Frodo sat by the open parlour window, pipe in hand and glass of wine at his side. No fire was set this fine summer evening, and the candles had long since guttered out, but he did not bother to replace them. In the village below, lights twinkled, and a lantern glowed outside the Ivy Bush. Light spilled onto the market square from it's open door, and the breeze teased him with a line of song, only to snatch it away before he could name it. Then, again, the voice was that of Daddy Twofoot, so even those sitting in the pub with him could probably not have named it.

Bag End was silent, but for the ticking of the parlour clock. Sam had long since gone home for the day and was no doubt sitting in Number Three's kitchen, talking with his father about the doings of family.

Taking a sip of wine, Frodo leaned closer to the open casement, watching the smoke from his pipe curl up toward a sky crowded with stars. The moon was newly risen, so he could not see it from this side of the hill, but he could see how it limned the smials and cottages below in a silver glow. His imagination supplied a view through walls and roofs. Faunts would be dreaming in their beds as parents discussed the events of their day, the price of wheat, the scandals, real or imagined, of their neighbours. There would be no talk of elves or dwarves, of magic or dragons.

He took another sip of wine, noting that it was the last. He would have to pour another glass. As he stood, turning back toward the still parlour, he slipped a hand into his pocket to touch Bilbo's ring, on its sturdy chain. Suddenly the walls, within and without, seemed to draw in on him and, rather than pour that wine, Frodo headed determinedly for the hall, and selected a walking staff from the stand. He needed fresh air and high skies.

Instead of making for Hobbiton and companionship, he turned left at the gate, taking the lane that wound up and over the hill. At the brow he paused to stare at the full moon, and a snippet of one of Bilbo's nonsense rhymes ran through his head.

There is an inn, a merry old inn,

beneath an old grey hill,

And there they brew a beer so brown

That the Man in the Moon himself came down

one night to drink his fill.

Thoughts of Bilbo set his feet moving again, moon-silvered eyes more often upon the high stars than the road beneath him. It was one of those balmy nights born of a string of hot summer days, and the air was laced with the perfume of night blooming flowers. In a copse he heard the lone hoot of an owl, then an echoing reply from some distant barn. A silent winged shadow drifted high over his head as the owl took flight. Was he going to hunt, or perhaps to seek out the female owner of that distant hoot?

"Mr Baggins, what brings ye out? Was ye comin' fer me?"

Frodo blinked his gaze back to earth, to see sturdy figure hurrying toward him. He smiled. "Hello Aster. I don't think I have need of a midwife tonight, but from the look of you, someone does."

Aster adjusted the huge satchel slung across her round frame. "Bert sent word that Flora's been brought to childbed. With luck there'll be a new life in Hobbiton by dawn."

"The Fennelly's deserve some joy after all this time. They have mourned poor little Dilly for years now."

Aster nodded. "Aye. That was a hard year. Too many folk, young and old, were lost afore their time to that influenza. But if yer not lookin' fer me, what brings ye out in the middle of the night, with not even a packet of food fer the journey?"

Frodo shrugged as he leaned on his staff. "I just fancied a walk. My feet itch sometimes. And shouldn't you be hurrying?"

Aster rolled her eyes. "Typical lad. Flora will be workin' fer hours yet." She looked Frodo up and down, pursing her lips. "Tis a strange hour fer a stroll, lad. Most folk choose daylight, when they can see what's about 'em. But ye weren't lookin' about." She hitched a thumb at the vast sky above them.

Frodo followed her thumb, his mind tangling with the silver disc of the moon, high above. It was Aster's tap on his shoulder that brought him back to earth, and he found her at his side, staring deep into his eyes. "Yer a hobbit, Frodo Baggins. Not an elf, nor a dragon, to be wonderin' the stars. Dig yer toes into this good earth and gather yer friends about ye. I'm still hopin' to see the inside of that fancy Bag End one day, when I bring yer bairn into this world." With those words she let him go, stepping quickly down the lane, toward Hobbiton's little community.

For a moment Frodo considered following, then an errant moonbeam gleamed upon the gold ring in his palm. When had he drawn it out of his pocket? He frowned, before tucking it away again, and striding determinedly in the opposite direction.

He would later remember little of that night, beyond the slow wheel of stars above his head. Finally, he turned away from the first pale yellow glow of a golden sunrise, and slipped quietly into the shared back yard behind Bagshot Row. Smoke was just beginning to ghost from chimneys, as grates were riddled and kitchen ranges fed with fresh logs. Down the lane a cock crowed and somewhere in the distance a cow lowed to be milked. Frodo slipped past curtained windows, to enter Bag End via the kitchen door.

"Mister Frodo! Thank goodness!"

Caught. Determined to make the best of it, Frodo set his walking staff by the door and smiled brightly. "Good morning, Sam. I was just taking an early walk."

Sam folded his arms and fixed Frodo with a stern glare. "Early? I came, late last night, to bank the range for you and it seemed too quiet. Tis not like you to go to bed much before midnight, so I thought maybe you was sick. I thought I'd just pop my head around your bedroom door to check, but you weren't poorly."

Frodo winced. "I'm sorry, Sam. I often go for a walk late at night. Around midnight is the best time to star-gaze."

Sam blushed. "There's no call to apologise for walkin', sir. You've a right to walk where you will and when. Tis just that I was expectin' you to be here and you weren't."

"I am sorry that I worried you, Sam. I shall let you know when I intend to go for any more midnight strolls."

"Thank you, sir. Tis not that I'm nosey about your comin's and goin's, nor that I want you to stop them, but I worry. If you get hurt nobody would know that you'd even left home." He set water to boil. "What's so special about starlight, anyway?"

Frodo shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I inherited my love of starlight from Bilbo and all his stories about elves."

As he suspected it would, mention of elves softened Sam. "From what Mr Bilbo told, elves are certainly a folk for stars. I wonder if I'll ever get to meet one some day."

Frodo hid a smile, for Sam had already met elves. Sadly, Sam had been unconscious at the time, so Frodo mused that he should more properly say that the elves met Sam. He satisfied himself with, "Maybe you will, one day."

-0-

Frodo nodded to Rosemary Proudfoot as he passed Dandelion Clocks, and unlatched the Brockbank's brown garden gate. Daisy opened the door before he could knock. "Hello, Frodo. I was just thinkin' about you. Come in."

As he entered the spotless kitchen, Frodo looked about for the children and Daisy grinned. "Sit down. Cup of tea?" Without waiting for an answer, she took down the tea caddy.

"Where are the children?" Frodo took a seat at the scrubbed table. Watching the comfortable routine as Daisy swirled a little boiling water in the pot and tipped it out, before spooning in the tea and filling it.

"They're with Ruby." Daisy stirred the tea before replacing the lid, then began to gather cups, milk and honey.

"Ruby? Bartimus' sister?" His incredulous tone was probably not unexpected, and Daisy chuckled as she slid half a dozen biscuits onto a plate. "She's been gettin' broody ever since she started walkin' out with Arlo Banks."

Frodo looked askance. "Are you certain you trust Ruby with your children?"

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Of course I do. What do you take me for? They're as safe with her as they would be with you." Now she winked as she poured the thick brew into his cup. "And I thought it would be good for her to see what she may be gettin' into."

"You think they may be getting serious, then?" Frodo added a generous spoonful of honey.

"Oh yes. Not before time, too. Bartimus loves his sister, and I love her because he does. But Ruby has always been a handful. Tis well past time she settled down to just one lad." Daisy shook her head. "She's far too free with her favours and lucky she aint been caught out."

She gave Frodo a hard stare and he took a sip of his tea. Ruby had set her sights on Frodo at one Harvest Reel, and he vividly remembered their eager fumblings in the dark, behind a hedgerow. If things had not gone too far, it had been due more to the warnings drummed into him by his Uncle Saradoc, than any reticence on Ruby's part.

Daisy took pity and changed the subject. "Not that I don't appreciate the visit, but what brings you to my door? Bartimus won't be home from work for hours yet."

Frodo shrugged. "If I'm honest, I was bored at home and decided to take a walk. My feet led me here. But you said you had been thinking of me. What was on your mind?"

Daisy swallowed a bite of her biscuit before replying. "Tis only that Sam noticed you seemed a bit restless of late and Bartimus and me had a thought."

"Restless? Yes. I suppose I have been a bit unsettled. I don't know why, and I suppose I should not be surprised that Sam has noticed."

"He's a quiet one but there's not much gets past our Sam." Daisy scowled. "And Aster Tunnelly can be a bit of a gossip when she sets her mind to it. Anyway, Bartimus and me have been invited to a birthday party over Frogmorton way next week. We'll be stayin' overnight with family and walkin' back the next day and, the weather bein' so good of late, we wondered if you and Sam would like to meet us in Bywater for a picnic on the way back. Then we can walk the rest of the way home together. That way you'll get a good walk, to soothe your itchy feet, and we'll have a bit of company."

Frodo chuckled. "And Sam will stop fretting about me taking long walks at night."

Daisy frowned. "He did mention it. Why ever do you do that, anyway?"

"I just like walking under the stars. And the nights have been so clear of late."

"Well, next time just let Sam know before hand. Poor lad said he was scared half witless when he came in that night, to find no sign of you and no word left of the reason for your goin'. I reckon he thought you'd been carried off by a wizard or a gaggle of dwarves."

"No wizard, but I am willing to be carried off to a picnic by the Brockbank family. What day will you be coming home?"

Daisy accepted the change of topic with good grace. "We'll be comin' home on Hevensday and should be at Bywater by noon...assumin' Barti don't get too deep into his cups at the party, the night before."

"The only time I ever saw Barti drunk was when he was courting you, Daisy Brockbank."

Daisy laughed. "I did like to keep him on his toes."

-0-

"Frodo Baggins! Just look at the state of the knees on your breeches!" Daisy Brockbank cried, as her friend clambered to his feet.

Frodo only grinned, brushing ineffectually at the grass stains. He had spent the last half hour on hands an knees, playing pony for a wildly giggling Bell. "It's alright, Daisy. They're my old ones."

"Old ones he says," scoffed Daisy. "There's a good few years wear still to be had from them, if you ever get the grass stains out and don't put your knees through 'em."

"I'll take a go at washin' them when we get home, Mr Frodo," Sam offered in his most earnest tone, whilst shooting what he obviously considered a quelling glance at his older sister.

Daisy was her mother's daughter, however, and not easily cowed by one she had helped raise. She rolled her eyes. "Don't you look sideways at me, little brother. Call him Mister Frodo if you like, but if he's family enough to play pony for our Bell, he's family enough to bear being told off by her mother."

Frodo and Bartimus both laughed as Frodo threw himself down upon a rug, and little Bell tucked herself in at his side. "You'll not win that argument, Sam. In fact I've yet to meet an argument that your sister did not win." He offered a sandwich to his honorary niece and Bell helped herself to two, despite her mother's frown.

That was the cue for a second round of eating, and conversation faded as mouths were stuffed with bread and cakes instead of words. Between the party left-overs and additional fare brought by Sam and Frodo, there was more food than even half a dozen hobbits could consume. The afternoon was warm and drowsy, encouraging them to linger.

In the act of offering around another plate of buns Bartimus nodded discretely at the mill across the pond. "Don't look now, but Orton Sandyman is watching us again."

As usual, Daisy disregarded her husband, turning about to stare pointedly at the figure standing by an open upper window. "You'd think he'd have better things to do than curdle our milk," she announced, loudly. Whether Orton heard her above the sound of the water wheel was debatable, but he clearly realised that he was noticed and drew back, slamming the window shut behind him.

Bartimus shook his head. "You see what I have to put up with every day, Frodo? My wife shows me no respect at all."

Daisy batted his arm. "I respect you well enough. It's that Orton and his da I've no time for. And his grandpa's no better, although at least he stays out of sight."

Frodo considered the slightly run-down mill. "He's been bed-bound for so many years. His cannot be a pleasant life. And don't be too harsh on Orton. His father drinks more than is good for him, which can't be easy for the rest of the family."

Leaning over to swipe at her daughter's face with a hanky, Daisy sighed. "You're too soft, Frodo Baggins. That Orton will get fed up of his mischief-making and do something really nasty one of these days. You mark my words and remember when he does."

Sam turned to offer his own glower at Bywater Mill, but there was no further sign of a face at window or door.

"Come on, everyone. If we don't set out now we won't be home in time for tea." Frodo offered one more considering glance at the mill before helping Daisy gather up the few remnants of their repast.

Once their packing was done, the little party set off in good heart for Hobbiton. Sam watched Bell, who kept skipping ahead and then hopping back to join her parents. "Mr Frodo, why is Ted's da bed-bound?"

Frodo broke step in surprise. "I thought everyone knew."

Sam shrugged. "You know how Da is about not spreadin' gossip. I knew he was abed but I don't think I ever thought to ask why. Leastwise, I don't remember askin'."

"Well, I only know what I've been told by others. As I heard it, and I honestly cannot remember now from who, Ryle Sandyman likes his beer, although I don't suppose he gets much nowadays."

"I wouldn't be too sure on that. Ted used to take home a jug from the Ivy sometimes. Leastwise, he said it was for his Da."

"Did he? Well it appears you know something that I did not. Anyway, you are aware that the mill has several floors?"

Sam shuddered. "I do, though I aint never been inside and I don't think it's natural for a hobbit to climb so high."

Frodo grinned. He had learned to climb trees at a young age, and was fully cognisant of the opinions of most of Hobbiton on that particular skill. "Well, one night Ryle had a drop too much ale, and then decided that he would carry out some work in the mill. I think it's an sign of just how drunk he was, that he considered that a good idea, in the middle of the night."

Sam shook his head. "Too much beer or not, that sounds like a daft thing to do."

"I agree. Anyway, he was near the top of the mill, on a ladder, when he lost his footing and fell. I'm told he broke his back."

"There's some as say it was a pity it weren't his neck," came Daisy's voice from behind them.

"Oh, have a heart, Daisy," Frodo chided. "I think all these years, stuck in his bed, must be a kind of death."

"Humph!" was her only reply.

Sam leaned in the murmur, "I reckon you're right, Mr Frodo. I'd hate to be so sickly."

At that point Bell, who had gone exploring, returned with a pretty blue flower. "What's this called, Uncle Sam?"

"That's a cornflower, lass." He smiled. "But next time just point to it and I'll tell you the name. Cornflowers don't take kindly to bein' picked and twill be wilted before we get home. Come on, let's go see if we can find some different ones to give names."

Frodo could hear his friends talking behind him, their voices channelled by the high banks and hedges that ran along both sides of the road. "Will it be lad or lass, do you think?" Bartimus asked.

"I don't care, as long as it's healthy and bides its time in here," Daisy replied, and Frodo remembered her laying a tender hand upon her belly when she carried Ashlee there. Now Ashlee dozed, draped over his Da's broad shoulder.

The lane from Bywater to Hobbiton was old and well-travelled, so it was cut deeply between high grass banks, topped with hawthorn, and just here, overhung with oak and chestnut trees. It seemed to Frodo that they walked through some mysterious green tunnel, that twisted and turned about the occasional clump of trees. He was reminded of Bilbo's descriptions of the path through Mirkwood. Thankfully, the Shire had no giant spiders. Some suggested that the trees had been there for longer than the road, and Frodo could see no other reason for the way it threaded about their boles, there being no hills to navigate.

Somewhere, in the distance, behind them, could be heard the clip and rumble of a pony and cart, but with so many blind corners and no flat verge for walkers, it was usual for drivers to slow down at this part of the road. Bartimus' only concession to caring for his family, therefore, was to call Sam and young Bell closer.

Frodo tried not to listen in on what was apparently a private conversation and, Sam was admiring a honeysuckle that scattered it's yellow and red blossoms through the hedge above them. "Do you want to wait a while longer before telling your Gaffer?" Bartimus asked. At Frodo's side Bell bent to look at a bright butterfly, that had come to rest upon a tall pink spike of willow herb.

"Aye. He'll worrit until the birth, so the less time he has for that, the better. Marigold's given him enough to think on, with her first due in a couple of months."

"He never got over that last one your Ma lost, did he?" The clip of the pony's hooves was growing louder, sounding a little fast to Frodo's ears.

"I reckon not. But it happens sometimes. They lost their first as well you know. Da thinks losin' that last bairn was the reason Ma took sick and died, even though the doctor said it was nothin' to do with it." Daisy looked about for her daughter, named for her grandmother, and held out her hand. "Come on, Bell, lass. There's a cart comin' and we don't want to hold it up. Put a trot on." Bell had fallen behind again, lost in a world of her imagining, and now came running, not to her mother, but to grab her Uncle Sam's hand. Daisy rolled her eyes. "I swear that lass grows more like me with every day."

The road began to straighten as they passed the last tree, although the grass banks continued high and steep to either side, their tops still crowned with a hedge of sharp hawthorn, draped with fragrant honeysuckle. Frodo glanced back too, for it seemed to him that the rhythm of the pony was increasing now, the rumble of the wheels deeper. Whoever was driving seemed to have little care for what may be hiding beyond the bend, and he worried it may be some outlander big folk. Of late, some had begun to sneak through the Shire, however hard the Bounders tried to dissuade them.

Picking up on Daisy's disquiet, Sam and Frodo ushered Bell ahead of them and Sam confided, "Whoever it is, he sounds to be travellin' a mite too fast for the road."

Frodo nodded for him to pick up the pace, watching as Bartimus shepherded his wife flock to a single line at the very edge of the road. "If he keeps up that speed he could turn the cart over when he attempts that last bend."

Daisy sniffed. "Serve him right if he does. He should know better on this stretch. Even a wizard can't see round corners." She paused to take a breath. "Leastwise I hope wizards can't do that."

Frodo eyed the banks in growing concern. Not only were they very steep, but he knew that the long grass hid many a rabbit hole and molehill. Anyone trying to climb them would likely break an ankle before being high enough to avoid traffic, indeed would probably be pitched headlong into that traffic. He glanced back again, to see a tan pony, it's eyes rolling, fly around the bend. Behind it, came the miller's cart, almost on two wheels as it banked around the camber of the turn. Orton Sandyman held the reins, his teeth bared in a wild grin as he flicked a long whip above the poor pony's broad rump.

Daisy screamed as Bartimus thrust Ashlee into her arms and all but threw the pair onto the verge. Bell stood, frozen, in the very centre of the road and Bartimus scooped her up a split second before Frodo, only just managing to whisk her out from beneath the front hooves of the wildly neighing pony. He was not fast enough to miss the cart wheels, however. He and Bell were spun violently aside to lie in a tangled heap high upon the verge. Frodo was tugged aside by Sam, but not before he felt the corner of the cart's tailgate catch his arm.

Orton half rose from his seat, the grin gone, his face white, and Frodo thought for a moment that he intended to stop, but then he spun forward and whipped the poor, sweating pony on, to disappear around the next bend.

Ashlee was screaming, his little face almost puce, and Daisy distractedly tried to soothe him as she scrambled along the verge to check husband and daughter, who remained silent and unmoving. "Barti! Bell, love!" As she reached them Bartimus groaned and began to move, his limbs at first flailing aimlessly. Frodo and Sam darted in to work upon gently untangling limbs, and checking for injuries.

"I'm alright, I think." Bartimus mumbled, having done his best to protect Bell with his own body. Unfortunately, Bell had ended up beneath him when they landed. Now her eyes were closed, and she lay, pale and still as a discarded rag doll. Falling to her knees at their side, Daisy watched, for once speechless, as Frodo ran his hands along Bell's skinny arms and legs. With a start, Daisy began to do the same to little Ashlee, still clutched tightly to her bosom. She sighed, obviously finding no apparent hurt, but the little faunt would not stop crying so she dare not set him down to help.

Frodo blanched when his hands reached Bell's right calf, which was clearly deformed. When he touched it Bell screamed out, "Da!" and Bartimus scrambled to reassure her. "It's alright, lass. You're safe. Just lie still for your Uncle Frodo. He didn't mean to hurt you. Does anything else hurt?"

Bell shook her head, bursting into tears when her right temple touched the grass. She squirmed as, probing as gently as he could, Frodo found a small gash, just within her hairline. "Da!" Frodo drew on what he hoped was a calm and confident expression. "It's alright, Pumpkin. You've just a small cut. Lie still for me, now." Shrugging out of his jacket, he spread it over Bell. It covered almost to her ankles, and he folded back one corner so that it put no pressure on what he strongly suspected was a broken leg.

Leaning in, Bartimus took a moment to kiss Daisy's brow and stroke a finger along Ashlee's pink and tear-stained cheek. "We need help. We can keep the bairns quiet if someone can run into Hobbiton."

"I'll go," Sam offered, but Frodo overrode him, "No. I'll go. I'm the faster runner." He patted Sam's arm. "You look after the others."

Sam nodded, wrapping an arm about his sister's shoulder. Daisy's face was set in black anger as she called after him, "Frodo, if you see that Orton Sandyman on your way, you'd best hit him hard, 'cause if I see him first I'm like to kill him!" Nobody bothered to deny her for, at that moment, all were hotly inclined to murder.

Frodo could not recall a time when he had run so far or so fast. Oh, he had walked further many times, but never had he felt such fear snapping at his heels. Bell probably had a broken leg, Ashlee was at the least, traumatised, and who knew the fate of Daisy's unborn child. By the time he rapped the knocker of Dandelion Clocks, Doctor Proudfoot's cottage, he had hardly breath to speak.

It was Rosemary Proudfoot who answered the door and Frodo was to declare later that, for once, he could not remember what wild concoction of clothing the doctor's wife was wearing at that moment. When she saw Frodo, one hand upon the door frame, and bent double as he drew in huge sawing breaths, she called over her shoulder, "Ade, you're needed!"

By the time Adelard had reached the door, Frodo had enough mastery of his lungs to gasp out, "Accident. Bywater Road. Brockbank family."

Adelard grabbed his large carpet-bag from a table by the door. "How many injured?" He ushered Frodo out of the door and on, toward the Ivy Bush, which held the only large stable and coach house in the village.

Frodo was beginning to breathe normally at last. "Little Bell. I think she has a broken leg and a bump on the head. Ashlee and Bartimus are just shocked I think, but I'm worried about Daisy. She's expecting their third." They reached the stable and Ferdi Grub guessed at once their purpose. "Will ye be wantin' the cart or the trap, Doctor?"

"The cart, Ferdi. Bed it with straw and, when you've tacked up, you'd best run over to Gaffer Gamgee's place to let him know that Bartimus and Daisy will need help, when we get them home. Oh, and then run on and ask Aster Tunnelly to come along to their cottage, please."

As they waited, Frodo could not help but pace and eventually Adelard took him by the shoulders. "Easy, there. You haven't said whether you are hurt."

Frodo shrugged. "I'm alright. Sam dragged me free in time."

"Not quite, I think." Adelard touched a point on Frodo's right arm and when he held up his fingers for inspection they were coated in blood. Frodo blinked, looking down to see a large rip in his shirt sleeve. His eyes widened as he saw blood dripping off his fingers, and was overtaken by a wave of nausea.

"Dragged free, you say. Dragged free of what?" Adelard pushed his charge down upon an upturned bucket and bent to examine the injury, while Frodo willed the methodical Ferdi to work faster at linking the doctor's pony to Borden Brewer's cart. "Orton Sandyman," Frodo spit out, with unaccustomed venom. "I could almost swear he drove his cart at us deliberately. He didn't even stop afterwards."

Ferdi choked, causing the pony to flinch as he accidentally cinched a strap too tight. Adelard showed no reaction beyond a pursing of his lips. Frodo was sure that Ferdi moved slower than usual, but by the time the doctor had wrapped a temporary bandage about Frodo's upper arm the task was done.

"There. That should see you for a while. I'll need to put a couple of stitches in it later." He studied Frodo a moment, then nodded. "I'll take you with me in the cart. For I doubt you would stay here, even were I to ask."

Frodo nodded, hoisting himself on the board beside the doctor without comment. Ferdi opened wide the double doors, giving them a quick salute before trotting off in the direction of Bagshot Row.

If Frodo had begrudged the time spent waiting for the cart to be tacked, he soon acknowledged Adelard's good sense. They made much better time back down the road to Bywater than he could have done on foot. They found the site of the incident (Frodo was loath to call it an accident) easily enough, for Sam stood in the middle of the road to wave them down.

"Thank goodness, sirs. Bell is crying fit to bust and I'm not happy about the look of our Daisy, neither."

Adelard jumped down. "Sam, can you help me tending the injured, please. Frodo, you keep an eye on the cart and the road. We don't want any more accidents."

Bartimus snarled, jumping to his feet. "It was no accident. That damned Orton made straight for us. When I see him I'll wring his bloody neck!" In his arms, Ashlee began to wail again, and Adelard handed the infant off to Sam, before pushing Bartimus to sit upon the bank.

"We'll talk of blame and punishments later. For now, we need to tend the injured and get you all home." Adelard checked the silent Daisy first, the arms wrapped about her belly and her white face giving him more cause for concern than Bell's crying, for the moment. "Are you having pains?" he asked, checking the life flow at her wrist.

"No. I just c…can't s…stop sh…shaking."

As he ran expert hands along her limbs the doctor instructed Sam to fetch blankets from the cart. "Now Daisy, you've had a nasty shock so let Sam wrap you in a blanket. It will stop the shivering. Are you hurt anywhere?"

"N...no. See to B...Bell first. I'm a...alright."

A quick run of expert fingers about her ribs and Adelard nodded, turning his attention to Bell. Although the injury to her lower leg was clear, he took time to check her thoroughly and probed gently at the area around the bruise on her skull, before accepting Ashlee from Bartimus and examining the faunt in like manner. He handed Ashlee back to Sam. "Just keep him warm and try to soothe him. It's difficult to tell at this age, but I don't think anything is broken. To be safe, watch his breathing if he falls asleep." Bartimus was next and the doctor insisted that he sit still while he checked his skull, before finally declaring, "You'll do. Make yourself useful. Find a straight branch to splint your daughter's leg."

Daisy took Bell's hand in hers, bending to kiss her brow. "It's alright, bairn. The doctor will have you feeling better soon." It was doubtful that Bell heard her over her own wails.

Frodo watched all from his place at the pony's head, feeling more helpless than he could remember at any other time in his life. Adelard Proudfoot was well trained, however, and soon Bell's leg was straightened, all were bandaged, physicked, and wrapped in blankets in the back of the cart. Ever capable, Sam took the reins while the doctor rode with his charges.

By the time they arrived in Hobbiton, word had spread, and a large crowd was gathered in the square outside the cottage gate. Marigold and Hamfast had lit fires and turned down beds and, surprisingly, Rosemary Proudfoot was filling basins with hot water and stirring a big pot on the kitchen range.

Sam lead the pony and cart back to the stable, and Frodo found himself standing in the back yard, alone. A sudden rush of nausea had him lurching to the privy, where he relieved himself of every last bit of the food he had eaten that day. When he came out, it was all he could do to stay on his feet long enough to find a patch of grass. Once there, his knees folded beneath him.

Sam found him there a little while later, and helped him into the kitchen, where Rosemary pressed a cup of broth into his hands. Her brisk injunction to, "Drink that now, or I'll pour it down your throat myself, Mister Baggins," helped draw Frodo from the haze he had fallen into. After a few sips he looked about, to see Sam at his side, also meekly drinking.

"Are you feelin' better, sir?"

"A bit. Thank you, Sam. How are the others?" His eyes widened as he saw the mud and grass stains on Sam's shirt. "I never thought to ask. How are you?"

It was Rosemary Proudfoot who answered, from where she was standing at the kitchen sink, washing crockery. "Bartimus and Daisy are just shaken. The midwife says Daisy's bairn will be alright, as long as she stays in bed for a few days. Adelard is neatening up the splint on Bell's leg. Gaffer Gamgee will sit with them through the night to make sure that bump on her head doesn't turn into something nasty." When she saw Frodo blanch she tutted. "It's just a precaution. She's looking bright enough now that she's had a drop of medicine for the pain. Children pull through these things faster than adults."

Usually, Frodo would challenge any comments made by Rosemary on the raising of children, but she was the doctor's wife. "And Ashlee?" Frodo asked, relieved to note that the trembling in his hands was fading with each sip of broth. Rosemary had her faults, goodness knows, but when it came down to the wire, it seemed she did not flinch from a little work.

"Marigold will watch him for the night too. He's mainly worn out from crying, but there are no injuries. From what Sam tells me, Bartimus did some very quick thinking."

Sam managed a weak smile. "I don't think any of us has moved that quickly before."

At that moment, Adelard strode into the kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up and his step was brisk as he crossed to peer into Frodo and Sam's eyes. Nodding, he set his bag upon the table and drew up a chair at Frodo's side. "Rosemary, I'll need hot water and cloths. Frodo here needs a couple of stitches."

Half an hour later Frodo was trudging home, with an attentive Daddy Twofoot at his elbow. The doctor had insisted that Frodo not walk alone, particularly after making him down a small cup of medicine. Alver, who with several others had been hanging around the garden gate for news, offered to escort him. At the door to Bag End, he bid Frodo good afternoon, with the promise that he would check up on him in the morning.

Sam remained with his family in the village and, despite feeling a little too alone for a while, Frodo could not begrudge his friend that comfort. For his part, Frodo paused only long enough to remove his blood stained breeches, before falling into bed. His last thought, before Dr Proudfoot's medicine finally carried him down into sleep, was that Daisy would doubtless chide him for not putting those breeches to soak in cold water. He knew nothing more until dawn the next day.

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