Dream With Hope
by Talisha Hibdon

RATING: G (future NC-17)
DISCLAIMER: The disclaimer telling you that I don't own Frodo or Sam or any of Tolkien's world was pushed into the Cracks of Doom. D
SUMMARY: A drama in the works. Frodo decides to return to Middle- earth to try and find new meaning for his life without the hope of ever having Sam's love. But is there really no hope?
NOTES: This fic may take a LONG time to write. I've no clue how many chapters there will be, but this fic WILL be long. Have patience and you will be rewarded! All feedback welcome, especially as this fic is still in the drafting stages.
SPOILERS: If you have not read the Return of the King, or at least know how LOTR is going to end, you probably shouldn't read this fic, that is unless you peeps like spoilers, like I do.

Chapter 5

Tears and rain were filling the air, gently falling on the sympathetic leaves of white rose bushes. A flash of gold, damp and dripping, a blink of deepening brown, warm and welcoming, stole across the garden to where he sat, trembling arms wrapped about legs slick with water, dark curly head bent over them as if they could possibly offer more comfort than the roses, sympathetic though they might have been. The flowers quivered and the trees sighed as if a loved one had at last come to make things right again. And just so, as the owner of gold and deep brown, who had indeed tended the green living things so thoughtfully, was soon stalking up slowly to meet the misery that sat forlornly before their feet.

"Mr. Frodo?"

Despair filled Frodo Baggins's heart like a choking black smoke. He assumed it had shown on his face as he glanced up to meet the sweet earth browns of the little boy's eyes, for as soon as their gaze met, the lad's face grew that much more concerned.

"What are ye doing out here all by yourself?" Sam Gamgee asked tentatively, creeping a step closer to where Frodo sat shivering among the rose bushes of the Bag End gardens, "if you'll pardon me askin', sir..."

Frodo tried to blink away the tears that were issuing from his eyes, mingling with the rain droplets that dripped from his soaking bangs. He wondered briefly if Sam would notice that all the dampness on his cheeks had not come only from the weeping sky.

"You'll be catchin' a cold soon, Mr. Frodo, if ye choose to sit out here much longer," Sam reminded him, taking another awkward step forward.

Frodo shuddered. "I feel so alone, Sam..." he murmured before he could stop himself. Perhaps his heart had decided to override his mind's struggle for reason, for it desperately wanted to accept whatever comfort the hobbit boy may have to offer.

"You aren't alone, Mr. Frodo!" Sam immediately forgot his shyness and plopped down on the ground right in front of Frodo, uncaring for both mud and water soaking through his breeches. "You got Mr. Bilbo, who cares right deeply about you... and ye have me too. Whatever made you think that you were alone?"

"My parents, Sam..." a sob caught in his throat as he tried to recall their smiling, loving faces. How long had it been since he'd seen them? "Nine years..." He spoke more to himself then to Sam, and his shivering grew worse.

The young lad's brow furrowed at this. He crawled over close and sat beside the tweenager, placing a meek hand on his back in an effort to comfort. They sat in a silence that was only disturbed by the unceasing downpour. Frodo felt Sam take a deep breath through the contact of their bodies as they sat side by side before he heard him speak at length. "You miss them terribly, don't you..."

Frodo nodded against his arms, his throat tightening over another sob that demanded to be let loose.

"I'm nine years old meself, ye know..." Sam maundered after another tense moment of quiet between them. Frodo was brought up sharp and he looked at Sam, though the boy was no longer looking at him but admiring the white rose bushes that surrounded them as if quietly listening. Samwise had been born in the very same year that his own parents had drowned to death.

Mouth set slightly open, Frodo watched as one in a dream as Sam took another deep breath and spoke again. "My Gaffer had been the one what told me about your poor parents drownin'. I didn't have the nerve to ask ye up front why ye didn't seem to have any folks of your own around, as you understand." He hid his earth brown irises as his lids closed to, long lashes sticking damply to his cheeks, a slight modest flush rising to tint his tanned skin pink. "When he told me when it happened, I was right shocked. That both events should happen in the same year..."

Frodo blinked rapidly, trying to see his friend's face through the blur of tears in his blue eyes. "But then I gave the matter some thought," Sam continued. "And I said to myself, I says, 'Sam-lad, this has to be more than mere chance... Maybe...'" and here he turned at last to look the older boy in the eye, "maybe I was born BECAUSE of what happened to your dear parents. Mr. Frodo. I think," the boy blushed slightly and cast his eyes to the ground, "that I must have been born to help you, to be your friend, so that ye wouldn't have to be alone."

The heart within Frodo's chest squeezed painfully at those words, so softly spoken. "Oh Sam..." he whispered, feeling tears falling afresh at the selflessness of the boy's statement. The hobbit lad looked up at him and, seeing that the tweenager had started weeping again, threw his arms around Frodo's neck, forgetting all about what was proper and socially acceptable when dealing with one's betters. His vision was blinded again as he was surrounded in the scent of fresh earth, flowers, rain, and Sam.

"Don't cry, Mr. Frodo," the lad soothed, using a calloused little hand, still slightly soiled from gardening, to stroke and pet the Baggins's hair, rain water coloring it black against his skin. "Your Sam won't leave you alone ever, I promise... I promise..."

It was simple, childish affection, but it meant so much more than that to Frodo. Sam would never know just how much that promise would affect him. Even though his was twelve years older than the hobbit boy, he had known instantly that he would never find a better friend than Samwise Gamgee, 'friend of friends' as Frodo would later name him. That rainy day next to the white rose bushes in the Bag End gardens had been the turning point in Frodo Baggins' life. It was the point when he at last came to peace with his parents death and had truly began to live again.

Even as he sat up in his bed in Brandy Hall in the middle of the night, having just dreamt of that fateful day, he doubted, just the same as he always had, that he would have ever fully recovered from the loss, had it not been for a simple gardener's son's kind words, warm embrace, and an innocent, sincere promise from the heart.

The tabby at the foot of his bed stalked up to curl up on his lap, seeming to be completely unconcerned with why his Master was sweating and breathing heavily. He meowed up at the Hobbit and their sapphire irises met, shinning at each other in the dark.

I can't forget, Frodo thought to himself. I can't... and now I realize that... I don't really want to anymore...

" You cannot pass!" cried Frodo-lad, as Gandalf.

"Okay."

"You can't just say, 'Okay.'"

"I can't?"

"No! You're a Balrog, a big ugly demon that wants to kill the Nine Walkers."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he's hungry and wants hobbit for dinner. Now, 'you cannot pass.'"

"Yes I can," Merry crossed his arms and tried to look menacing.

"Roar, Mer. Balrogs can't talk."

"Grrrar!"

Frodo-lad waved a stick like a staff in Merry-lad's face. "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! You cannot pass!"

"Okay."

"You can't just say 'okay'!"

"Why not? That's a pretty impressive title you got."

"But that's not how it goes."

"Okay. No, Gandalf, I'm gonna eat ye and use yer bones for toothpicks."

"Merry, Balrog's can't talk! Growl, roar, anything but talk. Come on, work with me."

"Roar," the lad said in monotone.

"The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!"

"Who ever heard of dark fire? Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of fire, to give light?"

"It's a figure of speech, you twit. Now, 'go back to the shadow.'"

"Fine, I have some goblins to roast anyway."

Frodo frowned. "Blast it, Mer, that's not how it goes!"

"I want to be Gandalf."

"You can't."

"Why?"

"I have the stick."

"Oh."

And so it went. Rose, Goldilocks, and Pippin watched as their two brothers acted out the fight of Gandalf and the Balrog on a grassy knoll near the Water. Play acting of the events in the Red Book had become a daily routine ever since the family discovered Frodo had been sneaking peeks into their father's book in secret. Their mother had punished him with no dinner or supper the day she caught him at it, but the rest of the children felt a strange admiration for their eldest brother cheekiness. They demanded to have Frodo-lad tell them every bit of the story that he knew.

Frodo always played the heroes - Frodo Baggins, Gandalf, Strider - while someone else, usually Merry or Rose, always played the villains: Black Riders, Goblins, and the Balrog. And whenever anyone tried to wrestle the best part away from Frodo, he would simply declare that he was the one who actually read from the Book and knew all the lines. And so they were stuck with the roles they were given. Sometimes he even drew their other siblings into the game.

"Gandalf, no!" Pippin cried out, pretending to be the Ring-bearer.

"Not now, Pip," Goldilocks murmured. "It's not time yet."

"Back from this bridge, or I shall plunge you into the abyss!" Frodo-lad waves his stick around mightily.

"Growl, snarl, roar!" Merry shouted, at last getting into the game now that he had a weapon of his own, a piece of ribbon that was wielded like a whip.

"Don't you get my ribbon dirty!" Rose warned, her normally tied up hair falling in loose light brown waves about her face.

"Then fall, spawn of Melkor- oof!" Frodo didn't have time to finish as Merry tackled him, causing them both to fall over and roll down
the knoll.

"Gandalf! No!" Pippin squealed with delight.

"Fly you foo- Ai! that's cold!" Frodo's voice cried out from the bottom of the knoll. The children looked over the "abyss" to see both Merry-lad and Frodo-lad submerged to the knees in the Water, drenched from head to furry toes.

"Oi! My ribbon!" Rose exclaimed in dismay. Goldilocks and Pippin-lad were already rolling on the ground laughing hard and holding their sides.

"Merry," Frodo shivered, rubbing his arms.

"What?" Merry responded in turn, biting his lip to keep it from shaking.

"You'll never act in this town again."

"This is insanity, Frodo!"

The late morning sunshine poured through the guest bedroom, reflecting off the fine polished wooden walls in a bouncing light that illuminated the whole room. The cat Para laid curled up on the wide four post bed, snuggled in the downy wide softness of the bedspread with the light reflecting off his stripped coat like silver. He yawned widely and watched with sparkling blue eyes as his Master moved about the room.

Frodo ignored Merry's protests as he continued to pack his bags with all his things, Merry taking out those things to place them back where they were before just afterward. "Don't hinder me, Merry.." he said softly as he stuffed a sweater into a bag, only to have it taken out and put back a second later by his younger cousin.

The former Master of Bag End had come to him that morning saying that he intended on moving back to Hobbiton, or at least some town near it, just to be near Samwise again. Merry was obviously completely against the idea, saying that it would be pointless and even cruel torture to be so close to someone he wanted but could never have.

Frodo didn't care, though. He had dreamt every night for the past two weeks, since the two cousins had had their talk, and every night Sam's face had haunted his dreams, memories of their youth, the only time where Frodo was truly happy. It made him long for those times again, and for the places and faces that went with those memories. And all of them lived in Hobbiton, so there too he would go, to both revel and sorrow in happy memories long past.

"Frodo, you don't have to go. There's probably no use in it. You know that," Merry insisted, reaching to take out another possession from his bags only to have his wrist grabbed by Frodo's four fingered hand. Frodo looked at Merry pleadingly a moment before letting him go to put some more clothes into his bags. Merry stepped away reluctantly and let the Baggins continue unhindered with his packing.

"Going back.. Living in the past... Frodo, your feelings for him can only bring you unhappiness."

"Then I'll be unhappy!" Frodo suddenly shouted, turning his eyes like blue flame to him and causing the taller hobbit to almost flinch. The former Ring-bearer was often a fearful sight when roused to anger, even in his younger days before the Ring. But then his face twisted into a pained expression that could have broken his heart. "But I CAN'T... forget him..."

Merry blinked and felt his heart sink. There'd be no way of preventing Frodo from going back towards Hobbiton now, he knew. "I... I just don't want to see you get hurt.." the Master of Buckland murmured softly, looking down at the ground.

Frodo sighed and stepped up to his younger cousin, placing a reassuring hand on Merry's shoulder. "I know, cos. But you have to try to understand..." Merry looked up and their eyes met. "What you are saying... about trying to forget about Sam and my feelings for him.. I've been trying to do exactly that for YEARS now. It's impossible for me to do this. Every fond memory I still have is filled with him. His presence is in every bit of happiness I have ever felt. If I stay here and try to forget him, I would also have to forget what happiness is like.."

"But if you go back..." Merry started, reaching up to grip his hand.

"If I go back, I will be unhappy because he doesn't care about me the same as I do him?" Frodo asked, and a strange smile crept upon his lips, sorrowful yet accepting. "This may be true. But at least I'll have the memory to hold close to my heart."

"Memory is not what the heart desires," Merry muttered. "Gimli told us that, and he was right."

Frodo took Merry's hand and led him to where they could both sit on the bed. He looked his cousin steadily in the eye as he spoke softly, stroking his hand absentmindedly in an effort to reassure. "Do you remember, Merry, what it was like when things were simpler? When all of us, you, me, Sam, and Pippin, were younger and more innocent? Remember how happy we were? I up in Bag End with Sam working in my garden? You visiting constantly with Pippin and causing mischief together?" Merry chuckled wistfully at this. "Remember all of us at ease, taking each day as it came?"

"I thought those days would never end.." Merry sighed.

Frodo smiled sadly. "So did I," he said, gripping Merry's hand. "Now try to imagine what your life would be like without those memories. Think. What if you couldn't recall any of it? Not one smile, not one embrace, not a single sliver of happiness long past or love once felt. How do you see your life as being without those moments to think back on?"

Merry blinked at his cousin, understanding sinking in like a ray of sun cutting through a thick fog in his mind. "I... suppose I'd be.. a very empty person indeed."

Frodo cast his bright blue eyes to the bed spread, not letting go of Meriadoc's hand. "I know that emptiness well, dear Merry. I felt it with every step I took in Mordor. The Ring had taken everything from me, every recollection of laughter shared, of songs sung, of touch of hands. I was left with nothing. Those days were the emptiest of my life, Merry. Even with Sam right there next to me, I couldn't see him. I was without hope."

Merry stared with a slightly horrified expression. He had not heard this part of the tale before, and to be told of it now clarified a lot of things. Frodo took a deep breath before continuing. "So you see, Merry, I can't just forget about Sam, or about what I feel for him. Memory may not be exactly what the heart desires, but it's an essential part of who we are. They are mirrors, as Gimli said, mirrors reflecting ourselves. I lost myself in those dark days spent in Mordor. Even now, years later, I have trouble recalling all that had happened in my life before the destruction of the Ring. I need to remember, cos. I need those memories, if I am to find myself again."

The feline next to them purred, blue cat eyes reflecting the sunlight.

"He doesn't love me as I love him," Frodo acknowledged without so much as a blink. "I know this. What was wrong with me all those years ago was that I couldn't accept it. I was selfish, desperate for more than just a memory of a dream with hope, and when I couldn't get what I wanted, I locked myself away, running away from the truth like a spoiled child denied a sweet. I left Middle-earth with the notion that if I could make myself forget about my love for him, forget about him entirely, then the pain of losing him would then lessen and disappear all together. I was wrong. I should have realized then that it is impossible to try and make your heart, your soul forget something it so desperately needs to make yourself you.

"I'm going back, Merry, and I'm not expecting anything from anyone. I'll get by on my own. I just.. need to go back to what I knew first, to be close to those mirrors of happiness, if I am to remember what happiness feels like at all. If I can only be near him, if I can only breathe the same air he does, I'll at least have that memory of love, however platonic, to sustain me, to fill that emptiness I've held for too long."

As Frodo moved to stand up and finish packing, Merry abruptly took his cousin into a fierce embrace, only just remembering not to lift him off the ground this time. "You're wiser than I, Frodo, though I still think you are a fool for going back..." He felt Frodo rubbing his back, as if it were he who needed the comforting around here! "Just don't let your feelings for him destroy you..."

"Perhaps I have no choice," Frodo whispered.

After all of Frodo's things were packed back onto his pony, the two cousins spent the remainder of the morning in a reflective silence, each having something on his mind to occupy him. At midday, after taking their last meal together, Frodo was ready for departure. The feline Para, which had followed Frodo all the way from the Grey Havens, sat upon the back of the pony, settling in for a long nap, obviously intent on following him further still.

Meriadoc decided that he would walk with Frodo as far at the Buckland gates. Taking the pony's reigns, the two walked together, Frodo taking in the sights and sounds of Buckland as Merry took in the sight of his cousin, whom he guessed he would not be seeing again for a fair while. People nodded and bowed to the Master of Buckland as he passed, and more often than not a curious and sometimes even skeptical eye was cast on the Hobbit that accompanied him.

When the two parted at the gates, Merry gave Frodo a large purse full of money. "With that you'll be able to buy yourself a decent hole or house to live in," he grinned at his eldest cousin, not without some tears in his eyes.

By the gates of Buckland the two cousins, both alike in dignity and sorrow, embraced each other, Frodo uncaring that the taller Hobbit was lifting him off the ground again. By the gates of Buckland Frodo left his cousin behind and went out into the world to try and find himself and his home again.

"Come back to visit a poor bachelor hobbit sometime, dear cos!" Merry shouted to his back.

"Only if you promise to visit a lonely old hobbit as well, Merry my lad!" Frodo called over his shoulder.

The Hobbit traveled on all that day, having trained himself to take as little rest as possible from his many, hasty journeys in the past. Breaking such a habit was hard, and even if there weren't any Black Riders left in the world to haunt his footsteps, he still felt the need to press on and get back to Hobbiton as quickly as possible. That night he dreamt of white roses and working hands, and a smell of home.

The Hobbit awoke early with the sun, and after a light first breakfast he started off again. Hours passed and still he rode, eyes fixed steadily on the Road ahead of him. The birds sang from the trees that lined the side of the Road, and he slowly began to recognize it as the song sung outside his bedroom window in Bag End, long ago. It was the same joyous, uplifting song, "Oh sweet Middle-earth, Middle-earth, Middle-earth!"

Frodo smiled and felt his spirits lift with the song so familiar. It conjured up memories of home, waking up each morning to the sound the these same birds' song and to Sam opening up the curtains of his room, letting the sunshine in, and greeting him cheerfully, "Wake up, Mr. Frodo! You're breakfast is ready." Eru above, how he missed those times so. He tried not to dwell on the fact that Sam would never greet him with each morning again and simply chose to enjoy the memory of happiness the birds' singing brought back to him.

Then suddenly, quite surprising himself in the process, he began to sing a cheerful little song he made right there on the spot. The cat on his lap yawned and looked up, his tail twitching with apparent interest.

O long Road that ever runs on
With footsteps of folk long gone
That I tread with feet so tired of treading,
I implore that you please guide me
To where I can then at last see
Those green hills to which I have been heading.

Now I have seen many things
But still nothing so far brings
The joys that all good smails require.
For the comforts of home I long;
In this I cannot be wrong,
It's a Hobbit's first natural desire.

So no matter how far I roam,
There's no place like home sweet home.

Sipping tea by my front gate,
Smelling roses as I wait
For a friend to come visit and reminisce.
Smoking a pipe by the fire,
Reading books I acquire;
These and more are all the things I miss.

I have traveled far and wide,
So far from where I abide.
My home I've forgotten how to get back to.
I've searched for it high and low,
But Road, where it's at you know.
So back to my home please lead me straight and true

For no matter how far I roam,
There's no place like home sweet home.

Para meowed loudly at the end of the song and Frodo flushed, somewhat pleased with his attempt at a rhyme. "Rot... Not anywhere near as good as Bilbo's rhyming," he thought aloud, "but perhaps I can work on it once I actually find a place to call home, eh?" He smiled down at the cat and rubbed it's head, eliciting a purr from the little beast.

Hours passed like minutes as more songs were called up to his memory, words and feelings he had actually forgotten while in Aman. How could he have forgotten such a simple pleasure as singing? Then the words of the Sea Elf Lune came back to him, "Never stop singing, little master." He wondered breifly if she had known that he had forgotten how.

Para yowled suddenly and leapt off his lap in haste, scurrying off into the trees before he could stop him. Being brought so abruptly out of his thoughts, he realized exactly where he was. Hobbiton rose around him in great swell of mossing green earth, smells of cooking, and voices of hobbits, ambling by on their own private business. His eyes widened and he froze. Where had the time gone? Without even realizing it, he had simply waltzed into Hobbiton as if he was coming back from a stroll!

Fear stole over him, fear of being discovered, and his blue eyes darted round to see if anyone had recognized him. No, he realized with no small amount of relief. Everyone around him were either too young to have really known him, or were too unknown to him for them to recognize him even if they did see him, if they could spare time away from what they were doing to look his way. A warm, sweet smell drifted to his nose and he smiled. The Muffin Tin was not a few yards away and it looked as if it were being ransacked by children. He got off his pony, realizing how hungry he was, and walked over to the small shop, tying up the pony before stepping in.

The scent of freshly baked bread drifted over Frodo as he entered. A whole assortment of goodies, muffins and cakes, pies and breads, lined all the cases and countertops in sight, and he noticed many children staring at the display cases with admiring eyes and more than one was licking their lips in anticipation. Coming up to the counter, he asked for some cakes to go, and then picked up the Shire Chronicle, glancing through the headlines but also using the modest publication as a way of shielding his face from anyone who might walk in and possibly recognize him. He didn't feel like having all of Hobbiton know he was back just yet, at least not until he was settled.

Scanning to the back of the paper, he noticed a section devoted to ads. Job opportunities, missing animals, wanted ads, personal ads (he had a nice laugh at some of them), and then he came to something that caught his eye. Home ads, for rent and sale. He grinned, glad to have found an easy way to locate a new home, then as he scanned through the prices his smile faded. Not only was there no available housing in Hobbiton, most everything in both Bywater and Overhill were ranged at prices that he couldn't afford with the money Merry gave him. He seriously didn't want to have to share a house with strangers, but it looked as if he wouldn't be given a choice. How had prices gotten so high?

"Perhaps it was because of the War. I suppose the Shire was well devastated. Funny how I never noticed it before," Frodo murmured, a troubled look flashing across his face. Then, near the end of the list, an ad caught his attention. "Says here, 'For those in immediate need of low cost housing: Two bedroom smail in a small, private hill, kitchen, parlor, and ample storage included. Needs some fixing up, but still good to keep the cold nights out. If interested, speak to Mrs. Emerald Burrows at Burrows Farm, Overhill.'" He looked over the small sketch of the floor plans and let out a sigh of relief. "It could be worse, Frodo Baggins, but at least it's affordable and you'll have your privacy."

The bell on the door tinkled, signaling that new customers had come into the shop. The voices of two boys rose above all the other chatter. "I told you, Pippin. You can only have one, since I was the one what did most of the work."

Frodo nearly lost his balance at the name and he peeked from behind his paper, doubly glad that it had hidden his face. Two boys, both quite young, were stalking up to the display cases to decide on which sweet they wanted to buy. Both had light brown hair, frosted blonde on the ends, and grey eyes that stared hungrily at the goodies.

"I want four, Merry," the smaller lad whispered too loudly, and Frodo's blue eyes widened even further as he watched.

"No, Pip! I can only afford 5 cookies from the money I got from the carrots I sold," said the older lad, swatting him lightly upside the head. "And you didn't even do any of the work. You just stood there and grinned like a fool."

"Two cookies," Pippin-lad stated, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Merry-lad sighed and relented. "Fine, you can have two, I guess. Now hurry up and pick one, before one of our sisters find out what we're up to..."

The ladyhobbit behind the counter tapped on Frodo's shoulder, causing him to nearly jump and cry out. She smiled and handed him the boxes of ordered cakes, and he thanked and paid her quietly, trying hard not to draw the children's attention to himself. Exiting discreetly and getting onto his pony, he made ready for the short trip to Overhill, pleased that he had kept anyone from recognizing him. He wondered briefly if the names "Merry" and "Pippin" had become popular after the War and whose children they were.

The Baggins drew his hood over his head as he made his way up the Hill, moving closer and closer to Bag End. He regretted the fact that the only clear road to Overhill was the North Hill Lane, which passed right by Bag End. Even though he had chosen to come back, he still didn't feel ready to face Samwise or any of his family yet. So he rode up the Hill and tread the Lane with as much stealth as his pony could muster, drawing as little attention to himself as he could.

The smell of baking, probably for afternoon tea or an early dinner, drifted from the open round windows of Bag End as he passed, hardly daring to look. Some cheerful voices were heard from within and Frodo urged his horse to go faster, his heart beating rapidly and fear of discovery causing him to sweat.

But fortunately Frodo passed by without being noticed, and the sounds of the voices faded with the smell of cooking on the warm breeze. He followed the small paved path that rounded the side of the hilltop and led in a slope down to the small town below. He felt his breathing return to normal as he put the Hill behind him.

Below him was stretched the small village of Overhill, full of small hills, all bunched together, making it appear as if the land were once a boiling pot of water that had solidified over time into green earth.

Down Frodo went, feeling his spirits lighten once more. Fact was that he had hardly ever traveled into Overhill even after living in Bag End for most of his life. He was certain that there wouldn't be a soul who would know him for who he was here. He made his way past a little park full of well tended flowerbeds and rose bushes, past some small hills lined with round doors leading into hobbit holes, and at last came to a smail with a small, clear patch of farmland beside it.

He got off his pony and passed through the short gate of the smail. The round door was blue and looked as if it would need a second paint job soon. He knocked on the door and he heard a crash from somewhere inside the kitchen, followed by a feminine cry of surprise. He waited a moment before the door at last opened, revealing a rather disheveled looking lady hobbit.

"Yes, sir? What can I do for you?" the lady smiled pleasantly, a blush creeping onto her face as she tried to straighten out her apron, which actually had some liquid spilt on it. She had bright emerald eyes and auburn hair that hung in loose waves about her shoulders. Her dress was black, which was a somewhat uncommon color for hobbits to wear, except for the apron which was yellow with frills. The small lines that creased the corners of her eyes made her look well past her coming of age.

"Yes, good evening, madam," Frodo greeted, taking off his hood and bowing to the lady, whose cheeks pinkened further. "I'm Frodo Baggins, madam. I'm here to speak to you about your ad in the paper?"

The lady blinked, then she laughed, opening the door wide. "Oh, ye mean about the smail I'm out to sell. Well then, come right in, Mr. Baggins. I'm Mrs. Emerald Burrows, at yer service and yer family's. Come inside, and I'll pour you some tea and get the cakes out of the oven. Then after we talk, I can show you to the smail."

Frodo stepped in at Mrs. Burrows beckoning. The floor beneath him was carpeted, soft and plush against the soles of his furry feet, and it led down the short hall toward a small living room with a large fireplace, a fire already burning bright to chase away the shadows of the darkening evening. The lady hobbit led him to a chair in the living room, close to the fire, then scuttled away to fetch tea and cake. He took the moments she was away to look around. Many paintings and framed sketches lined every wall he saw, ranging from portraits of family members to Shire landscapes and still lifes. An open sketch book lay on the small, low table in front of him, with an unfinished picture of the Hill drawn out on it.

"It's a fine home you have here, Mrs. Burrows," Frodo called to her from the kitchen.

"Oh! Thank you very much," came her cheerfully reply. A moment later she was back with a tray full of tea and seedcakes. "And please," she smiled, setting the tray down on the table and picking up the sketch book to put away. "Please call me Emerald."

The two hobbits talked politely for the few moments they sat enjoying their tea and cake. They spoke of the weather at first, then Frodo asked her about the sketch book and discovered that Emerald was an artist in her spare time. The farm had been left to her by her late husband and she tried to tend it as best she could, but she just wasn't much for farming.

She asked about Frodo, where he came from, what sort of things he was interested in, but Frodo answered as vaguely as he could so that she couldn't find out too much. He merely told her he was a Baggins from Hobbiton who had come to the end of his money and had to give up his hole in that town to try and find a less costly home.

"Oh! You poor dear," Emerald gasped, putting her hands to her lips. "How awful to have to give up the only home you've known." Then she cast her green eyes to the hearth, sighing audibly. "I'm sorry to say that the hole I'm going to show you won't be anywhere near as fancy is what you're used to, Mr. Baggins."

"Don't worry for that, Miss Emerald," Frodo smiled charmingly. "I'll be happy enough to have a door between myself and the night. And besides, I came here knowing full well the place would need fixing up as you stated so in your ad."

The widow grinned and finished her tea. "Well then, if we're both done, I shall be showing you your new home."

The two hobbits walked out, Emerald now holding a lamp as the evening came on fast around them. Frodo walked on foot beside her, leading his pony down the lanes and paths of Overhill. They had gone not a few smails down from her farm when they came to a small independent hill with a wooden structure like a small house built right next to it, seemingly attached to the hill itself. Shrubbery grew around the path leading up to the front porch, looking as if it might have had a garden once but had been lost in weeds after years of being unattended. The smail itself had a round maroon door with a dull brass knob.

Emerald took out some keys from her dress pocket and unlocked the door. It creaked slightly as it swung open, leading into rather plain looking hall with wooden floor planks and only a few pegs for hats and coats on the walls of the main hallway. The widow went on inside to light up some candles for light. The parlor had a large green rug in the exact middle with only two chairs and a table sitting on it. The fireplace on the wall was cold and grey. Nothing was hanging on the walls and everything looked as if it had a hundred years worth of dust thrown over it.

Mrs. Burrows came into the room with some wood and was about to bend down to start up a fire when she let out a loud shriek, jumping nearly a foot into the air and dropping all the wood onto the floor with a bang. Frodo's eyes flew wide and he rushed to her side, wondering what on earth had made her so startled. In the corner of the room there were two small gleaming spheres of blue staring out at them, shinning like blue fire in the candlelight. Frodo blinked at their familiar look, then gasped as the cat came scampering up to him, rubbing his slender grey body around his ankles.

"How in Middle-earth did you get here?" Frodo asked with no small amount of amazement as he picked up Para, who only looked at him.

"A cat!" Emerald gasped, holding her hand to her heart. "Seeing those eyes in the dark nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I thought he was gone for good," he murmured to Mrs. Burrows as her rubbed behind the feline's ears, much to the little creature's pleasure. "He ran away from me earlier today.."

"So he's yours?" the widow inquired, stooping to pick up the logs and put them in the fireplace for lighting.

"More like I'm his, I think," Frodo chuckled, putting the cat back down on the ground and watching is take off out of the room and down the hall that led further into the smail. Soon the red glow of a fire lit up the room. In the firelight, the room didn't look nearly as dreary, but it was obvious that he would have a lot of work ahead of him the next morning.

"Like I be saying," she shrugged, dusting her apron off, "this place needs fixin'."

"It will serve, madam," Frodo smiled and reached for the purse Merry had given him. "Now exactly how much-"

"Oh no," Mrs. Burrows shook her head and held up a hand before he could open up the bag. "I won't be accepting any money today. I want to know how you get on here first and whether you will be staying here for certain. Now, now, none of that look, Mr. Baggins, I insist. It's bad enough this place looks like it could house a thousand million giant spiders easily. Let's wait it out a bit, and if you're still here after a month, then you can pay me."

Frodo chuckled and put his purse back on his belt. "That's generous of you, Miss Emerald. Thank you."

"Pish posh," the widow smiled with a wave of her hand. "'Tis the very least I can do for such a fine gentlehobbit as down on yer luck as yeself. Now you know where I live. If you be needin' anything, don't hesitate to call on me. I'll just be lettin' myself out now." She curtsied and offered a pleasant smile. "Welcome to Overhill, Mr. Baggins, and good night!" With that she turned and walked briskly out of the parlor, and a moment later he heard the front door close down the hall.

After exploring most of the smail and finding where the bedrooms were located, Frodo set about straightening things out and unloading his pony. He had little enough possessions to start out with, so the place didn't look much different after he was done getting his things where they belonged, except for the fact the the place a bit less dusty. It was growing too dark to do any real cleaning yet, and he was very tired from the long journey, so he simply made his way to his new bedroom and settled down for the night.

It all felt so new to him, laying in a strange bed, staring up at a ceiling he had never slept under before, and knowing it would be his new home from then on. There was a lot of work to do the next day, but surprisingly he was looking forward to it. There was so much to do now, so many things to occupy his time, and he smiled at the thought that he might really be able to build a new life for himself, on his own, without help from anyone. He would be able to reap the benefits of his own labors, and therefore they would be that much sweeter.

Para leapt onto the bed and settled down next to him, sharing in the warmth of his body, and he began to pet the cat's soft fur absently, smiling as he felt the vibration of purrs through his own body as they lay next to each other. His thoughts suddenly turned to Samwise and he smiled without realizing it. He wouldn't tell Sam he was here just yet. He planned on waiting until the whole smail was fixed up and his new life firmly established, and them maybe, just maybe, he might send a surprise letter to Bag End, inviting him over for tea. He giggled as he imagined the look on Sam's face. How wonderful it will be to see his face again.

Sleep crept on him, and his dreams were sweeter than they had been for a long time. Dreams filled with future possibilities instead of the past losses. And for once, his rest went uninterrupted till the break of day.