“You still have that Ent-draught, Merry?”
“I certainly do!”
“Then let us have it, shall we? We have a feast, don’t let time go into waste, or a good drink.”
“You are just overjoyed that you caught yourself Rosie’s bouquet, Pippin.”
“So what if I am?”
“Oh hush.” Frodo, always the go-between. “It is Sam’s day and you two ruin it like a pair of grumpy orcs.”
Merry winced. “Uh, no, Frodo, we never…”
“I will fetch the draught. What else do you need?”
Someone grabbed Frodo’s elbow, hooking an arm around it.
“Mr. Baggins, you shouldn’t bother. Food is abundant still out here.”
“A bride’s chore is to accompany her groom, Rosie. Look he is alone there. Go on, lass, do not let him out of your sight. Go. Shoo.” Frodo retreated slowly, a soft smile plastered on his languid face.
The kitchen was empty, of hobbits, not of food or drinks. Frodo piled up everything within his reach into the basket. Fairy cakes, sausage rolls, flans, pickled onions, smoked salmon. And of course, the Ent-draught.
Pippin and Merry would be thrilled. Sam, too, and Rosie.
Sam. And Rosie…
The kitchen was empty - Frodo suddenly only seemed to realize.
No one would see him cry here.