CHAPTER 11: ANNIVERSARIES

Sam journeyed back from the Northfarthing eager to reach Bywater. It was the first time he had been away from Frodo for so long; not only had he desperately missed being held in those dear arms, but his anxiety about Frodo had increased steadily, day by day. He had been unwell himself around the middle of the month, and that had delayed him. By sheer hard work, he had finished in time to ensure he was back by the twenty-fifth day of Rethe, a day he wanted to stay close to Frodo in case bad memories surfaced.

He rode Bill until the sun set and darkness gathered around them, then dismounted and walked by the pony’s head. He could make out the line of the road by the way the hedges were a deeper black on either side. Bill was good at picking his way in the dark, but there was no point risking the pony stumbling under him. Walking would get him home eventually, and in one piece.

The occasional rustle told of other creatures about their nocturnal business, and far off, he could hear the hoarse bark of a fox. He came down the Oatbarton Road, thankful there were few pot holes to catch an unwary foot. Crossing the Water by the humpbacked bridge, he turned right onto the Great Road. He was deep in thought, and nearly missed the Bywater turn off in the dark, but Bill whinnied and jerked his head. Sam patted his neck.

‘Good work, Bill,’ he said.

At the turn off to South Lane, they had a small disagreement, although there was never any doubt as to who would win. Bill no longer considered South Farm as home, and recognised that food and rest would be waiting in Hobbiton. He dug his hooves in when Sam turned up the lane to the Cotton Farm, but Sam was not going to be prevented from seeing Frodo before anything else, and Bill gave in with reasonable grace.

Sam hitched Bill outside the kitchen and checked there was water in the trough. He pushed open the door, and Rosie looked up from the sink as he entered, her arms dripping with suds. She reached for a towel and stood in front of him drying her hands.

‘Welcome back, Sam,’ she said warmly, and before he realised her intention, she was up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

‘Erm, hello Rosie,’ he said, taken aback. Since the day he left the farm, and the last time she had kissed him, she had maintained a friendly politeness which had not included any overt sign of affection. More surprises awaited him.

‘Mr. Frodo is in the study. He’ll be pleased to see you back,’ she said with a smile. Sam’s mouth dropped open. To his certain knowledge Rosie avoided mention of Frodo by name. If she couldn’t avoid it, she used “Mr. Baggins,” but always with a tight, hard inflection to her voice.

His mind whirled. He’d been away... what? Two weeks? And now Rosie was saying “Mr. Frodo” in warm friendly tones, and telling Sam where he was and that he would be pleased. She even sounded pleased that he would be pleased. It was too much for Sam to comprehend. He shut his mouth.

‘Thank you, Rosie,’ he managed, heading for the door, and hoping to get some explanation from Frodo.

‘Have you eaten, Sam?’ Rosie called after him. He paused at the door and looked back at her.

‘No. No, I haven’t yet,’ he said.

‘You must be starving. I’ll get you something together, and leave it on the table. Come and get it when you’re ready.’

Sam gave up the struggle to understand. ‘Thank you, Rosie,’ he said and smiled at her.

When he entered the study, Frodo was deep in thought and didn’t hear him. Papers were spread around in apparent confusion. A fire was burning in the grate, and the room was warm; candlelight flickered round the walls crammed with shelves. Most of the room was neat and tidy, but Frodo had created his own little haven of disorder around the writing desk. Sam stood by the door and smiled at the sight. He let out a soft sigh of pleasure, and Frodo turned at the sound. He leapt to his feet with a cry, causing a landslide of papers which fell unheeded to the floor. Sam hastily shut the door with his foot, and then Frodo was in his arms, his mouth seeking Sam’s.

Sam raised his hand and tangled his fingers in Frodo’s hair, pressing him close. He didn’t need Bag End to call home. This was home. These arms, this sweet mouth. Home. He ran his tongue over Frodo's warm lips, and they parted in welcome. For a while the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire.

Sam had missed Frodo so much, and took his fill, tasting him, breathing in the rich smell of him, feeling his body pressed close from shoulder to knee. Frodo’s hands ran down Sam’s back to take his hips and press them groin to groin, deliberately rubbing against him. New sounds were added to the sound of the logs burning as Sam made soft hums of pleasure. Frodo would not have done this unless he was prepared to help relieve the overwhelming need he was producing, as evidenced by the hardening bulge in Sam’s breeches. Sam found he was trembling. Reluctantly he took his mouth from Frodo’s and glanced towards the door. There was no lock.

He held Frodo at arm’s length to inspect his face.

‘How have you been?’ he asked, his voice full of his concern.

‘Fine. I’m fine, Sam. Oh, but it’s good to have you back. Did you have a successful trip? How is your brother?’

‘Hal’s fine. You must come and meet his family. He’s got a fine brood, and the baby is such a charmer. All cheeky smiles and chubby brown legs.’ He smiled at Frodo; he had no intention of telling him how holding his brother’s latest babe had affected him.

Frodo smiled back and raised his hand to Sam’s cheek. ‘I’d love to see you with your nephews and nieces, Sam,’ he said. Sam leaned against the touch, covering the hand with his, closing his eyes - but that meant he couldn’t see Frodo. He opened his eyes again, and brought Frodo’s hand to his lips, to press a kiss against his palm. He watched Frodo close his eyes slowly. They both sighed together, and then laughed together about sighing together.

‘Have you eaten, Sam? After your journey?’

‘I was aiming to have supper at the Green Dragon, but Rosie seems to have taken it into her head to mother me. She’s setting out a bite for me in the kitchen. She was acting,’ he hesitated ‘...strange.’ He frowned at the memory.

‘Strange?’

‘Different. Friendly, you might say. And not just to me, neither. To you, too. Calling you “Mr. Frodo”, telling me where to find you, saying you’d be pleased to see me! Now you tell me what’s got into the girl.’

‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you complain about any one being friendly towards me, Sam,’ said Frodo, laughing, and Sam thought how much “weller” he looked when he laughed. The dark smudges under the eyes worried him, as did the thinness of Frodo’s face. When he laughed, however, his face rounded a little and his eyes crinkled at the edges. The effect just made Sam want to kiss him.

He took Frodo’s face in his hands and kissed him, long and slow, his longing smouldering into fire as Frodo responded.

‘I have such a need for you,’ he whispered, and rested his forehead against Frodo’s as the the longing flowed through him. ‘It’s a pity there’s no lock on the door,’ he added, his voice husky. ‘Or I’d ask you to help ease me right here, my love. It’s bad enough that someone might walk in on us like this, but it would be hard to explain me with my breeches open, and you with your hand on me.

‘Leastwise,’ he added after a moment’s consideration, ‘not hard at all really.’

Frodo rubbed himself against Sam again, teasing him. ‘I’ll tell you what, Sam,’ he said, and amusement was there in the tone of his voice and the quirk of his mouth, ‘if you come and eat whatever Rose has put out for you, I’ll walk down the lane with you. You can remember being slammed up against a tree in Ithilien, and I’ll do something about that need of yours.’

Sam smiled and gazed over Frodo’s shoulder into the fire, watching but not seeing the way the flames danced and flickered in an ever changing pattern. He was brought back to himself by Frodo snapping his fingers in front of his eyes.

‘Later, Sam. Come and eat first.’

Sam sighed. ‘That’s a good memory, that is,’ he said, and his voice shook. He hurriedly changed the subject.

‘I’ll eat, but only if you eat something with me. Too thin you are, by half. I’ve noticed it all over again with having been away, so to speak. Either that, or you’ve lost more weight. Are you sure you’ve been all right?’

‘I told you, Sam. I’m fine. And Rose is trying to feed me up. I wouldn’t have believed there was enough stock in the Shire for all the soup she’s been making.’

‘Which brings us back to Rosie being different,’ said Sam. ‘She wouldn’t have given you the time of day when I went away, and that’s the truth.’

‘When are we ever going to understand women, Sam? Maybe she thought that after five months of making herself miserable, it was time for a change.’

‘Miserable?’

‘Oh, Sam! Wake up. Yes, miserable. But she seems happier now, and that, it seems, is good for me.’ Frodo’s mouth quirked into a smile again. ‘If I don’t drown in soup that is. Come on, let’s feed you. If she’s left some soup out, I’ll have some.’

There was chicken and leek soup, a cold ham pie, cold potatoes and a rocket salad. The first lettuces were no more than tiny seedlings under glass in Mrs. Cotton’s kitchen garden. It had been Sam, years ago, who had suggested growing sharp, spicy rocket as a winter salad.

There was more than enough food for Sam, and he obviously had not been expected to eat alone. Two places had been laid at the table, along with a jug of home-brewed beer and two tankards. Sam ate hungrily, and was pleased to see Frodo finish a large bowl of soup, and nibble at a bread roll.

‘Well, I’ll say bless Rosie, if it means you’re eating better. There’s a deal of good in her soups, and that’s a fact. If she’s got over things an’ all, maybe we should entice her up to Bag End to cook for us.’ He laughed at his joke, but Frodo just pushed his bread roll round his plate. He gave Sam an odd look. Sam was usually a master at reading Frodo’s expression, but he couldn’t for the life of him tell what that look meant.

‘It’s all right. I was only joking, love,’ he said quietly.

‘You’ve got so much to do, Sam, and I know I lose all sense of time when I’m writing. Maybe we do need someone to come and look after us.’

‘Someone to gossip about us, more like,’ said Sam, meaning gossip about you. He was keeping quiet about things that were being said in the Northfarthing - about the madness of the Baggins family in general, and Frodo in particular.

By the time they were walking down South Lane, the moon had risen. Frodo appeared to be wrapped in gloomy thought. Sam watched him for a while, the welcome animation Frodo had shown at his return was gone already. He pursed his lips sadly, and touched Frodo on the shoulder. Frodo looked up, his eyes unfocused.

‘Don’t go away, master,’ said Sam, gently. Frodo appeared to struggle for a moment, and then his eyes focused on Sam’s, and he smiled.

‘I’m sorry, Sam. I was miles away.’

‘Are you going to tell me where you were?’

Frodo hesitated, lowering his eyes. Sam waited, knowing he would either tell him, or not, and there was an end to it. No cajoling on his part would make any difference.

Frodo looked back into Sam’s eyes, and Sam knew he had decide to share his thoughts. He was expecting some quest memory, and was unprepared when Frodo said quietly, ‘I was thinking of you with children, Sam.’

Sam stood still, his hand raised on its way to tucking a stray lock of hair behind Frodo’s ear. ‘With Hal’s children,’ he said carefully. He made his hand move on and complete its familiar action, that had started as an unconscious reflex.

‘No, Sam. With your own.’

Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo, nuzzling his face into Frodo’s hair. ‘Don't go down that path,’ he said. ‘I’ve made my choice and I’ve no regrets.’

‘Some I think, Sam.’

‘No,’ said Sam, firmly, wishing Frodo didn’t read his mind in such an uncanny way. ‘I’m not saying I wouldn’t enjoy having bairns, but that doesn’t mean I’d rather have them than you, my love. If you want the truth, yes, I suppose I was envious of my brother’s family. It’s hobbit nature to want what isn’t. But that don’t mean I want things other than they are, nor that I would swap what I have. So, no regrets at all. I’m looking forward to Mari and Tom starting a family nearer to home. I’ll enjoy my nieces and nephews, and be glad to get back to you.’

He kissed Frodo, and then looked up at the moon. ‘We’d better find somewhere a little more hidden, and I’ll hold you to your earlier promise.’ They walked on, side by side, leading Bill. Frodo kicked a stone lying in his path, and Sam looked at him quickly.

‘Now what, my love?’ he asked. Frodo pulled his cloak close. To Sam it seemed as though he were pulling in on himself. ‘He’s not going to tell me,’ he thought. He could see Frodo chewing his lip. He looked paler than usual in the moonlight.

‘I hate what’s happened to me, Sam,’ Frodo said suddenly, so quiet Sam had to strain to catch his words. Sam stopped again and let Bill’s reins go. He drew Frodo to him, wrapping his cloak and his arms around the fragile stillness. They stood in silence, heedless of any chance passer-by.

‘Help me, love,’ murmured Sam, when Frodo didn’t make any attempt to explain, ‘because I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ So many hateful things had happened to Frodo, and he had no idea which of them was under discussion. Frodo had nestled in against him as though he would go to sleep, right there, in Sam’s arms. His voice was muffled.

‘Hate’s not even the right word. If it was hate at least I’d feel as though I were more alive.’

Sam cradled Frodo to him. He knew, who better, that Frodo still struggled with the feeling that the world around him was distant and unreal. Pippin might talk about melancholy - and Frodo was undoubtedly suffering from that, as well - but this seemed something more. He suspected that the Ring had so warped the real world around Frodo that its effect had been permanent. At least, he hoped not permanent, but there was no sign of it abating.

‘So what are we talking about, love?’ he said, turning his head to kiss the ear tip pressed against his cheek.

‘Sam, I love you.’

‘And I love you. You know that.’

‘So why can’t I love you? Why am I not aroused by the thought of reaching into your breeches and feeling you stir under my hand. I want to want you. I want to feel my body stir in longing for you, but there is nothing.’

Sam swallowed and wondered how he could have been so stupid. ‘Oh, Frodo,’ he whispered. ‘I thought you had lost all desire, I didn’t realise you had the desire and could nothing about it.’ He felt tears start in his eyes.

‘No, it’s not like that,’ said Frodo. ‘It’s more as though, deep down, I want to desire you. But I can’t even do that. It’s like a void inside. I love you, but my body denies me.’

‘I know you love me,’ said Sam. ‘Tell me if I ask too much of you. If you never did anything more than kiss me and hold me tight, I’d be content. You give me joy, just being with you. My body betrays me, because it knows how sweet loving you is. If it’s easier for you, I can deal with that on my own and not love you any the less.’ He tightened his hold around Frodo. ‘If helping ease my need gives you pain, tell me, and I’ll not ask it of you.’

Frodo turned his face to Sam’s and silenced him with a kiss. They shifted a little, without thought, to ease into the most comfortable position. The silence stretched on as they stood wrapped together in the moonlight.

‘Dear Sam,’ said Frodo, ‘you have never asked too much of me. When I’ve wanted only to be held, you have held me. You’ve taken what I’ve offered, but you’ve never asked for more.’

Sam frowned. ‘But I take, and you do all the giving. Leastwise, that’s how it seems to me.’

‘Don’t you know I love watching you?’ asked Frodo. ‘Don’t you know I love touching you? I love bringing you to that point where there’s no stopping. You look so intense, until there’s that moment when your head goes back, and your eyes close. Your whole face relaxes. Sometimes you give a little whimper before you come, and sometimes you come crying my name. I love that moment, and it’s one of the few things I feel I can do for you. It’s just I don’t understand why I can’t make love with you, as I once did. In Rivendell and before.’

‘If you would like to go back to Rivendell, we can start tomorrow,’ said Sam. ‘If you think you would be more at ease there.’

‘Thank you, Sam. But there is no going back.’ He smiled, his eyes full of reflected moonlight, and he ran his hand down Sam’s body and over his breeches. He leant in until his breath was warm in Sam’s ear, making him shiver. ‘The copse at the end of the lane, I think,’ he whispered, and Sam nodded agreement, not trusting himself to speak. Frodo’s hand had not been idle, and Sam was imagining long, deft fingers releasing buttons and reaching inside.

Sam lead Bill well in among the trees and tied the reins to a low branch. Bill looked resigned to more waiting. Most of the trees were still leafless, and would have given little protection against prying eyes, were it not for a line of pine trees planted along the lane. The pine trees served to protect the copse from the east wind, and the rising moon cast deep shadows behind them. The trees behind were mostly beech, smooth boled and straight, perfect for leaning against. Last year’s masts crunched under foot as they found a comfortable position.

Frodo was looking down, intent on working buttons loose on Sam’s breeches. The branches above swayed in the light breeze, shutting out the moonlight in a constantly changing pattern, and Sam watched the shadows moving across Frodo’s face, revealing and hiding well loved features. At one moment he was looking at the arch of an eyebrow and lowered lashes, the next a glimpse of delicate ear tip. Fairer than most, he thought, entranced. The branches above shifted again, and the moonlight slid over Frodo’s lips, dark and inviting. He watched the lips spread into a smile as imagination became reality, and exploring fingers closed around his hard flesh. He gave himself up and covered those warm, moist lips with his own, closing his eyes as he did so, surrendering sight for touch.

Frodo was wrong; Sam didn’t need to remember any past lovemaking when he had Frodo with him. Just the pleasure of feeling Frodo’s hand move against him, as he thrust into the strokes, was all he needed. He would save the memory of Frodo slamming him against that distant tree in Ithilien for when he was on his own, and woke in the night, missing his love. The rhythm built, and he moaned into the kiss, letting his body go where it would. He released Frodo’s mouth, his breath coming heavy and fast. For a moment, he watched Frodo smile, and then he closed his eyes again as his head snapped back against the tree. He gave a whimper, and with a last thrust he came, his seed spilling over Frodo’s hand and onto the beech masts at their feet.

For a moment Sam remained motionless, head still thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted, lost in the moment, and then he smiled and opened his eyes. He looked up through the branches at the moon, before slowly lowering his eyes to look at Frodo. He sighed with pleasure.

‘Thank you, my love. That was good,’ he said. He pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over.

Frodo wiped his hand and leaned in to Sam’s embrace. He inhaled deeply. ‘There are so many memories that go with that scent, and all of them good,’ he said, laying his head on Sam’s shoulder. They stood for a long time, just being together. Sam did not want to say good-bye, to walk away. They had never done this before, never come to this point, and then had to part from each other. Normally they would curl together, pulling disarranged bedding over themselves to sleep or quietly talk together. Even when they had coupled in the open, most memorably in Ithilien, they had crept into the bracken afterwards, and slept together.

Now, even more than then, Sam wanted to hold Frodo, to cherish him. Then, they had shared the fulfilment of their love; now, it was all too one-sided. There was no doubt it was more satisfying than self-gratification, but it was still little more than masturbation. Done with love, received with love, but lacking the joyful sharing of the past. He needed an outlet, and mostly this had been alone. There were not that many times that Frodo had shown he was willing to do this, and Sam could count them on the fingers of one hand. After Frodo had shared Sam’s narrow bed in New Row it had been some time before he had offered again: the second visit to Crickhollow in fact. Sam gratefully took what he was offered, but was beginning to realise that it was the holding that was more important to him. Shared kisses and shared caresses, in bed or out, were worth more to him than the empty feeling he had after this one-sided release.

‘I hope Bag End is ready to move in to soon,’ he said at last. ‘Because I can’t take much more of this being apart. We can’t stop here all night, and Bill still needs looking to when I get back. Tomorrow, I’m going to check on progress first thing, and then be up to South Farm in time to bring you some second breakfast. If it’s a nice day, maybe you’ll ride back to Hobbiton with me and sit in the garden while I work. Like old times, you might say, except the garden don’t look much yet.’ He didn’t say that he intended to stay close to Frodo all day. If he could get some work done as well that was a bonus.

‘Can I see how I feel tomorrow, Sam?’

‘Course you can,’ said Sam. ‘Now, if we have to say goodnight, let’s get it over with. I can’t abide drawn out good-byes.’

But, standing back in the lane, the good-bye was drawn out, until Sam realised he couldn’t do it. He turned Bill’s head back up the lane.

‘I’m being stupid,’ he said. ‘I’m not listening to my heart, and that usually means I make the wrong choice. My heart says don’t let you go back alone, to an empty bed and a lonely waking. Come on. Poor Bill is despairing of ever seeing the inside of a stable again.’ Bill jerked his head up and down, and Frodo laughed.

‘I swear that pony knows every word you say,’ he said.

‘Haven’t I always told you so?’ said Sam, in all seriousness.


The next morning Sam was awake early, despite the fact it was only a very few hours since Bill had been stabled to his satisfaction and he had got to bed. At first he thought Frodo was asleep, lying on his back, his right hand clasping the gem. Then he saw the glitter of his eyes in the half light and realised Frodo was staring, unblinking, at the ceiling. He hurriedly levered himself up on his elbow, not sure if Frodo was awake or in some sort of fit.

‘Frodo?’ he said quietly, not wishing to startle him if it was the latter. Frodo slowly turned his head to look at Sam, and blinked, but his expression didn’t change. There was no welcoming, morning smile.

‘It is gone for ever,’ he said, ‘there is only darkness.’

Sam felt the familiar waves of sorrow break over him, tears starting in his eyes. He lay down next to Frodo again and stroked his cheek, and suddenly his tears were gone before they could flow. He felt such a blazing anger. Where was Gandalf? How could he just abandon Frodo like this? How could he say it was no longer his task to set things to rights?

He fought down the anger, forcing himself to calm. His anger would not help. He talked to Frodo quietly and gently; talked about that terrible day and didn’t shun the worst of it, until Frodo’s face lost its masklike expression and gave way to grief. Then Frodo cried with sobs that convulsed his body and tore at Sam’s heart, so that he wondered if he had done the right thing. He wasn’t sure if this storm raging in his arms was better than the blank nothingness that had gone before. All he could do was stroke and hush, restrain the violent limbs and murmur his love.

Gradually, Frodo quietened in Sam’s arms, trembling as in an ague. ‘I’m cold, Sam,’ he whispered. Sam held him close and warmed him with his body until Frodo fell into an exhausted sleep.

Sam looked carefully at his thin face, the dark smudges under the eyes were even more noticeable than the night before. In Minas Tirith and Rivendell he had been confident that his love, their love, could defeat the evil of the Ring, could cast it out and bring Frodo home to peace. Now he was not so sure. The dreams, the flashbacks, the grief, all spoke of deep wounds that his love for Frodo was failing to mend. What could he do? What could he do? He had offered to take Frodo back to Rivendell, and that seemed the best solution. Why had Frodo said there was no going back? Back from what?

He got dressed and paced the room. He guessed there would be rejoicing and feasting throughout the day in Gondor and Rohan, and wondered if any spared a thought for the health of their Ring-bearer. He fetched up by the bed again, and looked down at the sleeping form. Too thin, too worn. He shouldn’t have gone away. Bag End would be ready soon, and he had finished most of his forestry work; once Frodo was moved in, he would give him his constant care.

Right now it was time to think about some food for him. He wasn’t sure if Frodo was going to sleep as he did at Crickhollow, but once he awoke Sam did not want to leave him. It was still early, but first breakfast was probably over. He headed to the kitchen to see what he could find.

He found Rosie, and she looked up in surprise when he entered. ‘I didn’t know you was here, Sam,’ she said. She wiped her hands and reached for the kettle. ‘Let me make you some breakfast. Does Mr. Frodo want any yet?’

‘I’m sorry, Rosie,’ said Sam, not sure what he was apologising for, since Rosie did not seem unduly perturbed by his presence, nor by the fact that he had evidently spent the night with Frodo. ‘I couldn’t leave him last night, it would take too long to explain. It’s a bad day for him today, and I had to stay.’ Just saying it was a bad day for Frodo brought the prickle of tears to his eyes. He frowned and bit his lip, trying not to let his sorrow show.

Rosie set the kettle on the hob and came and stood in front of him, so close he could smell the scent of new baked lavender bread that clung to her. She reached up and smoothed his furrowed forehead and then, just like the evening before, kissed him.

‘Seems to me that it’s a bad day for the both of you,’ she said quietly.

Sam realised he was staring at her, and lowered his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

‘I’ve read some of Mr. Frodo’s papers, Sam. Seems to me neither of you fared well. I din’t get no further than that tower you rescued him from, so I don’t know for sure what happened after. One thing I do know, it was this day a year ago that I knew you was coming home. I was full of joy, not knowing any better. But it’s clear, whatever happened, it was nothing joyful for you. Anything that hurts him, hurts you, that’s plain to see just looking at your face, but I think it’s more’n that. I think you have your own sorrows, and who’s comforting you?’ She lifted his chin until she could look into his eyes. ‘Tell me that, dear Sam. Who’s comforting you?’

Her face was so full of concern, and Sam was so fresh from the emotion of holding Frodo while he wept, that he could no longer hold back his own tears. He shook his head, in a futile attempt to do so, biting his lip harder to stop the quiver.

‘Oh, Sam!’ cried Rosie and put her arms around him. He almost managed to stay in control, but sympathy defeated him, and he wept. Rosie let him cry for a little, and then sat him down and handed him a handkerchief. She kissed him again, this time on the forehead.

‘You just sit there a minute, Sam, because I know you’ll be wanting to get back to Mr. Frodo. I’ll get some tea brewing and some breakfast together for you. I’ve got some soup-stock in the pantry, and I’m going to make some soup for later.’

‘Thank you, Rosie,’ Sam said, quite overwhelmed by her kindness.

‘Can I ask you a favour, Sam?’ Rosie said, looking over her shoulder as she worked. Her expression was serious. He nodded, wondering what was coming.

‘Would you explain to me what did happen? I don’t mean now, but when you have some time. I know little bits of it, and I know Mr. Frodo suffered terribly, but I don’t really understand what it were all about.’

A slow smile spread across Sam’s face. ‘Oh, Rosie,’ he said, ‘I’d be delighted to. No one’s interested in what he’s done.’

‘That’s because the Captains’ stories warm the heart more,’ said Rosie, turning to face him and holding the tea cosy in her hands. ‘It’s all adventure and happy endings with them. Much easier listening than suffering and enduring, and coming back a shadow.’

A shadow? Yes, she was right. ‘There doesn’t seem anything I can do for him, Rosie,’ he whispered, voicing his earlier thoughts.

‘Stuff and nonsense,’ said Rosie, with feeling, ramming the tea cosy down over the tea pot and coming to sit at the table next to him. ‘Your love’s what kept him going then, and it’s what keeps him going now.’

‘It’s not enough, Rosie. It’s never enough.’

‘Not enough for what? To heal him? Turn him back into what he used to be? And if he’d lost more than a finger? His whole arm, f’rinstance. Would you have expected your love to give it to him back? Would you?’

Sam recoiled from her anger. ‘It’s not the same,’ he said, feeling anger stirring in return.

‘Tell me why not, Sam,’ said Rosie. Her eyes softened again and she lay her hand over his. ‘His mind’s been hurt in ways I can’t guess at, and your love makes the hurt bearable. Be glad for what you can do for him, Sam. He says you call him back to himself.

‘Now,’ she got up, all brisk Rosie, ’I’m going to pour the tea, and you can stop dithering around and get back to him.’

Sam stood up, as well, and hugged her. ‘Thank you, Rosie,’ he said. This time he kissed her, pressing his lips to her cheek. Her simple wisdom had eased his mind, and he no longer felt so helpless.

‘Get on with you,’ she said, and held the door open for him. As he went past she put her hand on his arm. ‘He’s sacrificed himself, Sam. That’s a fine thing, and very hard for the likes o’ me to grasp.’

Sam gulped. He wondered if Rosie had any idea how much hearing Frodo praised meant to him. In Minas Tirith, the minstrels were probably telling the story of Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom, but here in the Shire, one simple hobbit lass saying that Frodo had done a fine thing meant more to him than all the voices raised in praise on the Field of Cormallen.

He was relieved to find Frodo was in a deep sleep when he returned. Even more relieved when Frodo woke up and stretched lazily.

‘Is it time to get up, Sam?’ he asked, reaching out a hand to him.

‘That’s up to you,’ Sam said, taking the hand. ‘You can stop in bed if you like, and I’ll stay with you. Or if you feel up to it, we can go take a look at Bag End.’

They went to Bag End, where they found work was very nearly finished and two surprises. The first was when they took the ponies to the Party Field.

Sam was relieved that Frodo had got over his earlier strangeness, but there was no doubt his mood was sombre and depressed. He had spoken little, and Sam noticed how he averted his eyes from the sad stump of the Party Tree. Sam looked where Frodo would not, and suddenly let out a cry. He dropped Bill’s reins and ran across the field. For two months he had kept an eye on the patch of bare earth off to one side of the stump, where he had planted the little silver nut - knowing that nothing could happen yet, knowing but still impatient. Surely he couldn’t be seeing what he was seeing? He dropped to his knees, and felt like crying and laughing at the same time.

Frodo came up more slowly, leading the ponies, and Sam turned to him. ‘It’s a mallorn,’ he cried. ‘Glory and trumpets, the Lady’s given us a mallorn.’

Frodo dropped to his knees beside Sam, a look of wonder on his face. ‘Oh, Sam,’ he whispered, ‘It’s beautiful.’ He reached out a hand to touch the silver bark and fingered the long leaves, reverentially.

Sam stopped looking at the mallorn and looked at Frodo instead. He was worth looking at. To Sam’s eye the soft glow of his skin, normally only noticeable in poor light, was clear to see. He shone. There was no other way to describe it. The worried frown, almost a constant feature in his waking hours, had disappeared, smoothed away by his delight.

‘It’s so tall,’ said Frodo, looking up to where the sapling waved in the light breeze.

‘There weren’t nothing even showing when I went off to Hal’s,’ said Sam, in awe. ‘And it ain’t as though it’s all spindly, neither. That’s a good healthy sapling, that is. If you’d’ve asked me how long it’d been growing there, I’d have said two years at the least, if I didn’t know no better. Two weeks! Glory to the Lady. Two weeks and it’s looking like this. And look! There are some tiny buds here. Just think, a flowering mallorn in the Party Field!’

He leapt to his feet and danced a jig on the spot, while Frodo laughed and laughed. At him, with him, Sam didn’t care. Frodo was laughing and that was another gift from the Lady. He dragged Frodo to his feet and hugged him, right there, in the middle of the field.

Up at the smial, work was well in progress. The smell of curing plaster and new-sawn wood hung in the air. There was very little to be done before decorating could begin in earnest. Their second surprise was awaiting them in two of the spare bedrooms. Merry and Pippin had been busy. The rooms were piled high with furniture and crates from Crickhollow.

Frodo gave a deep sigh and looked at Sam. ‘Do you think the work will be finished by the sixth day of Astron?’ he asked. ‘I would love to celebrate your birthday here.’

‘Well, even if we aren’t moved in, we could maybe camp out. The cooking range is in. There are mattresses here, the ones you bought for Crickhollow. Not as nice as your old feather ones that Mistress Lobelia insisted on having, but they’ll do for now.’

All in all, the day had been a lot better than Sam had feared it would be. Through the following days, he marvelled at the way everything in the Shire was growing as though making up for lost time. He worked each day in the Bag End garden, where bulbs were creating a profusion of colour. It was a rare day that Frodo walked over from Bywater - he seemed to prefer to shut himself in the study and wait for Sam to visit him with the day’s news - but that did not mean Sam had no visitor to keep him company as he worked.

The very next day, Sam was double-digging well-composted manure into the kitchen garden when a shadow fell across his spade, and he looked up. ‘Rosie!’ he exclaimed, then realised that sounded rude and unwelcoming. ‘What a lovely surprise. What are you doing here?’

‘Mr. Frodo told me I should walk down and see you, Sam. And he said to be sure and ask you to show me the Elves’ tree. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Mind! Mind? I’d love to show it to you.’ He jabbed his fork in the ground, and nothing would do but show her straight away. He took her hand and almost ran her down to the field, so that she was laughing and out of breath when they fetched up in front of the sapling.

‘Oh!’ she cried. She clutched his arm with one hand and went very still. Sam looked at the tree carefully. He could swear it had grown a little more. He turned his eyes to Rosie. Her face was flushed and her lips were parted, and she was gazing at the tree with wide and shining eyes. Her quiet joy added to his joy, and he put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek.

‘The only mallorn west of the Mountains, and east of the Sea,’ he whispered, and smiled at her. ‘You should see Lothlorien, Rosie. They call it a wood, the Elves do, but it’s a forest to my mind. And the mallorn reach up far into the sky.’ He stretched his other arm high into the air, and Rosie followed the gesture with her eyes, as though she could see the high tree tops far above them. ‘But beautiful as they are,’ said Sam, ‘they ain’t none of them anything to compare to the beauty of the Lady Galadriel.’

‘Tell me about it, Sam,’ said Rosie turning her head to look into his eyes. ‘Tell me about what you saw, and the things that happened.’

‘Well there’s a deal of telling in that,’ said Sam. ‘Have you got time to come up to the garden while I work?’

It seemed Rosie did have time, and not only that she had time to come back each day and keep him company, listening to his stories, asking questions and marvelling at the tale. Sometimes she brought a drop spindle or ledger work with her, but mostly she just sat and listened, or saw where help was needed and gave it unasked. He started to look for her mid afternoon, and on the odd days she did not appear he was disappointed, and his work was monotonous and dreary. They fell into a routine whereby Rosie stayed until Sam finished work, and then he walked her back to South Farm, leading Bill. This was only logical since he would have gone to the farm after work, anyway, to see Frodo.

He followed Rosie’s lead, with ease born of long friendship, and kissed her in greeting and farewell. He was more glad than he cared to admit that they could still be friends. They shared old memories, and gradually Sam told her the Great Tale. To have such an attentive audience gave him great pleasure, and her interest in all that Frodo had done warmed his heart.

Beyond his hope, Bag End was ready by his birthday. Merry and Pippin made two more journeys, stopping over at the Green Dragon, and the three of them worked to set all to rights. There were very few arguments about what went where; they all had vivid memories of the smial as it had been. They finished on his birthday, and Sam was happy to delegate fetching Frodo to Pippin, who was driving one of the Tuckborough carts. He watched Merry and Pippin head off, knowing they would stop at the Green Dragon first, and he could count on them being some time. He wanted that time to wander through Bag End, uninterrupted by the constant chatter of Pippin, and the bossiness of Merry, and he wanted to be in the smial to welcome Frodo home.

His restless feet took him down to the Party Field, to tell Bill he would soon have his stable companion back, but he stopped short as he got his first clear view of the mallorn. It was flowering! He walked up to the tree in a daze and stood staring at the golden petals. A sweet scent hung on the air, and he breathed deeply. He hardly noticed a hand laid on his shoulder.

‘Sam?’

He jumped, and turned to see Rosie. He just stared at her, lost in another world.

‘Happy birthday, Sam,’ Rose said and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Ain’t that just the beautifullest thing you ever saw.’

Sam nodded and reached out to pick one of the flowers. He tucked it into Rosie’s hair and smiled at her.

‘Have you time to come up to the smial,’ he asked. ‘I have a present for you.’

Rosie touched her fingers to the flower and smiled back. ‘Mr. Frodo asked me to come and cook a birthday supper for you all. So, yes I have time. I hope you have the range lit.’ For the first time Sam realised Rosie had her hands full. He relieved her of her baskets, and together they walked up to the smial.

The present turned out to be a small box of exotic wood, inlaid with tortoiseshell, and Rosie was delighted.

‘It’s naught but a mathom, really,’ said Sam. ‘I was given it in Minas Tirith. Most of the things we were given, we left behind; too bulky to carry. Not presents from friends, I don’t mean, but perfect strangers would keep sending us things. Quite how they thought we were going to transport them home, I’ve no idea. Carpets and furniture and mirrors and all sorts. Pippin has his own house there, did you know? So we passed a lot of the stuff on to him.’

Rosie turned it over in her hands. ‘It’s lovely, Sam. I shall treasure it.’ She looked up at him, and then leant forward to kiss him full on the lips. Her face was serious.

‘There is something I want to ask you, Sam. And I’m not sure how to.’ He raised his eyebrows and returned her gaze, he had no idea what she could be so nervous about, but there was no doubt she was nervous.

‘Is this a sitting down sort of thing?’ he asked.

‘Could we sit outside? You’ve got a new bench out there.’

‘Well, no. We ain’t going to sit there for you to ask me whatever it is you have a mind to. That’s my present for Frodo, made out o’ the old Party Tree. There’s a trellis around it, and I’ve planted a sweet rose to ramble over it. It’ll take a while to get going, but in two or three years, he can sit there and be surrounded with the scent o’ them.’ He realised he was talking just for the sake of it and shut up.

Rosie looked like she might cry. ‘That’s a lovely picture, Sam,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Mr. Frodo deserves to have that simple pleasure.’

‘Yes, he does, Rosie. And we ain’t going to sit there before he does.’ He wasn’t sure why Rosie was looking at him like that. With sorrow and concern. Maybe he was imagining it. He was feeling very emotional today. Today, Frodo would finally be home, and he would be with him. Today, on his birthday, they would both be home. He’d never expected to get to his thirty-ninth birthday, let alone his fortieth. A year ago, he had been in the care of the King, completely oblivious to the changing days, but today he was full of the wonder of being alive. And the mallorn tree had waited until his birthday to flower. He felt blessed.

He put the kettle on, then took Rosie’s coat, and pulled out a chair for her to sit. The table looked far more at home in the roomy kitchen of Bag End, and Frodo would be pleased to see the old armchair back in its place. Sam smiled to himself as he pictured Frodo curled up in it, wrapped in his dressing gown, and sipping a cup of tea.

Rosie was still looking nervous, so he sat down next to her and put his hand over hers. ‘Come on, lass,’ he said, still smiling because the thought of Frodo sitting in the chair, while he bustled around getting breakfast, was such a happy one. ‘Out with it.’

‘Sam, I need you to make me a promise first,’ said Rosie, twisting her free hand in her skirt.

‘What, lass?

‘I... I know what you’ll say, when I asks you. And I wants you to promise me you’ll still let me come and talk to you, whatever.’

Sam stopped smiling and looked puzzled. ‘You know I like it when you come here, Rosie,’ he said.

‘And I wants you to promise that whatever you know your answer is, that you’ll take some time to think, and talk to Mr. Frodo, before you answers me. And I wants you to know I would never do anything to hurt Mr. Frodo, ‘cause he’s been hurt more’n enough already.’ She looked at Sam and bit her lip.

Sam was getting more and more puzzled throughout this preamble. He had no idea what this was leading up to. ‘I can promise all that, so I think you’d better tell me what’s troubling you,’ he said gently.

Rosie looked at him for a time that seemed to stretch and stretch, until Sam shifted uneasily in his chair, but he remembered what he had learnt, and waited quietly to give Rosie the time - and maybe the courage - she needed. Finally she brought her free hand from her lap and laid it over Sam’s.

‘Sam,’ she said quietly. ‘Will you marry me?’