Many years ago, when Bell had announced that she would marry Hamfast Gamgee her family had tried to stop her. They'd made several decent arguments as to why it would ruin her life, the largest and loudest of all being: that he was a Ganyman. One of those strange hobbits too focused on the dead to see the living. He would never be there for her, they said, her children would grow up strange and peculiar, they cried, and she would die very much alone. All good solid arguments, but Bell had swept them all away; she was determined now, she would marry Hamfast Gamgee. And she didn't care what her mother might say; she would never regret her choice.

Middle-Earth, The Shire, Number 3 Bagshot Row: T.A. 2980

This had most certainly been the easiest of her pregnancies so far. That wasn't to say her others had been difficult as far as pregnancies went, but this one was like floating on a cloud…during a dream sequence where you didn't fall suddenly back into your waking body.

The delivery on the other hand: her whole body burned, and she was certain she felt her bones cracking in two within her. It was like her womb was desperately trying to hang on to the child within, as if it would be a great tragedy if he took his first waking breath. It was quite a far cry from the pregnancy that hadn't even given her a twinge in the back. The bloody creature in her belly hadn't even giving her a proper warning, one second, she'd been fetching Mister Bilbo and his dwarven guests some tea and the next her whole world had filled with agony.

The midwives had been called almost as soon as the first scream had left Bell Gamgee's mouth, but they needn't have rushed. By the time they'd arrived and set out all their gear she'd barely dilated one centimetre. And it had gone on like that for hours… probably… to be honest Bell wasn't entirely sure what part of the world she was in right now, let alone how much time had passed there. And there was so much blood; should there really have been so much blood?

Someone was screaming now, was it her? No, she had never stopped screaming, and this new voice had just started. It was more like wailing really, a baby's wail…oh, so it was over then. Bell used the last of her remaining strength to raise her head, so she could look at her new baby. He was all shiny and not just with new-born shininess either. He was so shiny he glowed. It hurt her eyes and she had to look away.

***
Middle-Earth, The Shire, Number 3 Bagshot Row: T.A. 2997, July 16th

Sam-lad's glow didn't dim over time like the others had either, if anything it had only grown brighter the longer Bell had looked at it. So, she rarely looked at it. Sometimes it felt like her face was melting when she was in his presence, or at the very least on fire. She'd scream at him then and try to put out his flame with a coal bucket, she'd almost succeeded once, but Hamfast had stopped her. It wasn't like that with the other children, they were normal, they were meant to be in this world. Not Sam-lad, he was just so bright, it would have been better if he'd just stayed in the womb.

Even now: unconscious, blood matting his hair and a dark bruise covering half of his forehead he shone like a light in the dark. Even the slowest hobbit could see it, yet what no one else seemed to grasp was that that light wasn't a lamp or a candle, it was a forest fire, and it would burn everything in its path if they let it. Young Mister Frodo had burst into her house that afternoon, carrying the limp form of her son in his arms and she felt sick, because she knew she did not have the strength to let that light go out. But she couldn't focus on that now, for the young gentlehobbit had burst in carrying only one of her sons that day.

'Halfred?'

The young hobbit shook his head, a quick darting motion that could mean anything from 'he's right behind me' to 'I'm sorry, I was too late'. Bell felt faint, but there was no time for that now, there was work to be done. She'd lost one child already – perhaps even two now – she was not prepared to lose another, not even Sam.

'Mister Frodo, you get our Sammy settled into the big bed while I go fetch a healer.' Assuming one would come, they'd refused to even see May before Hamfast had been accused of more than a dozen murders.

The Blarney son only knew what they would do now.

***
Nothing, as it turned out, she'd been turned away at the door before she could even speak to one of the healers. Every day for the next five weeks she visited them and begged, and every day they gave her the same answer: that they didn't serve families of murderers. Funny how they hadn't served them when they weren't a family of a murderer either, but then she supposed that was life for you.

For five weeks she'd made Samwise as comfortable as she could, and for five weeks he showed no sign of waking. Hamson, Daisy and the young master Frodo had joined the Shire wide search for Halfred and cousin Marmadoc, so they were gone most days. Mister Bilbo on the other hand had not moved from his chair by Sam-lad's bed once. As if making sure the son kept breathing would somehow bring the father back. Yes, this had been Bell's life for the last five weeks, with few changes to her routine; until the day she came into her son's room, laid his soup down by his bed, shook Mister Bilbo awake and checked Sam's pulse – just like she did every day. Except today, that pulse was dangerously low. Bell now had only one option left if she was to have any hope of saving Samwise: The Cottons.

***
The Shire, Bag-End, Bottom of the garden: T.A. 2997, September 13th

Gandalf had parked himself at the bottom of the garden, or at least the horse pulling his cart had and that was where he sat now. He could not say that in all his time in the land of Middle-Earth that he'd not become well acquainted with being turned away at the door. But to be turned away from this door, now that was something quite different.

It wasn't exactly that the old wizard had come to rely on the hospitality of this hobbit-hole when the hardships of the wider world had worn him thin, except yes, that was pretty much it. He had come to rely on Bilbo too much it would seem, either the hobbit in question had really vanished leaving his underage nephew to turn away visitors at the door, or he was simply hiding. Either way Gandalf was still stuck here, the only other hobbits that were consistently pleasant to him were the Tooks - and maybe the Brandybucks if they were in a fair mood – but they were all the way on the other side of the Shire and had already proved unhelpful.

The wizard closed his eyes and thought deeply, something had happened in the once idyllic Shire. More than one something if he was any judge, but what? A noise from down the road snapped the wizard out of his bemoaning thoughts. It was the sound of feet, hobbit-feet to be precise, a lot of them and they were heading right for him. Gandalf raised his head and peered into the distance, a large group of young hobbits were galloping down the lane at a speed that just could not be safe for anyone, let alone children. And at the head of the gaggle, strode Bilbo Baggins.

***
The Shire, Cotton Farm Stead: T.A. 2997 August 20th

The Cottons as far as most well to do Hobbits were concerned, were farmers, highly skilled and consistently reliable farmers, but just farmers none the less. For the more rustically inclined hobbit however, they were something quite different.

Going back generations – so long that no one was entirely sure when the tradition had started – the Cottons had been warlocks. Of course, they would never have called themselves such, but that was essentially what they were. Tolman Cotton, the current figure head of the family was said to be one of the most powerful magic users since the Blarney son himself. Of course, people also said that children of murderers should be left to die, so who could really trust what people said.

Bell's half-cousin Lily Brown had married Tolman around the same time she herself had married Hamfast, neither of their families had exactly approved of either of their marriages. But there would be time to dwell on that later, now though she needed her half- cousin's help desperately, or rather she needed her cousin's mother-in-law's help.

Bilbo, who had insisted on coming no matter how much Bell pleaded for him not to, held Sam-lad close to his chest as the two hobbits waited for Bell's frantic rapping on the Cotton Farmhouse door, to finally be heard. The hobbit that opened the door at last was old and slightly bent in the back, but her eyes were sharp and very much focused on Bilbo.

'Yes, can I help you?'

'Madam Cotton? My name is Bell Gamgee, I'm Lily's half-cousin, and this is Mister Bilbo, Master of Bag-End and my late husband's employer, may we please come in, it's of the utmost importance.'

Madam Cotton, the old matron of the Cotton family, looked them up and down speculatively, her one mobile eye fixed upon the limp body of the child in Bilbo's arms.

'I suppose you must then, wipe your feet at the door, dirt tracked through the house is the last thing any of us need. Now come along, get that boy settled and you tell me just what foolishness you Goodchilds are up to now.'

As Bilbo Baggins carried his grandchild into the old Cotton farm house, he kept his eyes focused on the slumbering lad's face. It was still a bloody mess, though the blood at least had dried when they bandaged it up using the headcloths from his own closet. Yet it wouldn't be enough, not without help, Bilbo was certain that the puckered holes and ragged scars left in the child's face by…by those rusty nails would fester. He'd never noticed till now just how much Samwise looked like…looked like her, even more than her son Hamfast had. Little Maya Gamgee, with the Daisy coloured hair. All Hamfast's children looked like her to a degree but Samwise, well, he was…he was just like her. Her smile, her laugh, her stubborn loyalty…it was like that girl he'd met so many years ago in his parent's garden had come back. Or maybe it was the girl at the end, so small, so pale, so covered in blood trickling down her face…the girl who just wouldn't wake up.

It wasn't until Mistress Cotton was taking the child out of his arms, did Bilbo realise he was sobbing.

'Give the boy to me Master Bilbo, no need to cry for this one today, he's a long way from dying. You go and sit with young Bell and I'll see to your boy here.' Allowing her to take the sleeping fauntling from his arms, Bilbo shuffled his way over to Bell, who was nestled in one of the old armchairs, a saucer of tea on her lap.

The old sorceress carried young Sam over to the long table in the middle of the room, she laid him down and examined his head. She hummed and tutted as her fingers traced the recently cleaned scar over Samwise's left eye…and the ugly holes they had tried to bind up. She leant back and rubbed her chin, then she clicked her fingers and dashed out of the room – or as close to a dash as a hobbit of 95 could manage – and came back with a small vial of a strange white liquid clutched in her hands, Bilbo strained his neck over the back of his chair to see what she would do next.

She emptied the vial in to a small bowl on the table to her right and made some complicated gestures over it with her hands. A, sweet punctuated smell filled the room and Bell and Bilbo had to cover their noses to keep from gagging. For a couple of seconds, she swirled the strange white liquid around in the bowl and then dipped her finger in and brought it to her lips. A smile came to them then and she picked up the bowl and brought it over to Sam-lad.

'Master Bilbo?' Bilbo jumped quite literally out of his seat as the old hobbit's voice called over her shoulder.

'Erm, yes?'

'Come over here young hobbit, I need someone to hold him up in a sitting potion while I pour this down his throat.'

'Why, what is it? What are you feeding him?'

'It's called Camphor, Master Bilbo, it comes from the Camphor plant deep in the heart of Rhûn. And you're very lucky I had in my stores at all, it's the last of my stock. Now come here and hold his head this way so that I can pour it down his throat without him choking.'

Bilbo held his grandson's head back gently as the old woman poured the liquid into his mouth. The boy began to cough violently and his whole body began to spasm. Bilbo tightened his arms round the child and held him as his cries began to fill the room. First, they were shrieks, mindless and terrifying to hear; soon though one word became distinguishable among the animalistic noises coming out of the boy's throat, or rather one name.

'Halfred.'

***
The Shire, Bag-End, Bottom of the garden: T.A. 2997, September 13th

Bilbo had never been so startled to see his old friend since that morning so many years ago, when the old wizard had invited himself and thirteen dwarves round to tea.

Part of him was overjoyed of course, like a young hobbit would be on seeing its mother again, after having been lost in a large crowd. But that was a small part of him, that same small part that had thought building The Dragon's Keep would have no ill consequences what so ever. That same small part that had acted like his adventure was all a great romp through an enchanted forest, ha, what a lark. He still had nightmares of Thorin lying on that frozen lake, pierced through the gut by the White Orc's sword, gasping out what would be his last words. Forgiving Bilbo for using the stone he'd gone mad trying to find, as a bargaining chip.

'Mister Bilbo? Are you alright?' The small sound of young Marigold's voice brought him away from that dreadful memory, and back into the present once again.

'Yes, yes, I'm fine, just a little tired dear.'

Marigold nodded, yet the slightly knowing frown on her upturned face, told him that she knew he was lying. Yet she still let the large gaggle of Cotton offspring drag her away as Bilbo stopped in front of the wizard.

'Gandalf, it is good to see you again.'

The Wizard dismounted his cart, knelt and embraced the hobbit with as much feeling and relief as he had ever felt in his long life. Bilbo hugged back though perhaps with a little less feeling, and a little more trepidation. The last time the wizard had been here things had been very different: Michael Delving had been more than a crater in the ground; Proudfoot had not been Mayor; Ganymen had been legal; and Bilbo's son had been very much alive. He would hate to think the wizard was a sign of more terribleness to come.

Well, if it was another adventure the Wizard was here about, then at least Bilbo would have his ring on him from the start this time.

Middle-Earth, The Shire, Number 3 Bagshot Row: T.A. 3017

Bell Gamgee sat in the rocking chair in her place by the window, just like she had done every day since she'd married Hamfast Gamgee. It wasn't like it used to be, back when the rocking chair constituted a small time in her day, she had to herself. Now she had all day to herself and spent it the only way she knew how: sitting in this rocking chair, staring out the window.

Her children were grown now and didn't really need her anymore; she didn't even have household chores to distract her now. Daisy had gradually taken on more and more responsibility since Ham had died and Bell had begun to slow down. Ham, sometimes she could think of him and everything would be alright. She wouldn't feel this twist in her gut like someone with a knife was stabbing her repeatedly in the belly. And then there were days like this, days when all she wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up, just to make it all stop, yet every time she closed her eyes all she could see was his face. Sometimes it wasn't always his face, sometimes she would see May and nearly laugh at how happy she looked. Other times she would see Halfred and scream and rage at the people around her. Scream and rage at him for being so stupid, for throwing his life away for a cause that had amounted to nothing, nothing at all in the long run. He'd been only twenty, not even of age and yet he thought he knew it all, that he could just fix the rot in the Shire with one swift strike to the head. He'd been a fool.

She could understand why people thought the rest of her family had taken the death of her husband far harder than she had. They had all had so much more drastic reactions: Hamson had left, to find work he had said, but Bell had known the truth. He could not bear to stay in the Shire anymore, not while hobbits like Proudfoot still breathed. He seemed to be doing well now though, Bell wasn't entirely sure exactly what he did for a living, yet he seemed to make a fair amount of coin doing it. He was forever sending money back home, some of it even reached them. Daisy had taken the weight of the family onto her young shoulders and had become far more parent to her remaining siblings then their own mother.

She hadn't done it out of spite, Bell knew, there had simply been no other option. Bell was just lucid enough these days to realise that she had never been entirely there, in the present since she had birthed poor little Samwise, and baby Marigold had simply sealed her fate. Speaking of Marigold and Sam, they had dedicated themselves to their new goal in life, which was spending as little time in Number 3 Bagshot Row as physically possible. If they weren't up at Bagend mucking around in its gardens, then they were down at the Cotton Farm…or in Marigold's case, up in that dratted cave.

She should be happy really; her children certainly were…well for the most part anyway. Sometimes she caught Daisy staring at the old Shirriff office with some hard to place emotion filling her eyes. But then it would pass, and her daughter would be right back there in the present, pushing her mother past the old ruin like it had barely registered to her. She had put it out of her mind and maybe just this once that was what Bell should do too. After all her children were mostly happy and wasn't that what any parent could want out of life? Yes, all was good for now at least, and for the first time in years Bell Gamgee closed her eyes and saw nothing.

Hours later when Daisy Gamgee went to go wake her mother from her surprisingly long nap, the body was already starting to cool.