So… not much feedback on the last chapter at all :( I'm thinking that maybe it fell on too depressing a note, and none of you were sure what to say, or even that you liked it. Ack, sorry, I needed a depressing chapter. But, in exchange, I've decided to be generous and get to better matters quicker than intended. I'm doing this for you, so if you like this next installment at all, please tell me so :)

The Mood of the Day

That night, when Bomar and Mayline returned to the inn, they came into their room quietly and tried not to disturb Bomar's other band mates, who were sound asleep. With few words between them Mayline and Bomar changed before sliding beneath their bed sheets.

It seemed that within minutes Bomar had fallen into dreams while Mayline was left alone in consciousness, restless and thought heavy. She lay in her own bed, her eyes on the ceiling as she tried to figure out how all the pieces of her old and new life might fit together comfortably.

A night of good food and stories, as Pippin had proposed and she'd reluctantly agreed too, wasn't as delightful as it sounded.

A while passed before Mayline eventually crawled out of bed and went to a small desk not far away. There, she searched her bag and pulled out her notebook, which she wrote in after lighting a small candle.

Everything that had happened since she returned to the Shire she recorded in great detail, from Bomar's proposal, to everything that had happened between her and Frodo…

Frodo.

Sometimes tears welled in her eyes when she wrote about him, and sometimes they fell and hit the page. Although she was still angry about years wasted, she wished she hadn't acted as thoughtlessly as she had the last time they were together.

If I could take that morning back… she wrote. If I could come out of the hallway into the sun and do it all over again, I'd smile at you Frodo as you leaned against the kitchen archway. I would put my feelings aside, and instead fight to feel warm in your presence again.

I'm angry, but I do love you.

Mayline wiped her eyes with her sleeve and turned a little in her seat. Her tired gaze fell on Bomar, who wasn't far away and still sleeping soundlessly. With a silent sigh Mayline turned back and stared at the small part of the page that was still blank.

I love you both.

Sam scurried about the kitchen of Bag End early the next morning, preparing breakfast and cleaning up messes here and there. Throughout the night he had stayed with Frodo, and that morning he'd managed to coax him out of bed and into the sunlight.

Frodo sat warily at kitchen table, in the same clothes he'd worn the day before and his hair a mess. He cared little for the tea and eggs Sam had placed in front of him, and when Sam finally sat down, he looked at Frodo expectantly.

"Well, you gotta take a bite sometime," he chided lightly. "Go on—I took care this morning and made everything the way you like it."

Frodo's eyes dropped from Sam to the plate, and he slowly reached out and picked up the fork. He knew Sam was right—that he should eat something, if only a few bites. The eggs and tea would do him some good, probably, and he could see cheese had been melted into the egg, which was how he liked them.

"Thank you Sam."

He tasted a small bit of the scrambled eggs, but the sweetness of it suddenly sparked his appetite in a way he hadn't expected. Before either one of them knew it, Frodo had cleared the plate completely without pause. Sam blinked when Frodo set his tea cup back down on the table afterward, empty.

His heart considerably lighter now that the heaviness in him was now in his stomach, Frodo smiled a little.

"Perhaps I was a bit more hungry than I thought."

Sam blinked again but greeted.

"Perhaps you were. I can make more—"

"No need," Frodo said as he rose from the table. "I'm perfectly full now."

He left the table and crossed the kitchen, approaching the small round window above the water pump sink. The sunlight returned light back into his blue gaze, and he stared out at the Shire with the sudden desire to be in it.

He didn't know why exactly, but it seemed to be the new mood of the day.

"I think I'll visit the market," Frodo said suddenly, almost excited. "Care to join me Sam?"

When he turned, he saw that Sam was beaming. As Sam stared at Frodo, he couldn't help but relish in the fact that his friend finally seemed to be leaving his wallow. Finally, he wanted to enjoy the Shire beneath the sun, as was natural for him.

"Absolutely Mr. Frodo."

…

Mayline rose bright and early, around the same time things had started to look up at another end of the Shire. Although everyone else around her was still asleep, she washed up and dressed, preparing to spend the day outside.

The sun glowed behind the curtains of the room, and she tied her hair back and smoothed out the few wrinkles in her dress in front of a slightly dusty mirror. Afterward Mayline wrote a short note which she left at Bomar's bedside, explaining she had gone to explore the Shire for the day and that she would return to him later.

Downstairs, Mayline snatched a muffin before heading out the front doors. The fresh air seemed to cure all she had worried about last night, and bring on a new mood of the day. Admittedly it was a strange mood, one that made her feel like the older but younger Mayline, who had never once set foot outside the Shire.

The hobbit woman left the main of Hobbiton at an easy pace, her muffin long gone by the time she reached long green pastures that led to a forest in the distance. It was somewhere in those trees that a log rested over a river, and although they had never given it an official name, it was a spot she and Frodo had frequently visited.

Last time she was there, she nearly tricked him into falling in the waters below.

Grinning, Mayline all at once took off in a run. It was a secret spot known only a few, and along with beauty, she knew she'd find solitude there.

…

After some time in the market and eating considerably more, Frodo's spirits had risen to an all-time high since he had returned. The sun was more rejuvenating than it had ever been, and of course Sam's company was pleasant. Even other hobbits he wasn't familiar with seemed to note he was doing something unusual, and they were glad for it.

They knew his face and name, for he was their hero after all, in some way.

"How long has it been, Sam?"

The two were walking away from the market, and Sam raised his eyebrows. "What do ya mean 'how long has it been'?"

Frodo smiled and even laughed lightly.

"Since you've seen Rosie. I don't think I've seen or even heard of you two reuniting since our return to the Shire."

Sam looked away from him, his cheeks growing red. "That's because we haven't. Haven't seen nor heard from her. I suspect she's long forgotten about me now and married off to some fine lad—"

"Why don't you go find out? We're not too far from the Cotton's."

Immediately Sam shook his head. "You're mistaken Frodo—it's all the way at the other end of the Shire, and my feet are too tired to walk there and back."

"Is that so?" Frodo replied with a sly grin. "Then why do I see the Cotton hole just a little further down the road?"

The color of Sam's cheeks grew even darker now that Frodo had caught his white lie. Any hope he miss the obvious hole belonging to the Cotton's on their trip back to Bag End was crushed then.

At the start of the small gate leading to the well-taken care of smial, Frodo put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Go on," he said gently. "Don't live another day not knowing. She may have waited for you."

Sam inhaled and gulped. "I don't think I can do it."

Frodo pushed on his shoulder. "Of course you can. Now quit stalling and go Samwise Gamgee."

Sam looked at him a long moment before slowly bringing his eyes back to the smial. Out of everything he'd wanted to see, touch, and hear again in the Shire, almost all of it was part of one person behind the round door down the walkway from him.

Sam reached out and pushed aside the gate, taking slow but consistent steps to the door. Frodo watched from where he stood on the road.

At the door, Sam knocked cautiously and waited. For several long minutes nothing happened, and he almost lost his nerve before a familiar voice from somewhere in the smial called out, informing someone they would answer the door.

Sam's heart began to pound, and when the door opened, there Rosie was. She was wearing a light dress of whites and deep greens; her hair fell in locks around her face, and more than ever, she was still the only girl he ever would have married.

When Rosie saw him her eyes brightened.

"Sam!" she exclaimed, hardly able to hold back. "What are you doing here?"

His face turned red all over again. "I… I came to see ya Rosie," he admitted.

Rosie blinked and for the first time her cheeks also tinged with pink. "You came to see me?" she repeated.

Sam nodded. "Well I figured I might see if you were still… you know… we had something goin' on before I left and I thought…"

Before he could finish his disjointed thoughts, she was against him, and her arms fell around his neck.

"Are you hungry?" she offered. "I have tea and mushrooms cakes set out if you'd like to come in…"

Her eyes poured into his, hopeful that his stomach was empty enough and he would agree. Sam grinned.

"I can't very well turn an offer like that down—but wait, can Frodo—"

Sam twisted and looked back at the gate, his arms still around Rosie. He expected to see Frodo waiting there, but his eyebrows furrowed when he found the road empty.

"Frodo?"

Rosie's voice made Sam turn back to her. He shrugged.

"He was just here, just with me as we were comin' back from the market."

Rosie broke their embrace and with a small smile took Sam's hand. At her touch his concerns for Frodo died, and warm-cheeked he followed her lead into the hole.

Indeed it appeared as though Frodo had left, but when Sam walked inside and the door to the Cotton's closed, he came out from beneath the shadow of a tall tree across the road. For a moment his gaze remained on the smial, but at last he continued down the road, alone.

Although he knew his presence wouldn't have bothered either one of them, he took it upon himself to give their love private time to blossom, and therefore hid beneath the shadows and removed himself from the mix.

But as he walked, it was near impossible to ignore thoughts of Mayline. Gradually Frodo approached a turn in the road, and when he reached it, he stopped. The turn, were he to follow it, would inevitably take him back to Bag End. Yet, dare he continue forward into the lush grass, he would soon enter trees, and memories would lead him to a secret spot few knew of…

…

Mayline sat alone on the middle of the old log, which was still as strong as it had been many years ago. Absently she picked away at the dead bark as rays of sunlight glowed about her, highlighting the top of the swiftly flowing water beneath her feet.

Much of what surrounded her was lost, and instead only a memory lay before her eyes.

Frodo, who agreed sitting beside her high above clear, pretty water was a fine idea, left his walking stick against a tree and started slowly onto the log. When he had almost reached her, Mayline's eyes widened and she gasped.

"Watch out!"

Startled, Frodo lost his balance as he stepped forward and fell, instantly gripping either side of the log with his hands and knees. His breathing had labored and his blue stare locked on her.

"What?" he exclaimed.

Mayline smiled. Her eyes fell on the empty space of the log he had clutched, looking as frightened and pale as if the water beneath them was a hundred feet down instead of ten.

"You're too easy to fool!" Mayline said, erupting into laughter. "No wonder I like it when you're around. No one makes me laugh as much as you."

Frowning, Frodo all at once fixed his position and sat proper on the log, his spirits disgruntled as her laughter continued to fill the air.

Mayline sighed. Oh Frodo.

"You are too easy to fool," she said aloud, laughing a little as though he might hear her.

"Perhaps I'll be a bit more wise this time around."

In a moment Mayline snapped back to full reality, and she blinked. She stared to the side down at the eastern end of the log, the direction in which the unexpected voice had come.