I just want to say something...this story IS going to get happier! I've been reading over it and realize there is absolutely no levity in any of the chapters I've posted already...I promise you, there are some VERY happy times ahead. Thanks for the reviews, and for sticking with me!

Chapter 4: The Thain and Magnificent

A thin film of dust covered the interior of Bagshot Row. Sam walked around his old home, occasionally taking something to bring with him. Some cobwebs were knocked loose as he pushed open the door which used to be his Gaffer's bedroom. He brushed them away unconcernedly; he had dealt with worse before.

The sheets and blanket were still rumpled as if someone had slept there just the night before, even though it had been many, many years. Sam peered in thoughtfully, and smiled, seeing nothing worthier to take with him than the memory.

He stooped down near the doorway to pick up a walking stick and his old pack, when a sound behind him nearly startled him out of his wits.

"Splendid place you've got here! A bit dusty and abandoned, however."

Sam wheeled around and his eyes met a taller figure with his back turned, standing on tiptoe to swipe dust off a wall lantern with one finger. He turned a grinning face toward Sam. One he hadn't seen in a very long time.

"Merry!"

"All right there, Sam?"

They hugged tightly. "Why, Merry, if it's possible, you've gotten even taller since last I saw you. Ent-draught must be more powerful than I thought!" Sam exclaimed.

"Either that, Samwise, or perhaps you've only shrunk," Merry replied, mussing his hair.

From the cellar came another voice, muffled but clear enough.

"The house may be dusty," the voice said, accompanied by the noise of feet ascending the stairs. Pippin's face appeared in the doorway. "But I must say, the ale has aged marvelously." He wiped a line of froth from his lips and grinned. "Greetings from the Thain, of the house of Took, and his companion, Meriadoc the Magnificent of Buckland!" he cried, bowing low and exaggerating his hand movements.

Sam laughed and they embraced. "What're you two doing back here? I thought I'd seen the last of you when you left for Gondor!" he inquired.

Pippin sat down. "If you must know, we were escorting a certain Elanor the Fair home to the Shire, if you will. She's back at the Fairbairns, and she's most anxious to see her Da," he replied brightly.

Merry leaned against the mantelpiece. "She's waiting for you to come by on your...on your way," he said. His eyes became sad, even though he was still gently smiling.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but found nothing to say. He gave a sheepish smile and held Merry's eyes steadily. He had no idea how they might have found out about his plans to leave, but he was not about to change his mind.

"Why are you leaving, Sam? I thought you loved the Shire. I thought that's what kept you home...when, when he left."

"I do, and you're right. But the Shire's not all that brought me back. I had Rosie, and little Elanor, and little Frodo Gardner was on the way, if you remember. My gaffer was here, if not for very long, and...now all of that is gone. You've got your duties as esquires of the Kings," Sam said.

Merry interrupted, "We've been freed of duty, but we're still welcome in Gondor and in Rohan...go on, Sam."

He continued, "and my children are all gone now, if you take my meaning. Even Tolman is on his own now."

He sighed.

"Never leave your master, never, never, was my right rule. I've disobeyed it for far too long."

Merry stared at the floor and slowly sat down, his Rohanian chainmail clinking and glinting in the shafts of sunlight that filtered through the round windows.

He looked up. His voice was barely a whisper.

"It scarred you too, didn't it?"

That had not occurred to Sam. Slowly he ran his fingers along the back of his neck, feeling rough scars. They were permanent chain imprints that had never quite healed. He glanced at his left hand. A band of white skin showing through the tan was left on his index finger where it had rested.

He looked up at Merry and Pippin. His eyes were troubled.

"Why do you think he left?"

It was a rhetorical question, and they did not answer.