Chapter 1: DEMONS AND DRAGONS

Sam wandered down the empty corridor at Bag End. It was dark and dreary. The few candles placed in temporary holders along the walls threw a flickering light, but not enough to chase away the shadows. It matched Sam’s mood; he felt drained and weary. More than that - he felt as though the light of his life was flickering, like the guttering flames he passed, and could fail completely, plunging him into such total darkness that not even the bright noon summer sun would be able to dispel the blackness of his despair.

All the foul refuse had been shovelled and scraped out of the smial, but the result was worse, rather than better. Now it was possible to see how much damage had been done to the underlying fabric of the corridors and rooms: panelling burnt and blackened, gaping holes instead of doors, floor tiles cracked and damaged. It would all have to be cleared. Worse, drains had been blocked or broken, and would have to be dug out and replaced before the tilers and carpenters could start work. How long would it take until the place was in a state to decorate and furnish? Three or four months at least, and Sam was desperate to get Frodo moved back to familiar surroundings. It was a blessing so much furniture had gone to Crickhollow and so been saved from the wanton destruction. Surely being back in his own home would help lift the grey mood from Frodo. He kicked a piece of broken tile down the corridor and cursed Saruman.

The master bedroom seemed to have come in for particular malice. The window had been smashed out, frame and all, and the wall around it pulled down. This was going to take careful repair to make it sound. Sam could picture the room vividly: the early morning sun muted by the closed curtains, the hump in the middle of the bed, with maybe only the tip of an ear and a few tousled curls to be seen. Despite his low spirits, he smiled at the memory.


He drew back the curtains so the light fell full on the bed. ‘Good morning, sir,’ he said, as the hump in the bed made noises of protest and burrowed further under the covers. ‘You did ask me to wake you, Mr. Frodo, sir, and it’s a beautiful morning.’

‘Beautiful mornings be buggered,’ came the muffled reply.

‘And you did stress I had to get you up by fair means or foul, sir,’ said Sam with a grin. There was a groan from the bed.

‘Go away, Sam. I don’t feel well.’

‘You don’t say, Mr. Frodo. And you well enough to drink all that beer at The Green Dragon last night, by all accounts.’ Sam reached out and stripped the bedding back.

‘Sam!’

‘Just obeying orders, sir.’

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Sam?’

‘Who me, sir? No, sir. Of course not, sir.’

‘Well, you might have the decency not to laugh at me.’

Sam’s grin widened. ‘I can’t understand why you aren’t eager to get up, with the Sackville-Bagginses coming to see you an’ all.’

‘Thank you for reminding me of that, Sam. It was very kind of you.’

That took the smile from his face. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo. That was out of turn. What with the reason they’re coming an’ all.’

It was Frodo’s turn to laugh. ‘Sam! Don’t worry. I was joking. I thought you quite funny, actually. I wish I didn’t have to go through with this, but you’re right. I did ask you to get me up.’ He sat up, dishevelled and bleary-eyed.

‘I’ll get you some breakfast while you get dressed, Mr. Frodo. I wish you didn’t have to sell Bag End - especially to those loathsome relations of yours.’
‘Second thoughts about leaving, Sam?’

‘No, sir. I’m coming with you, to the ends of the earth if necessary.’


Frodo had smiled, and Sam had gone to make breakfast singing to himself, despite the imminent loss of Bag End and its garden, glowing inside from the effect of that smile and the knowledge that wherever Frodo went, there he would be also.

‘How long had I been in love with him and never even realised?’ wondered Sam. Now he looked around the wreck of the room. It was going to be some time before he was waking Frodo in here again. His mind wandered to a different waking, last midsummer’s day.


He lifted his head from Frodo’s shoulder and slowly opened his eyes. A cool breeze was blowing from the snow-topped mountains at this early hour, but the sun was already shafting through the eastern window in soft rays, picking out the dancing motes in the air and promising a hot day. Frodo’s arms were still wrapped around him, and Sam’s upper leg was hooked over Frodo’s thighs. They must have spent the entire night twined together like this. Sam inhaled, breathing deeply to savour the scent of him mingling with the slight tang of snow on the breeze. Frodo’s face was turned towards him, framed by unruly hair, lines of care softened away by sleep. Sam pulled himself up the bed a little, feeling the warmth of Frodo’s naked body against his, and leant in to kiss each eyelid in turn. There was a slight fluttering beneath his lips, but the eyes stayed closed.

‘Frodo,’ he whispered, nuzzling in against the delicate ear. He nipped the lobe softly and lifted his head to see if there was any response.

Frodo made a soft hum of pleasure, and his head turned towards Sam’s lips, now breathing warmth over his cheek, but there was no sign of his waking. Sam smiled down at the sleeping face. Frodo always took a lot of coaxing awake, and that was a pleasure all in itself.

‘Frodo,’ he said a little louder, and trailed a line of kisses to the corner of his lips. Frodo’s eyes still didn’t open, but the lips twitched and curled up into a sleepy smile, and then parted expectantly just before Sam’s mouth closed over them. The lips were slack at first, but Sam coaxed them further apart, licking and teasing them until Frodo’s tongue came alive under his.

Frodo was still sleepy, and the kiss stayed slow and leisurely, despite its length. Sam raised his head with a sigh and opened his eyes to look clear into Frodo’s. They smiled together.

‘It’s early, Sam. Why are you waking me?’ asked Frodo, his voice full of sleep.

‘You’re forgetting what day it is,’ answered Sam, kissing his forehead, and suddenly Frodo was wide awake.

‘Oh, yes. The wedding. Why didn’t you wake me earlier?’

‘There’s plenty of time -.’

‘Oh, well in that case...’ said Frodo, running his hand down Sam’s side and worming it between their close-pressed hips.

‘- if we get up now,’ finished Sam, and Frodo made a soft pout of annoyance. ‘Have you seen your hair?’ asked Sam, laughing. ‘It needs a wash and a trim to make you look respectable.’ He tried to run his fingers through Frodo’s curls, but Frodo winced.

‘Ow!’

‘You see? Let’s go to the bath house. It’s too much to hope it will be empty, though - not today of all days.’ Regretfully, he levered himself up, trying to ignore how erect he was. Frodo’s hand, lazily brushing along his length, was not helping.


Another memory to make him smile. Well, they had been in time for the wedding, hadn’t they? Despite what had followed. His smile faded; how would he be waking Frodo in the future? Lifting his head from Frodo’s shoulder to kiss him awake? Feeling his warmth in his arms, and breathing deeply to savour the familiar scent of him? Nuzzling and coaxing him into wakefulness in a shared bed?

They had not spoken of their living arrangements once Frodo was able to move back to Bag End. It went without saying that Sam would be in charge of the garden, and Frodo had given him complete control of his money to oversee all the work of restoration. Thanks to Fatty it was still a reasonable fortune, undiscovered by the gatherers and sharers. No discussion on their way home had touched on a return to Hobbiton. None of them had considered it as a possibility, and Sam had simply known he and Frodo would be living at Crickhollow.

What assumptions could he make about living at Bag End? Frodo was distant and uncommunicative since Saruman’s death. Not only could Sam not interest him in any of the details of renovation, he couldn’t interest Frodo in anything - including himself, Samwise Gamgee.

‘You do what’s necessary,’ Frodo had said. ‘I trust your judgement.’ So Sam was doing what was necessary, and doing it to the best of his ability, in the hope of restoring Frodo to health along with his beloved home.

Sam walked over to the door connecting through to a smaller room. Probably once a nursery, he thought. Could he assume he could make this his room? Could he even assume he’d be living at Bag End? He leaned his head against the door jamb and closed his eyes. He wished he knew that he still mattered to Frodo. They still shared a bed, but sharing didn’t really describe what was happening. Frodo didn’t seem to want to even touch him, and now, for the first time, had turned away from him. Was he expected to just slip back into old routines? How could he do that? Tears prickled behind his closed eyelids, and he raised his hand to his face, pressing the heel of his palm against each eye in turn to stop the flow. He felt like throwing back his head and howling like the wolves in Hollin. He was trying hard not to remember his awakening that morning, but it was too fresh and raw in his mind, and wouldn’t be denied.


He lifted his head from the pillow to look at Frodo. Was he asleep? He couldn’t be sure, because his face was hidden. Frodo was lying on his side, his back to Sam, his arm cocked up over his face, and his hair falling like a curtain, hiding him from Sam’s view. His shoulder was hunched slightly, and it gave Sam a feeling of being shut out. He laid a hand on Frodo’s arm.

‘Are you awake, Frodo?’

There was no answer, but the shoulder twitched a little higher, and Frodo’s head seemed to bury a little deeper. It was subtle, but to Sam it had all the force of rejection. He hastily removed his hand and silently got up to dress. He knelt by Frodo’s side of the bed and kissed the hand hanging over the bedside.

‘I’ll be away ‘til late; goodbye my love,’ he said quietly. A soft grunt was his only answer.


Suddenly Sam could hold back no longer. All the strain of the last few weeks came together in a shuddering sob.

‘Sam?’

He jumped and turned, opening his eyes as an arm was laid across his shoulders. ‘Pippin! I... I didn’t hear you. What are you doing here?’ he stammered. Pippin was standing there, topping him by a good half head, and filling the doorway. He was dressed in his livery of the Tower Guard, with his elven cloak over the top, looking down at Sam with soft eyes that were full of concern.

‘I came to look for you,’ he said, drawing Sam into a hug. ‘Merry and I have been Frogmorton way, smoking out some of Sharkey’s men who’ve been hiding on Frogmore Island. I wanted to come and see you about Frodo. We’re worried about him, but it looks to me as though we should have been worrying about the both of you. Are you going to tell me what the matter is?’

Sam found it was too late to stop the sobs that made his body shudder in Pippin’s embrace. He laid his head on Pippin’s shoulder and very nearly did howl.

‘Oh, Sam. We’ve been so busy, and left you to look after Frodo, because you do it so well, but who’s looking after you? Is everything all right between you and Frodo?’

With an effort, Sam got control of himself. He put his hand on Pippin’s shoulder and managed to smile at him.

‘I’m sorry, Pippin,‘ he said.

‘For Eru’s sake, don’t apologise, Sam. Though I might send you the bill if you’ve made my armour go rusty. Now what is the matter? Will you tell me?’

‘This isn’t the best place, Pippin,’ Sam said, pointing to the open wall, ‘but I would welcome a talk. I can’t deny that.’

‘What are you doing this afternoon?’ asked Pippin, taking his arm away, but only so he could place a hand on each of Sam’s shoulders and look him full in the face.

‘When I’ve finished here, I’m going up to Bindbole Wood. I need to harvest some saplings for replanting round the Shire, and there’s a good selection there.’

‘Can I come and help you?’

‘Really?’ said Sam, surprised and pleased at the offer. ‘Yes, of course you can, and I’ll be glad of the help. Are you sure you can spare the time?’ He looked Pippin up and down critically. ‘You’re not really dressed for forestry work.’

Pippin roared with laughter, the noise echoing in the empty room. He let his hands fall to his sides. ‘No, I’m dressed with an eye for the lasses, but I don’t suppose there are many of them in Bindbole Wood.’

Sam’s mouth quirked into a smile. He might have known there was more to Pippin’s fondness for his finery, over and above protection from ruffians.

‘So, how about a drink first? To see us through a hard afternoon’s work,’ suggested Pippin. ‘You look like you could do with one.’

Sam nodded agreement. ‘I’ve a few things to do first,’ he said. ‘I need to speak to the tunnellers about clearing the earth fall in the end bedroom. We’ll just have to make a virtue of necessity there, I’m thinking, and raise the ceiling height. I’m hoping they agree there’s enough Hill above the room to do that.’

‘I saw you’d set them to levelling and terracing the garden,’ said Pippin. ‘You’ve done marvels, Sam. I know there’s a lot still to do, but the holes down the Hill look more or less finished, and all the sheds and refuse have gone from here. We’ve been back barely three weeks. I think Frodo is right; you are a wizard.’

Sam kicked at the door frame. ‘He won’t come and look, you know,’ he said. ‘I think it would do him some good if he took an interest.’

‘Well, he did take it very hard. Seeing his home full of filth and excrement like some foul orc pit.’

‘All the more reason to see the gradual change,’ said Sam, morosely. ‘If the next time he sees it is when it’s ready to move in to, he’ll still have all that badness fresh in his mind, if you take my meaning.’

‘I think you speak wisely there, Sam,’ said Pippin, turning to walk away. ‘Come on. I need that drink, even if you don’t.’


They came out the front door into the weak sunshine of a Blotmath morning. The sun was low in the sky, but would not go much higher before she started her descent again. The afternoon would wear away quickly, and it would be dark by tea time. There were a few wisps of cloud near the horizon, but otherwise the sky was a clear washed out blue. They stood for a while, enjoying the sunshine, and then Pippin suddenly swore. He was looking down on the Party Field, where a team of hobbits and strong cobby ponies were working to clear the remains of the Party Tree. Sam followed Pippin’s gaze and pursed his lips angrily, but his anger was not against those working to remove the sad carcass of the great tree. As they watched, the ponies were harnessed to a fresh cut length of trunk, and cries of ‘Walk on. Hup there. Walk on!’ drifted up to the watchers. The ponies leant into the traces, and the log was dragged to a cart waiting at the gate.

Sam squinted at the sun. ‘I can’t stop long for a sup and a bite,’ he said. ‘Or I’ll not be up to Bindbole in time to make it worth my while going.’

‘Why not leave it until tomorrow, then?’ suggested Pippin.

‘No, Pip,’ said Sam. ‘I begrudge every minute wasted. Once the hard frosts start I won’t be able to lift anything from the ground.’

Pippin looked at Sam thoughtfully. ‘How many hours a day are you working, Sam?’ he asked.

‘There’s not enough hours of daylight I can be working, to tell the truth,’ Sam answered with a sigh. ‘I’ll be glad when the days start lengthening again.’ It would take more than he could do, and more years than he cared to think about, to repair the damage to his beloved Shire.

The sound of sawing filled the air, and they both looked back to the Party Field. ‘It makes me appreciate Treebeard’s anger against Saruman even more,’ Pippin said, scowling. ‘It’s just wanton destruction. Saruman was doing that in Fangorn, as well, not even pretending the trees were to fuel his furnaces. Just cutting them down and leaving them to rot.’

‘And I reckon he provoked that Wormtongue on purpose,’ said Sam, pulling his lower lip and staring at his feet.

‘What do you mean?’ Pippin looked at Sam in surprise.

‘Well, he hadn’t got no future to my way of thinking, and maybe he wanted to be finished with his life here. He had a heap of spite against Frodo, that’s for sure. Maybe he knew Frodo would be back here to live, and maybe he didn’t, but provoking Wormtongue to stab him here,’ Sam jabbed his heel into the ground, ’right in front of Frodo, was the worse thing he did in the Shire in my opinion. That and ill-wishing him. I can’t forget Frodo’s face when Saruman said those things, Pippin. But I don’t want to talk about it here, nor at the Ivy Bush, where there’s ears flapping for any morsel of gossip.’

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Pippin, ‘do what you have to do here, and then ride along to the Bush. I’ll get them to put together a flagon of ale and some food, and we can take it with us.’

‘Even better: come back here when you’ve got them,’ answered Sam, putting a hand on Pippin’s shoulder, grateful for his suggestion. ‘We’ll go through Underhill and pick up the green lane to the wood from there.’


Sam spoke to the workmen, and then strode down to New Row. He found his Gaffer there, admiring the snug brick lining.

‘It’ll take up the heat a treat,’ said his father happily, but as they walked out of the front door his face fell at the site of the levelled sandpit which was his garden. ‘That’s going to take a deal o’ time to set to rights, and no mistake,’ he said morosely. ‘And all my seed taters lost, with more besides. What was Mr. Frodo a’thinking, selling to those dreadful Sackville-Bagginses? He didn’t ought to have done it. He might be doing very handsomely by us now, but he shouldn’t ha’ done it in the first place, and then we wouldn’t have had all this trouble, and that’s a fact.’

All Sam’s frustrations and anger over the way Frodo - his gentle, patient, enduring Frodo - was being treated by the Shire as a whole, flared up in a blazing anger. ‘How can you stand there and say that to my face, Da!’ he shouted, not caring who heard. ‘Frodo’s given up and lost more than you can know. He’s been through more than any hobbit should be asked to go through, and all to save the Shire for the likes of you! Yes, he’s come home. Yes, he’s got Bag End back. Yes, he’s still wealthy. But if you ask me, was it worth it? I’d say NO! He’s lost himself, Da! He’s sick and he’s sad, and... and...’ Sam fought back tears. ‘And there’s no joy left in him. What are your taters compared to that? Tell me, Da! What are they?’ He buried his head in his hands, and gave up the battle and wept.

For the second time that day it was Pippin who rescued him with a comforting arm and a quiet voice.

‘Sam?’

Sam opened his eyes and took the handkerchief Pippin was proffering. He blew his nose and glared at the Gaffer, who was standing open -mouthed, staring at his son in shocked silence.

‘I’m sorry, Da, but the Shire needs to wake up to what Mr. Frodo did, and that’s a fact.’

Pippin nodded. ‘If it wasn’t for Frodo and your Sam, Mr. Gamgee, the Shire would be gone, and Sharkey’s work only the merest hint of what evil and malice can do.’

The Gaffer cleared his throat and wouldn’t quite meet Sam’s eye. ‘Well, I’m sorry I upset you, lad. I know you set a great store by Mr. Frodo. Will you be by tomorrow to help me move my bits of things in?’

‘Yes, Da,’ said Sam quietly. ‘I’ll see you then.’ He watched as his father stumped off through the garden gate, and sighed. ‘I don’t know why I bother,’ he said bitterly. ‘He’ll be down the Ivy Bush tonight, moaning about his taters again. Probably have a moan about me too, I shouldn’t wonder.’ Together they watched as the Gaffer disappeared from sight.

‘Are you finished here?’ asked Pippin, breaking the silence.

‘Aye, I’ve finished. I just need to get Bill harnessed.’ Sam coaxed Bill into the shafts of the cart he had borrowed from Farmer Cotton, and Pippin hitched his pony to the tail gate. They sat together, eating, drinking and talking in equal measure. There was very little wind, and the day was unseasonably warm. They rode out of Hobbiton on the Underhill Road, and then turned off onto a green lane heading for Bindbole Wood. The hawthorn trees reared up on either side, thick with haws. Blackbirds were feeding on the dark berries, and every few yards another flew up at their approach, scolding them loudly.

Neither hobbit knew how to start on the topics foremost in their minds, so Pippin asked about the terracing of the hillside he had noticed, while Sam wanted to know about the ruffians that had been defeated. As they talked, they shared the beer and food, passing the flagon back and forth between them, and occasionally coughing and spluttering when a cart wheel hit a bump or hollow at an inopportune moment.

Pippin finished telling his tale and cocked his eye at Sam. ‘There are still some around you know,’ he said. ‘We haven’t flushed them all out yet. Travelling around alone and unarmed isn’t wise.’

Sam made no comment; he bent forward, and suddenly Sting was at Pippin’s throat. ‘Ah! I get the point,’ said Pippin, laughing as the shining blade was withdrawn. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t be unprepared.’

For a while they travelled in silence. It started comfortably enough, but became more awkward the longer it went on. Each wanted to continue the conversation of the morning, but couldn’t see an easy opening. They kept catching each other’s eye and looking away. Bees were taking advantage of the late warmth, and the sound of their buzzing rose from a rich profusion of yellow gorse flowers. A skein of pink-footed geese flew over, ragged V after ragged V, honking to each other. Sam and Pippin twisted their heads, watching the geese out of sight. As they turned back they caught each other’s eye again, and Pippin laughed.

‘Frodo,’ he said simply, raising his eyebrows to make the question. Sam hunched his shoulders.

‘Do you trust me, Sam?’

‘That’s the daftest question I’ve heard in a long time, Pip. Of course I trust you.’

‘Well let’s start somewhere. What is the matter with Frodo? You said “sick” to the Gaffer.’

‘Sick at heart, Pippin. There’s a heap of happenings that have worn him down. His wounds, what the Ring did to him.’ He corrected himself, ‘is doing to him. He misses it, Pippin, and he hates himself for missing it. He still reckons he failed because he claimed it at the end. He thought at least he’d protected the Shire, and then he found he hadn’t, and he couldn’t stop Saruman being killed right on his own doorstep. And then there’s Saruman’s parting words; poison and malice they were, if you ask me.’ He gazed unseeing at his hands, and then looked up to meet Pippin’s gaze. ‘Sick, I said, but it’s hard to pin it down. Like I said to the Gaffer, all the joy seems to have gone from him.’

‘Melancholy,’ said Pippin thoughtfully. ‘Merry and I couldn’t put our finger on what was wrong, but we knew something was.’

‘Melancholy?’ said Sam, looking at Pippin doubtfully. ‘I’ve not heard of that.’

‘It’s a Tookish trait. Ferdibrand suffers from it, and so did Hildibold. It’s a sadness of the spirit, and an inability to get on with life.’

‘What happened to Hildibold? Did he recover, or do you mean he’s dead?’

Pippin shifted uncomfortably, and looked as though he wished he hadn’t mentioned his relations. ‘He just seemed to get more and more withdrawn and faded away in the end.’ He swallowed and looked at Sam. ‘Of course, he didn’t have someone like you. In fact, it was after his wife and child died that he went like that.’

Sam considered this. ‘I don’t know as though I’m much help,’ he said eventually.

‘Of course you are. Frodo loves you.’

‘Does he, Pip? Really? Because I don’t know what to think.’

‘Sam! This is what it’s all about, isn’t it?’ said Pippin in shocked surprise, laying a hand on Sam’s arm and watching him closely. Sam turned to look full at Pippin, and the pain he felt must have shown in his eyes because Pippin caught his breath.

‘Sam, you can’t believe he doesn’t love you,’ said the young Took earnestly. ‘You only have to come into the room and he just lights up. I’ve seen it again and again. Even before he first told us in Minas Tirith we’d noticed how you two only seemed complete when together.’

Sam seized this change of direction gratefully, because he had no idea how to discuss the loss he felt. ‘I’ve often wondered what you and Merry thought,’ he said. ‘I told Frodo I wouldn’t be there; I thought you could be more, well, honest, if I wasn’t, if you know what I mean.’

Pippin laughed at the memory. ‘Well I won’t deny we were mouthing like fresh caught fish out of the Anduin, because we knew you two were close, but we didn’t know you were that close.’ Suddenly Pippin almost doubled up in laughter.

‘What? What’s so funny, you fool of a Took,’ demanded Sam, unable to stop himself from grinning. Pippin’s laughter was so infectious.

‘Oh, Sam, I’m sorry. It’s just... we nearly walked in on you... when you first...’ He wiped tears from his eyes. ‘It’s a good thing Gandalf had more sense than Merry and I.’

‘Aye, well, we still laugh about that, too. But if Gandalf really had any sense he would have come back to the Shire and looked after Frodo a bit more, if you ask me.’

Pippin suddenly looked serious. ‘Yes, there is that. Maybe there is nothing he can do. But to go back to your question, as far as Merry and I are concerned, it’s the best thing to happen to Frodo.’

‘That ain’t hard!’ said Sam, rather savagely, ’the rest has all been so full of foulness.’

‘Sam,’ said Pippin, with great patience, ‘you were special to us before, bringing Frodo safe through Mordor, but now you’re family. So are you actually going to tell me what makes you think Frodo feels any different?’

Sam sighed and turned his attention back to Bill’s reins. He gave them a flick because Bill had taken advantage of his inattention and slowed to a dawdle. He wanted to talk to someone, and who else could he talk to, if not Merry and Pippin? He still hesitated, although he knew whatever he told Pippin would go no further than Merry, and not even that far if he asked for a promise. He looked around. The hedge had come to an end, and fallow fields opened up on either side. Peewits and self important rooks intermingled, gleaning for grain and probing for insects. In the near distance Bindbole Wood was a dark shadow stretching across the golden stubble fields. Sam took a deep breath and looked down. He was just going to have to dive in and hope Pippin understood.

‘He doesn’t want me, Pippin,’ he said, quietly, to his feet. ‘Not in the way I’ve grown used to being wanted.’

‘Stop the cart! Stop it now!’ cried Pippin, and Sam hauled on the reins before his brain could even question the command. He looked up in surprise, but his companion was already jumping down and ducking under Bill’s neck. Sam looked at Pippin in astonishment as the young Took appeared on Sam’s side of the cart. The next moment he was being hauled from his seat.

‘Pip,’ he spluttered, ‘what in the Shire are you doing?’

Pip didn't answer with words; he threw his arms around Sam and hugged him in a crushing embrace. Sam was nearly winded; Pippin in armour was hard and unyielding. Pippin released him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

‘You can carry on, now,’ he said, just as though Sam wasn’t standing by the cart looking dumbfounded. He climbed past Sam before Sam could articulate a word, and Sam turned to watch his companion settle himself back in his seat. Pippin looked back at him with a ‘Well? What are we waiting for?’ expression on his face.

Sam climbed back up himself and picked up the reins with affectionate exasperation. ‘What was all that about?’ he asked.

‘I suddenly saw you again in the bedroom at Bag End, where I found you this morning,’ said Pip, laying his hand on Sam’s arm. ‘You looked so sad. I’m sorry. More sorry than I know how to say. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, though.’

‘What does it mean, then, Pip? Tell me that.’

‘Melancholy,’ said Pippin simply, as he had before. ‘Ferdibrand used to be a rare one for the ladies before he succumbed, and then he seemed to just lose interest.’

‘Is that a fact,’ said Sam, scowling. Pippin looked at him seriously.

‘You’re being too sensitive, Sam. I didn’t mean that Frodo’s one for the lads and he’s just lost interest, and you know it. I mean melancholy seems to affect appetite for all sorts of things, including sex.’ Sam reddened at Pippin’s blunt response. ‘Apart from the sex, and I grant you it’s a big “apart,”’ said Pippin, ignoring Sam’s blushes, ‘how does Frodo make you think he doesn’t love you? Does he tell you so, or say hurtful things to you? I’d find that very difficult to believe, but if you can put your hand on your heart and look me in the eye when you said it, I would believe you. Can you do that?’

Sam looked Pippin in the eye and said, ‘No I can’t, because they’re not true.’

‘No, I didn’t think so. You know that reception last week and, well, I’d say feast, if that wasn’t stretching it a bit given the scant fare we had? The one for those released from the Lockholes?’

Sam nodded, not sure where this new direction was taking them, nor how it was relevant.

‘Well, Frodo came up to Merry,’ Pippin continued, ’and he was in a state about having to give a speech in front of everyone. Almost shaking, Merry said, though he’s made enough of them in the past. Merry was hard pressed to calm him down, and do it without drawing the attention of everyone in the room; after all Frodo is deputy Mayor, and needs to be seen to be presiding over events. I could see from Frodo’s face that there was a problem, and I was trying to disentangle myself from a conversation with Farmer Cotton so I could go over and see what was up.

‘Before I could get away Frodo just changed before my eyes. His face relaxed and softened, he smiled across the room and stopped listening to Merry’s lecture, and... and just came alive. I didn’t really need to look, but I did anyway, and you were standing in the doorway, smiling back at him. It was like there was no one else in the room except the two of you.’

Sam looked worried. ‘I didn’t know we were that obvious,’ he said, frowning.

‘I don’t think anyone else noticed, Sam. I think we just know you both so well, that’s all. But the point is, Frodo was looking at you like that, and then he went on to make that speech, just as though he’d never had any second thoughts. Fine speech it was, even if not overly appreciated by the worthies of Hobbiton.’

Sam agreed. Frodo had told them, amongst other things, that the sufferings of the Shire were small compared with those elsewhere, and that they should try to forgive those duped by Sharkey.

‘The question is,’ said Pippin, ‘are you going to stop loving him because he’s stopped making you yowl like an orc with a Rhohirrim arrow in it?’

‘What? WHAT?’ spluttered Sam, horrified.

‘Oh, the walls in Minas Tirith aren’t that thick. What was he doing to you, anyway?’

‘Never you mind, young Pip,’ said Sam, very red in the face.

‘Well, I’m not that young, and I can guess,’ said Pippin, thoroughly enjoying Sam’s discomfiture. ‘But the question is, are you?’

‘Am I what?’ asked Sam weakly. He was confused and embarrassed.

‘Going to stop loving him?’

‘No! Of course not!’ Sam replied, glad to be able to replace embarrassment with anger.

‘Well that’s good. There’s a lot of fine marriages that have never had any passion in them as far as I can see, though one never knows what goes on behind closed doors - unless one hears, of course.’ He winked at Sam. ‘And those that start with passion - well, it never seems to last, and then they’ve got nothing if that’s all they had between them. I know for a fact that’s not all you and Frodo have.’

‘Hmmm. How come you’re so knowledgeable all of a sudden, Peregrin Took?’ asked Sam.

‘It’s living in a warren like Great Smials or Brandy Hall,’ answered Pippin. ‘It’s right there for all to see.’


They had arrived at the wood, and they climbed down from the cart. The conversation was dropped as Sam led Bill along a rough track between overhanging trees, and they emerged into the sunshine again. They were in a large open space where the trees, mostly sweet chestnut, had been coppiced two or three years ago. New green shoots had grown from the stumps and were nearly as tall as the hobbits. Another ten years, and the coppicers would move in again and repeat the cycle. The opportunity, provided by the opening up to sunlight of the woodland floor, had been seized upon by seeds lying dormant amongst the leaf mould. Dried seed heads on dead, brown stems, spoke of a profusion of summer flowers: rosebay willowherb and knapweed, tansy and evening primrose. Dunnocks flitted between the seed heads, and a charm of goldfinches twittered and fluted over a clump of teasel.

Amongst these signs of death and renewal, saplings had taken advantage of the light pouring into the clearing and sprung to life. A few tattered leaves remained on their small, whippy stems, but Sam knew what each species was just from the colour and form of the growth. Most were silver birch, too young to show any silver yet, but there were hawthorns, rowans, elders and wayfarer trees, the latter with a few hanging heads of clustered red berries. Not surprisingly there were some sweet chestnuts growing between the multi-trunked stumps of their parents. Here and there, dark gloss-green leaved holly trees could be seen, pushing their bushy way between the lankier deciduous saplings.

It was a peaceful place, and Sam felt much of the tension drain out of him. It wasn’t just the place though, he realised. It was sharing his fears with Pippin. Somehow they seemed to have diminished. Not to vanishing point, far from it, but more manageable. They let the ponies free to graze and both took off their elven cloaks. Pippin eased off his armour and laid it in the cart. Their swords they kept with them - woodland was a likely place for ruffians to be hiding, although there was no recent evidence of anyone using the track. Sam unloaded tools and a pile of old sacking, and gave some to Pippin to carry. He led the way between the tree stumps, picking his way through the undergrowth. Brambles snagged at their bare legs.

‘He wouldn’t look at me this morning, wouldn’t let me touch him,’ said Sam suddenly, to the open space in front of him.

‘Have you spoken to him?’ asked Pippin from behind.

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Sam rather shortly. ‘He’s got enough problems without me whining like a lovesick tweenager.’

‘But it may be his own problems that made him behave like that, and nothing to do with you. And maybe one of his problems is that he’s hurting you, Sam. Have you thought he may be feeling guilty and sad about causing you distress?’

Sam was silent, digesting these possibilities. Pippin cleared his throat. ‘I saw him this morning at the farm, Sam, and he admitted he was worried about you, but he wouldn’t say why. Leastwise, he said you were working too hard, but you’ve always worked as though every minute counted for two, so I thought there must be more to it.’

Sam stopped in his tracks and turned to squint at Pippin, who was standing between him and the sun. Once again he had to raise his head. Pippin had grown in stature, but when had he grown in wisdom like this? When had he learnt to see all the undercurrents that swirled and tugged below the surface of the spoken word? He felt a rush of warm love for this “fool” of a Took.

‘So you came hotfooting to find me,’ he said, smiling. ‘Thank you, Pippin. You’ve got more sense than me in this, I think.

‘It can’t be easy, living at the farm,’ said Pippin sympathetically. ‘You are managing to share a room, aren’t you?’

Sam grinned. ‘They were going to put me with Tom, seeing as how we were such good friends, but I took Mother Cotton aside, quiet like, and explained Frodo has nightmares that wake him screaming in the night.’

‘And does he?’ asked Pippin.

Sam stopped smiling and looked serious. ‘Yes, he does, it was no more than the truth. She clucked away for a while and said it was no problem if I didn’t mind a very small room, because there was an adjoining room to Frodo’s full of old lumber. She chivvied Jolly and Nibs off, there and then, to clear it out and bring in a cot bed. She was worried it was so small, and I felt a bit guilty, seeing as how I wasn’t even going to be sleeping in it, but I said it was just fine. And so it is. I just have to remember to ruffle the bed in the morning.’ He smiled again at the memory. ‘Frodo thanked her with the straightest face you can imagine, and said she’d added greatly to his comfort by her thoughtfulness. You should have seen her beam with happiness. He has a way with him when he wants, no doubt about that.’

‘There’s no doubt about your having a way with him, as well, my friend. And I rest my case. You add greatly to his comfort. Now, what do you want me to do here?’


Sam showed Pippin how to ease a sapling from the ground with as little damage to its roots and as much soil as possible, and then how to wrap the root ball in hessian sacking to keep it together. The clearing was sheltered, and the sun warm, and soon they were sweating with their work. Pippin loosened the collar of his tunic and rolled up his sleeves, while Sam dispensed with his shirt altogether.

‘How are your family, now?’ Sam asked after working for a while in silence. Pippin knew exactly the question being asked.

‘They’ve calmed down a lot, but Mother - and Aunt Esme for that matter - are still in a fury with Frodo. Nothing Merry or I say makes them see sense. They’ve spent over a year blaming him for our disappearance and death. They’re not about to stop blaming him because we turn up again like two bad pennies. They can’t see why we had to go without a word, and it didn’t help when Merry as good as told them that Frodo’s safety had been more important than their peace of mind. Best Frodo doesn’t see them for a while, I think. It’s early days yet. Merry and I will keep working on them. We do have an ally in Father. He’s proud of us. I’m going to suggest he come over to see Frodo. He may have some influence on Mother and Aunt Esme.’

‘Frodo would like to see them, especially Merry’s mother,’ said Sam, an anxious frown on his face. ‘It weighs on his mind that they’ve taken against him.’

‘Well, he never was a great favourite. Mother always thought he led me into bad ways, instead of, mostly, the other way round. I keep telling her Frodo had no knowledge of our intention to go with him, and that he was very reluctant to allow us along.’

‘That’s as may be, but I think their attitude is adding to his troubles.’

‘Then I’ll get Father over as soon as possible. He’s one of the few who will really listen to what we’ve got to tell them.’

‘You’re lucky then, I’ve found no one as is interested. The Cottons listen politely enough at first, but their attention soon wanders, and they start talking about the troubles here. If I asked them what I’d said, I doubt they could tell me.’

‘It’s hard, Sam, but I suppose we have to remember that we four, and to a lesser extent Fatty and Folco, are the only ones brought up on tales of Elves and high deeds. It’s all so foreign to them, they can’t grasp the scope of it.’

‘I know you’re right, Pip,’ said Sam, with a soft grunt as he eased up a sapling from between some larger roots. ‘It’s just hard when Frodo is given so little regard here in the Shire. He did so much, and endured so much, and yet he’s so humble. It makes me want to cry.’


They carried on working until the air started to cool and the shadows lengthen. Sam looked at the sun, sinking over the tree tops, and rubbed his hands on his breeches. ‘That’ll do for today,’ he said.

Pippin straightened his back and winced. ‘I’m not used to all this digging,’ he said.

‘I’ll get these loaded if you want to take a rest,’ said Sam, picking up a sapling in each hand.

Pippin didn’t answer with words, just picked up two saplings and carried them to the cart. It didn’t take them long to load them , packing them carefully to keep them upright.

‘Where are we taking them?’ asked Pippin, hitching his pony to the tail gate again.

‘Down to Hobbiton,’ answered Sam. ‘I’ve got a bit of a nursery in a nice sheltered spot that won’t catch the frosts too bad. I’ll pack them around with straw to protect them, and plant them out when they’ve had a chance of recovering from the shock of being uprooted. I’ve been collecting seeds as well, and planting them in pots, but it’ll be two or three years before they’re ready to plant out.’ He sighed. ‘It’s going to be a slow business, Pip.’

Pippin donned his armour again, and Sam retrieved his shirt and weskit. They were both glad of their cloaks. The air was chilling rapidly, and a low mist lay in tendrils across the fields. Overhead the rooks were cawing their way home to their rookery amongst the tree tops on the edge of the wood. The nests stood out in stark relief against the trees, grouped together in the bare branches. Sam wished he and Pippin could be home so easily.

As they made their way back down the track, the sun was sinking, large and red, towards a bank of low cloud along the horizon. Pippin lit pipes for the both of them, and they puffed in silence. Bill’s ears were pricked forward, eager for home as he trotted down the path, and the hobbits were thrown back and forth as the wheels lurched into pot holes and bounced out again. Behind them, the saplings swayed with the cart, but remained upright. Sam was deep in thought, one hand on the reins, the other curled round the bowl of his pipe.

Pippin watched him for a while, and then touched his arm. ‘Penny for your thoughts, Sam,’ he said, quietly.

Sam jumped, jerking the reins and making Bill toss his head up and down in disgust. ‘I was thinking about demons and dragons,’ he said, after a moment’s consideration.

‘Demons and dragons?’

‘About having a demon you can kill.’

Pippin frowned in puzzlement. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

‘How did you feel after you killed that hill-troll, Pippin? I don’t mean were you in pain, that goes without saying given the damage it did to you. I mean, how do you feel now?’

‘Proud, I suppose,’ answered Pippin, after giving the matter some thought. ‘I wasn’t sure I had it in me to stand my ground and fight. Yes, I feel proud.’ He grinned at Sam. ‘My finest hour. And I did save Beregond.’

‘And do you have nightmares about it?’ persisted Sam, or waking flashbacks?’

‘No, not about that. Why?’

Sam didn’t seem to notice Pippin’s qualification and carried on as though Pippin hadn’t asked the question. ‘And what about Merry? Does he have terrible waking visions of the Witch-King?’

‘No, not at all.’

‘And I had Shelob and got the better of her, and rescued Frodo from that tower - which made me feel mighty fine and brave, even if it was my fault he was there in the first place, as you might say.’ Pippin opened his mouth to interrupt, but Sam held up his hand. ‘When I woke up in Ithilien, I had the feeling of a job well done, Pippin. I’d done what I set out to do; the quest was achieved, Frodo was alive and I was as happy as I could be, until I found how badly Frodo was doing with nightmares and self-blame.’

‘Self-blame! Frodo? You’re joking, Sam. Please tell me you’re joking. And you said earlier something about failure.’

‘It’s the truth. He’s only spoken about it to me, and maybe Gandalf, but he blames himself for not being able to resist the Ring. Think about it, Pip; what was Frodo’s demon? It was the Ring. It was in his mind, and he had to fight It there; he had to fight It every day and every step of the way once we got to Mordor. Fight It, and fight It, and there was no end to it. I saw him, Pippin. Every day was a victory, but not an end, until finally he couldn’t fight anymore, and the Ring took him. And that’s what he remembers. It defeated him. In the end It won, as they all knew It would.’

Pippin swallowed and looked at Sam with horror.

‘That’s not all, neither,’ said Sam. ‘He fought where he could, but there were too many times he was helpless through no fault of his own. The tower was the worst of them, and he’s got no fine memories of that to help mellow the terror of it. He never had a demon or dragon he could fight, you see.’

‘But can’t we...? I mean, haven’t you...?’

‘Pippin, I’ve tried and I’ve tried to make him see what he did and what he endured was more than anyone else could have done, but deep down he don’t believe it.’ There was silence, broken only by the “kewick” of an owl.

‘I thought it was the loss of the Ring,’ said Pippin at last. ‘That he loved and hated it, like Gollum.’

‘I’ll not deny there’s that as well. Sometimes he just looks vacant and lost, and don’t seem to hear me when I speak to him. Sometimes I’m afraid something died in him, when the Ring went into the fire. Sometimes I think... no, I can’t say it, Pip.’

He lowered his head. He couldn’t voice a nagging doubt that Frodo had been substituting one passion for another. It was the root of his fear that Frodo didn’t love him in the same way he loved Frodo. To voice it would make it sound like he blamed Frodo for this; besides, he didn’t even know if it were true, or just a figment of his own grief. If it were true, he wouldn’t have had things any other way. Anything that helped Frodo was his for the taking, and the memories of the taking were warm within him. No, he wouldn’t have foregone that passion for anything, and he missed it sorely now.

Pippin was deep in thought, his hands clasped round his pipe. Sam was glad he didn’t press him to finish what he had started to say. They both sighed at the same time.

‘We’re getting too gloomy, my friend,’ Pippin said. ‘Let’s have a song to see us home.’ He hesitated. ‘Anytime you want to talk to me, just say the word. I’m not going to tell you what Frodo said to me, and anything you tell me won’t go any further. Not further than Merry, anyway,’ he grinned. ‘But remember to talk to Frodo. He loves you, Sam. I know that much.’

He clapped Sam on the shoulder to forestall his thanks and started singing his favourite drinking song.

‘His voice has deepened,’ thought Sam, and after a moment he joined in. They sang the sun down with rich, deep voices, and watched the stars begin to emerge in the dark velvet-blue of the sky.


Sam suggested Pippin come to South Farm, knowing the Cotton’s hospitality, but Pippin was expected at Tuckborough. He helped Sam unload, gave him a last hug, and rode off into the deepening night. Sam lit the lanterns and pointed Bill home.

Welcome light spilt out from the windows of the farm, casting round pools of light in the yard. He was tired and hungry, but Bill came first. He unharnessed the pony and led him to the stables, the only sound the soft clop clop of hooves. Placing his lantern in a safe place, he rubbed Bill down, and then checked there was water and a full hay manger. Satisfied, he made his way through a low archway to the kitchen door.

Only Mrs. Cotton was there, and supper was over. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, Mother Cotton,’ he said apologetically. He had fallen back into his old style of address at her insistence.

‘What’s all this “Mrs. Cotton” I’d like to know,’ she had scolded him soon after his return. ‘You’ve called me Mother Cotton for more years than I care to remember.’ And she had smiled and hugged him, and told him she was glad he was back.

Now she smiled at him again. ‘I’ve saved you a bite, lad. Sit yourself down, and I’ll be getting it for you.’

Sam shook his head. ‘I’ll just go and tell Mr. Frodo I’m back,’ he said.

‘You’ll do nothing of the sort. He’s gone out anyways. When you’ve eaten, if he’s not come back, you can go look for him. But you ain’t going nowhere until you’ve supped.’

Sam gave in and found he was glad to sit in the warm kitchen and eat his fill of Mrs. Cotton’s substantial fare. When she was sure he could eat no more, she put the tobacco jar in front of him. He filled his pipe and gave her thanks with words and a kiss. Pulling on his cloak, he made his way back outside to find Frodo. He was going to follow Pippin’s advice. It was time to talk.


He stood outside the kitchen door of the farm house and sniffed the air. It had turned into a crisp, clear evening, with no moon to be seen yet. The sky shimmered with stars, and there would be a frost later unless the clouds gathered. Sam wasn’t even conscious of his weather watching. Without thinking, he was aware that there was precious little wind to bring any cloud cover, and his gardener’s instinct said “frost.” It was a good thing he’d protected the saplings. He lit his pipe, and moved away from the light spilling out of the candlelit kitchen window to see the stars better. He never tired of looking up at them, recalling the hope gifted to him by Eärendil as he looked up in the Black Lands, near to despair and never thinking to see home again.

The smoke from his pipe drifted across his field of vision, and he looked around. Even with no moon, there was a soft glimmer of starlight to see by, but there was no sign of Frodo. If he had put his cloak on, he would be hard to see in this light.

Suddenly Sam’s heart gave a jolt. Where the ground fell away he could see a body sprawled on the slope, a dark shadow against the grey expanse of grass. Sam was running before he had fully taken in what he was seeing, skidding down the dew-drenched, slippery surface.

‘Frodo!’ he cried. Then he remembered where he was. ‘Mr. Frodo!’