The golden, setting sun is warm on his face, and Boromir is happier than he has ever been in his life.

Hobbits are surely a capable folk, but even they cannot deny the benefits of having a tall, broad Man to lift and carry and generally be a packmule – and this particular bunch of Hobbits are especially demanding task masters.

"Higher, higher!" laughs little Elanor Gamgee, whose arms are outspread like wings as Boromir gently tosses her one more time before her mother descends on him with gentle but firm scolding. At seven years old, Elanor is closer to five by a Man's reckoning, and scarcely taller than his knee.

"Me next!" says another halfling child, tugging insistently on Boromir's trouser leg. There is a whole passel of them, all chubby little things with tumbles of curls and button noses and round faces like upturned flowers. Their mothers are hard at work under the huge tent on the other side of the field, preparing food and visiting amongst themselves and keeping a weather eye on their children all the while.

"No, me, me!" a third child insists, and within seconds it's pandemonium. A sudden round of tag breaks out going round and around Boromir's legs as the other half the children start to run across the open grass screaming, just for the fun of hearing their own voices.

Boromir shifts Elanor to his hip, and her hands are impossibly small as one closes around the opening of his collar to keep her balance. She watches her playmates run and shout with an thoughtful eye like a queen surveying her subjects. Boromir just laughs, because there is a whole land of Hobbits, and their children are golden and happy and free in the sunshine.

"What's this? You've only been here two days, and you're already a nursemaid!" Merry's voice makes him turn, and Elanor wiggles to get down when she sees Merry, Pippin, and Sam approaching. Boromir is careful with the tiny girl as he stoops to set her down.

"You forget, Master Perian," he replies, following her to join them, "that I am an uncle twice over now. My niece and nephew are ample preparation for rambunctious Halfling children – oomph!"

Just then something collides with the back of his legs, causing his knees to buckle. Boromir goes down in a very undignified heap, and two giggling hooligans jump onto his back.

"Are you quite sure about that?" Pippin asks with a dryly arched brow.

"Get off him," Sam says, shooing the little troublemakers away. They're probably Brandybucks, if Merry's grin is anything to go on. But Boromir only gets back up to his knees before a whole contingent of children peel off from their game of tag and make him the next target, and he's back down under a dogpile of the smallest attackers he's ever faced – most of whom seem to be trying to tickle him.

"It's such a shame that nobody likes him," Merry says in a completely serious tone to Pippin and Sam as Boromir dissolves into laughter once again, taking great care to "defend" himself without actually hurting anyone.

"I don't know why he even bothered coming to the Shire when he knew he would only be met with open hostility," Pippin agrees.

Elanor giggles in her father's arms at the spectacle of a grown Man brought down by her playmates. Sam smiles for a moment at her, clearly smitten with his sweet golden-haired daughter, before turning his attention back to all the other children still causing chaos.

"Alright now, that's enough. Let him up," he says, and a gentle but firm word from the Mayor of the Shire is enough to earn compliance. The whole pack of youngsters disperses toward a new game, and Boromir sits up, looking only a little rumpled.

"We came to collect you," Pippin announces.

"We had no idea it would turn into a rescue mission," Merry adds.

"It's time to get going," Sam says as he sets Elanor down. Thoughtfully holding two of her father's fingers, she regards Boromir, now much closer to eye-level since he is sitting on the ground.

"Goodnight, little one," he says, his voice gentle for someone so big.

"Sweet dreams," she replies, leaning forward to plant a very small kiss on his rough cheek before skipping away after her friends.

"She thinks we're sending you to bed," Merry clarifies, just in case anybody missed it.

Boromir huffs a laugh at that as he hauls himself to his feet. "Hardly! I plan to drink all of you under the table before the night is over!"

"You wouldn't fit under the table," Merry says, his face lighting up in an impish grin. For an instant Boromir finds it hard to believe that his friend is the Master of Buckland and about to be married tomorrow, nevermind that Pippin and Sam are both parents already.

"Then we'd best begin before the night is over," says Sam, clearly of the school of thought that the sooner their revelries start, the sooner he can return to his family.

"To the Green Dragon!" Pippin rallies, already turning in the direction of Hobbiton's best pub. Merry and Sam fall into step with him, but Boromir looks back one more time at the scene in the grassy field.

There is a whole land of Hobbits, he thinks to himself as he lingers to watch the children play and run and shout in the last rays of summer sunshine. He would give everything over again – every sacrifice, every sorrow, every bitter defeat – to keep them safe. He would even give his life.

Because there is a whole land of Hobbits, and their children are golden and happy and free.