eave as we entered. We may as well make ourselves at ease behind this hedge for a bit and mark who comes and goes."

Stepping into the shadow provided by the thick juniper hedge, we made ourselves as comfortable as possible, I finding a stone wall on which to perch, and Baggins leaning against the pine that providentially stood nearby. But the first to depart from the Sackville-Baggins' smial was not the hobbit we had expected. Instead, it was a young gentlehobbit, expensively clad, with a general air of arrogance and superiority only partially offset by a notoriously pock-marked face.

Baggins gave a low whistle. "Lotho Pimple-Face," he breathed. "There is a scoundrel who has not been seen about for a good many months. Odd his mother did not mention that he was back in residence."

Lotho stopped just outside the door and barked out an order. Shortly, a stamping and snorting pony was brought around from the back of the smial, with no small amount of difficulty, by the diminutive Ned. "Took you long enough, boy," sneered the pony's owner. "But I forget your sort know little of fine animals such as this." Despite his words, it appeared that he did not know much more about the animal in question, for it took a good deal of exertion and cursing on the part of the pony's owner before he was finally astride, and with a vicious clout to the ribs of the troublesome beast, he was finally off. The young Ned watched him go with a troubled look that was only partially lifted when Baggins stepped from the shadows and motioned him over to us.

"He's no call to go treating that pony that way," he was still frowning as he joined us in the shelter of the hedge. "It was fine-tempered enough 'til it sensed the Master was about."

"Doesn't look as he's had it long," observed Baggins quietly.

"No, I can't say as I've ever seen Master Lotho with a pony such as this," declared Ned, losing his previous trepidation at addressing Baggins in the face of his concern over the animal's treatment. "We've the cart horses, as the Missus uses, but they're nobbut like this sort of pony."

"And when did Master Lotho come home, Ned?" I unobtrusively took up the questioning. "Can't say as I've heard that he was back in Hobbiton lately."

"And he won't be for long," Ned shook his head, "not if it's like the last few times. Just comes in, in the middle of the night, with a fuss and roar, and puts the Missus into a proper fit, every time. And then he's gone, just as sudden, and the Missus bites our heads off for any trifle for days."

"How very instructive," Baggins pursed his lips and gave a thoughtful whistle. "The next time you've in town, Ned my lad, have an extra mug at the Green Dragon on my behalf, and if any other bit of news strikes you as something that we might find of interest, give a message to the innkeeper that you wish to see Gamgee, here, or I. I don't think it would do to have you seen stopping by Bag End, unless you were sent by your mistress, but I would very much appreciate it if you kept that in mind. And I understand that your mother had the winter fever last year? Here's a bit of recompense for helping us out today. You might want to get her something warm; I've heard the upcoming winter may be a bitter one."

"Why, thank you kindly, Mister Baggins," Ned nodded gratefully at the piece of gold Baggins held out. "Not that I wouldn't mind helping you out anyway, no mistake. That Master Lotho is a fierce one, and naught good ever comes o'his visits. I wouldn't mind seeing the last o'him, and whatever the Missus might say, I wouldna be surprised if she don't think the same."

&&&&&&

The Green Dragon was a-bustle with the congenial traffic of a late chilly afternoon. Those hobbits who had had business in town were seeking out a warming draught to cheer them on the nippy walk home, and those who were local residents were in search of some camaraderie before doing likewise. But the inn-keeper cocked a friendly head as he saw us enter his establishment, and was soon on his way over with a pair of frothing mugs to our customary quiet back corner. "Evening, good sirs," he greeted us cheerfully. "Promises to be a wet one, don't it, so may as well have something to fill your bellies afore you head on back."

"A perfect plan," I concurred, with a smile, drawing my pipe and a pouch out of the pocket of his jacket. "I say, Barleyman, you wouldn't happen to have some Buckland pipeweed laid about the place, would you? The stuff my friend here prefers is a trifle too strong for my tastes."

"Odd as you should mention that," Barleyman's face fell at the request. "I had a fair supply laid up, but bless me if I know where it's gone off to. I never heard that mice had much of a taste for it, but I can't think of who else might have been in the storeroom, 'cepting my lads, o'course, but naught else has been touched. Right strange, that is. I've some on hand from out Hardbottle way, but nary a trace o'Buckland. I sent a lad over to Michael Delving for more just yesterday, but he's had that hard a time trying to find any of it, likewise."

"Ah, well, I suppose that will do," I shrugged. "Nothing beats Buckland, of course, but Hardbottle weed is fair enough in its way."

The innkeeper soon returned with a small packet, but after I had filled my pipe and properly tamped it, I turned to find Baggins staring at the patrons of the inn in an unseeing manner, obviously lost in thought.

"Odd, isn't it," he mused, tapping the table thoughtfully with his long fingers. "I hadn't heard any news of the harvest having been less than normal. Strange indeed that the supply should be so low that someone should decide to filch it. Perhaps I should send a note to cousin Merry for particulars."

"Well, I don't think the Hardbottle is all that bad, really," I gave a speculative drag on the pipe, just to test it out. "Perhaps more of the Buckland got shipped out West Farthing way than usual."

"Possibly," Baggins murmured, and then turned to me with a frown. "You get out and around a good deal, Gamgee. Have you ever seen a pony like Lotho's before?"

I was rather startled by the question, but thought carefully. It had been a fine animal, to be sure, but with an unusually dark and glossy coat, and particularly long lean legs. In fact, it very nearly had not been what one might call a pony, but what I had seen referred to in some of Baggins' mustier books as a horse. "Can't say as I have, Baggins."

"Thought as not," he replied, and his gaze was suddenly far away. I knew to stay quiet, then. I had seen that expression before.

&&&&&

A word about Baggins and me. I had grown up next to the smial, Bag End, in which I now live. My father was the gardener for Bilbo Baggins, then the owner of Bag End. Bilbo Baggins was a solitary bachelor, given to disappearing on long rambles for months on end, and known for entertaining a very odd assortment of visitors from outlandish places outside of the Shire, as well as for giving large and elaborate parties, a trait that allowed his fellow residents of Hobbiton to overlook the previous two. But when I was still quite young, he unexpectedly brought a new member into his household, a young tween who was said to be a distant cousin of his, Frodo Baggins.

Frodo Baggins was an unusual hobbit in many ways likewise, and initially had difficulty in assimilating into Hobbiton society. His appearance somewhat weighed against him, being taller than most and markedly lean, with dark hair and startlingly blue eyes that often appeared to see more of one's thoughts than one meant to show. In addition, he seemed to have odd interests, he was frequently found with his nose in the dreariest of books, and his conversation was regularly abrupt and peculiar. Perhaps that was why he took such an interest in me, for I was young enough to find him infinitely fascinating, and sought any excuse to assist my father at Bag End, in hopes that Mister Frodo would come seek me out and tell me of his latest discoveries and theories, both of which he had a great many.

When it became apparent that my vocation lay in being a healer, rather than following in my father's footsteps as a gardener, he was one of my greatest champions, giving me any book that he thought had useful information, and even going to the extent of teaching me to read the elvish script, to allow me to expand my knowledge to their healing wisdom as well. And when Bilbo Baggins disappeared that autumn night, some five years ago, Frodo Baggins soon offered me a chance to live at Bag End as well. I eagerly took the opportunity, and not just because my sister Marigold and her husband Tom Cotton showed no signs of wishing to dig their own smial, but rather were still comfortably settled at Number Three, Bagshot Row, along with their constantly expanding young family.

So, through the intervening years, we had become quite contentedly established together at Bag End, and he had gone from being Mister Frodo to Baggins. He was my closest and dearest friend, and I his, although the matter never was brought up between the two of us.

&&&&&

The next day Baggins was gone. I came back from an early morning call (young Smollett with the scratching pox, an ailment he was blithely passing around to his unfortunate family, but to which I was by now most providentially immune), to find a hastily scrawled note pinned to the study hearth. "Gone to consult cousin Merry. You may be hearing from me sooner rather than later. Regards," and his scribbled signature.

I can't say that I was entirely surprised, since he had apparently been up most of the previous night, judging by the amount of stale pipeweed smoke still left about the room. Seizing the opportunity to air out the smial, I opened up the shuttered windows, and gave the cloudy grey skies a speculative look. Rain by afternoon, most definitely, and I hoped that he had had the sense to hire a cart in Hobbiton, instead of setting off on foot, as was his custom. Whether or no, it would be a few days before he would be returning, and I gave the study fire a dejected poke. Life was always undeniably tedious without his company, I had to confess.

&&&&&

Three days later, I was trudging up the muddy path from Hobbiton, shivering a bit in the late afternoon's cold drizzle and thinking wistfully of a warm fire and a mug of the Widow Rumble's excellent hot brandy flip, when a stranger came out of the gathering shadows and fell into step with me. He was a weathered old hobbit, stooped and lean, roughly clad and with a gait that spoke of a hard life on the Water. However, he was a chatty old soul, and I was glad enough for the company, so we fell in talking about one thing and another, until we turned the last bend in the road, coming into sight of Bag End with its welcoming smoke barely discernable in the darkening sky.

"Well, it's here I must leave you," I stopped and held out my hand for a farewell shake. "Do you have far to go?"

"One never knows where the road may lead us," he replied with an odd laugh, "but I would be glad enough of a hot cup and a bit to eat afore I went my way, if you could see your way to it, good sir."

Well, it was not a night to be on the road, there was no doubt about that, so I replied without hesitation, "Not only shall you have just that, but a warm bed in which to sleep tonight as well, or my name isn't Samwise Gamgee. Come along then," and led my willing companion up the path to the front door of Bag End.

"Come in, come in," I urged him, as he seemed to pause in the doorway with a strange reluctance.

"Ah, this'd be too fine for the likes of me," he muttered harshly, stepping back into the shadows.

"I thought as much myself, once," I answered, with a sudden sympathy, "and yet here I am. Come on in, my good fellow." I turned to remove my sodden cloak and hung it on the hook in the front entryway, giving him a chance to gather his courage, and then turned around again to see Frodo Baggins standing there, giving me a warm smile.

"I never knew that," he murmured, and reached out to clasp my shoulder as he saw my confusion. "I'm sorry, my dear Gamgee, I didn't mean to startle you so, really, I didn't. I just couldn't resist the chance to playact a little longer. Besides, I'd really rather no one in Hobbiton knew I was back, not quite yet, but that was no excuse to trick you. I'll just let Mrs. Rumble know I'm back; I don't think she would take nearly as well to being surprised as you."

He would not tell me much about where he had been, as we sat in our customary cozy corners in the study that evening, other than admitting that he had paid a quick visit to Brandy Hall, and other locations as well. But as we rose, to retire to our respective rooms for the evening, he put an arm around my shoulder in an unusual demonstration of affection. "You've the kindest and truest heart I've ever known, my dear friend," he said softly, giving me a searching look. "And this smial is all the finer for your presence in it. Good night, my dear Gamgee." And he was off down the darkened hall, candle in hand.

I found it difficult to fall asleep that night.

&&&&&&

I was in town the next morning, replenishing some of my supplies and trying my best to avoid dripping eaves and sodden muddy streets, as the rain had let up for only a short while, when Barleyman's boy found me exiting the apothecary's small shop. "It's that young Ned, as belongs to Mistress Lobelia," he explained, guiding me toward the tavern with a firm grasp on my jacket sleeve. "An' since Mister Frodo ain't about, it'd be you as he needs to see, or so he says. An'summat about a free mug on Mister Frodo too, but I ain't payin' no mind to such nonsense as that."

"Well, he is right on the mug business," I laughed, as I allowed myself to be steered in the direction of the Green Dragon, "and I suppose it was I who should have mentioned that to Barleycorn. But have a care, my lad, I'd rather keep this jacket in one piece, if you don't mind. I'll not give you the slip, you needn't worry about that."

Ned was waiting patiently at the long polished counter, and gave the innkeeper a triumphant look when I confirmed Baggins' request, and paid for it myself. Matters of business having been satisfactorily concluded, Ned and I found a secluded table, and he took a deep sip from the mug. "Mister Lotho's taken off again," he then announced, a white froth still covering his upper lip. "My, but that is a fine brew! Anyroad, he and the Missus got into it something fierce afore he left this time, and I heard her throw summat against the door, soon as he left. Don't rightly know what it was, but it's in a couple score pieces now."

"You didn't hear any words?" I asked, wishing that Baggins had given me an indication of the sort of information that he was expecting to hear. "Names, mayhap? Of people, places, anything of the like?"

Young Ned shook his head regretfully. "No, Mister Gamgee, none of the sort. But there was one more thing. He had me fetch that pony of his, and as I led it out, it made this odd sort of noise, not loud, but sociable-like. An' I swear I heard something answer it back. Mister Lotho, he took off in that big of a hurry, but it seemed t'me there were others in the dark, on the same sort of ponies as that one Mister Lotho has."

"Hmm, very interesting," I responded thoughtfully. I really wasn't sure at all what it meant, but certainly Baggins would know. "Very good, young Ned. Finish your brew, and I'll make sure that the next time you come to town, you won't be such a stranger to Barleycorn, whether you are on our business or not."

&&&&&

Ned's information was more informational to Baggins than to me, for when I found him that afternoon, foraging through some dustier than normal volumes, usually packed away in a chest in the hallway of Bag End, he immediately stopped his search and contemplated me with a thoughtful look. "Ah, so it's come to that," he commented cryptically, and turned back to the study, hands clasped behind his back and staring through the window out into the drizzly afternoon.

I followed, of course, and patiently awaited the outcome of his ruminations. But it wasn't long at all before he turned back to me with an air of decision, and curtly muttered, "The pieces are falling into place, old friend. But this isn't the usual lot, not in the least."

That unsettlingly brilliant blue glance searched me once again, and he added, almost reluctantly, "I'd be much obliged, Gamgee, if you'd accompany me. I'm asking you to take a very great risk, however, and I cannot pretend otherwise."

"You know you needn't ask, Baggins," I replied immediately, with a slight smile. "Just give me my instructions, my friend, and I am ready to follow you anywhere."

For just the briefest of instants, his face softened. "I know, my dear Gamgee," he murmured, and then the moment was gone. "It's to Frogmorton that we must go, and there's not a minute to waste," he declared determinedly. "And Gamgee, these are desperate sorts. Do bring a weapon, won't you?"

&&&&&

It was already beginning to darken as we left Bag End that late autumn afternoon, and the rain had progressed from a drizzle to a steady determined downpour. But there was no point to wishing it otherwise, so we made the journey to Hobbiton wrapped as warmly as we could in our traveling cloaks, while there was still light enough to do so. We managed to catch the stable on the outskirts of town just before they shuttered up for the night, and Baggins hired a couple of spirited ponies, suitable for a fast ride. "This might be a difficult mount," he apologized, handing me the reins of one of the animals, "but time really is of the utmost importance. If we cannot catch up with them at Frogmorton, it is most likely that they will slip from our grasp, and it may be many months, if not years, before we have another chance at them. And there will be much harm they can do in that time."

Who these parties, to whom he was referring, were was a mystery to me, but I had learned to ask my questions only when Baggins was prepared to answer them, and now was most certainly not that time. So I nodded, gave my pony a rather trepidant pat, and hoisted myself on its back. Fortuitously, it gave a snort of assent as it fell in behind Baggins' mount, and we were soon making good time on the great road east.

Hour after hour seemed to pass as I was jostled on the back of my beast, and yearned for the end of our journey, no matter what dangers might lay ahead. I am not a skilled rider, I must admit, and could not help but be envious of the manner in which Baggins, riding ahead of me, seemed to float above his pony, no matter the rough terrain underfoot. The ponies had been fresh and well-fed, and apparently eager for the chance to be out and stretch their legs, so we rode tirelessly on, well after dark. The rain had continued, so there was no moon to guide us, but the road was wide and well-established, and our ponies seemed to have no need of its light as they bore us to Frogmorton.

&&&&&

It was well past midnight when we reached the small hamlet of Frogmorton, on the banks of the Water. The smials that lay along the upper bank were dark and shut up tight against the rain, and even the small inn, the Golden Perch, had left no lantern lit for the stray traveler, for who could be expected on such a night? Baggins, who had slowed his pony as we entered the town, drew it to a halt, while we were still some distance away from the inn, and then turned back to a clump of trees that grew near the road. He motioned to me, as best I could tell in the gloomy fitful light that shone, from time to time, from a break in the clouds. I followed, and dismounted next to him.

"We cannot risk bringing the ponies any closer," he murmured, 'but we may well have need of them suddenly. I must awaken the local constable, but I'd rather you find a secure place for the animals, somewhere out of sight, but close by the road."

"Why, certainly, Baggins," I agreed at once, "but surely it's rather late to be waking up anyone?"

I saw a brief smile, as well as the flash of bright metal, as he adjusted the cloak around himself again. "My appearance, at such an unusual time of night, will not be entirely unexpected by the good Brownlea," he mentioned quietly. "These have been troubled times for the village of Frogmorton, and the local arm of the law has every reason to wish to assist us."

With another searching glance along the road into town, he laid his hand upon my shoulder. "Now heed me well, Gamgee, it is essential that you do. Once I have Constable Brownlea and his hobbits in place, I will shine a light in front of the entrance of the Golden Perch once, for five seconds only. When you see that, mount your pony, and wait under the trees. Should anyone ride this way, follow at a distance, and make sure that you are not seen. We will be flushing them from out of cover, and I must know if there is another lair nearby, as I suspect there to be. But have a caution, Gamgee, do not allow them to see you! These are desperate sorts, and I suspect quite unlike any sort of minor ruffian we have hitherto seen. Keep your knife at the ready, my dear fellow, and take care."

With a certain amount of foreboding, for it was quite unlike Baggins to warn me in such a manner, I nodded, and gave his shoulder a return clasp of acknowledgement. With a last stern glance at me, he turned toward town, and soon vanished into the shadowy streets.

&&&&&&

I secured his pony, and stood patiently next to mine, awaiting the signal light, and trying to puzzle the matter out. How Lobelia Sackville-Baggins' missing silver had led us to this sodden flight into unknown danger was quite beyond me. But Baggins was on the trail of something and that something, I was forced to admit, was apparently fraught with peril. I had never seen him so apprehensive, and very nearly fearful.

The rain continued to fall, that dark night, as I shivered in the shadows, awaiting Baggins' signal, but it was more fitful now, blowing in sudden chill flurries. The clouds had begun to part, and the silver light behind them shone through just in time to reveal the outline of the inn, in the distance.

And there it was, the sudden flare. Five seconds the light shone, and was gone, and with an unconscious shudder of apprehension, I clumsily mounted my pony as I had been instructed. Just in time too, as dark riders, cloaked in shadow and the night, swept by me. There was something amiss, though, a growing fear I could not place, in the sight, but now was not the time to think upon the matter. I had my directions, and I followed them without hesitation, quietly urging my pony behind theirs, keeping back and to the dark as best I could.

It was not long, though, before I saw a dilapidated barn of some sort ahead, well-hidden in an old abandoned orchard and far from the road. Overgrown hedgerows indicated that a farm of some sort had once been here, and even still there was the wreck of an old cart under the trees, and the forlorn remnant of a kitchen garden gate swaying in the wind and the rain. Somewhere in that dark hillside there had probably once been a cozy smial, but it was not to the hill that the riders had gone, but rather the barn. I drew my pony to a sudden halt still several yards away from it as the riders disappeared from view. The entrance was to the back, so I never caught sight of those whom I had been pursuing, but light was showing through shuttered windows and it was time for me to retrace my steps and let the others know of this place. Baggins' warning, I must admit, still continued to alarm me, and I had no intention of facing these culprits alone.

I had just gotten back to the main road when I found Baggins, standing by his pony, and a group of hobbits with him, supposedly Constable Brownlea and company. "Did you follow them, Gamgee?" Baggins called to me quietly, but with his voice taut with excitement. "Do you know where they are holed up?"

"Aye," I replied, dismounting and joining them at once. "That I do. Appears to be an old farm, deserted now, but with what once was a fine plum orchard."

"The Barker place," Constable Brownlea replied without hesitation. "Aye, they've been gone five years and more, and the son would have nothing to do with the place, nohow. Not a body's been that way in many a year, I'd warrant. A fine hidey hole, and no mistake."

"Then now is our moment," Baggins exclaimed, with a nearly imperceptible quiver of excitement in his voice. "We certainly have the element of surprise on our side this stormy night. And remember what I suspect, my good hobbits. Weapons at the ready, lads. These are dangerous times and may indeed call for desperate measures." In the fitful light of the one lantern that he had allowed, I caught sight of his face, eager and alive with the thrill of the chase. Any trace of the bored cynicism that he sometimes affected was absolutely not to be seen, and his eyes met mine with a silent acknowledgement that it was moments like this for which he lived. I had no idea what the danger was to which he referred, no concept of what sort of thoughts that could be racing through that fevered and brilliant mind of his, and yet that one glance was enough to serve me with the opportunity to return his smile, and acquiesce. I was there for him, however and wherever he needed me to be, and I knew that he knew that.

There was no time now though for thought or hesitation, for we were off, riding silently and stealthily through the rain and the fitful moonlight that the shifting clouds allowed. I followed behind Constable Brownlea, at the head of the company, to confirm that the place of which he had spoken was actually the hideout we sought. Upon reaching it, we dismounted as silently as possible, and waited but for the moment. Then on Baggins' signal, we stormed the door of the barn.

I do not remember that much more of what occurred, other than my shock at who we found inside. Lotho Sackville-Baggins, as I had anticipated, but most of the rest were far too large, great hulking shapes, and it took more than a few minutes before I realized that they were men, creatures from travelers' tales and the like of which I had never seen before. There was yelling and the flash of bright steel, and Baggins was ahead of me, his glinting blade in his hand as he engaged the leader of the ruffians in fierce combat. I had my short sword out as well, but I was a poor fighter under any circumstances save in fist-to-fist engagements, and I never saw the man who came up behind me in the confusion of the fray. All I remembered is a sharp red-hot burst of pain in my left side. As I began to fall, I saw Baggins whirl around and come racing to my side. With a ferocious blow, he sent my assailant reeling against the wall with his weapon dropped heedlessly at his side, screaming with pain as he clutched his suddenly bloody arm.

Then Baggins' arms were around me, and he was crying out, "Gamgee! Samwise! You are not hurt? For the love of our Lady, say you are not hurt?"

It was worth a wound – it was worth many wounds – to know the depth of loyalty and love that lay behind the cool mask as I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as a great mind. In the midst of the chaos, and in spite of the searing pain, I remember smiling at him, to reassure him, and reaching toward his face above me. Then all went black, and I remember no more.

&&&&&

When next I opened my eyes, it was Baggins whom I saw. But his back was towards me, and he was pacing in front of a fire burning within a rustic hearth. I did not recognize where we were, but for the moment lay quietly, enjoying the warmth of the room. I was in a bed, comfortably wrapped in a rather rough blanket, and I had no memory of how I had come here, nor even indeed what had happened to me, until I stirred slightly. I must have gasped, for Baggins whirled about at the sound, but it was the unexpected biting pain that caused me to close my eyes and bite my lip.

He was at my side in a moment, his hand soothingly on my forehead, and his voice gentle despite the concern that he did not try to conceal. "How are you doing, my dear Sam? Is it very bad, my dearest friend?"

It was hearing his voice say my proper name, something I had not heard from him in many a year, that pierced through the pain, and opened my eyes again. "No," I managed to whisper, with the best smile I could muster up. "Nothing that won't heal, I expect."

His returned smile was tentative, to say the least, and quickly vanished. "There is no healer in this accursed village, and I dared not leave you to find one. The leader of the men is still at large, and I cannot trust to the local constabulary to protect you if I should go out in search of someone to help you."

"Well, fortunately enough, I just happen to be a healer myself, although it is quite inconvenient that the wound happens to be in a place where I cannot see it," I muttered, gritting my teeth as I tried to sit up slightly. "A rather nasty slice, I presume, but it must not have hit anything vital, since I am apparently still here."

Baggins' arms were around me in an instant, holding me up while he adjusted the pillows behind my back. "Are you quite sure you want to be sitting up?" he asked with a worried frown.

"Not entirely," I had to admit, "but let us just see how it goes for a bit. Has anything been done to it? The cut, I mean, since that is what I assume it to be."

Baggins shook his head, the frown deepening. "Not really. I didn't know what to do, Sam, other than washing it out as best I could, and tie the cleanest cloth I could find around it to stop the bleeding. It did bleed so horribly, you see, and I really didn't know what to do, but I had to get you away. The constable knew of this smial. He mentioned that it was snug enough, and available, since it is only used by fishermen in the summer, and so here we are. And if I have guessed wrong, my dear Sam, I really don't know what I shall do," he added, with a definite quaver in his voice and unmistakable fear in his eyes.

My heart went out to him in that moment, and without thinking, I reached out to him. "Frodo, my dearest Frodo. There's nothing more you could have done. I'll be quite all right, you'll see. Gamgees come tough, and it'll take more than a villain who sneaks up from behind to keep me down, you know. Don't you worry, my dear, no, not a bit." But his look of trepidation, so very unlike his normal collected countenance, was not assuaged in the least by my assurance, so I sought to turn his attention to more practical matters.

"It seems then, Frodo, that you must be my eyes in this case," I attempted to keep my tone light as I gingerly leaned to the side, and pulled off the blanket. "Let's just unwrap me, and then tell me what you see." My efforts at conversation, however, had to come to a halt at this point, since I was forced to bite my lower lip fairly hard. The movement, slight though it was, suddenly caused a fiery pain to jolt up from my side, and I began to consider the possibility that finding another healer might be the best idea after all, no matter the danger I might find myself in the meanwhile. But I was very unwilling to imply that my companion's choice had not been the correct one, so I resolved not to say anything of the sort if at all possible.

Then I felt Baggins' hands on me, cautiously and gently pulling away the bloodied cloth, and I realized, with some surprise, that no healer could have handled it better. His touch had a surety that his expression had not had, and he did not need any further instruction from me, after all. So I relaxed in his capable care and let him finish the task without interruption.

"Is it still bleeding?" I asked, staring into the flames that were still warming the once chilled room, when the undertaking appeared to be complete.

"Yes," he replied tersely from behind me, "but slowly now."

"Hmm." I considered my options, and the factors that must be considered in a wound of this nature. It was devilishly hard not to be able to see it myself. "And the edges of the cut. Are they coloured normally, or are they brightish red or blackened?"

"Normally coloured," he replied crisply, his voice gaining confidence once again with the opportunity to use his judgment.

I could not help breathing a shallow sigh of relief at that information. "So it does not appear to be infected, nor poisoned. That certainly is reassuring, to say the least. Then it would merely be a matter of keeping the wound cleaned, and moving it as little as possible for a few days, to allow the healing to begin."

Baggins said nothing for the moment, but I felt his hand on my shoulder, giving it the briefest of clasps, and I nodded. "Then I suppose we'll be needing some warm water?" he asked, rising from beside me on the bed, and coming into my view. "I found a kettle on the hearth, so I may as well set that to boil. But I'm afraid I am rather out of clean cloths other than the rest of your shirt."

At my look of bewilderment at that remark, he gave a short rueful chuckle. "I rather made a hash of it, you know. It was all I had at hand for a bandage, and since I had already ripped it off…"

I couldn't help give a weak laugh at this image.

"I didn't have time for the buttons, you see," he retorted, a ghost of a smile beginning to creep across his sharp features.

"Quite resourceful," I commented lightly, glad to see his spirits beginning to rise again. The smile didn't exactly reach his eyes, as he studied my face a moment longer, but it was a start, as he turned and set to his task.

It did not take long at all for the water to reach a comfortably warm state, and then he was on the bed behind me again. The wound was cleaned in an efficient manner, but his touch was careful and gentle on me. Once the cleaning was through, the injury was bound up once again, with the cloth wrapped snugly about my chest, and expertly tied off. However, the ordeal was, despite Baggins' best efforts, painful, and I couldn't help giving that fact away with the occasional sharp gasp and stifled moan. So it was a great relief when the process was complete, and I was able to sink back onto the bed once again.

"Fancy some tea?" I heard his voice say softly, but I was already starting to fall into an exhausted sleep. I faintly heard myself mumble something about that being lovely, but I don't know if I was in the least intelligible as I fell nearly instantly into a sound sleep.

&&&&&

The days that followed, for it was more than half a week before I was able to be on my feet again, quickly fell into a comfortable routine. Constable Brownlea came around the next day with the welcome news that the leader of the band of scoundrels had been apprehended, so there was no further concern on that score. Lotho seemed to have vanished, but I had no doubts but that bad penny would pop up once again when least expected and even less wanted. The constable also brought some supplies by and offered to send a lad around once a day, just to see if there was anything we might be needing. In addition, he volunteered to send a messenger to the nearest village for the services of a healer, but I judged that there was nothing to really be gained by that, since it was now just a matter of time, and waiting for the healing to start, so I declined his kind offer. He had also recommended the services of a cart and pony to carry us back to Hobbiton, but the thought of that jouncing journey was not at all appealing, at least at the moment. Indeed, the most attractive alternative was just to remain where we were, at least for the next several days, and I must admit that I was finding that prospect more than attractive.

May I confess? I was quite aware that many of my acquaintances, not to mention my family, always found it rather odd that a fine young chap such as myself never found the proper lass to complete his happiness. More than one name had been mentioned, and I believe that of Rosie Cotton had come up more than once. But the years had managed to slip away, and the matter had never exactly been resolved, and I couldn't have been happier when it came to that. For I was already living with the hobbit I loved, above all others, a fact that I had kept absolutely to myself. I had no illusions as to my feelings being fully reciprocated, at least, I had had none up until now. But lately I had unexpectedly been given cause to question my assumptions. There were, all of a sudden, indications that my hypothesis was not, in point of fact, entirely accurate.

I never would have credited Baggins with the least inclination towards nursemaiding, yet no one could have been more diligent in taking care of my needs, nor more attentive in regard to what might make me more comfortable, restricted to bed as I was. The smial, as I found when I took more of an interest in my surroundings, was quite small, scarcely more than a room. The weather without continued to be unrelentingly wet and dismal, so the both of us found ourselves together with little in the way of resources with which to amuse or distract ourselves. And yet the days flew by somehow, and I don't think I've ever been happier, painful wound notwithstanding.

I could see the difference in Baggins as well. I had never really thought much on the matter, hitherto, but he had gradually been building a carapace of disengagement, very nearly cynicism, about himself that was rarely cracked, even by me. Yet in our sudden solitude, that shell quickly faded, and Baggins was once again the introspective, gentle soul who had entered my life as a young tween. The honorific seemed unnecessary these days, so it wasn't long before I had unconsciously found myself addressing him as Frodo once again, without the veneer of worldliness that a last name alone implies. And, needless to add, I was his Sam.

&&&&&

The fire had burned nearly to embers on that third night as I lay as usual on my unharmed side, trying to fall asleep. I knew that the healing process had now begun in earnest since the pain had gone from being deep and burning to merely annoying, and even a bit twitchy. None of my usual methods of falling into slumber were of any use this night apparently, as I listened to the still heavy rain drumming down of the roof of the smial, well buried and cozy though we were. I gave a sigh, quickly stifled, or at least so I thought, and shifted restlessly once again. Next to me, however, came a low chuckle. I glanced over my shoulder, as best I could, to see Frodo watching me with an amused smile, and his eyes glinting in the flickering light.

"Maddening, I'm sure, my dear Sam," he murmured softly when he caught my glance. "You've always been so full of energy and life. It must be immensely frustrating to be trapped in here for days on end with only my stodgy self to entertain you."

Some imp of the perverse made me check my normal impulse to immediately disagree. "It is frightful," I admitted with a gusty sigh, looking as plaintive as possible. "Particularly at night, the hours do seem to drag so. If I only had a way to take my mind off of this bothersome side of mine, matters would be so much less vexing."

Frodo's smile deepened at my response. "Merely a distraction? That, I think, I could manage." He was lying next to me on the bed, for I had insisted on his doing so the first night that I was conscious of the fact that he had been sleeping on the floor rather than disturb me. I rolled cautiously onto my back as he propped himself up on his elbow next to me. "What did you think of me the first time you saw me, Sam? I'll tell you what I thought of you."

How to respond to that? I was not entirely sure, and purposefully kept my tone light. "Well, you were a far cry from the Cottons, Proudfoots, and Sandymans that had made up the bulk of my acquaintances thus far," I admitted, with an answering smile. "Something definitely less along the plodding vein, so to speak. But then you were a gentlehobbit, and I didn't really know enough of them to go by. I'm astonished that I was even noticeable to you at all at that point."

"Oh, but you were," his voice deepened, and there was an odd light suddenly behind those striking eyes, lit gold in the firelight. "A mere fauntling, to be sure, but even then, there was something about you, Sam."

"Was there really?" I faltered, not quite knowing where we were heading, but never dropping my gaze for a moment.

"There always was," he answered softly, and leaning over me for a moment, quickly brushed his lips against my forehead.

There were so many responses I could have had to that brief moment. It would have been immensely easy, if either of us had cared to, to pretend it had never happened, or that it was merely an affectionate gesture from a good friend. But my heart had already leaped within me, and my response was immediate and instinctive. Throwing my good arm up and around his neck, I drew him to me, and met his willing lips with mine.

I'm not sure quite how long that kiss lasted, but well past the point where either of us could have pretended that it had been accidental, if we had ever cared to do so. But when he finally drew himself back up, he looked quite as astonished as I'm sure I did. "I suppose that was distracting enough," he breathed, in a voice that was unmistakably a bit shaky. However, I noticed that one of his hands, almost as it had a mind of its own, had brushed deliberately against the side of my face, and was absentmindedly tucking an errant curl behind my ear.

Emboldened, I kept a firm grip on his shoulder. "I'm not entirely sure that that was sufficient distraction," I took an involuntary gulp at my boldness. "Perhaps we might try it again."

His tender answering smile was all the response my heart needed, and his mouth was on mine in a moment as we wrapped ourselves in a loving embrace. It was not long before clothing was removed, and our bodies were tightly entwined. Since my dreams had never quite progressed this far, I had never suspected the depths of tenderness, had never imagined his loving touch and his delicious sighs of pleasure. Always cautious of the need to ensure that I was not hurt, he led me through the patterns of the dance of love. I had no such compunctions about myself, however, and gave myself fully and gratefully up to him. There are some moments that words cannot do justice to, and my first night in Frodo Baggins' arms was one of those. Suffice it to say that the memory of that night is even now locked in my heart as my most treasured of possessions, and will yet be on my dying day.

It was much later, when we lay curled together in the dark, the last of the embers finally having expired, that I heard him softly murmur, "It was your eyes, my dear Sam. You've always had the kindest eyes, you know. I was frightfully lonely and nervous, and fond as I was of Bilbo, quite frankly, I was terrified. But you and your father were there the day I arrived, and even as young as you were then, just one glance let me know that I would have a friend at Bag End. And so you were, but now you are so much more to me. I love you so, my dearest. Even if I am rubbish at letting you know that."

"Nonsense, my dear Frodo," I turned to him in the dark and kissed him once again to prove my point. "I've always known that, really. You aren't quite as inscrutable as you might think sometimes, my darling. But do try to convince me of that any time you wish, love. I quite possibly might need to be convinced on a regular basis."

"Ah, Sam," I heard a rich chuckle just before a lingering kiss at the base of my throat made me groan helplessly with reignited desire. "A daunting task, to be sure. Fortunately, it appears that I just might be up to that challenge." And indeed he was.

&&&&&

The next day the rain had cleared out, but since it appeared to be but a temporary respite, we thought it best to try to make our way back to Bag End while the good weather lasted. I had firmly ruled out traveling via either animal or animal-drawn conveyance, trusting to my own two feet to get me back with a minimum of jostling, wobbly though I was. The journey, which normally could have been accomplished in a good day's walk, therefore took two, but fortunately, I was acquainted with a kindly farmer who dwelt approximately at the half-way mark, and we spent an evening with him and his extremely hospitable family. However, privacy, I regret to say, was not to be had, and it was with relief that we set off the next morning, determined to arrive at Bag End before afternoon.

It was only then that the thought came to me that I had never inquired as to Lobelia's missing teaspoons. Indeed, the whole affair was a bafflement to me, and now that I had the opportunity, I asked Frodo about it. "How on earth, my dear Frodo, did the missing silver ever lead you to Lotho and his band of thugs?" I asked, as we walked slowly down the least muddy side of the Great Road. "Did Lotho nic it?"

Frodo gave a short bark of a laugh, and gave me an amused side glance. "I never did explain much of that, did I? I suppose I was too distracted. No, indeed, Lotho had nothing to do with the missing silver. Actually, I am quite sure the silver was never really missing at all. I have no particular plans on visiting Lobelia upon our return, and I would not be surprised if the matter is never brought up by her again."

"But then where was it?" I questioned him, puzzled.

"Oh, without a doubt, the maid had it out to clean, and neglected to get it back in time. Lobelia, as you might remember, was in even a nastier temper than usual, and I don't blame the poor lass in the least for not revealing that she was at fault. I assume she has had plenty of opportunities to replace it since then."

"Then what exactly led you to Frogmorton, and how did you guess what was going on there?" I was now completely at a loss.

"I never guess, my dear Sam, surely you know that by now," he replied, with a quirk of a smile. "No, it was the ashes by the window that led me off on this unusual adventure. Ashes from pipeweed, but of a very different sort than what one normally finds about these parts. Indeed, a sort of pipeweed that isn't even grown in the Shire. Did I ever mention to you I had written a short treatise on the subject? Ah, well, it was a year ago or so. But that, along with the most unusual pony that Lotho had suddenly acquired, led me to conclude that my dear cousin had managed to get mixed up in some sort of trouble that was rather a step above his normal mischief. The fact that his mother was apparently furious with him seemed to confirm that."

"But it wasn't until the proprietor at the Green Dragon mentioned the missing Buckland weed that it struck me as to what sort of trouble that might be. Merry had mentioned to me, in a recent letter, some recent difficulties his father had been having with undesirables in Buckland. That's when I decided to pay them a visit, to learn a bit more. Oh, do take a care, that's a deep one, you know."

He stopped me with a quick grasp of my arm just as I nearly went ankle-deep into a particularly muddy puddle. I had been far too wrapped up in his explanation to pay any attention to where my feet were going. "Well, then what did you find out?" I prompted him, noticing happily that the grasp had now been converted to an arm being tucked snugly around one of mine.

"Seems as if Uncle Saradoc had had repeated visits from a series of men, asking to purchase a large shipment of Buckland weed. But he had not liked their looks, nor their rough manners, and had declined, having more than sufficient business within the Shire. It was after that refusal that stores of Buckland weed had begun to vanish, and indications were that it was being smuggled out. Since the thefts were occurring within a certain radius of Hobbiton, and Frogmorton is the logical point at which to arrange shipment out of the Shire via the Water, I made enquires there and found Constable Brownlea most eager to unite forces with me and rid the town of the undesirables that had been plaguing them, cousin Lotho not excluded."

"Ah," I mulled this explanation over. "Well, of course. It does seem remarkably obvious, now that you have clarified it."

"The facts were always there," he pointed out with a smile. "One simply needs to put them together. Facts are something with which I've never had a problem. Emotions, on the other hand… Tell me, Sam," he declared abruptly, stopping both of us in our tracks. "You understand the feminine mind so much better than do I. Will Widow Rumble be terribly put out if we convert your bedroom into a spare guestroom?"

I laughed joyfully at the thought. "My dearest Frodo," I responded merrily, hugging him closely and quickly leaning in for a resounding kiss without a care for who might come about the bend in the road. "I suspect that you have never noticed that the good Widow dotes on you and would not care a fig if you took to wearing a teapot on your head and nothing else."

"Let us restrict that to our own room, then, and I do believe I'll forgo the teapot, dearest Sam," he grinned. "At least, only unless you think it especially fetching."

"We shall have to experiment then, won't we," I smiled happily back. The rain had begun once again, and my side was starting to ache unmercifully, but the drops had plastered down his dark curls and were dripping off his nose in the most enticing way. It was at least a good ten minutes before we could manage to pull ourselves apart again, and what with the necessity of frequent stops for those delicious kisses, still so new and startling and entrancing, it was indeed quite nightfall before we reached Bag End.