Chapter Rating: G

1.1 Chapter 6: The Letter

December 1st S.R. 1419

Captains Meriodoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took rode into Hobbiton with a small band of their Shire-militia in close military formation. The town folk lined the streets, cheering the handsome young Captains in their finery and the town folk's own brave lads marching at their side. The armed force wore Shirriff's hats with gay yellow and green feathers waving in the crisp December breeze. Merry blew on his silver horn and Pippin waved at all the pretty young lasses who were flicking colorful handkerchiefs and ribbons at him. In a great show of military pomp, Merry formally dismissed their escorts at the Hobbiton market square. As the disbanded Shirriffs wandered back to their own homes and holes, the two friends rode their dappled ponies up to Bag End.

Frodo was waiting for them in the study. After each was settled into a comfortable chair with a mug of beer, Merry and Pippin reported on their actions concerning the rousting of Sharkey's Men. All the Men surviving the Battle of Bywater had been rounded up and either killed in subsequent battles, or escorted to the borders. The Shire was now secure. Frodo toasted the gallant pair on their success.

"Can you two stay for awhile?" Frodo asked. He was hoping Merry and Pippin would remain for lunch, as Frodo was a bit lonely for company. Whenever Sam was in town, he concentrated his time on restoring #3 Bag Shot Row for his Gaffer and was seldom at Bag End. Right now Sam was away on one of his frequent trips to the North Farthing concerning selection of saplings for replanting Hobbiton. Rose was back at her family's farm, helping can and dry produce.

Frodo hid his disappointment when Merry said he and Pippin had to be making their way back to Crickethollow that very day. They wanted to go ahead and start the journey, as the sky promised cold rain that night. They hoped to make it all the way to Crickethollow before the rains, now that they were unencumbered by the foot soldiers. The Captains had acquired two of the largest ponies in the Shire and could make excellent speed when pressed.

As they rode away down Bag Shot Road, Frodo pulled the door closed. "One task completed." He thought. "Let's see what other loose ends need tightening."

He took out the list of concerns he and Sam had made back in November. "Ah, yes…Now that the roads and byways have been secured, the postal service can be restarted. And we desperately need a physician."

The easy task was drafting a letter authorizing reestablishment of the post. He made a copy for Mayor Whitfoot's approval and tucked it inside his backpack. The next letter was much more difficult to write.

"This should be easy," he thought. "Guess my own fears of falling ill again make me more sensitive to this need than to the others. Ah well, just get it done."

The letter was an urgent plea asking for a physician to voluntarily relocate immediately to Hobbiton. He tried wording it as a formal request from the Deputy Mayor of Hobbiton, but the wording was too stuffy and formal. He destroyed that draft and began again. The next attempt was more of a plea for help, but it sounded too personal. That one also went into the fire. Finally he was satisfied with the third draft, which combined the personal letter style with the wording from the Deputy Mayor of Hobbiton. Frodo made a copy of this and placed them alongside the other document in his backpack. A quick trip to the Mayor's house, and the two letters were approved, copied by Mrs. Whitfoot and sent out to every hamlet and village in the Shire. He had to be patient now.

Meanwhile, Fredigar had been busy directing the construction of new Bag Shot Row hobbit holes. That week Bag Shot Row #1 and #2 were ready for reoccupation. The Widow Rumble moved back into #2. The Wode family (all nine of them) moved back in to #1.

December 5th

The day was cold and overcast with dark rain clouds. Around 10:00am Sam arrived at the Cotton farm. He was driving a large wagon laden down with saplings from the North Farthing. The Cottons bundled up and helped with the unloading. Soon chestnut, hazel wood, oak, pine, cherry, apple, linden, walnut, mulberry, and maple saplings were lined up in tidy rows along the outside of the barn. Each was tagged and bundled, ready for planting.

Frodo stayed inside, watching the activity while sitting next to the stove in the kitchen. His shoulder ached and he couldn't seem to get warm, but he was able to hide his discomfort from the Cottons. He tossed another log into the stove and set a kettle on to boil for tea. Right before everyone came inside, Frodo set the tea to steep and vanished back into his room. He knew Sam would see right through his obstinate show of normalcy and a scene would be had there in the kitchen. The last thing Frodo wanted at the moment was a public shouting match with Sam over his illness.

As soon as the saplings were safely put away, the farmers poured into the warm kitchen. Scarves, mittens and coats were flung on the mudroom pegs and everyone gathered around the red-hot stove to warm up. They discovered the pot of warm tea under the quilted cozy.

"Where's Frodo?" Sam asked.

"Evidently he was here a short while ago," said Mistress Cotton. "Must have gone back to his room or else he's off to Bag End." Sam grabbed a mug of tea and went down to Frodo's room.

"Hello there Frodo," Sam said, knocking on the door. "Mind if I come in?"

"Come on in Sam," came the reply from inside the room. As Sam walked into the room he immediately noticed the faint circles under Frodo's eyes and the slight pinched look on his pale face. He also noticed Frodo was fully clothed inside the rather over-warm room. Something was not right with his master, and he was not about to let Frodo off without an explanation.

"Right," Sam said, placing his mug on the nightstand and coming over to place his callused hands on Frodo's slim shoulders. "It's back to bed for you." Frodo couldn't suppress wincing as Sam patted him on the shoulder.

"Sam, leave me alone, will you?" Frodo was annoyed as he slid out from under Sam's reach. "You are not my mother and you are not Bilbo."

"That's a nice 'welcome home' if ever I heard one," Sam countered. "I can read your face plain as day. You're sick and I want you to stay in bed."

"Welcome home. There. Satisfied?" Frodo was in a foul mood now. "I don't need to be in bed and I don't need to be bossed around."

"Look here, Mister Frodo Baggins, it's clear to me you're in pain," Sam said. "Stay put and rest until you're better, and that's an order!"

"I will NEVER be better," Frodo almost screamed. "The pain is constant. I just have to live with it. Don't mother me, Sam. I am not asking for your pity. If I stayed in every time I was in pain I would never get out of bed. Just leave me alone, Sam. There is nothing you or Elrond or Gandalf or anyone else can do, can't you get that through your thick head?"

He saw this really hurt Sam's feelings, but Frodo was tired of trying to simultaneously hide his pain and yet seek relief. He deeply regretted snapping at his closest friend but was determined to not become an invalid. He grabbed his coat and started pulling it on. "I am going over to Bag End today. Don't try to stop me either."

Sam's face flushed red with anger. "You are NOT going to Bag End! You are going right to bed this instant!" He tried to take the coat away and force Frodo into bed. Frodo pushed him away with a surprisingly violent shove. Sam grabbed him and accidentally hit his left shoulder.

Pain! It felt like glass being twisted in his shoulder. Frodo doubled over in agony, gasping. Tears came unbidden to his eyes. Tears more of misery and frustration than pain. Sam immediately let him go, aghast that he had actually hurt Frodo.

"Oh no! Frodo! Please forgive me! I didn't know it was that bad. Oh, I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive your Sam. Please sit down," Sam blubbered. Frodo sank his head onto Sam's shoulder, whimpering. They both collapsed into a heap on the floor. Frodo cradled his hurt left arm, softly moaning. Sam circled his arms gently around Frodo's shoulders, rubbing his back and shushing him like a frightened child. Sam stroked Frodo's increasingly greying curls. Now that the Ring was destroyed Frodo was rapidly aging. It was a double blow to Sam to see his friend and master so consumed by this relentless wearing away. He had always thought of Frodo as ageless and fearless – the very embodiment of self-sacrifice and virtue. Now the naked truth was revealed. Frodo would never be well, nor would he live very long.

Eventually Frodo gritted his teeth and straightened up, tears streaking his face. "Please, Sam," Frodo whispered, "let me try to deal with this in my own way."

Sam was crying, head in his sturdy hands, ashamed of his actions. "I can't abide seeing you like this. It tears me in two."

"I know, and my everlasting sorrow is to be the cause of your worry," Frodo said as he caressed Sam's plain round gentle hobbit face. "Sam, I'll be all right. I can manage. Here. Just let me catch my breath." Frodo sat on the floor struggling to control his breathing. Sam used his sleeve to dry the tears streaming down his face, then wiped Frodo's tear-stained cheeks.

There was a timid knock on the bedroom door. Frodo looked up, ashamed at his pitiful condition. "Please, Sam, don't let anyone see me like this."

Sam got up and went to the door. Without opening it he asked what they wanted. It was Rose. "Are you two all right?"

Sam cleared his tight throat and answered through the door, "Yes, just give us a few minutes Rosie, love." As Sam turned around, Frodo had managed to climb into a chair. He was pale, but in control of himself again.

Sam knelt at his feet. "Frodo, we've got to get you a doctor."

"What do you think a hobbit doctor can do that Lord Elrond and Gandalf could not?"

"I don't know. But it'll be better than you just suffering day after day."

Frodo sighed, "Sam, you are the best friend a hobbit ever had. I wish it was not this way, but it is. Please accept the fact that I will have good days and I will have bad days. Today is not so bad, really. I can manage, if you will help me. I cannot abide other folk's pity."

"I made it through Mordor and back again with you," Sam said, helping Frodo into his traveling cloak. He stopped and turned Frodo so that he could look his best friend in the world straight in the eyes.

"I would have leapt into the very fires of Mount Doom for you, if you had asked. I'll never again try to stop you from doing what you've set your mind to. Just don't leave without me. Promise me that. You'll not be leaving your Sam will you?"

Frodo couldn't look Sam in the eyes.

"I cannot promise that, Sam. If it comes to it, I might have to leave," Frodo quietly said as he fastened an Elvish broach closing the cloak. "But not now. I will not ask that of you now, Sam. Right now I am going over to Bag End for the rest of the day. I promise to take it easy. Kiss Rosie for me and make up something so she will not worry." And with that, Frodo left.

December 10th

A postal massager arrived at Bag End with a very important-looking letter addressed to the Deputy Mayor. Frodo chatted with the messenger for a moment, trying to hide his excitement, then stepped back inside to read the missive. Iris Proudfoot of Southway, South Farthing had replied to Frodo's plea for a physician. She sent a letter to Master Frodo Baggins, Deputy Mayor of Hobbiton, stating that she would be willing to leave her employment with Mistress Weaver, the physician and midwife of the South Farthing, and relocate to Hobbiton to become their full-time physician. Miss Proudfoot stated that she was originally from Tuckborough and maintained a good relationship with her cousin, Tandy Bofin of Hobbiton. Tandy had arranged for her to share lodgings with him until the Apothecary and Physician's Office and associated living spaces were reconstructed in Hobbiton. She had heard of the troubles in Hobbiton from her cousin and understood the urgency of relocating immediately to the area. She was willing to bring extra medical supplies with her, and indicated that she would take care of organizing her own transportation to Hobbiton.

Frodo could hardly believe his luck! A physician would be arriving within the week! Things were looking up.