AFTER ALL - Chapter Three

The elves travelled swift and it was difficult for Merry and Pippin to keep up at such speeds, hastening day and night towards Rivendell. Days merged into nights and food was scarce, as the elves had not prepared for a return journey. Those that had lost their kinsmen grieved and sang laments to the glory of Valinor, wishing for the blessing of another passage that might bring them to the white shores. The mournful singing did little to lessen the heaviness of the hobbit’s hearts as the elven horses fled along hidden paths, through hills, woods and valleys, seeking out the untrodden ways, which might speed their passage. Merry and Pippin had quickly abandoned their horses, and travelled in the litter with Bilbo, curled up on the platform, one on either side, swaying and reeling with the jolting horses, praying that soon they might once again rest easy on feather beds and fill their bellies with a decent meal. Bilbo hadn’t really woken since the Havens, and when he did he was often confused and disorientated. “Where’s Frodo?” he would mutter, “I thought he was travelling with me? He was here a moment ago, where can he have got to?” and Merry and Pippin would frown at one another and pat his arm in an encouraging manner. “He’ll be back,” they would say, and wished that they believed it themselves.When they finally rested, a few miles east of Bree, they could see the lights glimmering on the moortop, and were comforted by the sight of life continuing as it always had. Merry lit a pipe and settled his back against a stunted oak, huddling inside his cloak, for the nights had turned quite chill. Pippin stood bedside him, pacing and chewing his lip.“Settle down, Pip, have a smoke.” Merry drew on his pipe and tried to relax.“I can’t stop thinking about him, Merry.” Pippin stopped and stared out, trailing his eyes down the winding East West road to where it sank into the dark hills. “I know, but we must hope for the best. We can’t do anything now. Our duty is to Bilbo.”Pippin sat down heavily and grabbed Merry’s pipe, pulling on it long and hard and not relinquishing until his mind had settled on some kind of resolution. “One of us should find him,” he said at last, his words emerging as little puffs of smoke. They hung in the frosty air and then drifted away. Merry watched, silently, his face grave. “We have talked about this, Pip,” he said, at last, “we agreed.”“Yes, I know, but I can’t let him go and disappear. I need to know he’s safe and well. I can’t bear to think of them freezing to death somewhere.”“Sam wouldn’t let that happen.”“You don’t think it’s possible that they could have gone back to Bag End, do you Merry?”Merry paused once more and squinted into the darkness as if he was half expecting to see Frodo walking along the road. “Well that depends…” he said, slowly, thoughtfully.“On what?” Pippin cried, impatiently puffing on the pipe.“On whether or not they wish to be alone, for one reason or another, Pip.” Merry turned his eyes towards him and there was a strange, deep awareness in them that Pippin had never seen before. Merry sighed and ran his hand across his face. “Sam loves him.”“Well we all love Frodo,” Pippin replied, stubbornly, kicking the grass.“Not the way Sam loves him.” “Is that why you suspected him of persuading Frodo to stay, because he couldn’t bear for him to go?”“I don’t know, maybe. I don’t like to think such things of Sam,” Merry shook his head sadly.“He’ll be alright though, won’t he Merry?” “If Sam’s taking care of him, yes, I can’t think of anyone better. But he’s not well, Pippin and I fear he might need us before the end.”“So we should find them?”Merry stood up and shook his pipe, “I don’t know, I don’t know what to do!”“I think we should find them before it’s too late!” Pippin decided to travel back to Hobbiton that very night. In a few days he would reach Bag End and be able to ascertain for certain whether or not Frodo and Sam had gone home. It was a possibility, after all, and one that needed investigating. Merry decided to stay with Bilbo, who was wakeful now for longer spells and seemed a little more aware of what had occurred. He cried now and then, with disappointment and sorrow for ‘his boy’, shaking his head and talking about him as if he were already gone. It made Merry sad and he missed having Pippin close by to share his troubles with and comfort him during the long, hard ride. But Pippin would not be stayed, he had been quite determined and Merry knew that there was no point arguing with a Took when he had set his mind to something. So he had let him go, thundering down the Bree road with his cloak billowing out behind him like a storm cloud. Merry wished him well, but felt uneasy in his heart.When Merry and Bilbo finally reached the golden valley, they found it deep in mists and frozen hard. Leaves were stripped from the trees and the bridge looked like a silver sliver of moonlight as the afternoon dusk drew close.“Is this the place?” Bilbo muttered. “It is not as I remembered it.”Merry gazed out sadly and shook his head. “Winter’s on it’s way,” he said.Bilbo coughed weakly into his hand, “that it is, my boy, that it is.” He smiled and his face scrunched into a million furrows. “Never forget Frodo, my lad, there is nothing better than coming home."Merry smiled thinly and patted Bilbo’s hand, which felt like a curled up creature, fine boned and sleepy. Bilbo nodded his head and smiled again, “I would have liked to have seen more, but I don’t think these old eyes could have stood many more amazing sights. They’ve seen enough, I think.”“Rest, now, don’t tire yourself,” Merry replied and Bilbo peered at him in the failing light.“You’re not Frodo, where’s Frodo?” Bilbo said, taking Merry’s chin in his hand and shaking his white head.“He’s coming, Bilbo.”“No, lad. He’s sailing! Sailing to the green land where the white waves break upon sands of pearl!”“Indeed he is,” Merry replied, evading his eye.Bilbo let his hand fall and sink back against the side of the wagon. “Oh, my eyes ache Meriadoc, I have seen too much in my life.”Merry patted Bilbo’s shoulder and smiled as the wheels rumbled into the courtyard of the Last Homely House, now half lost within the shadow of the trees. “We’re home,” he said.Pippin had ridden hard, hardly stopping to eat and sleep, his horse tiring and sliding on the frosty bridge that crossed the water. The air was so chill, Pippin’s ears had turned to ice and his hands were red raw clutching the reins. He only prayed that he wasn’t too late. Looking up, setting his jaw firm, he saw the Hill as if from a memory of a picture in a book. Could they really have come home? Pippin’s conviction swayed as he watched wavering lights flickering alight within the smials close by. A grey and shimmering dawn had risen at last, star spangled and treacherous. Pippin took a deep breath, nudged his horse onwards and steeled his heart for the last part of his journey - the hardest part. Pippin knocked at the door of Bag End, once, twice, three times, heavy and determined, despite the trepidation that threatened to break him. He wished Merry were with him, he could always accept the truth, no matter how difficult or painful. He wouldn’t falter like this, fearful as a child. I’m a friend of the King! But he felt like a bairn once more, wanting to slip his cold hands inside his mother’s warm ones. “Mistress Rose,” he said, when the door opened.Rose Gamgee stood in the doorway, a dressing gown pulled close across her nightdress, her tired, pale face suspicious and wary. “Come in, Mr. Pippin, sir, sorry ‘tis a mess, I weren’t expecting no visitors. I will make you some tea; just you sit yourself down. Or would you be wanting to sit in the parlour?” Rosie sounded flustered and upset, smoothing down her creased gown and twisting up loose curls as she moved about the kitchen. “Rose, Rosie, please…” Pippin walked up to her and clasped her trembling hands. Rosie drew in a sharp breath, her eyes fixed on the large fingers that twined around her own, smaller ones. There was a moment of silence, which was broken almost at once, by a thin, high cry from one of the bedchambers.Rosie twisted away, muttering apologies, “Sorry, Mr Pippin, Elanor’s woken, she’ll be wantin’ a feed. Would you mind…or should I make tea first?”“Don’t worry, Rose, you see to the babe, I’ll make tea. I know my way about Bag End as well as any,” he said, making a positive move towards the stove.“Thank you, sir.” Rosie smiled thinly and hurried towards the spiralling cries.By the time Rosie returned, Pippin had laid the table with a steaming pot of tea, a loaf that had just finished its long bake at the back of the heavily banked stove, two pots of jam and some cheese that he had uncovered in the larder. There wasn’t much else to be found, it seemed Rosie’s housekeeping had not been quite so diligent over the past few weeks. The kitchen was more disordered than usual, with pots and pans left in the sink and clothing piled in a corner, ready for the wash. Little white napkins were draped upon chairs, drying before the stove, the log basket was nearly empty and there were no flowers in the vase upon the table. As hard as Pippin tried to keep on hoping, he knew it to be a foolish wishing, for it was plain for all to see that Rosie and Elanor were living quite alone. “Thank you, sir, you didn’t need to go to no trouble.” Rosie had changed and tidied her hair. As she approached the table, Elanor balanced on her hip, she looked genuinely pleased at the sight of breakfast and tea.“I think I did,” Pippin replied, pulling out a chair for Rosie to sit down. “Here,” he offered, opening out his arms. Rosie shook her head, but Pippin insisted on taking the babe while Rosie breakfasted. When she finally conceded, she ate eagerly as if she hadn’t enjoyed a proper meal in weeks. Pippin strutted up and down the room, dangling and playing with a wriggly, wakeful Elanor, who waved wildly at everything that darted in and out of her sight.“I hope you’ve been looking after yourself, Rose,” Pippin said, at last, after he’d settled Elanor back onto her mamma’s lap and took his own seat on the other side of the table.“Yes, thank you,” she replied quietly, her voice barely above a whisper and Pippin thought on how strange and fearful it must be to have lost Sam and found an unexpected visitor on the doorstep. How her heart must be bursting with questions, he thought, and yet she waits out of civility. Pippin drank down his tea and then looked at her with clearer eyes. Her face was troubled with a frown and the roses in her cheeks, for which she had been named, had waned. She played with Elanor’s hands ceaselessly, weaving their fingers in and out as Pippin had done before. “Oh, Rose, I wish I had some news of Sam, but the truth is, I came here seeking the answer to that very same question.”Rosie eyes darted up, hope flaring up and then dying down in an instant. “Have you seen them, Mr Pippin, sir, I’ve had no news and it’s been nearly two months since they left?”“They went to the Grey Havens,” Pippin replied, slowly and carefully, trying to keep the trembling out of his voice.“The sea?” Rosie said, startled, her eyes widening, “Why would they go there?”“Merry and I were late arriving, Rose, we were called by Gandalf to escort Sam home, but we came too late, they had already gone.”“Gone?” Rosie stood up in alarm; pulling Elanor back onto her hip as she pushed herself away from the table, fear in her voice, “Over the sea?”“No, Rosie, Frodo chose not to sail. They left together, before first light.”“They? Frodo and my Sam?” Rosie’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears.“We don’t know where they went. But they were together,” Pippin stared down at the tealeaves in the bottom of his cup. “Aye, well they’re always together, aren’t they?” Rosie twirled round to face the stove, trying to keep an insistent Elanor from wriggling off her hip. There was a bitterness in her voice that was unmistakable. “I wish I had more to tell but that is all we know. The Elves saw them riding away into the eastern hills. Since then, there has been no news. I came here in the hope that they had returned home, but it seems that they are still on the road.”“To where? Where are they going?” Rosie’s voice was hoarse with tears as she bent her head low over the range.“We don’t know,” Pippin rose from his chair and walked over to Rosie, laying a hand upon her shoulder. Elanor grinned at him and kicked her heels. “It ain’t fair, Mr Pippin. I know he has his duty to Mr Frodo, the master has been good to us it’s true, but Samwise is my husband and don’t that mean he has a duty to me as well?” “I know Sam, Rose, he won’t have forgotten his duty. He will come home.” Rosie turned round, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “And Mr Frodo with him?” she added, “I can’t imagine the two of them going their separate ways, after all.”Pippin didn’t reply; he looked down at his feet, his face drawn and troubled with unspoken fears. Rosie started, all at once sorry and concerned as she caught the change crossing his face.“I’m sorry, sir, you’re tired, I shouldn’t be bothering you with all these questions, you should go and rest. I’ll make up the bed in the guest room.” Rosie bent down, looking for a suitable place to deposit her daughter whilst she attended to the chores.“Here, Rosie, let me, I’ll take her for a while,” Pippin reached out and took Elanor into his arms. “Go and have a sleep yourself. I’ll have mine later – no arguing now!” Rosie smiled fleetingly and filled her teacup once more from the teapot, balancing cup and saucer carefully in her hand. “I think I’ll take this with me, thank you, sir,” she said.“You do,” Pippin replied, smiling, “Oh, and no more sir, alright, Pippin will be fine.”Rosie nodded, kissed Elanor on the top of her head and made her way slowly to bed.Little by little Sam awoke, his mind lingering in the warm comfort of dreams. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, squinting at the shadows still crowding the bedchamber, even as the pale morning lay beyond the low, dark window. The room was cold and he shivered, hugging his nakedness and turning to pull the blankets over his love. But as he did so, he noticed in surprise that Frodo was not there. Hurriedly, he rose and, standing before the window, wound and tied a sheet around himself. He ran a finger along the pane, fascinated, watching the line reveal a heavy brocade of ice that had sealed the garden from his sight. He felt the coldness on the tip of his finger and his mind felt cleansed: like a winter sky, cloudless, still and empty. He found Frodo in the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, dressed in his crumpled shirt and breeches, staring down into the wood as if he saw pictures there. His eyes looked wounded with tiredness, dark circled and heavy lidded. Sam paused in the doorway and wondered when Frodo would become aware of his presence, but he seemed blind to all external things. “Frodo?” Sam could wait no longer; he hated to see Frodo looking so lost. At the sound of Sam’s voice, Frodo seemed to waken and smiled, as if released from a spell. “You’re up already!” Sam said cheerfully, crouching to embrace him and place a warm kiss against the pale nape of his neck, where the curls had drifted apart. He breathed in the loving, sweet scent of him and happiness stretched inside him like a song. “How long have you been sitting here, you should have woken me!”“You were peaceful,” Frodo murmured, “I couldn’t disturb you.”Sam released Frodo and sat down on the chair beside him, looking at the weariness in his face and coming to an alarming conclusion. “Frodo, have you slept at all?” Frodo looked up and shook his head. “I couldn’t. I lay awake for hours, I watched you sleeping. Then, when I saw the first light of dawn, I came in here to see it more clearly, from the east, but there was too much ice and I couldn’t see a thing. So I waited.”“You should’ve woken me,” Sam repeated, with impatience. “You don’t let me help you. I would’ve sat with you, you know that.” He stood up and began to look through the cupboards; searching for something he could offer Frodo for breakfast. Frodo watched impassively, “I’ve had a look already. I was going to cook for you, but there’s nothing.” Sam slammed the pantry door. “This is hopeless. I can’t look after you here. I can’t even give you a decent breakfast.”“It doesn’t matter,” Frodo said softly and as Sam turned to him and looked at the bemusement in Frodo’s eyes, his frustration eased and, instead, a fierce, protective love overwhelmed him. He swallowed the denial that rose in his throat and strode over to Frodo’s chair, bending and twining his arms around Frodo’s neck, drawing him close for a kiss. Frodo murmured softly and ran light fingers through Sam’s curls, untangling the little knots that had formed there during the tumult of the night. “There is something I have found,” Frodo said, when they finally drew apart, rosy cheeked with the warmth of love.“What’s that, then?” Sam murmured, struggling to look. “This.” Frodo reached for an old, battered blue and white canister on the table. He pulled off the lid and showed Sam the fine, black grains within. Sam frowned and pushed his nose into the tin to smell the contents. “I reckon that’s coffee,” he asserted firmly.“Just what I thought,” Frodo replied, his smile, a warm curve against Sam’s neck.Sam dressed and then busied himself, emptying the bathtub, lighting the parlour fire and heating up the range. It was late in the day - he had already allowed the chill to creep into the smial and it would be hours before the rooms were warm enough to feel comfortable. Frodo wanted to make the coffee and Sam let him fill the kettle with the little water he had wrestled from the pump. Frodo hung the kettle over the fire and it began to snap and spit angrily. “It don’t sound too happy,” Sam frowned, bending to pile on more wood.Frodo smiled, “It will submit.”Rising, Sam brushed the dirt from his breeches and wandered over to sit down at the table. “Have you had it before then?” Sam asked, frowning at the little tin.“I’ve only tried it once. Bilbo got his hands on some. I seem to remember it was as invigorating as any wine.” Frodo laughed lightly, reminiscing. “We drank and talked long into the night about stuff and nonsense, reading verse and torturing each other with hopeless renditions of the great sagas…” Frodo poured the hot water into the pot and stirred rhythmically, staring into the swirling pattern of drifting grains, lost in memory. A small tremor seemed to ripple through Frodo as he jumped back into the present. “It’s ready, Sam,” he said.Frodo poured the dark, rich coffee into Sam’s dainty teacup, a lasses thing, which seemed too delicate to use. Holding it just before his lips, the warm, scented steam rose and unsettled his senses.“Taste it,” Frodo urged, watching with interest, “Go on.” Sam tentatively put it to his lips and tipped the little cup up, drawing the hot liquid into his mouth. He let it play about his tongue before swallowing and thinking hard upon the taste of it.“Good? Yes?” Frodo asked, eagerly.“Hmmm, well, it ain’t like tea. Well, it ain’t like nothin’ I’ve ever tasted, as it happens. But that’s not to say I don’t like it. It tastes dark, a bit like the kernel of a nut or bark, maybe cinnamon, I don’t know. It ain’t bad.” Sam took another sip, “it ain’t bad at all.”Frodo smiled over the brim of his cup, his eyebrows quirking, then he drank his own down quickly and reached to pour them both another. Sam watched Frodo as he drank. There was more colour in Frodo’s cheeks and his eyes were bright and gleaming, having lost their unearthly light. He seemed almost like his old self - but Sam was not deceived. He frowned over his teacup and then looked Frodo in the eye.“You should be sleeping,” he said.“I told you, Sam, I can’t,” Frodo replied, firmly, draining his cup.“Or won’t,” Sam replied.Frodo stood up and started to clear the table, the teacups and saucers rattling in his hands.“I’ll do that,” Sam stood up at once, reaching out to take them from Frodo, who backed away into the kitchen. “No. I can do it,” Frodo replied, piling them into the sink and then leaning heavily against it, grasping the wooden rim with his fingers, as if he might fall, his head bowed.Sam stopped himself from rushing in and waited, as Frodo closed his eyes and tried to regain control. When he was ready, he turned to Sam with exhausted eyes.“I think I need to lie down,” he said. Sam fetched some blankets from the bedchamber and settled Frodo onto the settee in the parlour, pushed close beside the hearth. Frodo preferred to lie propped up on pillows and although he allowed Sam to settle a pillow beneath his head, he refused to close his eyes. Sam watched as he brushed his fingers over the star gem beneath his shirt and wrapped his fist around it. “What can I do?” Sam asked, “Tell me what to do?”Frodo looked up, “We need some food, perhaps you could buy some from the market?”Sam hurried out onto the street, his heart racing, feeling the cold air on his face and ice striking into the soles of his feet. He hated to leave Frodo. Leaving him at this time brought with it terrible, devastating memories of a frozen moment upon the rocks, when he had first grieved for his master. He had left him then and it had led to yet another grief more terrible still. Yet his practical mind hurried his steps to the market place. If there was one thing that he could do for Frodo, it was this. His own belly was rumbling loudly and he was sure that Frodo must be hungry too, although he would never admit to it. Thoughts jostled in his head, but he ignored them all, the only voice he would listen to was the one that spoke of food and warmth. “Samwise Gamgee!” Sam stopped abruptly, hearkening to his name, disbelieving. Across the street, hurrying towards him with his arms full of packages was Tom Burrows, ale hand from the Green Dragon. Sam could do nothing but wave and greet him as coolly as he was able, without appearing rude.“Well I sees you and I thought, bless me if that ain’t Samwise Gamgee from up the Hill! Here, in Michel Delving and all of Hobbiton thinking you and Mr Frodo are off fighting dragons or somesuch, never to be seen no more!”Sam scuffed his feet, “Aye well, that’s just talk, Tom.”Tom nodded, “You’ve got all of Hobbiton and Bywater tattling, you have. And there’s been some talk of Mr Frodo having sold Bag End off to them Sackville-Bagginses, or whatever their name is.”“What was that?” Sam said, suddenly alert.“That Mr Frodo has gone off to find dragons and sold the place to Miz Sackville so and so, or so she’s been saying and there’s Mistress Gamgee to be turned out on her ear!”Sam tensed and his jaw tightened, “That’s vile gossip, Tom and you tell them so.”“Aye, well, I didn’t think that they’d told the tale right. I said, Samwise Gamgee’s not one to run off on his wife and bairn, even for fame and jools.”“That’s right, Tom. You tell them so.”“So you’ll be back then, Mr Gamgee?” “I will, Tom, when my business here is done. In the meantime, I want no more talk about those Sackville-Bagginses. Whilst Mr Frodo and myself are away, Bag End belongs to Rose and no-one else.”Tom nodded, “Aye, and I’ll tell them they may be seeing some dragon jools trundling up the Hill none too soon, ay?”Sam nodded and started to move away, “I’ll be off then. I have business to attend to.”Tom waved and lurched off towards the Rising Sun, looking behind him so many times that he nearly lost his footing. When he had finally disappeared from view, Sam let out a long breath. So there it was, he had to go back, and soon. The news of their whereabouts would travel all the way back to Hobbiton. There was no choice; life would carry him on its back, flowing like a deep, cool river. Sam bought food with the little money he carried in his pockets, choosing without care whatever came to hand, blindly tossing fruit up to the stallholder, and then moving on to the next. When he had spent up he went over to the stables and checked on Bill, giving his nose a rough stroke and promising an early start in the morn. Bill’s breath was warm against his cheek and he leaned into the heat, feeling it thawing the chill in his bones, offering comfort. “Tomorrow, Bill,” he promised, “Tomorrow I’ll take him home.” Sam hurried down the slippery road, and didn’t notice the glory of the frost gilding leaf and bough with mithril. The sky lowered with snowstorms, yet Sam paid it no heed. The year turned and he forgot it in his haste. All was as nothing. Hobbits passed him on the street and gave him curious glances as though he looked odd to them; possessed in some way, his eyes intent on sights unseen, his feet close to running, his eyes always swimming with the weight of love and duty combined. When he reached the garden, he dashed through the gate and up to the front door, his feet sliding. Two old hobbits across the road, covering tender plants with old sacks straightened up and narrowed their eyes, shaking their heads and staring as if never in their lives had they seen a hobbit reduced to such a state. But all was as he had left it. No harm had come to his master. He lay, as before, upon the settee. Frodo’s eyes were open and he greeted Sam warmly as he entered, breathless and flustered. “You’re back!” Frodo said, stretching and rising a little, supporting himself on his elbows. “Aye, I am,” he replied, still trying to catch his breath. “I tried to be as quick as I could, but I met someone on the street, old Tom from the Dragon, he kept me talkin’ and I couldn’t get away.”“It doesn’t matter, I’m alright,” Frodo smiled, “I wish I had a book, but apart from that, I’m fine.”“Oh Frodo! You should’ve said, I could’ve…”“No,” Frodo interrupted, “You couldn’t.”Sam sighed and let go of his parcels, “To be truthful, I hated every minute I spent away from you. I won’t be talkin’ to no one else today. Not even the King himself, should he come knocking, which ain’t very likely.”Frodo smiled and held out his hand. Sam walked over and pressed it between his own. Frodo flinched and cried out. “Frodo, what is it?” Sam cried.Frodo smiled, “nothing, Sam, you’re cold, that’s all.”Sam sighed and walked over to the fire, to throw on more wood and hide the fear in his face. When he had composed himself a little, he turned back to Frodo. In the shelter of shadows he lay, stretched out, his hand still cradling his face, upturned to the amber light. His full lips curled into a gentle smile and his eyes, wide and luminous with dark, whispered acceptance.Sam tried to gather his wits and retreated into the kitchen to make them both some food. Although he had tried to ignore it, the tearing hunger in his belly was making him feel light-headed. He prepared a simple meal with the food he had bought, a soft, white round of cheese, a loaf of herb bread and some tiny red apples. It was frugal and yet it seemed like a feast to Sam’s eyes. Somehow he managed to stay his wandering hand as he laid it on a plate, not wanting to deprive his master of a morsel, however hard his hunger keened. He carried it through to Frodo and placed it on the settee beside him. Frodo sat up and leaned over to touch his lips gently to Sam’s in a gesture of thanks. “Go on, eat up!” Sam said, waiting for Frodo before he would begin.Frodo looked uneasy, but took a piece of apple and chewed it slowly, gesturing for Sam to go ahead, aware of his eager anticipation. Sam enjoyed his meal and ate hungrily, although he was constantly aware that Frodo wasn’t eating his share. He would take a little and chew it slowly, trying to disguise how small his appetite had become. When the plate was empty and Sam had, reluctantly, eaten the last piece of bread, he stretched contentedly and stood up to clear away the plate. Frodo lay back on the settee and watched him with intense scrutiny as he moved towards the door. Sam turned as he felt the weight of his regard and waited for a sign of assent, so that he might leave the chores and join him there. But he was unprepared for what was to come. “So Sam, when are you going home?” Frodo said.Sam started with shock and stared at Frodo with a gaping mouth, “What?”“When are you going?” he repeated, his voice soft and calm.“Well I’m going no-where without you,” Sam replied, his feet rooted to the spot.“Will it be tomorrow?” Frodo pressed.“You will come with me,” Sam stated firmly, staring blankly at the patterns in the hearthrug. “Sam…come here.” Sam obeyed, urging his legs to move and settle him on the edge of the settee. Frodo curled up his legs and softly stroked Sam’s neck with the back of his hand. “Is that your wish?” he said.“Yes,” Sam replied, leaning back into his touch. “And that you should be healed and I should keep you company all the days of your life.”Frodo stilled his hand. “If I could grant you that wish I would, you know that, Sam. You have blessed me with your love. But I have forsaken that path and there will be no turning back.”“How can you be so sure?” Sam said, twisting round to face him. Frodo touched Sam’s cheek softly and shook his head. “To have these few moments with you I have forsaken a lifetime in the West. We have spared each other the pain of long parting, from which we might never have seen an end, living in doubt until that day when we might have met, old and weary with the wait.”Sam froze. “We might have met?” Sam repeated slowly, hardly able to comprehend the words, even as they fled his mouth.Frodo looked at Sam with a cold certainty in his eyes, which stilled his features into a mask of blank emotion. “It would not have been for many years, perhaps never. It was once mentioned to me. You were a Ringbearer, Sam, if only for a time and if I were to sail, then, many years later you might have been permitted to join me, if it was your wish.”“My wish?” Sam stuttered, stumbling to his feet and running his hands raggedly through his hair. “Frodo, we had a future together!”“We had the hope of a future, nothing more. I couldn’t have lived with a cold hope through all those long years. I would rather have this.” Frodo watched as Sam paced about the floor, his face crumpled with pain. “But you didn’t tell me, Frodo! Why didn’t you give me the choice!” Sam cried, his eyes furious, blazing through Frodo’s implacable calm. “Why don’t you say something now, shout at me, put me in my place!”Frodo flinched and a small tear trickled from his eye, but he said nothing. Sam faced him until he could look no more and tore into the kitchen, shaking his head in disbelief. He thought of Frodo, aged but still beautiful, his hair gilded with silver, greeting him at last when his wounds had healed and freed them both from dark memory and suffering. It might have been. It might have been. Sam groaned and looked abstractly at the long, narrow room, cloistered with fragments of an unknown past. Feeling it pressing around him, choking his breath, he ran for the door and burst through into the cold approaching dusk, thoughts of escape blinding his sensible mind. Heedless of anything but pain, Sam strode into the gloom, feeling the thrill of the ice coursing through his fingers and nose and stealing into his lungs. He walked to the Rising Sun and crashing through the door, strode up to the bar, ignoring the curious stares and half-concealed whispers that accompanied him. The hobbit behind the bar eyed him up and down as he dealt out the customary proprieties. Sam ordered ale and took his pint to a sheltered alcove close against the roaring hearth. He downed it swiftly and then signalled for another. The serving lass smiled as she placed it down before him, asking if there was ought else he required. Sam shook his head, mutely, drinking his ale without tasting a mouthful - swallowing mechanically until his mug was dry. A ruddy hobbit with a brimming mug of ale in one hand lurched towards him, a bright recognition in his eyes, but when he saw the shuttered look on Sam’s face, he shook his head and slurred “Nay, nay, ‘taint him,” before lumbering away, to join his fellows. Sam ordered another pint and this time the lass gave him no pretty smile. She looked at him with open disapproval and distrust. But Sam didn’t notice, he didn’t even raise his eyes. Downing the third ale without pleasure or relief, he didn’t even hear the sound of another hobbit approaching his table until he spoke in an uncertain voice.“I’ve been told to ask you, sir, if you would like me to stable the horse another day? The roads are bad and there ain’t much hope of a journey. It will mean you has to pay again, see.”Sam slowly lifted his eyes, his mind struggling to comprehend such banalities. The young stable hand stood before him, staring with open interest in his sharp green eyes.“Here,” Sam replied, fumbling in his pockets for some change.The lad ventured a glance at Sam’s careworn appearance. “Anything else you need, either of you’s, just let us know, I’ll get it. I know your friend ain’t up to much and I thought you might be wantin’ some help with this and that.”Sam shook his head, trying not to notice how his vision was starting to swim with the rapid movements. “We won’t be needing any help, thank you.” “Well, if you’re sure…” the lad replied, looking at him one last time, from beneath the shadow of his cap, now firmly pulled down on his head.“I’m sure,” Sam replied and struggled out from behind the table, nearly knocking it over in his haste.“Careful there, sir,” the young hobbit leaped out and steadied it so Sam could slip through without any disturbance. Sam nodded his thanks and turned to leave, not wanting to answer any more prying questions. “Send my best regards to your friend,” the youth continued, leaning against the bar. Several eyebrows were raised and heads began to descend into pools of muttering. Sam left and slammed back out into the cold evening air. It was late when he returned to the smial. He had walked through the town and even ventured as far as the surrounding hills, but when he had seen the distant lights receding behind him, swallowed up by the immense glowing darkness of the frosty hills, he had come to an abrupt halt, and stood appalled and shaking. You’re a fool, Samwise Gamgee, he said to himself, he’s done this for you and you leave him alone in darkness and doubt! Running away ‘cause you can’t face the truth. You promised you would never leave him! Hot tears scalded his eyes as he made his way back to the smial, the way unwinding before him, pulling him forwards as if their souls were bound by rope. Frodo was in the parlour, curled up in a corner of the settee, his arms cradled around himself for comfort and warmth. “Oh, Frodo, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Sam cried, hastening over and pulling Frodo up against him, nuzzling his face within damp, salty curls. Frodo opened red-rimmed eyes and twisted his head to look at him. “I’m sorry, Frodo, you were right, I couldn’t have borne it – not for all them years. It was your choice. It weren’t for me to make.”“I know, Sam, it’s alright,” Frodo murmured and held Sam against him with tenderness and love. “We won’t speak of it. I’m glad you’re here, I thought you wouldn’t return.”“I won’t leave you again, I promise,” Sam whispered and bent his head to drown his lips in sweetness. When he broke away, he saw that Frodo was staring at him, with wildness in his eyes. “You can’t promise me that,” he said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. Sam sat back on his haunches and looked down at his love, Frodo’s black curls were clinging to his neck and cheeks, his skin pale as the frost and his lips redder than any poppy growing wild in the cornfields. Sam etched the sight onto his memory, touching each precious dip and curve with fingertips, lips and tongue, tasting the fragrance of white lilies and the bitterness of snow. Frodo closed his eyes and Sam begged him to open them. Frodo tried, but sometimes the sensations grew too much and he would moan and shutter them beneath heavy lashes, arching the pale column of his throat. Sam opened the top buttons of Frodo’s shirt with unsteady fingers, hardly noticing the wear and the rents in the fine weave as his hands swept over the smooth, warm skin beneath, feeling the light of cage of Frodo’s ribs and the dancing of his heart. Sam laid his lips there and rested his head, caught up on a wave of solemn devotion. “Sam, don’t let us speak of parting, not yet…” Frodo spoke softly and his heart fluttered. Sam didn’t answer but pressed kisses where his heart sought to bind, quietening and chasing away all thought. Frodo moved beneath him and Sam could feel hardness against his belly. He drew up a hand and placed it there, rubbing his lips in rhythm, drawing forth soft cries and quivers tight across Frodo’s belly as Frodo attempted to rise. Sam urged him to relax, but somehow, Frodo seemed insistent and so he drew back a little. Frodo looked flushed and his eyes were dark and wild as he held Sam’s arms down and pushed him onto his back. Sam groaned and closed his eyes, shaking his head from side to side.“No, Frodo, not like this, please, I can’t let you…” he murmured.“Why not like this?” said Frodo, “if it pleases me to do so?” Frodo began to undo the buttons of Sam’s braces, even as Sam twisted and turned beneath him. “I told you,” Frodo said, pulling the woollen shirt roughly apart, “I want to do for you, as you have done for me.”He pressed his lips warm against Sam’s belly, drawing circles with his tongue even as Sam tried to speak and failed once again, his voice coming out sharp in a cry, half strangled with love. “Tell me what pleases you, Sam,” Frodo urged, pulling each last button open and drawing the shirt off Sam’s broad, sun-browned shoulders, grazing the knotted muscles with his lips and hands. Sam, desperate to be as little trouble as he could, urged Frodo’s hand down to where his breeches clung painfully tight. Frodo stroked gently through the thick fabric, watching as Sam mouthed silent love, his hips rising and pushing against Frodo’s own desire. “I love you, Sam, I love you,” Frodo said as he stroked lightly up and down, Sam rising and falling beneath him like a wave. That was almost enough, it could have been enough for Sam, to feel the full weight of love enveloping him, the warmth and the beauty of it pressed against his skin, soaking into his consciousness like a soothing light. But his desire was strong and so long withheld that it sang to feel the sweet pressure of Frodo’s hand. “Shall I?” Frodo said, pausing at the buttons of Sam’s breeches.Sam nodded but caught Frodo’s hand before he could continue, “You too love, both of us, together,” he whispered, hoarsely. Frodo agreed and let Sam reach up and free him from his own tangled breeches before he untied Sam’s. When Frodo had settled himself back, half lying astride Sam’s thighs, Sam could feel Frodo’s heat pressing and sliding against his own and he cried out joyfully with the sensation, like bright stars bursting beneath his skin, exploding with heat and life. He pulled Frodo down more firmly and Frodo gasped and clutched at Sam’s shoulders as he toppled forwards a little. Sam supported him with his arms and moved tentatively against him. Frodo sank a deep kiss on the side of Sam’s neck and Sam felt his eyelashes brushing closed. “All right, me dear?” he whispered.“I wanted to…” Frodo began, in a muffled, tearful voice, which nearly sent Sam back to keening and mourning, but he knew that wasn’t what Frodo wanted.“It don’t matter. Just let go, like you told me. Let go, my love.” Frodo rocked against Sam’s body and they took up a slow, burning caress, Sam opening Frodo up to him like a flower, leaning him into the light, turning their bodies so that they lay side to side, with only their hips moving in ever quickening circles and their mouths cleaving and burying and gasping each other’s names and the name of love aloud. Sam felt that Frodo wouldn’t last much longer and he slowed the pace a little as he saw the tension flickering across Frodo’s face. “There,” Sam said, “You take it, my love.”Frodo pulled his face back so that he could see Sam more clearly. “I want to see you as I come,” he said, “I want to...” and he closed his eyes as the shudders tore through his body and shook out deep, harsh cries. Sam watched and then gave himself up to pleasure, his orgasm taking him and throwing him into the sky.  “Well, she’s asleep at last,” Rosie sighed, taking a basket of mending off the table and sitting herself down before the fire. Even when she had put her little one down, she was always happier to be occupied, making and mending and setting the disorder to rights. Since Pippin’s arrival, she had been scurrying about trying to hide the signs of neglect, which had slowly crept in since the worry and the waiting began. Pippin had helped with the heavier chores and taken to cooking for them all, something of a rare pleasure that he rather enjoyed. Rosie protested, of course, but Pippin wouldn’t hear of it. In the evenings they sat together and Pippin dozed and dreamed whilst Rosie worked with her hands, silent and grave. Sometimes Pippin tried to start up a conversation with a light observation, but Rosie seemed to prefer the solitude of her own thought. He looked up and watched Rosie working, the firelight flickering, catching light to the red in her hair. Her fingers were flowing through the cloth in her lap, turning it round and round, shaping and forming and all around her the silence took shape. Pippin sat forwards in his chair, dancing his nervous feet, uncomfortable in the silence, wondering how long he could delay. He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it once more.“So, you’re leaving then, Mr Pippin,” Rosie said, suddenly and Pippin jumped, his eyes darting to Rosie’s shadowed profile. “I thought you must go soon. It really ain’t proper for folk to see you here and my Sam gone.”Pippin blinked as a sudden awful awareness fell on him. “Rose! I’m sorry, I didn’t think!”“That’s alright, there’s enough talk about me to fill the banks of the Water ten times over as it is,” Rosie continued, stabbing and pulling.“If I’m making things harder for you, I’ll leave right away,” Pippin rose and turned blindly about the room, wondering where to go.Rosie dropped her mending and turned her face to him in hopelessness. “Mr Pippin, it ain’t what I want. But it’s what’s proper to other folk’s eyes that counts round here.” “What will you do? You can’t manage this smial and look after Elanor alone, it’s too much work.”“I’ll go to Ma’s for a bit, close the smial up. It’s true what folk say, I don’t feel I have a right to it, not now the master’s gone.”Pippin shook his head, “I’m sure you have a better right than any round here, Rose and Frodo wouldn’t see you turned out.”Rosie suddenly buried her face in her hands and began to weep. “I’ve been trying to understand…” she whispered, her voice softly muffled.Pippin drew near and crouched on the floor beside her, looking deep into the dancing flames. He waited for her to continue, his face set and pale, which usually fell so easily into smiles. Rosie sniffed and Pippin passed her a handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and looked at him boldly.“I knew there was something between them, had been ever since they came back from their journey. It weren’t just the duty and the service, it were something deeper, something that couldn’t be dug out. It were like roots tangling beneath soil, if you see what I mean. Not visible, but buried.” Pippin looked up at the brightness in Rosie’s eyes and the quavering in her voice, which spoke of things long withheld. “I have heard tell of the love between lads, but Sam was my husband and he never did wrong by me. Well, not ‘til now, anyways. They warned me, you know, they told me he would be off adventuring again, soon as the wind changed. They said that I was a silly lass - that he cared more for his master than for me. I wish I had listened,” Rosie stuttered to a halt and turned her face away.“Sam wanted to be a good husband to you, I’m sure of it. But there’s something between those two that is beyond any of our understanding.” “When I was with my Sam I used to feel that I had only the shadow of his love. He tried, Mr Pippin, he tried to be a good husband to me, perhaps he couldn’t help it, as you say.” Rosie shook her head and pushed the mending into the basket. “It’s dark, I’ll light the lamps. Tomorrow, I’ll go to ma’s and shut up Bag End ‘til someone claims it back.”Pippin rose to his feet and moved to throw another log onto the fire. “Rosie, why do you think your Sam will not return?”Rosie flew round, a bright taper burning in her hand. “He’s with his love,” she said simply.“But Frodo is…” Pippin struggled to find the words, they clenched tight in his heart. Rosie looked him hard in the face and their eyes locked together, wild and fearful. “I’m frightened too Rose,” Pippin said, his voice thin in the silence. The taper burned low in Rose’s fingers, creeping towards her skin, flaring white light illuminating her hollow stare. “I blamed Sam – I was so angry with him, I thought he’d taken Frodo and destroyed his chance of healing, taken his life from him. I wanted to find them, but I hadn’t thought of what I’d do when I did. I didn’t know if I would punch Sam or kiss Frodo. Either would probably have been devastating, perhaps it’s a good job I failed.” Pippin sank back down in his chair, his chin jutting out and his legs twitching with agitation.“If Frodo’s with my Sam, he’ll be safe, you can be sure of that, Mr Pippin.” Rose walked around the room, shuttering the windows one by one. “There’ll be a frost tonight, I can feel it. You can always sense them before they come. Sam will be worriting about his flowers. I think we should cover them for him.”“Yes, you’re right, of course. Let’s do that, that’s something we can do, isn’t it?” Pippin jumped up eagerly and together they wrapped themselves in the warmest coats and cloaks they could find hanging on pegs in the hall. Pippin chose a blue one that Frodo wore when he went out walking. It still smelled of him, a pleasant combination of parchment and pipe weed, Pippin took comfort from the feel of it tickling him around his neck, slightly too small, but so full of Frodo’s presence, it felt like sliding into his shadow. Pippin sent out a silent prayer, as he bent over each tender plant and flower, covering them with sacking and pinning down with pegs. The night was clear but piercingly cold. When he finished he stood and exhaled - his breath hanging in the air like a cloud. “Do you think we’re too late?” he asked Rosie as she plodded up beside him, rubbing her hands, her nose pink with cold.“If we lose them, we can still say we did our best for Sam, eh?” she said. “Come, Mr Pippin, let’s go inside and drink to them both.” Rosie smiled at him briefly, a new defiance in her eyes, which struck him for a moment before she hurried back into the warmth of the smial.Pippin watched her go and then turned back to the garden, tipping his head back to look at the stars. “To absent friends!” he said and raised an invisible glass.Sam looked out. The pale moon floated out from the clouds, high and implacable, looking down at him as he watched the frost forming, sealing in the green with its silent fingers, beautiful and cruel. The hills glittered under the stars and Sam’s fingers clung to the glass, patterns of leaves forming without, encasing them in the old smial. “What will be blooming, now, in the garden?” Frodo asked, lying behind him in the cavernous bed.Sam shook his head as he replied. “Those pretty purple daisies you like, the winter jasmine over the kitchen door, not much else, everything’s sleeping or too young to be woken.”Frodo sighed, “I love the Yule Roses. They are the palest green in bud but when they open, they are as pink as a summer bloom, sitting in the snow.”“Aye, that they are. But they won’t be showing yet.” Sam looked out on the far hills and thought of home. “I wish we were there now.”“I’m happy here, with you.” Sam shook his head and turned to face Frodo, although he could only see the glow of his spirit now, the rest having started to subdue. “I want to take proper care of you. It would be easier at home, even if we must be apart, for a time.”Frodo smiled, and Sam barely recognised him. “Frodo?”“Sam …you know there is no need, now.”Sam stood in the white square of light, his mouth hanging open on words, which he could not form. “I won’t have you suffer any more,” he said.“I don’t suffer,” Frodo opened his hand to reveal the bright light of the star gem. Sam winced and turned away to the pale fire of the frost, clutching the window ledge his hands trembling. “I don’t feel any pain, Sam. Do you remember when I returned to the Shire, I said it felt like falling asleep again? Well, that feeling has not passed. It seems I live in my dreams and when I wake, I am still walking in a world of shadows, where there is but one safe light to guide me.”Sam climbed onto the bed and buried his face in Frodo’s neck and was pleased to feel that there was warmth there still. “I wish I had let you go. Then at least you would have been safe and well. It was promised to you and I took that choice away!”“No, Sam, it was offered to me, should I desire it and I desired only one thing, which could not be found beyond the confines of the world. I am happy I made my choice. I only long for your happiness - I can’t bear to leave you desolate. Come here,” Frodo held open his arms and Sam came to him and wept, trying to revive the faint hope of renewal that he had buried so deeply in his heart, like a green shoot under frost. Eventually, they drew apart and Frodo sat up, the covers falling from his shoulders and pooling about his waist. He stared into the room as if he was searching for something that Sam could not see. Then he turned to Sam once more, his eyes wide and pleading. “It’s so dark in here. This place is full of memories, but none of them are mine. Please Sam, would you take me out to look at the stars?”“Frodo, I can’t take you out there, you’d freeze to death!”“Sam, please…” Frodo was light and soft in his arms as Sam walked out into the garden. It was late and the town, which wound away down into the valley behind, was silent and sleeping. Sam walked to a place where two apple trees tangled overhead and formed a bower through which the stars could be glimpsed, tiny and dazzling in the arching darkness of the void. Sam wrapped a blanket around them both and cradled Frodo’s head in the curve of his shoulder, pulling him close against his body. Night after night, all the strength had poured out of Frodo and he had seemed to Sam like a rose, shedding its petals one by one until there was only a single one left, pausing tremulously, waiting for the wind to carry it to the ground. But Frodo’s beauty was not spent. It grew and became more then Sam could bear to see. His beauty shone through him like a light. When Sam put his hand over it, it spilled through his fingers and even as he grieved for the loss of his dear friend, he rejoiced that Frodo was glorious. “Frodo, do you see me, love?” Sam whispered, noticing that Frodo had not blinked for nearly a minute and his eyes were starting to gleam.“I see you, Sam.” Frodo clutched his hand and Sam kissed it. It was cold. “It ends with me. I’m glad - for now it shall heal.” Frodo turned his eyes to Sam, “Shhhh…” he whispered, his tears turning to ice upon his cheek.  “I wish I had seen him sail,” Bilbo smiled from his bed, his small hands clutching the gold cloth tightly, his eyes screwed shut. “Did he stand upon the prow?”“Yes, Bilbo. He looked straight ahead.”“Ah, yes, that’s my boy, so he would. And turn and wave us all off, no doubt?”“Oh, yes,” Merry replied, looking down at his hands.“Onwards and onwards, ever on…” Bilbo sang softly to himself. There was a chill breeze upon the air and it carried into the chamber, alerting the small birds to take flight and all the trees to rustle and shiver. Bilbo pulled his bedclothes up to his chin. “The road goes ever on and on, and I will follow if I can, eh?”Merry looked up. “It seems we’ll travel together, whichever path we take,” Bilbo smiled, raising his thin, white brows.Merry frowned and drew his cloak more tightly around him. A horse whinnied in the courtyard and the very stone of which the house was built groaned and shifted, shaking loose a light dust of plaster.“He’s happy,” Merry said, “he’ll be alright, just you rest, Bilbo.”“Oh, I shall, my lad. I only wish I could have held his hand, but I suppose he had another to do that.”Merry stared at the old hobbit and Bilbo laughed lightly and nodded, “I wouldn’t dare to get between Sam and his Frodo, even when he was knee high to a grasshopper, following him down the garden path.” Bilbo wheezed and Merry quieted him, laying him back upon the fine embroidered pillows. “I’m not a fool, Meriadoc. I just choose what I remember, sometimes it’s better to evade the truth, for a time, anyway…” Bilbo patted Merry’s hand and began to drift into his memories, drawing pleasure there with the familiarity of a well-thumbed book.Merry sat with Bilbo until nightfall, nodding in a chair, when suddenly, at full moonrise; he woke with a start at the sound of music, rising and shattering high up in the eaves. Elves were walking in the dark gardens below, they gathered on the balconies and in the halls and trod the banks of the cold river with silent feet, each raising a single note to bear up the lament. Merry didn’t understand the words, but he recognised them in his heart. He ran to the window and felt the ground tremble beneath his feet and the wind rise and fall, as if it was in great excitement and felt change upon its wings. The song spoke of great deeds done, of love and loss and a garden, cold under frost. Over the mountains it broke, across the marshland and the plain, above the White City and its encircling walls, until it found the plains of Gorgoroth and dashed them beneath its light, dancing feet. Merry cried out in his grief and joy and then turned back to Bilbo, who closed his eyes and smiled.THE END