As I held the sleeping Cohco in my arms, I kept my gaze elsewhere in the room; I didn't want to look at him. He wasn't mine at all; if anything, I was obviously just a vehicle by which Sauron's soul could survive, a pawn, a prop. I was grateful, though, that I was not the one holding Sauron's soul. This probably wasn't even a hobbit child at all.

But soon the child began to cry, for what I did not know. He looked so much more real with a red face and a gaping mouth. I panicked suddenly, emotions flaring from maternal instinct I'd never known to help this baby in whatever capacity I could manage.

I discovered that he wanted to eat; it was only a matter of minutes before he fell asleep in my arms again, sucking on my finger. I cocked my head, still watching him, and suddenly a love I didn't understand blossomed in my heart. I smiled and pressed a kiss to the child's forehead. When his eyes opened, they looked natural. I wondered if this would stay, or if he would oscillate.

"Sweet little Cohco," I gushed. Was this how it felt to be a real mother? Was there any difference I was missing? I stroked his head; he had dark hair like mine already growing in. I talked to him constantly; he couldn't speak back, and I wondered if I had to do something special to teach him, or how long it would take him to get the habit.

I hardly noticed the time going by; I was busy, unsure, exhausted, but thrilled by this prospect of new life. I enjoyed taking care of Cohco so much, in spite of all the mistakes I made and how little I knew about what I was doing, that I didn't realize it had been three days since I'd seen a single soul, feeding and washing this child, learning what he meant when he wanted something. I sat with him, eating my dinner while he rested on my lap, when Frodo slipped in the door. Cohco was quiet about half the time, thankfully, but the other half I either had to calm him or discover by trial and error what he wanted. His wails never got huge . . . unless he wanted food.

Frodo startled when he saw me, and his gaze shot to Cohco. His eyebrow rose, but it might have creased rather for the anxiety in his eyes.

"Bix . . ."

I smiled up at Frodo, exhausted, sweaty, and having gotten no sleep for the past few nights. "There are biscuits and a handful of sausages left," I said before turning back to my food.

He continued watching me queerly before he stepped into the kitchen. I grinned at Cohco; this child was bound to me, I knew. I thought about the effort and pain in my body and mind for bringing him here: there was no Ring anymore. He was all mine.

Frodo cleared his throat after he bit into a large biscuit. "My apologies for being away so long; I had to see to officiating affairs in Buckland."

Cohco yawned, and I rubbed his head, rocking myself until he drifted back to sleep. He sucked on my finger, in that repetitive way he had whenever he slept. "Officiating affairs? Why?"

Frodo glanced down at Cohco again, his expression tainted with disapproval. "Bix, you may want to come sit down somewhere more comfortable." He stood, leaving the rest of his food, and stepped backwards towards the living room. "It's quite a long story."

I cocked my head . . . then conceded that I should listen to Frodo. Cohco would be fine in bed, although he had a tendency to roll towards the edge, so I had a fortress of pillows against the wall and various chairs and cushions bordering my bed.

"One moment," I said. "I'll put Cohco down first." I slid out from the table, careful not to awaken my son, and took him into the other room. I kissed his head before setting him down; I hoped he'd be all right alone. I'd hardly left his side in the past few days, and I felt like I was parting with a piece of my own body. I left the door a crack open so I could hear him if anything went wrong.

I sat next to Frodo on the couch before the fire, at which point he immediately stood and leaned over the fireplace. He stared into the flames as he spoke.

"The moment I awakened I went to follow you," Frodo said. I realized then that he still didn't understand the truth about Cohco, but I couldn't interrupt him now. His eyes blazed with the passion he felt for storytelling, which had never become as brazen out loud as the strength and heat that simmered inside. "You were perhaps long gone, but I do not know: I traveled the main road, which Gandalf had instructed you not to do, but I hoped you would take the easy route.

"I wandered with Rosie for a while before we realized you were too far ahead and too difficult to track. I assume you were already gone if you did not hear the news: a new wizard had come to Bree, a white wizard, not gray as Gandalf was. He'd come for the Shire, or so I learned: he hired mercenaries while he dwelled in Bree, and then he came seeking slaves, power, and resources."

Frodo continued to explain how a great war had taken place while I was away; the great and evil wizard—Saruman, Frodo told me his name was—had abandoned his mission when the Ring disconnected from its master. The War of the Ring had ended the moment, I realized, that the Ring began to take shelter in me. Sauron kept weakly battling, but Saruman had given up: he felt the power depart. Frodo showed me a pile of old parchment, documents recording Saruman's departure from Isengard.

Then Frodo went on: many hobbits were slaughtered, others robbed, some tortured. Frodo had been planning to flee for help, but Rosie Cotton started a resistance and an army with the help of Merry and Pippin, who had been captured by Saruman and brought back when the Ring could not be found. Rosie managed missions and healing; soon Frodo helped her fight back. His voice softened as he spoke of his work with her. Times were trying, he said, and everyone could be seen clearly for exactly what they were.

"I must have depressed her so," he said. "I was worried about you, afraid for Sa—well, for everyone. She kept a bright heart, issuing instructions to rescue hobbits and retrieve supplies." He shook his head wonderingly. "She was amazing, Bix; surviving through all of that, watching those around her be killed member by member, seeing the burned farms and the torn lives, the broken bodies and hopeless odds."

"Where is she now?" I pressed. I knew he loved her; I was sure she liked him. I hoped.

Frodo's gaze fell, and he tapped the floorboards with his toes. "She feels I do not treat you fairly," he said. He seemed indecisive about how he felt; his eyes flickered back and forth, assessing options and weighing ethics. Finally his eyes narrowed. "And I confess I've been unsure and distraught." His eyes curtly captured mine, glaring. "But I feel I have been right to consider the situation so; tell me, if you can, that you are not at fault." His voice cracked a little, and his gaze flickered to my bedroom door.

I stood, keeping the smile from my face; I was so happy he would finally understand. Then we could go and find Sam, get me married before rumors about my child started to circulate. I could just keep him away from people.

But what were the chances some family member or midwife client had heard Rosie and Estella would be helping me that day? My heart sank; no doubt the entire Shire knew by now. I would deny rumors if I heard them, assuming they were exaggerated and untrue.

I shook the thoughts out of my head—I could only deal with a few problems at a time.

"Frodo, my son has no father."

Frodo's eyes widened, then narrowed again. I pointed to the couch, and Frodo skeptically sat down. He stared at me, rigid as though he would leave the conversation any minute. I started rambling about how I'd been feeling an aching pain ever since I took on the Ring, that by magic and wickedness that I didn't understand, I had given birth, probably to a child that maintained the soul of Sauron and the Ring within it.

Frodo didn't seem to hear most of it. He stared at the fire, shaking his head over and over.

"Sam did nothing. And neither did you," he muttered. His eyes sank shut.

I leaned down and embraced Frodo. "But what else would you have believed without explanation? This perhaps has never happened to anyone else."

"I confess it made no sense," Frodo said. He didn't embrace me back, so I slacked onto the couch. "I am glad for you, but I'm afraid it's a little late for complete reparation of any damage done. I wish you would have told me sooner; Sam has disappeared."

I stood. "Disappeared?" Thousands of questions filled my mind: where would he go? Of course Frodo was upset with him, but why would he leave? He wasn't the sort to just abandon his friends.

"He left a parchment on his table in his main room," Frodo said, his eyes glazing. "I went to apologize to him two weeks after we found out you were expecting; I felt even after what I thought Sam had done I should have been easier on him, not threatened to expose him as aggressive in front of the entire Shire. Although I didn't feel comfortable with him seeing you again. In hindsight I should have had him marry you to take responsibility for what I thought he'd done.

"Regardless . . . the day I went to apologize I discovered that he was gone. He expressed his deepest apologies and vowed he would never wrong his greatest friends again." Had I ever seen Frodo cry before, I would have expected him to now, but he didn't. "I don't know where he went or why."

If Frodo said anything else on the subject, I didn't hear it. Sam was gone. My Sam. Every hope for my future, every dream I'd let wander into my mind beyond the point of adulthood, was ended. Cohco was all I had left of my journey, of the growth of my love for Sam. I wanted to go and find him, but I couldn't leave my son, and I had no idea where to start.

"Where would he go?" I murmured, staring at the flames. I thought about the fact that I'd lost Father, but at least I knew Father was safe, resting in Rivendell. Then my brow furrowed. I hoped I could be there when he finally passed away.

A sting filled my chest, and I winced; the Weathertop wound on my left ached with cold, and the sting of the spider only added to my pain. I rubbed the former, hoping to take away the ache.

Frodo slipped his hand under mine, and the innate strength of hands larger than my own quelled the cold, briefly. I wondered why, why the injuries I'd sustained from my quest hurt now.

"We'll find him," Frodo assured me. "He wouldn't have gone far."

"You don't know where he's been," I murmured. "He's been all over the world, Frodo. He could have gone anywhere, as far from here as possible if he wished."

"If he's anywhere in the Shire, I promise he will be found," Frodo insisted. He tipped my head up towards his, straining Shelob's sting. "I'll look for him myself. And I will help you care for your child. I truly did want the best for you all this time, Bix."

I rubbed his shoulder. "I know."

After a quiet moment, I felt I could stand up again, and I led Frodo to my room. Cohco lay squeezed against the cushions on the edge of my bed, undoubtedly ready to fall over the side of the couch if he could. I suddenly remembered that swan at Tom Bombadil's . . . but I had no companion to help me take care of Cohco. Frodo would have to do for now. But if what little hope I had left came to fruition, he would soon find himself married to Rosie Cotton. Unfortunately, that would leave no time for him to be a father figure for Cohco.

Frodo studied Cohco for a long moment, then finally skirted around me. He barely made a sound on the wood floor. His fingertips traced across the boy's face. He scooped up a blanket from the floor, tucking Cohco tenderly away from the cushions at the bedside. I'd never seen Frodo do that before; I wondered what had changed while I was gone.

"What is his name?" Frodo whispered, his attention suddenly bent on my son.

"Cohco," I said. Frodo gave me a strange look that flicked away as soon as it came. "It came from a novel I read, a long time ago."

He smiled. "Cohco," he tried. Then he stepped out with me.

It was only a manner of minutes before Cohco awakened, crying out. It sounded somewhere between his "hold-me-and-walk-around" cry and his absent, constant cry. I assumed, then, that he perhaps felt lonely.

I made a more substantial meal, and was right in the middle of stirring stew when he started crying. I moved to grab him, but Frodo shot up from the couch as though Cohco were his life's mission and raced into the bedroom. I strained my ears over the bubbling of soup below me, and I heard Frodo quieting Cohco.

As though he had done this before.

It amazed me when Cohco quieted at last, and Frodo casually stepped back into the kitchen; Cohco rested peacefully in Frodo's arm and softly sucked on my cousin's finger.

"Impressive," I said. I managed to keep a flame of jealousy down, wondering how Frodo took so innately to this when Cohco was my son, and I'd felt that burning to take care of the offspring that was mine. I set a bowl of stew in front of Frodo, and he easily shifted Cohco's weight and started eating as though he were completely free. "How do you manage it?"

Frodo paused before taking another bite. "Rosie taught me. While you were gone, many parents were killed, died of starvation or were simply massacred by orcs. Some pregnant women hadn't the sustenance to survive beyond childbirth, so I had to take care of thirteen children, here in Bag End for months while Rosie organized and led everyone else outside."

I paused, glancing down at Cohco, and at how relaxed Frodo looked. "So this must be easy for you."

Frodo smiled with a loving glow at Cohco. "I learned just how precious children are, Bix. Their innocence and their innate pride . . . they are so strong and brave for creatures so young, and they have nowhere else to go." His face fell. "Six of the boys, some in their twenties but most younger than that, died defending Bag End. Their fathers, most of them, were killed within the first few days. They had sweethearts that were working with Rosie." He bit his lip. "Meddie was planning to marry that young Proudfoot lass. He was five weeks shy of thirty-three, Bix . . . and her family was ill, dying. He could have taken care of them if I'd let him follow Rosie." His spoon clattered against the table, and his eyes shot wide open. "He was eaten by wolves, after they shot him. Wolves, Bix! I couldn't even take the body to the Proudfoots. I should have died, not him."

For a long silence, filled with nothing but Frodo's heavy breaths and the stirring of Cohco, I couldn't speak. I thought I had seen horrors; he had been exposed to the decay and destruction of the innocent and the hopeful. I'd been so selfish in thinking that my problems were the worst of them. I'd had one child that was now healthy and happy with the evil source of its creation destroyed: Frodo had to watch the children of suffering mothers be raised as orphans, feel the blood in his hands and see the bodies of hobbits wrecked by wolves.

I wondered what else he had seen. Frodo perceived everything; he had such a childlike way of taking everything in, and I realized this battle, this war, must have been worse than he would ever let on.

"Frodo, I'm sorry," I said at last. He exhaled powerfully and began eating again, shaking his head.

"Bix, it's all right." He stared up at me, his eyes piercing right through me. "You had more to worry about; Rosie tells me giving birth is the worst pain in the world. She says she hasn't done it yet, of course, but after amputating limbs and watching hobbits be slaughtered, she said childbirth always resulted in more screams, more sweat, and more anguish." Then he smiled. "But it's so miraculous, Bix, to see the mother's face when she's finished."

The idea of Rosie giving birth opened my mouth right up. "Frodo, do you think Rosie will ever be a mother?"

Frodo choked briefly, staring up at me. He looked like he wished he could choke to death. His face abruptly blossomed bright pink before he turned back to his stew. "Perhaps someday. She is very good with children, and a beautiful lass that will find a suitable marriage when she puts her mind to it."

"Frodo, you know what I meant! I know you love her, and I know she loves you." All right, I didn't know for sure, but I did have a decent amount of stuttering and smiles to back it up, from both of them. "When are you going to ask her to marry you?"

"I did; three times," Frodo said. His fist clenched around his spoon, but he quickly relaxed it. But his eating sped up significantly. "The first was right before I left on a dangerous mission. The second time, she was coming out of a coma . . . I should have waited. The third was the night after I sent Sam away. I asked her to marry me every time because I felt I couldn't wait another minute; I needed her constantly, but the only way to let her stay was to marry her." He shook his head. "We'd discussed it dozens of times. I can't describe our first kiss to you, Bix, or any other after that. I'm sure it would have been the right thing to do, to wait."

I stared at him blankly, unsure if I wanted to ask what had happened. He didn't usually let me know when he didn't want to say anything; he told me what of the truth I needed to hear, or said the only information he thought necessary to keep me satisfied and from asking more.

But as I thought whether to ask him or not, it finally concluded in my head.

"Rosie knew what happened to me," I muttered. "And she thought—she thought you were being too hard, didn't she?"

"Too hard on Sam," Frodo corrected. "They were friends when they were younger, and she insisted, before she knew anything about you, that I should talk to Sam. I thought she was defending him . . ." He paused. "Well, I was suspicious that she cared for him more than she cared for me this entire time. I finally told her so." His gaze flickered to the table surface. Cohco's eyes opened briefly, and Frodo gently ushered them shut with his fingertips. "I haven't spoken to her since."

I saw a clear solution to all of this, and thought Frodo should too; I decided heartbreak must be blinding, as he had acted so rashly when he discovered I was expecting. But I didn't want to jump too quickly into expressing my feelings to appear optimistic or hurried about his psychological situation. To be honest, however, I felt both.

"Can't you talk to her now? Everything has been cleared up, hasn't it? I mean, you know Sam finished his courtship with her long ago, and he and I have clarified between each other that there are no residual feelings between them," I tried.

"Bix, she went looking for Sam," he said. "She obviously still cares about him, and I did him a wrong. I fear she will always be looking for him."

I sighed; so much for keeping Frodo informed about things. I wondered if I'd ever be done telling him what he missed . . . or if he would ever feel I knew anything about what he'd been through in my absence.

"She went after him because I asked her to," I said, exasperated. "I told her I wanted to apologize to Sam for all that's transpired, and she was supportive of my decision. Do you know where she is? I think you should talk to her even if she hasn't found him yet."

Frodo shook his head. "I tracked her for a while; Pippin and Merry kept an eye on her, but she left West Farthing yesterday. She's been visiting every house."

My eyebrow shot up. "Is she aware you've been stalking her?"

"She taught every hobbit how to keep and avoid surveillance. Merry and Pippin have both been acknowledged by her, openly. She knows she's being watched."

A husky tone crept into his voice, like he was revisiting an old lifestyle. I realized as his finger subconsciously traced over my baby that he had fallen into that crevice, that I was watching his memories of war and the horror of it play in his eyes. He winced, then set his expression hard again. His gaze fell, lost from nostalgia, and he continued eating.

"Frodo," I said, reaching for his hand. He didn't look up at me. "We'll find Rosie. I promise. And then you should tell her what happened and propose to her immediately." I smiled. "Because with how well you're handling Cohco, you need a family of your own."

Frodo gave me a sweet smile; I almost thought he meant it. But after I looked a little deeper, I realized it didn't turn up as much as it ought to have, that it didn't look quite right.

"Frodo, please trust me. I'll find her if you won't."

Frodo's brow furrowed. "You're a mother. Nothing takes priority over that; don't worry. I'm sure she'll come back. And I do trust you. I just find it hard to have hope at a time like this."

I ruffled his hair. "It's already starting to look up. I'm sure everything will be fine."