CHAPTER 12: HOMECOMING

Frodo stepped through the main door at Bag End and into Sam’s waiting arms. They stood in silence, pressed together, heads bowed. Frodo couldn’t in all honesty say he was excited to be back in Bag End, but he did feel a quiet pleasure and a relaxation of the tension that rarely left him. He realised Sam was weeping, and pulled himself free from Sam’s encircling arms to gently wipe the tears away with his thumb.

‘We’re home, my love,’ he whispered as he gazed deep into Sam’s tear-filled eyes, and knew those eyes were all he needed to make this home. Their bodies were so close, but not close enough. They moved together, and Sam’s lips closed over his, warm and welcoming.

Frodo didn’t care that Merry and Pippin had been following him in; they had seen it all before in the Green Dragon anyway. He was returning to Bag End, it was Sam’s birthday, and this affirmation of their love was not to be hurried. It reminded him a little of plunging into the Brandywine, the rush downwards into a place where there was nothing else, where he could float for a while untroubled by the world. Then the gradual rise to the surface, where light and sound and everyday life flooded back in, and he lay clinging to the bank and gasping for breath.

In a world that was lost, that kiss would have been a prelude to the heat of desire that would have demanded privacy now to tumble Sam out of his clothes and into bed, and the kisses would have become fast and demanding.

Faster! Harder! Oh, More! Please more! Now, Sam! Please. Now! SAM!

He knew it was so, but he could feel none of it. Luckily Sam would interpret his tears as meaning he was overwhelmed to be back. He leant his head on Sam’s shoulder, feeling Sam’s rapid breathing quieten against him. Lifting his head to Sam’s ear he murmured, ‘Happy Birthday, my love.’

They didn’t move until Merry became impatient, hemmed as he was between the door Pippin had closed for privacy, and the lovers before him. He coughed meaningfully, and then put his arm around them both.

‘Very touching and all,’ he said, ‘but I for one could do with a drink, and you are standing between us and a corkscrew.’ Pippin waved a couple of bottles of wine at them as they lifted their heads in response to the cough.

‘So if you could see your way to letting us past,’ Merry added, ‘we’ll be happy to let you get on with it.’

Sam laughed. ‘I think this deserves a drink all round,’ he said.

In the kitchen, Rose was clearing away after her cooking, and welcoming smells arose from the oven. Frodo noticed a slight awkwardness between Rose and Sam, but that was to be expected, and it didn’t seem too bad. He knew there was no way in the Shire or out of it, that Sam would say yes to Rose at the first asking. He instinctively reached for the cupboard where wine glasses were once kept, and experienced more quiet pleasure when he found it did indeed contained wine glasses. He set five out on the table, ignoring Merry’s and Pippin’s frowns when they realised their cosy Travellers' reunion was not to be. Not yet at any rate. Their frowns deepened when Frodo turned to Sam, as they touched glasses and gave birthday good wishes.

‘I would like to propose we invite Rose to sit down and eat with us. What do you say, Sam?’

He watched Sam carefully, he didn’t want to spoil Sam’s birthday, but he wanted Sam to see he was at ease with her. He was relieved by what he saw. Sam was relaxed, and happy that they were at last at Bag End. Whatever had happened, Rose had not offended him, and if he had to share Frodo with Merry and Pippin, it seemed it was no greater hardship to share his company with Rose. Sam nodded.

‘Rosie has made a fine meal,’ he said. ‘She’s been kindness itself these past two weeks, and I’d be honoured if she’ll stop and eat with us.’

‘Good,’ said Frodo, and he took Rose’s hand and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll second Sam’s praise. You have been kindness itself, Rose, and I thank you. I’m guessing soup is on the menu?’

Rose was blushing deep red, but she and Sam both laughed at Frodo’s last comment. Merry and Pippin had that slightly uncomfortable look, as bystanders do who aren’t privy to the joke. Frodo linked arms with them.

‘Come and show me round,’ he said. ‘I can see you’ve been busy.’ He kissed them each in turn. ‘I have been blessed in my friends,’ he added, ‘and I love you both.’ His delight and thanks at how everything had been arranged put his cousins back in a good mood. As they turned back to the kitchen, he slipped his arms around their waists.

‘Forgive me for asking Rose to stop,’ he said, ’but she really has done me a great many kindnesses, and coming to cook this supper is the least of them. If one of you will take her home afterwards, it won’t take long, and we can have the rest of the evening to ourselves. How’s that?’

It seemed that was fine, because the evening went well. Sam asked Merry and Pippin to tell some of their tales of Ents and battle charges, oliphaunts and trolls, and Frodo watched Rose listen spellbound. She was a good listener, and soon his cousins were talking to her, embellishing their tales a little from the last time Frodo heard them. He sighed. It would take some sifting to make sure he was writing the true story. He shifted his gaze to Sam and realised he was not the only one watching Rose. Sam was smiling quietly at her shining eyes and obvious enthusiasm.

At the end of the meal, the Travellers refused to let Rose do any clearing up. Pippin offered to take her home to save her walking, and when she protested, he explained this would get him out of the washing up. Sam took Pippin aside and spoke privately to him; it was clear he still didn’t completely trust Pippin alone with such a pretty lass. Whatever Sam had said, it didn’t seem to have been that effective - there was a squeak from Rose as Pippin followed her out of the door. Frodo laid a hand on Sam’s arm as the door closed, stopping him storming after the irrepressible Pip.

‘Sam, he’s only doing it to tease you. Rose can take care of herself. He’ll meet his match if he tries his charms on her.’

‘Maybe, but there are some lasses that are counting the cost of Pippin’s charms already,’ said Sam.

‘You know he’ll look after them, though I imagine Paladin won’t be too pleased.’

‘Maybe so, but they ain’t likely to find themselves husbands in a hurry, are they?’ Sam pointed out.

‘I really don’t understand why you are so upset about this, Sam,’ said Merry. ‘If Pippin puts off Ted Sandyman, I’d have thought that was a blessing.’ Frodo and Sam looked at each other. Clearly Sam had no more idea than Frodo what Merry was talking about. They both turned to Merry.

‘What’s Sandyman got to do with anything?’ asked Sam, tersely.

‘Isn’t it common knowledge?’ asked Merry. ‘He was up at the Green Dragon yesterday, bragging that he was going to marry Rosie Cotton.’

Sam spluttered incoherently.

‘You’d better know what else he was saying,’ said Merry, looking uncomfortable. He poured out some more wine and handed it out. ‘Best to sit down, I think.’

They sat around the table, and Frodo wondered what Sandyman could possibly be saying now. He had already spread the rumour that Frodo had fainted away from the fright of a rearing horse. Merry sighed and seemed reluctant to continue.

‘Get on with it,’ said Sam with impatience, voicing Frodo’s thoughts.

‘Sandyman said it was common knowledge that Rosie had been thrown over by you, Sam,’ said Merry at last. ‘He was talking loudly to make sure we could hear, wanting to get a rise out of us, but we ignored him, though we nearly choked on our beer.’

‘Merry dear, you aren’t telling us why you nearly choked on your beer,’ said Frodo patiently as Merry remained silent. Merry sighed again and looked at first Frodo, then Sam.

‘He said he’d seen you hugging each other in the Party Field, and that Sam had found somewhere more profitable to bestow his favours.’

Frodo felt the world around him go very still. He had no objection to Hobbiton accepting he and Sam had a serious attachment, but what he had feared was someone like Sandyman twisting everything with his nasty mind. With a great effort he took a sip of his wine.

‘What was the reaction?’ he asked. All Hobbiton knew Sandyman, and after his alliance with Lotho and Sharkey he was distrusted more than ever.

‘Well, it helps that everyone respects Sam so much for all he’s done. They all turned to look at us, but we just asked Fil for more beer.’ Merry took a swallow of his wine and suddenly grinned. ‘Pippin told Fil he could hear a rat squeaking and to be sure to call in the rat catcher. That got a laugh, and Daddy Proudfoot piped up to say Sandyman was counting his chickens because he’d seen Sam kissing Rosie Cotton in the Party Field. Twice.’

Both Frodo and Merry looked at Sam. Frodo with his mouth lifting in a quirk of amusement, and Merry with some hostility.

‘Which brings me back to what Rosie is to you, Sam,’ said Merry.

‘A good friend,’ said Sam, defensively, looking at Frodo, not Merry, ‘and I only kissed her on the cheek.’

Frodo laughed. ‘No need to look at me like that, Sam,’ he said. ‘I kissed her as well, and I don’t even have the excuse of being an old friend.’ He turned to Merry. ‘So you can stop glaring at Sam. This is not a problem, Merry. Sam is welcome to kiss Rose as much as he likes. But it sounds as though Sandyman didn’t carry the day. Come, my friends; Pippin will not be best pleased if he finds he hasn’t missed the washing up after all.’ He pulled himself to his feet, wishing it wasn’t a huge effort to do such a simple thing as clear up after supper.

When Pippin returned, they talked together in the sitting room, smoking and drinking. Frodo sipped his wine, while the others got louder and merrier around him. He had drunk very little; he felt light-headed most of the time anyway, and alcohol just made it worse. Not only that, but if he drank more than the smallest quantity, he had no energy to fight the Ring-lust which lurked on the edge of thought, waiting for his guard to come down. He was glad to be seated, curled up on the large sofa next to Sam, leaning in against his broad chest and feeling the vibration beneath him as Sam laughed.

Clearing up had left him weak and drained. Too many things made him feel like that, and it reminded him of when he was recovering from a bad bout of influenza as a tweenager. He had felt fine as long as he did nothing, but the smallest activity and he had had to sit for a while, or lie down to recover. He was not as bad as that, he really wasn’t, but it was pleasant to be wrapped around by Sam’s strong arm and to close his eyes for a moment. He placed a hand, palm down against Sam’s chest, following the rise and fall in his thoughts. He wouldn’t sleep, he would just ... just...

His throat feels dry, and his tongue is thick in his mouth. He tries to swallow but cannot. He can taste though, taste the bitter, acrid tang in the air. Dry and dusty, his eyes are hurting with a sharp pain, and his eyelids are so swollen he can barely see the ground at his feet. Open or shut, he can see the great wheel of fire that eclipses his surroundings and beats upon him, so that he raises a hand to ward it off. A great weight drags at his neck, dragging him down and making every step a torture. His flesh is sticky with blood where the chain has cut into his skin and now chafes at the wound.

He knows little - not his name nor his companion’s name, not where he comes from, nor where he is going. He knows he must keep putting one step in front of the other until he reaches the mountain, but he does not know where the mountain is, nor why he must get there. The Ring whispers of cool shade and tinkling water, of food and rest, and all ills set right. All he need do is slide the Ring onto his finger. His heart beat quickens at the thought. There is no need to take another pain-filled step, but doggedly he does so.

The only thing that is clear in his mind is that the Ring is precious and he must not let it out of his keeping. His hand closes around It, protecting It. It is his Precious.

He sees the danger. The other one will kill him to take the Ring; he sees it as a scene played out in his mind, his battered body lying crumpled amongst the ash, carrion for the crows, while the other one seizes the Ring in triumph. He must not let this happen; It is his and his alone. He must strike first. He must protect the Ring. Let the other one sleep and then strike him down, save the precious. Do it now.

But the other one has a name. Doesn’t he?

No. No name. Do it now.

He pictures the other one weeping over him, kissing the palm of his hand, and dripping water between his parched lips. Yes. A name. He has a name.

No! No name. Kill or be killed. Do it now.

It is as though his mind is held in a vice. Pain sears through him. He must do as he is bid. But he knows that if he can only speak the name he will be released from the pain.

Love.

No, hate! He will take the Ring!

No! His name. Remember his name. Speak his name. He struggles against the terrible will beating upon him, and the name rises to his lips. His voice is a thin scream, high pitched and desperate.

‘Sam! SAM!’

‘Frodo! Frodo, it’s all right. I’m here. You’re dreaming, open your eyes. Frodo!’

Heart thumping, Frodo opened his eyes and clutched at Sam. Slowly the room swung into focus. His other hand flew to his chest and closed around the white gem. The panic eased, and his breathing slowed. He sat up, shaking his head, trying to clear the images of Mordor.

Sam’s here, Sam’s here. He leaned against his solid warmth. Sam’s here. I never hurt him.

And the answer came straight back. But you are going to, aren’t you?

He squeezed his eyelids together to try and stop the tears. He did not want to cry in front of Merry and Pippin. It seemed as though he was never with them but he did something pathetic. He wanted to apologise, but didn’t trust his voice. He just wanted to go to bed and wrap Sam around him, and feel safe and warm.

‘Well, it’s been a birthday to remember,’ Sam was saying. ‘But I for one am ready for bed.’ Trust Sam to know. Frodo felt Sam’s arm under his, pulling him to his feet.

‘You’ll have to forgive us, Frodo. Gabbing on and forgetting you need your rest.’

The idea of having to forgive Sam for anything was so ludicrous that Frodo was able to pull himself from his maudlin thoughts. He smiled at Merry and Pippin, but was grieved to see how worried they looked.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have had the sense to go to bed earlier.’


They left Merry and Pippin to carry on drinking, and no doubt talking. Most likely about them, and especially about Frodo. Frodo stopped caring about it. Here, now, was their first night together in Bag End. This was a simple pleasure to hold on to. He hoped Sam would be happy to just hold, because he felt he could do nothing more.

Sam helped him to bed, and then busied himself around the room - so familiar and yet so different in its newness. He left one candle burning by the bed and came and knelt over Frodo, holding a bottle of oil in his hand. Frodo experienced a brief moment of panic, while an inner voice whispered, Trust Sam.

Sam leant forward and kissed Frodo, just a gentle pressure against his lips. ‘This will help you sleep, love,’ he said quietly. ‘Think of this as part of my birthday present to you. I’ll show you your proper present tomorrow.’

The smell of lavender filled the air, and Frodo relaxed into Sam’s hands. He wanted to know what had passed between Sam and Rose, but now was not the time. He never knew when Sam finished, because he was asleep before then. He awoke once in the night to find Sam’s body pressed close around him, and the smell of lavender still heavy on the night air; he sighed with pleasure and slept again. No further dreams came to torment him.

When he awoke in the morning, Sam had gone. He guessed the kitchen, and pulled on his night-shirt. Sunlight was streaming through the open bedroom window, and he looked round the room with a warm glow inside that lifted his normal morning wish to stay in bed as long as possible. It was mild enough that he left his robe hanging on the door.

Sam was indeed in the kitchen, whistling quietly and busy over breakfast preparations. He looked round and smiled as Frodo came in.

‘Good morning. Did you sleep well? Would you like some tea?’

Frodo nodded. ‘Mmmm. Yes, and yes. Thank you.’ He curled himself into the arm chair to watch Sam, but made no attempt at conversation. He might be up, against all the odds, but he wasn’t feeling very articulate this early in the morning. Sam poured him a mug of tea, and brought it to him with a good morning kiss.

‘I was going to bring it to you in bed.’

‘This is nice, too. Good memories.’ Frodo sipped his tea and looked around the kitchen. His possessions were greeting him from every corner, but there was nothing of Sam’s here. It was the same in the bedroom. He looked back to where Sam was standing, gazing out of the kitchen window, holding his mug but not drinking from it.

‘When are you going to move your things in, Sam?’ he asked. Sam showed no sign of even hearing him. Frodo uncurled himself from the chair, placed his mug quietly on the table, and went to stand behind Sam. He wrapped his arms around him and kissed his ear. Sam jumped, and Frodo rested his cheek against his shoulder.

‘I asked you, when are you going to move your things in, Sam?’

‘What? Oh, I’m sorry, love. I was miles away,’ said Sam, looking awkward.

‘What’s the matter, Sam? You know the Gaffer is close at hand, and will be well looked after by Widow Rumble. And if you’ve any second thoughts about actually living here, there’s no need to come yet, if you don’t want to.’

‘It’s not that. Of course, not that.’ He leant back against Frodo. ‘There’s nothing I want more than to be here with you. I’ll bring my things up from the Gaffer’s later. Not that there’s very much to bring.’

‘So what’s the matter, Sam? Something is.’

Sam was silent for a while, and Frodo waited.

‘It’s just something Rosie said...’ Sam tailed off, his face reddening.

‘What did Rose say?’ asked Frodo. The room was suddenly very still.

‘I wasn’t going to tell you. It was just silly.’

‘You can tell me, Sam. What did Rose say?’

‘And the silliest thing was she told me to speak to you about it.’ Sam was chewing his lip and looking more and more uncomfortable.

‘So tell me. What can Rose have possibly said to you that’s made you so embarrassed?’

‘She asked me to marry her.’

‘And what did you say?’

Sam spun round, spilling his tea. ‘What? What sort of question is that? What do you think I said to her!’

‘Sam! Calm down, I just wondered how you dealt with her. It was a strange thing to ask, knowing how you feel about me. Why would she want to marry you?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Has she heard about the gold Bilbo gave you?’

‘Rosie isn’t the sort to chase money, and she don’t know about it anyway,’ answered Sam, rather shortly.

‘Well maybe it’s your fame she’s after?’

Sam looked genuinely puzzled. ‘Frodo, what’s got into you? Rosie isn’t like the lasses that go chasing Pippin and Merry.’

‘Unless... maybe that’s it. Maybe she has succumbed to Pippin’s charms and needs a husband to stop the gossip.’

‘Frodo!’ Sam slammed his mug down on the table, slopping more tea. He was looking really angry at the suggestion, and Frodo wondered if he was actually going to be shaken. Sam settled for just gripping his arms hard, and glaring at him. ‘How can you even think that?’ he shouted.

‘So, tell me Sam,’ said Frodo gently, ‘why are you so angry?’

Sam subsided, and let Frodo go. He turned back to the window.

‘I’m not angry,’ he said. ‘Please don’t let’s have a fight our first morning at Bag End.’

Frodo put his arms round Sam again, and Sam leant back against him, turning his head to kiss Frodo’s cheek.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Sam, quietly. ‘It’s just you’re being unfair to Rosie.’

‘I know I am, Sam,’ Frodo answered. ‘I’m sorry I said it.’ He rested his head against Sam’s, breathing his words into Sam’s ear. ‘I know why Rose wants to marry you.’

‘Because she loves me.’

Frodo could detect no emotion in Sam’s voice as he said this, it was just a flat statement.

‘Yes. Loves you so much she is willing to marry you, knowing you love me. Did she ask you to leave me?’ Sam was silent, and Frodo ran his hands up his chest, holding Sam against him.

‘Well did she?’

‘No. But that makes no difference.’

Frodo bent his head to nuzzle under Sam’s shaggy hair and find bare skin. He bit gently. ‘Merry and Pippin won’t be up for hours yet, Sam. Come back to bed for a while.’ He let his hands roam freely, and Sam sighed with pleasure, tilting his head to make it easier for Frodo to bite him again. Frodo kissed him, instead. ‘Come back to bed, Sam.’


The sun had risen further, and the slanting light pooled on the bedroom floor, picking out two crumpled night-shirts, thrown carelessly down. The low buzz of bees outside the window spoke of Sam’s work in the garden, and a blackbird was perched out of sight, probably on the newly re-turfed roof, trying out its song. It kept pausing to repeat phrases, and the flowing notes were full of the promise of summer.

Sam lay back, laughter shining in his eyes, as Frodo straddled his hips and leaned forward to pin his shoulders to the bed. The both knew this was an illusion. Sam had been working hard and eating well, and had regained his former strength; he was well built, and even relaxed like this, obviously well muscled. Frodo, on the other hand, had regained very little of his former weight, and was well aware that it would take almost no effort on Sam’s part to displace him and reverse their positions. He was simply relying on the fact that Sam liked to be where he was, gazing up at him and experiencing pressure in interesting places. Frodo was careful not to shift his weight. He wished to revive the earlier conversation before Sam lost all interest in talking.

‘Sam?’

‘Mmmm?’

‘Why were you so upset, when Rose was upset, back in Blotmath, when she found out about us?’

Sam brought his hands up to cup Frodo’s face. ‘Why are we still talking about Rosie?’

‘Because I want to know.’

‘I told you then, I care about her. She’s a sweet lass and a dear friend. You’re not worrying that means I might seriously be tempted to marry her, are you?’

Frodo ignored this. ‘And why are you so angry about Pippin seducing Rose?’

‘He hasn’t...’

‘No. I know he hasn’t. And he has no intention of doing so. But he can’t not compliment a pretty maid, and he likes riling you up. So why are you so easy to rile?’

‘Frodo, what are you trying to get me to say? That I love her? Is that what you want to know?’

‘I know that already, Sam. You told me. Remember?’

Sam groaned. ’That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? I should have followed my head for once and not told you what Rosie said. Yes, I told you I loved her, but I also told you it was just comfortable. Nothing like what I feel for you. Nothing! So stop worrying. I am not going to marry Rosie. You are everything I want in my life.’

‘Except a family.’

Muscles bunched beneath Frodo, and that was the only warning. Suddenly he was the one pinned to the bed, and Sam was doing the straddling.

‘I’m going to get angry with you in a minute,’ Sam said. He said it quietly, but Frodo could feel the tension in him, see the sparks in his eyes, and hear the tightness in his voice. Sam was angry with him now. ‘We’re back at that one are we? Well if you won’t believe what I said last time, I’m wasting my breath repeating it, aren’t I? If you think I would leave you for any reason, then I don’t know what you think I’ve been telling you all these months. I love you. I love you, Frodo, and there’s an end to it. I’m not leaving you to marry Rosie, so please just stop worriting over it ’

Frodo reached up to tidy a tangled lock of hair behind Sam’s ear, and stroked his face.

‘Do you remember the very first time?’ he asked with a smile.

Sam’s face softened. He leant forward to nip and lick at Frodo’s lips. ‘Mmmm, are you suggesting I might have forgotten?’

Frodo pulled Sam to him and captured Sam’s teasing mouth. They lay together, sharing present and past, Sam’s tongue warm under his. The pervasive smell of lavender was still strong about them, but the taste was pure Sam.

‘You aren’t remembering everything, I think,’ said Frodo, as Sam withdrew from the kiss to smile at him.

‘What have I forgotten?’ asked Sam warily, his smile fading away.

‘You’ve forgotten what I said to you.’

‘This is still about Rosie, or children, or some such. Isn’t it?’

‘I said I didn’t want to take away your chance for a pretty wife and lots of children,’ said Frodo, stroking Sam’s face. ‘It’s what you used to talk about, in this smial, a whole world away.’

‘Yes, a whole world away is right.’ Sam’s anger was bubbling to the surface again. ‘And last time you said that, I told you, “Without you, I’m nothing!” That’s as true now, as it was then.’

‘Sam? Do you know why you’re getting so angry with me about this?’

‘Aye, because you won’t leave it alone!’

‘Well, that as well, my love. But the real reason is that deep down Rose is offering you something you want, and you’re not prepared to admit that to me, or even yourself.’

‘Frodo! How can you say that!’ gasped Sam. He rolled away from Frodo and collapsed onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He put his hand over his eyes. ‘I wish I’d never mentioned Rosie!’

Frodo levered himself on his elbow and gently took Sam’s hand away from his face. Sam’s eyes were full of tears, but he wouldn’t look at Frodo and tried to turn his head away.

‘But, dear Sam, Rosie hasn’t asked you to do without me, has she? You said she didn’t ask you to leave me. You want to have a family and want to live with me at Bag End, too. And I say, “How easy!” Get married as soon as you can, and then move in with Rose. There’s room enough in Bag End for as big a family as you could wish for.’

Frodo did not expect that this offer would have him reaching for the Red Book to write “And so it was settled.” Which was just as well, because Sam was nigh apoplectic at the suggestion.

‘You’re as daft as she is!’ he shouted, sitting up and thumping the bed. ‘Who says I want to get married? Just how you believe I could marry her, and not hurt the both of you, I’ve no idea. It’s unthinkable!’

Frodo sat up and put his arms around Sam, soothing him with hands and voice until he felt Sam would listen to what he had to say. He drew him back down to lie in his arms, and settled Sam’s head against his shoulder.

‘I love you Sam,’ he said, quietly, ‘but if you think that nothing will ever go amiss, and there will be no arguments and no hurt, just because it’s only us two, then you’ll be sadly mistaken. Everyone argues sometimes, but if there is love at the deepest foundations then the bonds will hold. Rose and I get on well together, now that we understand each other. We both love you, we both want the best for you. I don’t think we would hurt each other arguing over you, if that’s what you’re worrying about. I trust you. I trust you to love me, and I trust Rose to let you. I want what’s best for you. You were meant to have a family, Bag End is a family home. It was never meant to be lived in by bachelors.’ He could feel Sam shaking in his arms, and tightened his hold around him. Sam said nothing.

‘I can picture you with a family, Sam, and it’s a lovely image. Believe me, it’s not unthinkable.’ He kissed the top of Sam’s head, aware of the dampness on his bare shoulder. That and the shaking were the only evidence of any response from Sam for some time. Frodo was beginning to drift into sleep when Sam suddenly raised his head.

‘Are you telling me you want me to marry Rosie?’ he asked.

Frodo sighed. It was too much to hope that he could have avoided giving this impression. It was, of course, true, for reasons he hoped Sam couldn’t begin to guess at. The fact that he believed he had seen Sam’s children - that one of them was called Rose - gave him the courage to carry on.

‘I want you to do what your heart tells you, Sam. Your heart, not your head. I think this smial will see much happiness if you marry Rose, but only if you do so because you love her and can give her a piece of your heart as she’s asking. If you marry her because you think that’s what I want you to do, then it will most likely be a recipe for disaster.’

To Frodo’s relief Sam leant in and kissed him, and then nuzzled into his hair.

‘Tell me something, Frodo,’ he said, his voice muffled. ‘Is this anything to do with your visions?’

Frodo closed his eyes and tilted his head back, inviting Sam to kiss his way down to the hollow at the base of his neck. Sam took the hint, and Frodo gave a soft hum of pleasure.

‘That’s hard for me to answer, Sam love,’ he said, as Sam started sucking against his skin. He knew what effect this would have had a few months ago, now it produced no more than a muted feeling of contentment. Still, that was better than nothing.

‘Warh?’ said Sam, his voice muffled by the fact there was much Frodo in his mouth, but the question was obvious. So was the fact that the effect of Sam’s actions was to produce more than a warm glow in Sam’s body.

‘Because...’ answered Frodo, ‘just because.’ Sam lifted his head to look at Frodo with eyebrow raised in query, but Frodo took Sam in hand, and there was no more discussion. The only sound was a soft moan from Sam, and a quickening of his breath, that built into panting gasps until ...

‘Frodo! I... oh! Frodo!’

And then there was just the lazy hum of the bees outside the window and the trills of the blackbird, still perfecting its song.

After a while a soft snore was added, but Frodo lay staring at the ceiling, trying to keep the drear fog at bay in his mind.


Later in the day, Sam worked in the garden, watched by Frodo sitting on the new bench. Sam kept a close eye on Frodo. He had found the morning conversation disturbing, and was worried by the listlessness Frodo was now showing. He claimed he was checking notes, but Sam had not seen him turn a page since he sat there after lunch. Merry and Pippin had left after the meal, taking Sam aside to ask for his assurance that he would contact them if they could help in anyway. They had promised to return for a longer visit in two weeks.

The bower-in-making might not have a very well established rose, but Sam had planted other scented flowers around and between the rich, orange-red paving slabs: thyme and rosemary, heliotropes and lavender. Small seedlings gave notice of night scented stocks, and a honeysuckle was already beginning to twine through the trellis on the wall. The slabs themselves were reclaimed from the damaged floors of Bag End, and echoed the warm colours of the wall behind. It was a sheltered, south-facing spot, and only needed a little sunshine to be a haven of warmth. Once the bay tree bushed out, it would be even more sheltered.

Sam brought barrow-loads of compost, and dug the rich mix of dung and garden waste into the soil. His own compost would be some time in the making, but Tom Cotton had brought him some cart loads of well-rotted waste. Sam carefully picked out the stripped brandling worms and added them to his own embryo heap. They would get the magic working, as would the urine he poured liberally on, like a libation.

Time was Frodo would have asked him what he was doing. Why he used his compost heap as a piss-pot and what the small worms were. Now he seemed not quite focussed, sitting in the sun, letting his hands brush through the rosemary to release the scent. Sam could see that the melancholy, present since Frodo woke for the second time that morning, was worsening. He double-dug the kitchen garden and wished fervently he had not mentioned Rosie. Here, surely, was the cause of Frodo’s gloom. And yet... and yet, he hadn’t been wrapped in this greyness of the mind, as tangible as his grey Lothlorien cloak, when they were talking about Rosie and her mad scheme. He had seemed alert and animated, and it was Sam who had been miserable and depressed, not understanding how Frodo could think there was any merit in the idea of his marrying.

Frodo had been fine, and then Sam had awoken to find him staring at the ceiling, and unwilling to get up again. Sam had taken him some breakfast in bed, and later coaxed him up to have lunch with his cousins before they left. Sam had seen this up and down pattern since their return. Peaks and troughs, although the peaks were never very high. Occasionally the troughs were deeper, and Frodo became listless and moody. It was only to be expected on the twenty-fifth of Rethe, but was there any pattern? Anything that made Frodo drop into the trough of his melancholy like a stone into a well? One thing was certain; there was no gradual swing in his mood, one minute Sam was thinking him a little better, and the next Frodo was plunged into blackness.

Sometimes, Sam could see what the cause was, the terrible flashback in The Green Dragon, for instance. That had had a very unsettling effect on Frodo, and if he was to be truthful, on himself as well. It had taken some time before Sam was willing to leave Frodo for long, after that. He dug, and thought gradually back over each episode. The worst days often started right from the point Frodo first awoke, but hadn’t seemed to today. Maybe it was dreams that did it, and Frodo had dreamt again as they lay together after he had given Sam his...

Sam suddenly swore under his breath. He jabbed the fork hard into the ground, narrowly missing his own foot. He took the wheelbarrow, as a reason to leave the kitchen garden, and went out of sight and sound of Frodo. He threw the wheelbarrow over and kicked it, swearing aloud this time. He paced back and forwards, and then sank down onto his haunches to bury his head in his arms. How could he have been so blind? How?

There was a common factor, and it was himself. Frodo had assured him he enjoyed bringing him to the point of orgasm, and Sam certainly enjoyed it, unsatisfying as it might be compared to times past. But... but Frodo was at his most depressed afterwards, and it couldn’t be just coincidence. Frodo had even told him. “I want to want you. I want to feel my body stir in longing for you, but there is nothing. It’s like a void inside. I love you, but my body denies me.”

Sam felt the prickle of tears in his eyes. All his early resolutions had come to nothing. All the pleasure was his and all the pain Frodo’s. There was no doubt Frodo was happiest when they just lay in each other’s arms. Sam had only asked for what Frodo seemed willing to give, but now he saw that Frodo was only doing this out of love, and the price was too high.

He wiped his eyes, but remained seated on the ground, his head bowed and his arms wrapped around his knees. Thinking.

Frodo’s response to Sam’s news about Rosie had been unsettling, to say the least. He had expected sympathetic amusement, not whole hearted approval for the scheme. But then, if Frodo was prepared to make himself ill giving Sam what he needed in bed, it wasn’t surprising that he was promoting an idea that he perceived as fulfilling another of Sam’s needs, was it? And he was likely to be even more miserable as a result, wasn’t he?

It really was unthinkable. And yet a little voice was tormenting Sam with the possibility.

There was still a lot of heat in the sun, and it gave a warm glow to his back as he sat, huddled in confusion. Frodo seemed to think he needed to open his eyes to the fact that Rosie could provide him with a family, but that was the image that had risen unbidden in his mind when Rosie had so unexpectedly asked her question. Frodo thought Sam’s anger was because he was denying this, but his anger was because he couldn’t, could not, get the picture of a child in his arms out of his mind. He was angry with himself for not denying this. Angry that he could want this when he had Frodo.

But, said the little voice, if you had Rosie you wouldn’t be so demanding of Frodo would you? You could hold him, and he wouldn’t feel obliged, by ties of love, to satisfy your inopportune hunger. You wouldn’t drive him further into his melancholy. He raised his head and look up into the clear sky. He needed some of that anger now, but all that he was filled with was misery. He couldn’t believe that was true. Frodo needed him, and how could Rosie do anything, except get in the way of him caring for Frodo? Unthinkable. So why did he keep thinking about it?

He lowered his gaze to where a robin bobbed up and down on the edge of the overturned wheelbarrow, impatient for him to come and turn over more soil for easy pickings. The single white feather in its tail declared it to be an old friend. It had been a little shy of him when he first reappeared in the garden, but was gaining confidence daily. Once its young were hatched, it would shadow his every move, even alighting on his fork handle while he worked.

Sam pushed himself up from the ground and dusted himself down. Sitting there moping was not going to get the work done. He righted the barrow and left it in one of the garden sheds. He needed to make another trip to South Farm; all the compost was used up.

The robin flew ahead of him to the kitchen garden and perched hopefully on the handle of the fork. Sam ignored it; Frodo had gone, and he strode to the kitchen to look for him. The whole smial seemed quiet and empty, but Sam was not that surprised. Frodo had seemed so tired after lunch that he had most likely gone back to bed.

Sam was partly right. He found Frodo asleep, curled up on the sofa, and he carefully placed a cushion under his head. The compost would have to wait; he wasn’t going to leave Frodo to wake up alone. He went back to the kitchen and found Rosie standing at the open door, her hand raised to the knocker. In true country style, she had shunned the front door and come round to the back.

‘Rosie!’ he exclaimed, ‘come in, lass.’

She stepped in, carrying another large basket. ‘Ma promised Mr. Frodo a bacon joint,’ she said, giving Sam a kiss, ‘but I couldn’t carry it yesterday. And Da says to come and help yourself to more compost whenever you’re ready.’

‘Aye, well, I’m ready now, but Frodo’s asleep, and I’ll not be leaving him, but thank Tom, and tell him I’ll be up tomorrow for it, if he can spare the cart.’

Rosie busied her self unpacking the basket. ‘I doubt the cart will be free tomorrow, Sam,’ she said, looking back over her shoulder. ‘It’s market day. But I’ve driven down in it this afternoon, and you’re welcome to take it now. I’ll stop here and get this bacon joint cooking for you, if you like, and I’ll be here if Mr. Frodo wakes up.

Sam hesitated. The offer was tempting. He needed the compost as he dug, and without the digging he couldn’t get on with planting. Should he leave Frodo to wake and find Rosie in the smial? That was very doubtful. If, as he suspected, Frodo was making a show of not minding about Rosie, he would find it painful to be confronted with her when he awoke. Rosie seemed to read his doubts.

‘He won’t mind, Sam,’ she said. ‘These last weeks he’s oftenly come and napped in the study when I’m working there. He said he liked having me around when he woke.’

Sam frowned, remembering he had never had a satisfactory answer from Frodo regarding the change in Rosie.

‘Rosie,’ he said, ‘you never used to like him, why are you so friendly to him now?’

‘That’s easy, Sam,’ she answered. ‘I found out what he’s been through, and what he’s done.’ She left the basket on the counter and took Sam’s hand. ‘He’s special, Sam. I can see why you love him so much.’

Sam found himself gazing into Rosie’s eyes and hastily looked away. Through the open door the garden was waiting to be brought back to life. If he delayed, the weather could turn, and then he’d be way behind. There was a season for doing things, miss the season and the garden would fail to thrive. Sam loved the garden, but his greatest happiness was in seeing Frodo’s enjoyment of it. All his working life it had been his gift to Frodo, and now Frodo needed the tranquillity of the Bag End garden more than ever. He looked back at Rosie doubtfully.

‘Get on with you, Sam,’ said Rosie. ‘You know what you say ‘bout a good gardener and a bad gardener. I’ll cook some supper for you, and I’ll be here if Mr. Frodo wakes.’

Sam made up his mind. ‘Thank you, Rosie,’ he said, gratefully. ‘I know how busy you are.’

At South Farm he found Jolly free to help load the compost. ‘So Rosie stopped at Bag End,’ said Jolly, as they worked. He laughed. ‘How’s her patient?’

Sam paused, bent over his shovel. ‘What!’ he said, straightening slowly. ‘What?’

Jolly suddenly looked horrified. ‘Oh, erm, nothing Sam. Don’t mind me.’

‘I mind what you said, Jolly. Patient. What do you mean “patient”?’ demanded Sam. ‘Has Mr. Frodo been ill? When?’

Jolly bent to his shovel and muttered something inaudible.

‘Tell me, Jolly.’

‘Erm,’ said Jolly, going red. ‘I promised Mr. Frodo I wouldn’t say nothing.’

‘So he has been ill! Oh, stars above, it was when I was away, wasn’t it?’

Jolly must have decided that he had blown the gaff so badly already that a little more wouldn’t hurt. He nodded, but refused to answer Sam’s pleas for more details. Sam gave up and changed tack.

‘So since then Rosie’s been looking after him, so to speak?’ he asked.

‘Yes, it’s a family joke. Which be why it slipped out as shouldn’t,’ said Jolly. ‘Mind you, Mr. Frodo seemed better for it. He ate better, for one thing, and he seemed to enjoy telling her ‘bout your travels. But don’t go letting on I said anything, or Rosie will be having my guts for garters, and that’s a fact.’

Sam rode thoughtfully back to Hobbiton. He unloaded the compost, cleaned out the cart before it got too dark to see, and then made his way up to the Smial. He was surprised that the whole place seemed to be in darkness, apart for a faint glimmer through the sitting room window. Was this Rosie’s idea of looking after Frodo?

Delicious smells met him in the rapidly darkling kitchen, and he lit some candles. There was no sign of Rosie. Taking up a candleholder, he made his way down the corridor. He stopped in the sitting room doorway; Frodo was still asleep, his head in Rosie’s lap. She put her fingers to her lips as Sam came in. Her other hand was caught tightly in Frodo’s, and Sam couldn’t help noticing how much more peaceful he looked. The frown had gone.

‘He was dreaming, bad dreaming,’ said Rosie, quietly. ‘I need to check the supper. Can you come and sit with him, while I go to the kitchen. She eased herself out, and Sam helped prise Frodo’s hand away. ‘I weren’t sure ‘bout waking him or not. He needs to eat some supper.’

‘I think this might be like at Crickhollow,’ said Sam. ‘He might sleep right through until tomorrow. If that’s the case I need to get him undressed and into bed.’ He was just debating the point in his own mind when Frodo yawned and opened his eyes. He smiled at Sam and Rosie.

‘Did someone mention supper?’ he asked.

‘It’s nearly ready,’ said Rosie. ‘Just let me make some parsley sauce.’

‘Urgh! I’ve been sleeping in my clothes, haven’t I?’ Frodo said to Sam, as Rosie went out. ‘Next time I want to lie down for five minutes, I’ll make sure I go to bed. This feels too much like being on the road. I need a wash and a change of clothes.’

‘I’ll get you some hot water,’ said Sam.

‘Ask Rosie to stop for supper, Sam,’ Frodo called after him, ‘unless you’d rather not.’

Sam didn’t know if he would rather not. His thoughts were not at all clear on the subject, but if Rosie was going to stop, the pony needed stabling. He lifted the kettle from the warming plate; the water was plenty hot enough for washing. Rosie stood next to him, stirring the creamy sauce.

‘So tell me, Rosie,’ he said, as he poured water into a large jug. ‘How ill was Frodo when I was away?’

Rosie looked up quickly. ‘Who told you?’

‘Never mind who. How ill was he?’

Rosie pushed her hair out of her eyes and chewed her lip. ‘Very ill, Sam. I didn’t think there was no hope at first.’ Sam had no trouble interpreting what Rosie meant, not what she said. He felt as though his legs had been taken from under him, as the room dipped and swayed.

‘Sam! Sit down,’ cried Rosie in concern and steered him to a chair where he was glad to collapse, white and shaking. She took her sauce off the heat, and fetched him a glass of water.

‘Why didn’t you tell me, Rosie?’ he asked, his voice sounding hoarse and unnatural. He took a sip of the water, trying to hold the glass steady. Rosie pulled up a chair and took his free hand.

‘I promised I wouldn’t, Sam. Mr. Frodo said he were fine afterwards and not to worry you.’

‘And you nursed him?’ This time Sam didn’t look away when their eyes met.

‘Yes, Sam. At first it were for your sake, but in the end I just wanted to see him better for his sake, if you take my meaning. Oh! Sam!’ Rosie put her arm around him as he bowed his head to the table. ‘Don’t cry, my love.‘ She lifted her apron to wipe his eyes. ‘Don’t let him see you crying, neither. He gets that upset when he thinks he’s worriting you. It din’t last much more’n a day and a night, and Ma and me shared the watching. I know he’s not right, but he’s as right as he were before being took so bad.’

Sam stared at the table. It was his worst nightmare. Rosie’s hand cupped his face and turned his head towards her. She leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

‘Now you’d best take him that water,’ she said, returning to her cooking.

Sam stood up. He felt terrible. Guilty, mostly, since he should never have left Frodo, but also worried about the future. Amongst his guilt and worry he was also very grateful to Rosie. No wonder Frodo said she had been kindness itself.

‘Frodo asked if you could stop for supper,’ he said.

‘Are you sure?’ Rosie asked. ‘I don’t want to intrude.’

‘Will you stop for supper, Rosie?’

‘I’d like that fine, Sam.’

‘Good. If you’ll take the water to Frodo, I’ll go and get the pony stabled.’ He picked up the lantern from its shelf. ‘He’ll spot I’m not quite myself, if I go to him now.’ He put his free arm around Rosie and kissed her, as she’d kissed him.

‘Thank you, lass,’ he said.

Tending to the pony helped calm him. His heart slowed, and the tightness in his chest eased. He slipped the harness and traces off the pony, and rubbed it down to prevent it getting chilled. The sweet smells of horse sweat and hay filled the air as he worked by the light of the lantern. When he’d finished he went to say hello to Bill.

‘You tell me what I’m suppose to do, lad,’ he said. Bill blew softly in his ear and nudged him, hoping for a treat. Sam patted his neck and picked up the lantern. He couldn’t deny he was curious to see how supper went, just the three of them. He could only see one reason to actually marry Rosie, not want to marry her, but actually do it. Whatever Frodo might say that reason was if Sam thought Frodo would be happier as a result. And he could only accept that reason if Rosie wasn’t made unhappy. He gave Bill a final pat.

‘They’re both mad, Bill,’ he said, and Bill turned to nibble at Sam’s ear with his soft lips. Sam laughed. ‘And don’t you start, neither,’ he said.

He walked back up to the smial, smelling the richness of new-turned earth. The first of the year’s bats came flitting across his path, its sharp cries just on the edge of hearing, and an early moth blundered against the lantern. As he reached the kitchen door, he paused with his hand on the latch. Frodo was laughing. Not just a little either, but really laughing, fit to cry. Sam leant against the door, turning to look up at the stars. He smiled in delight. The moments when Frodo laughed were rare, and each was like a precious jewel to Sam. He blessed the Lady, and turned again to enter the kitchen.

He hadn’t noticed the night was getting cold, until the welcome warmth of the kitchen met him. Rosie and Frodo were sitting at the table. Rosie’s hands were waving in the air, describing something, while Frodo sat with one hand curled around the bowl of his pipe. With the other he was wiping his eyes. He looked completely relaxed, legs stretched out under the table, shirt sleeves rolled up, and his waistcoat unbuttoned. They both looked up as Sam entered, and Rosie stopped in mid-sentence. She smiled a greeting to Sam, but Frodo just waved his pipe stem, too helpless with laughter to to do anything else.

‘I was just telling Mr. Frodo about Nibs’ attempt at milking, Sam,’ she said. Sam raised his eyebrows, he hadn’t heard this story.

‘And what... what happened then?’ gasped Frodo, having trouble saying anything.

‘Well, Primrose waited ‘til he’d got the pail nigh full, and then she kicked it over, and he lost his balance on the milking stool again. She trod on him, too, just to add injury to insult, and Mag - you know, the sheep-herding dog as follows Nibs every where - she bit Primrose’s heel. Primrose started gadding about like the flies was after her, and it took us best part of the morning to catch her again. Mag ain’t no good wi’ cows.’

‘I shouldn’t laugh when you lost all the milk,’ said Frodo, ‘but I’m guessing he didn’t criticise how you milked her after that?’

‘Aye, quite shy on the subject, he is now,’ said Rosie dryly. ‘Are you ready for supper, Sam? ‘Cause it’s all ready, if you are.’

Later, lying with Frodo curled in his arms, Sam was amazed at how easily the evening had gone. That didn’t alter the fact that both Frodo and Rosie were mad, although their friendly acceptance of each other tended to make the madness infectious. However, Sam could not believe that the end result would be other than causing pain all round. He sighed and drew Frodo closer, and let sleep dispel the arguments. Tomorrow would be another day.