CHAPTER 13: ACTIONS and REACTIONS

For the next week Rosie was frequently at Bag End. Mari had moved in at South Farm, to learn more about the farm before her wedding, and that gave Rosie more free time for a while. It was not unusual for Sam to come into the kitchen to find Rosie busy there, and often Frodo as well. With Rosie for company he seemed happy to work at his notes at the old kitchen table, rather than sit alone in his study. Rosie took a keen interest in what he was doing, and several times Sam found Frodo explaining details of Elvish or Númenorean history, in order to make clear some part of the great tale they had been a part of.

They ate well that week, and Sam noticed Frodo was beginning to put on a little weight. His ribs were not so prominent when Sam ran his garden-roughened hands over them at night, he was dreaming less and generally seemed more relaxed. Sam attributed this entirely to being back home - until lambing started.

Lambing was a busy time at the Cotton farm, and Rosie was especially in demand for her ‘lambing hands.’ This was something Mari could not stand in for, having no idea how to sort out the myriad tangles that lambs managed to get themselves into while still inside their mothers. Most of the flock managed to lamb without trouble, but there were always a few who got into difficulties. Then it was Rosie, with her small, slender hands covered in soap, who would feel gently around and patiently sort out the problem; triumphantly drawing forth a wet, skinny scrap of lamb, or sometimes two. After some vigorous swinging upside down, and a good rub with a wisp of straw, the lamb would totter to its feet and butt hungrily at its mother’s udder.

Of course, there were some that were not so lively after a difficult birth, or whose mothers rejected them, and Rosie was also busy looking after these waifs in the warmth of the kitchen, feeding them every two hours. She had little time to visit Hobbiton.

Immediately, Bag End became a less comfortable place. If Sam was not around, Frodo usually forgot to eat. Even when Sam stayed close, working in the garden, Frodo became so absorbed in his writing it was hard to bring him back to the present time. Possibly as a result nightmares increased in frequency. Meanwhile, Sam was constantly tired. He worked in the garden, did all the things around the smial that Frodo had forgotten, did most of the cooking and household management, and was woken in the night by Frodo’s nightmares. It was no hardship to only hold and be held; he was too tired to want much else. His worries over Frodo’s health, which had quietened after moving in to Bag End, were once more a constant backdrop to every thought and action.

As Sam went around the Shire he marvelled at the speed with which the new plantings were growing. It was as if time were in a hurry and wanted to make one year do for twenty. Everything seemed to thrive except for Frodo, and every moment away from him was filled with anxiety.

After only a week Sam swallowed his pride and rode up to South Farm. He found Rosie heating milk for her small charges, and it warmed his heart to see her face light up as he entered. She moved the milk off the hot plate and ran across the kitchen to kiss him.

‘Oh, Sam, it’s lovely to see you. I’ve missed coming to Bag End. How’s Mr. Frodo?’

‘Well, it’s Frodo as I’ve come to talk to you about, though it don’t seem quite fair to ask,’ Sam answered, and found it was the most natural thing in the world to hold Rosie nestled against him.

‘Sam! Don’t be silly. Is there a problem? Mr. Frodo ain’t ill, is he?’

‘He’s not ill, but he’s not well, neither. Seems he’s missing your care.’ Sam swallowed. The admission was a hard one for him to make. He was the one who cared for Frodo, and it seemed like an acknowledgement of failure.

‘Oh, Sam,’ said Rosie. It seemed from her tone that he’d let his feeling show too plain on his face, and her next words confirmed it. ‘He’d miss your care far more, but maybe I give him something you can’t.’

‘What, Rosie? Because whatever it is, I reckon he needs it, and if he’s not ill now, he soon will be.’

‘I mother him,’ said Rosie simply. Sam considered this.

‘I don’t see how it’s any different to what I do,’ he said at last.

‘Sam, when your ma died, did the Gaffer look after you well?’

‘Aye, you know he did.’

‘But you enjoyed being mothered here by Ma, didn’t you? She used to joke and say you came to get your helping of pie and mothering, both. When did he last get mothered, do you think? Living with Mr. Bilbo and all, and losing his own mother so young.’ Sam suddenly found himself looking back down the years of Frodo’s life. It was not a comforting view.

‘Well, I don’t know if that’s the rights of it, or not,’ he said. ‘And I hesitate to ask you to visit Bag End, being as you’re so busy an’ all...’

‘But you’re asking me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I’ll come, but not today. Mari is a right quick learner, and I think I can leave her with Tom to give advice, but they’re not here at the moment.’ Rosie lifted her chin, and Sam bent his head to kiss her.

‘Thank you, Rosie,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow will be fine.’

‘I’ll cook you some supper when I come; you look fair worn out yourself, Sam. Seems to me you’re trying to do too much. If you get ill, how is that going to help Mr. Frodo?’

It was a worrying question.



The next day, Sam found Rosie was as good as her word. He returned from checking some of his saplings, now more like young trees, and strode up the Hill anxious to be back. He had been away more of the afternoon than he had intended, because everywhere he went there was some hobbit who wanted to pass the time of day with him. He was glad his Gaffer was not in his little bit of front garden, wanting to chat.

The robin with the white feather was singing lustily from the hawthorn by the gate, and bobbed up and down in greeting when it saw Sam. Sam felt in his pocket for spare crumbs and casually sprinkled them on the ground as he passed. Quite how the tree had escaped the destruction he didn’t know, but it was good to see the haze of young pale-green leaves and look forward to the scent of the mayflowers.

All along the path the daffodils were flowering well, their yellow trumpets bright in the sunshine, and the kitchen door was standing wide open to the warm spring air. As he came to the doorway he could hear quiet voices. He stopped on the threshold and smiled at the scene before him. Frodo was sitting with his back to him, papers spread over the table, reading aloud in Elvish. The far end of the table was covered in flour, but Rosie was leaning over Frodo’s shoulder, wiping her hands on her apron, her back also to Sam.

Sam loved listening to Frodo speak the languages of the Elves. He leant against the door frame and let the Quenya words roll over him, but as he recognised them the sunshine flooding over the doorstep seemed to dull and fade. Telling Frodo the story, he’d had trouble remembering the words; they had come to him from outside himself. When he had haltingly tried to repeat them, Frodo had recognised what he was trying to say and spoken them as he was now doing.

A Elbereth Gilthoniel
o menal palan-diriel,
le nallon si di’nguruthos!
A tiro nin, Fanuiolos!’

‘That’s beautiful,’ said Rosie in a hushed voice. ‘What does it mean?’

‘O! Queen who kindled star on star,’ answered Frodo, his voice almost too quiet for Sam to catch, ‘white-robed from heaven gazing far, here overwhelmed in dread of death...’ Frodo’s voice shook, and Sam saw his hand move out of sight and guessed he had reached for the star-gem. ‘...I cry: Oh guard me Elbereth.’

Rosie squatted down beside Frodo and took his free hand. As she looked up at him, Sam could see the concern in her face, and he was already moving forward as she turned her head and noticed him.

‘Here’s Sam now,’ she said, nodding towards the door. Frodo was on his feet in an instant, turning to meet Sam with a smile, but Sam could swear that there was a flicker of pain about his eyes, quickly masked.

‘Are you all right, Frodo?’ he asked, knowing he would get an evasive answer in front of Rosie.

‘It’s nothing, Sam. I’ve been writing too long, I think, and my eyes are tired.’

Sam wanted to wrap Frodo close in his arms and kiss the painful memories away, his pain as well as Frodo’s, but he did not feel able to express his love so blatantly in front of Rosie. He stood chewing on his lip, and it was Frodo who came and stood before him.

‘Rose asked me to show you something,’ Frodo said, touching Sam’s cheek and drawing him close. Sam’s first thought was that Frodo couldn’t possibly be going to kiss him in front of Rosie, then he stiffened and resisted as it became clear that Frodo was indeed going to do just that. He tried to protest as Frodo’s mouth closed over his.

‘Mmmmpf,’ he said, but Frodo refused to take no for an answer. His hand slid into Sam’s hair, holding him close, and his tongue licked across Sam’s lips until Sam almost unconsciously responded to the warmth of the kiss, and opened to Frodo’s demand. Briefly Sam looked past Frodo to Rosie, who smiled at him, and then his eyes closed, whether or no, and there was only Frodo in his world.

As Frodo released him, Sam took his lover’s lower lip between his and nipped it gently. ‘Show me what?’ he asked.

‘Show you that Rose doesn’t mind, that you don’t have to deny me because she’s here. Stay and talk to Rose, Sam. I need to go and have a sleep.’

This suggestion was not to Sam’s liking. Instead he went with Frodo, who did indeed look tired. Frodo went to lie down in his clothes, but Sam was having none of it.

‘You know you’ll feel awful afterwards,’ he said, and slipped buttons undone with practised ease. He pulled a night shirt over Frodo’s head and kissed him. He forbore to comment on what had taken place in the kitchen, neither Frodo’s pain nor kissing in front of Rosie. There would be time for that later when Frodo was not so tired.

Sam pulled the bedclothes back, and Frodo settled himself sleepily. ‘Go and talk to Rose,’ he said to Sam, reaching out and taking his hand. His free hand clasped the star-gem, and his eyes closed. He was asleep before Sam could kiss him again. Sam kissed him anyway, and debated whether to stay and sit with him or go and talk to Rosie. In the end he decided he would talk to Rosie, but leave the intervening doors open, and then come back to stay with Frodo until he woke, or had to be woken. Carefully, he eased his hand from Frodo’s grasp.

In the kitchen Rosie had not been idle. She’d finished making a meat pie and was scrubbing vegetables. Sam saw what needed to be done and reached for a knife to start paring potatoes. Rosie stood watching him, and he put down his knife carefully.

‘What was that all about? Asking Frodo to kiss me?’ he demanded. Rosie put a wet hand on his arm.

‘Will you marry me, Sam?’ she said, her voice almost a whisper.

‘Now, Rosie, my dear, we’ve gone through this before.’

‘Tell me why not. I won’t stop you loving Mr. Frodo, I promise. And he seems happy for me to be here, don’t you think?’

‘Rosie, I can’t. I can’t risk his happiness, nor yours.’

‘Well, if we’re talking Mr. Frodo’s happiness, I think he’d be happier if you weren’t so exhausted, and had someone to take care of you. He do worry about you so.’

‘Is that a good enough reason to marry, Rosie? I’ve thought of no end of reasons why I could say yes. And none of them good reasons; they all come down to selfish reasons for me, or for Frodo. I can’t marry you to be a cook for us, nor to be a nursemaid to Frodo, nor just to bear me children.’

‘I love you, Sam, and I’d be happy to do all those things, especially the children. I’d love to bear your children.’

Sam took Rosie by the arm and pulled her to him. He cupped her chin in his hand and looked down at her. Rosie had been his dear friend for more years than he could rightly remember, and now this pain was between them.

‘I can’t marry you, Rosie,’ he said gently, ‘knowing that if Frodo decided to leave I would follow him, to the ends of the earth if necessary.’

‘I ain’t stupid, Samwise,’ answered Rosie, holding his gaze. ‘I can see he means more to you than I can ever hope to, but I’m willing to take that risk if you can love me a little. Do you love me, Sam?’

‘I love you, Rosie. Just not...’ But Rosie placed her fingers over his lips.

‘I know, Sam. Just not like Mr. Frodo. But do you love me enough you’d have asked me to marry you if things had been different? I thought you was going to ask me once.’

‘I was, lass, but then Gandalf came and everything was different, uncertain as it were. I couldn’t ask you and then leave, and most likely never come back.’

‘And do you love me less than you did then?’

‘That’s hard for me to say, Rosie. No, I don’t think so. I think I feel the same way. We’ve been friends since we were small, and it just seemed natural to walk out wi’ you as we got older. It felt comfortable, as it were.’

‘Aye, and it was all “Mr. Frodo” then, too. Even then, I thought I was getting the Master of Bag End along o’ you, Sam. I didn’t mind him until he took you away, and then I minded a lot, not understanding what hung on your journey.’

‘I’m sorry, lass. I couldn’t tell you,’ said Sam, as he realised Rosie’s eyes were brimming with tears.

‘Of course you couldn’t,’ said Rosie, putting her arms around Sam and hugging him. ‘But oh, Sam! I did miss you!’ She laid her head against Sam’s chest, and there was no doubt now she was crying. Her body shook against his. Sam put his arms around Rosie and placed a kiss on the top of her head. He didn’t see what else he could do. He couldn’t refuse to comfort someone he loved.

‘There, there, lass,’ he said awkwardly. ‘It’s like I say. I can’t marry you, knowing I can’t promise to stay.’

‘But Sam,’ said Rosie in a small choked voice, ‘you hurt me leaving before, and you’ll hurt me leaving again, whether we’re married or no. And I’d rather have you for a little than not have you at all. I’ll take the risk, Sam, if you’ll let me.’

Sam was silent. He didn’t know what to think. All the advantages were clear before him, but wasn’t he just selfishly making rational reasons to assuage his real desire? An almost overwhelming desire for a family. He had been happy to deny it, to bury it deep, when the choice was a clear one: Frodo on the one hand and a family on the other. His love for Frodo was the guiding light of his life, and he had told no lie when he said he didn’t want things other than they were. But it seemed Frodo had known this other need of Sam’s. Known it while they were still far from the Shire. Known about it and worried about it in distant Ithilien. Known it before Sam had.

And what about the disadvantages? He brought them out and considered them. One was hurting Rosie, but Rosie didn’t seem to take much account of that, or rather thought the possibility she might be hurt was better than the certainty of it if he wouldn’t marry her. The other more important one was hurting Frodo, but Frodo was telling him, loud and clear, that he liked the idea. Moreover, Frodo and Rosie seemed to trust each other.

When it came right down to it, maybe he thought it was unthinkable because it wasn’t acceptable behaviour, but then neither was slipping between the master’s sheets and setting up home with him. Sam trusted Frodo in all things, so maybe he should trust him in this. Maybe trust was the linchpin that could hold all together. He sighed.

Rosie pulled away, her eyes red. ‘This ain’t going to get supper ready,’ she said. Sam realised he had been looking down at her in his arms while he let his mind roam over the problem, without making any response to her.

‘I’m sorry, Rosie,’ he said. He had no idea what else to say.

Rosie picked up the knife Sam had set down and reached for the potatoes. ‘You go back to Mr. Frodo and make sure you’re there when he wakes,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘I saw his face earlier, Sam, when he was saying that poetry. He was in pain, I’m thinking.’ Sam nodded; it was what he had suspected.

‘And you didn’t look much better neither, Samwise Gamgee.’ She turned to face him again. ‘Looking like all the sunshine had drained from your world. So you go back right now, and I’ll call when supper’s ready.’

Sam kissed her on the forehead, and when she tilted her chin, he kissed her on the lips. ‘Thank you, Rosie,’ he said.

Frodo was still asleep, curled on his side, one hand wrapped around the star-gem, the other hanging over the edge of the bed. Sam debated whether to curl round behind Frodo, or sit by the bed so he was the first thing Frodo saw when he opened his eyes. He decided on the latter and reached across Frodo for a pillow to make the sitting more comfortable. He could sit in the chair, but sitting on the floor brought his head on a level with Frodo’s. He took Frodo’s free hand between his and looked carefully at the beloved face.

Frodo had looked the same for so much of Sam’s life that it was strange to see fine lines appearing where there were none before their journey, and silver threading his hair. Sam was not unduly worried about this, it was only natural that Frodo should begin to age now the Ring had gone. He had always looked on Frodo as being older and wiser anyway, he was older and wiser, and Sam didn’t care how old Frodo appeared.

However, Frodo’s aging opened the wound of loss Sam had felt at Cirith Ungol. All the more so after listening to his plea for courage in that dread lair spoken by Frodo with such feeling. Frodo might die. And was Frodo’s pain earlier just because of bad memories? Or had he been calling on Elbereth in reality? In dread of death? Did he fear he might die?

Once again, Sam cursed Saruman and his vicious words. If Rosie could help keep Frodo in health, then Sam was tempted to give her what she was asking for, and in doing so allow himself the possibility of a family. Rosie was prepared to take the risk, but was he? He waited patiently for Frodo to wake, hoping he would do so before supper was ready so they could talk.

He shifted position, and Frodo stirred, his hand moving between Sam’s. As Sam watched, Frodo smiled and exhaled softly. His eyes opened to gaze into Sam’s, and his smile widened.

‘Sam.’

‘Frodo.’

Sam brought Frodo’s hand to his lips and kissed the palm, then leant forward to kiss the smiling mouth. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Better, easier,’ answered Frodo, his voice still sleepy. ‘How about you?’

‘Confused.’

Frodo was suddenly wide awake. He shifted away from the edge of the bed, lifting the covers and tugging Sam’s hand. Sam eased himself up on cramped legs, and took his place next to Frodo. Even through his clothes, he could feel the warmth of the bed where Frodo had been lying.

‘Tell me, Sam.’ Their arms crossed as they each reached to stroke the other’s face. Frodo smoothed his hand up Sam’s jaw, cradling his face, while Sam ran his fingers over Frodo’s lips.

‘I trust you, Frodo.’ Frodo kissed Sam’s fingertips and waited.

‘I think you want me to marry Rosie, but I don’t understand why. But if you do, and you can promise me that somehow you’ll be happier as a result, I’ll do it.’

‘Just because I would be happier?’

‘No, because I can give her love and not love you the less; because you seem to trust each other and I’m willing to trust you. And because you’re right; in my heart I do want children.’

Frodo’s wide smile gave Sam all the answer he needed. He didn’t understand why, but Frodo was delighted. Frodo’s mouth closed over his, and he was amazed to find there was a spark of passion that had been missing for so long. Frodo lay in his arms, relaxed and happy, and Sam finally felt he had worked through the tangle of his emotions and was listening to what his heart was telling him.

‘Sam?’

‘Mmm?’

‘I have seen your children, and they are beautiful.’

Sam rolled Frodo onto his back and lifted himself on one arm to look down at him incredulously. ‘Seen...? Frodo! What do you mean, seen?’

‘In a vision, Sam.’

‘Frodo! Why wouldn’t you tell me? What have you seen? I’ve been worriting and worriting about this, and all the time you knew what would happen?’

‘I can’t be sure what I see is the future, Sam - and I didn’t want that to influence your decision. I needed to believe you had a choice.’

Sam was silent, digesting this. One thing was sure in his mind: Frodo was happier for his visions, so it truly did seem as though Frodo liked the idea of a family in Bag End as much as he did. He sighed and nestled down into Frodo’s warmth.

‘I love you, Frodo.’

‘I love you, dear heart.’

They stayed like that until Rosie called outside the door to say supper was almost ready. Sam went to help her, leaving Frodo to get dressed again. He laid the table and fetched some wine from the newly stocked cellar. Rosie was rather quiet through the meal; she kept looking at Sam, then hastily looking away as she found his eyes on her.

Sam waited until Rosie had all the bother of the meal out of the way, having learnt from living with three sisters that a lass’s mind was likely to be elsewhere until this was done, and then took her hand and Frodo’s.

‘Rosie, I’ve got something to ask you,’ he said. Rosie looked at him; the colour drained from her face, and she bit her lip. He realised he must look rather grave, and he felt Frodo squeeze his hand. He cleared his throat.

‘Will you marry me, Rosie?’

Rosie cried out, and sprang to her feet, knocking over her wineglass. The spillage went unheeded.

‘Sam! Oh, Sam! You know the answer’s yes.’ She hugged first Sam and then Frodo, then Sam again as he stood up. Tears were running down her face, and Sam put his arms around her. Frodo came to their side and reached for a handkerchief to wipe Rosie’s eyes. He smiled at her.

‘I’m going to take my pipe to the sitting room; come and join me when you’re ready,’ he said, and kissed both of them on the cheek. Sam let go of Rosie immediately.

‘I’ll come and light the fire for you,’ he said.

‘No, Sam. I’m not helpless,’ answered Frodo, ‘and you always leave everything in readiness. I can do it.’

After Frodo went out, Rosie leant into Sam’s arms again. ‘I don’t think there’s any other hobbits as generous and kind as you and Mr. Frodo in the whole Shire, Samwise Gamgee.’

Sam bent his head and kissed her, and no mere peck on the lips, neither. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

‘You decide when, Rosie,’ he said, as she got her breath back. She was shaking in his arms, and he could feel her heart pounding. He realised he had never kissed her like that before. Well, he’d done a lot of learning since the time they were walking out together.

‘When what?’ asked Rosie weakly.

‘When you want to get married.’

‘Well, you’ve wasted more’n a year, so why wait longer?’ she said promptly, and Sam choked.

‘Wasted! I wouldn’t call it that,’ he said in indignation, and then he saw she was laughing at him.

‘Sorry, Sam. Don’t expect me to stop teasing you, just ‘cause I’m to be your wife.’ She sighed happily. ‘Can we make it a double wedding, with Tom and Mari? It’ll keep the cost down for our families, and it would be fun. I knows that’s less than a fortnight away, so say if it’s too soon.’

‘No, lass, I’d like that fine.’

‘Good, then let’s not leave Mr. Frodo to get lonely.’

Frodo thought the idea of a double wedding a good one, especially as it meant he only had to make the one speech for two weddings. After Sam had hitched the pony up for Rosie, and Rosie had left with Sam’s promise to call to see her father the next day, he and Frodo discussed it further.

‘I’m not looking forward to telling Merry and Pippin,’ said Sam. ‘Nor my Gaffer for that matter, neither. But it’s Merry as worrits me the most.’ Frodo leaned back in his armchair with his feet on the hearth and took a pull on his pipe. He blew out a smoke ring to rival one of Bilbo’s, and considered this.

‘I can see what you mean,’ he said at last. ‘Merry and Pippin will be here to stay the day after next; we’ll tell them together then, and ask your father, Mari and the Cottons to supper the day after that.’

‘You are sure about this, aren’t you, Frodo?’ Sam asked, anxiously.

‘Sam, I feel as though a great weight has lifted from my mind,’ said Frodo. Sam could see he meant it, he looked more relaxed and more like his old self than at any time since their return. He gave up trying to understand and knocked his pipe out in the hearth.

‘Come to bed, Frodo,’ he said.

It had been an eventful day, but it was not over yet. Sam felt again the spark of passion in Frodo’s kiss and drew him closer into his embrace. As he did so, his eyes flew open in shock, and his hand slid down Frodo’s body. Frodo gave a quiet hum of pleasure as Sam’s hand folded around part-erect flesh.

‘Frodo?’ whispered Sam, not daring to believe what he was feeling.

Frodo shrugged. ‘I can’t explain it, Sam,’ he said. ‘Unless worry can affect these things.’

Sam’s fingers folded around the not quite rigid shaft, and stroked down and up, trying to coax more life into it, but nothing happened. Frodo moved against him though, obviously taking pleasure from Sam’s sure touch. There was no build up of desire, no quickening of the breath or eager cries, but Frodo closed his eyes. He looked happy to be enjoying any sensation. After a while the shaft Sam was caressing became limp in his hands, and Frodo sighed.

Sam wriggled under the blankets and kissed his way down Frodo’s body. From taut belly, with no covering of fat, his lips moved on to softness nestling amongst coarse hair. He kissed the tip and then worked his way back so he was lying covering Frodo’s body. Frodo was smiling at him, but his eyes looked unnaturally bright, as though he might shed tears.

‘What did you feel?’ Sam asked gently, stroking Frodo.

‘Something. It felt good while it lasted. Roll over and I’ll...’

‘No. No need, my love. Just hold me and tell me I’m doing the right thing.’

‘Dear Sam, you’re doing the right thing.’ They settled against each other and fell asleep almost at the same moment.


At South Farm, the next day, Sam met with the wholehearted approval of Mr. Cotton and the delight of his sister. He had been forewarned by Rosie that her mother was privy to the true state of affairs between himself and Frodo. He was therefore not surprised when Mrs. Cotton got him alone on the flimsy pretext of needing a cask of apple brandy broached.

‘Well, Samwise,’ she said without preamble, when she had him alone in the cellar, ‘time was I’d be the proudest mother in the Shire to have you a son-in-law. Now I’m just worriting over my Rosie’s happiness. She made me promise not to tell, right back when I first found out the truth, but that’s a promise as is weighing heavy on my heart. How can you marry my sweet Rosie and live together under the same roof as Mr. Baggins? Tell me that.’

They both looked up as there was a rustle of skirts on the steep stairs and Rosie ran down to take Sam’s arm. ‘Because I asked him to, Ma,’ she said, lifting her mouth to Sam for a kiss. ‘I asked him, and I wouldn’t take no for an answer. You’ll see, Ma. We’ll be just fine.’ She nestled into Sam’s warm embrace, and Mrs. Cotton looked from one to the other.

‘I must say you look happy enough, the pair of you,’ she said. ‘I’ll not say anything as long as my Rosie is happy at Bag End. But the day you make her unhappy, Samwise Gamgee, that’s the day I speak to my Tom.’



By the time Sam got back from Bywater he decided to leave telling his Gaffer until the next day. The alternative would be to spend too long away from Bag End. He went early the following morning, and it was as bad as he had feared. The Gaffer, having accepted that his son and his former employer were in love with each other, was apoplectic that Sam should now be marrying Rosie.

‘You’re doing what?’ the Gaffer shouted. ‘And I thought as Mr. Frodo might go hurting you! How dare you stand there and tell me you’re treating him like that? But I suppose you’ve got your gold from his uncle and you think you can do as you like. How I’m going to face Mr. Frodo, I don’t know! But I guess it’s to be done. I’ll offer him my services in the garden if he can bear to look at me and not see my faithless son! What’ll you do? Live and work up at the Cotton farm?’

Hearing that Rosie would be joining Frodo and Sam at Bag End only made him more outraged. ‘I’ve never heard o’ such nonsense, and never thought to hear it from my own son,’ he yelled at Sam. It took some time for Sam to calm him down and get him to listen. Even then, the Gaffer was far from happy.

‘I can’t believe as Mr. Frodo is agreeing with this,’ he said, again and again.

‘Look, Da. Just come to supper tomorrow and you’ll see Frodo for yourself,’ said Sam at last.

‘Well, all right. I’ll come. But don’t expect me to approve! Poor Rosie! I feel right sorry for the lass. She don’t know what she’s letting herself in for.’

‘If I believed that, Da, I wouldn’t be marrying her,’ said Sam, his quiet voice contrasting with the anger of the Gaffer. ‘But she knows full well.’ He was relieved by his father’s grudging acceptance of the invitation. The failure of the Gaffer to attend this formal betrothal dinner, with Frodo as mayor, would have been food for gossip throughout the Four Farthings.

‘Aye, well,’ his father answered, ‘I doubt she do know. And if you’ve a mind to have your cake and eat it, so to speak, I can only hope the walls are thicker at Bag End than they are here, my lad.’



Sam walked slowly back to the smial and found Frodo in his study. He sat in the armchair by the fireplace and traced his finger over the pattern on the arm-cover. Frodo threw down his quill and turned to look at Sam with an eyebrow raised in query. When this got no answer, he came and sat on the arm of the chair and twined his fingers into Sam’s hair.

‘So, how was it?’ he asked. ‘I’m guessing not good, by your face.’

‘Well, he’s coming tomorrow,’ said Sam. ‘But he’s not happy.’

‘Give him time, Sam. You know the Gaffer. None better. Bilbo once got him a whole set of new garden tools, do you remember? And he moaned so much Bilbo changed them back to the old ones. It took a lot of trouble, because the old ones had all been given away where they’d be most appreciated, and Bilbo felt he couldn’t just ask for them back. He gave the new ones in exchange for the old and thought the Gaffer would be pleased as punch.’

Sam laughed. ‘Aye, I remember well, for all I was quite small. He was in a right taking about it. Said just when he’d got to like the new ones, they got took away.’ He dislodged Frodo from the arm of the chair, so that Frodo slid into his lap. ‘Well, it’s done, and it could’ve been worse. There’s just your cousins to face now,’ he said. ‘And I need a little fortifying before they arrive. Will you come to the Ivy Bush with me for a quick drink before lunch?’

Sam was more nervous about facing Merry than he had been about telling his Gaffer. Merry hadn’t been happy about Sam giving Rosie a friendly kiss, so how was he going to react to his marrying her? It would all hang on being able to convince him that this was truly what Frodo wanted. Having had the trial of weathering the Gaffer’s wrath, Sam felt in need of at least one pint before facing Merry. Pippin, as well, of course, but it was Merry who was likely to get so angry he wouldn’t listen to reason.

He expected Frodo to refuse to come to the inn, and Frodo did indeed hesitate before nodding his assent. However, the cosy closeness in the armchair was too good an opportunity to waste, and it was some time before they set out.

Grey clouds scudding across the sky threatened showers, but only a few spots of rain fell as they crossed the bridge over the Water and turned onto the Bywater Road. The sight of the new mill filled Sam with quiet pleasure.

The Ivy Bush was a much smaller hostelry than the Green Dragon, and its main advantage was its closeness to Bag End. They had only to walk a hundred yards from the bridge, and they were there. Inside, high-backed benches, set at right-angles to the walls, had the double benefits of keeping out draughts and making small private areas within the more public room. Frodo and Sam chose the snuggest, up in a corner, and slid onto facing benches with a table between them. Sitting close up against the wall took them further from view of the bar regulars. To Sam’s eye, Frodo seemed to relax once he was out of the scrutiny of the assembled hobbits.

Being small the Ivy Bush kept its beer barrels downstairs in the cellar, and the barmaid came round with a jug. Without being asked she brought two pint pots to the table and filled them with ale, tilting the pots and pouring the dark golden liquid down the sides so the heads of foam stayed small. After she’d gone, Sam leaned forward. He knew just what Frodo was thinking; Frodo didn’t want a whole pint, but half pints were considered la-de-da in the spit-and-sawdust atmosphere of the Ivy Bush. There was no point protesting.

‘It’s all right,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll drink what you don’t want.’ The Bush might have an unrefined atmosphere, but it was close, and it wasn’t the Dragon. In Sam’s opinion both reasons had probably contributed to Frodo’s agreeing to come with him.

They talked in low voices about the best way to break the news to their fellow Travellers. ‘It’s a good thing they are arriving today,’ said Frodo, ‘or rumour might have got to them first.’

Sam drained his pint at this unwelcome thought and slid the pot along to the end of the table. The barmaid appeared as if by magic, and refilled it. By the time Sam had finished his second pint he was feeling more complacent about the coming visitors, but a trip to the Bush’s outside privy was in order before he drank the rest of Frodo’s beer.

‘I won’t be a minute,’ he said - a time-honoured way of announcing the need to empty an overfull bladder.

He sauntered out of the door and looked critically at the sky. It looked as though the rain would hold off a while yet. He paid his visit to the Bush’s privy, but as he emerged the last thing he expected was to be grabbed by his shirt front and rammed up against the wall of the inn. He hit his head hard against the brick and flint work, and stared into eyes which were alight with anger.

‘Merry!’ he choked, as well as he could with his shirt tight up under his windpipe. Out the corner of his eye he could see Pippin watching, arms folded across his broad chest. There was no help to be hoped for there.

‘Don’t you “Merry” me as though you didn’t know what this is about, Samwise Gamgee,’ said Merry through gritted teeth. ‘By the Lady, I’m going to beat you within an inch of your life, and then I’m going to throw you in the Bush’s midden.’

A few onlookers had started to gather, and one gleefully went to spread the news in the bar that the Travellers were fighting. Sam was relieved; it would bring Frodo out, and he might be able to control Merry’s wrath. This was not a good place to have to start explanations. He let his body relax in Merry’s grip, waiting for an opening. He would be thrown into an orc-pit before he let Merry beat him up for any reason. Merry was bigger than him, but Sam was more used to wrestling. He knew that the less he struggled now, the less firmly Merry would hold him. He planted his feet wide and waited his chance.

‘We came through Frogmorton, and we heard some interesting news, Sam. You’re going to marry Rosie Cotton!’ Merry could hardly get the words out, he was so furious. ‘Or are you going to tell me that’s a lie?’

There was a soft cough behind Merry. ‘Gentlemen, please!’ said Frodo’s voice, loud and clear. ‘I will not have my friends brawling over a lass in public - even such a pretty one as Rose.’ There was a titter from the crowd.

Merry very slowly released Sam and turned to face Frodo. The voice had been bantering, but only Merry and Sam could see Frodo’s wrathful expression. Sam rubbed his throat and thankfully gulped in air. He doubted Merry and Pippin had realised Frodo was with him.

‘That’s better,’ said Frodo, in the same conversational tone. ‘Now I suggest you shake hands and come back to Bag End with me.’ Sam held out his hand, but Merry hesitated.

‘Do it!’ said Frodo, and now the anger was plain to hear in his voice. ‘Do it, Merry, if you wish to be welcome at Bag End.’ Merry reluctantly took Sam’s outstretched hand and glowered at him.

‘Good,’ said Frodo, curtly. ‘Now be so kind as to save any further discussion until we are home.’ He turned and stalked off, leaving the others to follow. A buzz of speculation and comment rose behind them.

Sam’s mouth twitch into a smile, but he was careful not to let Merry see. It was a treat to witness Frodo showing such emotion, even if it was anger. After all, it had been in his defence. It was worth being manhandled by Merry to see that, and Sam’s revenge was assured. Soon the bogus news, fed to the crowd by Frodo, that Merry had been bested in love by Samwise Gamgee would be all over the Shire and into Buckland. Saradoc’s reaction to his son’s brawling over a farm wench could be imagined.

The tense, unpleasant atmosphere made the walk seem longer than usual. Merry and Pippin exchanged glances, but only Pippin would look at Sam, a puzzled frown on his face. They reached Bag End, and Frodo carefully shut the door behind them, then turned to glare at Merry and Pippin.

‘You will both apologise to Sam now, unless you want me to open this door for you to leave. I can assure you, you will not be welcome back.’

Sam, standing behind Frodo, stopped smiling to himself. This was serious. ‘Frodo,’ he said quietly, ‘it’s only a misunderstanding.’

‘And on the basis of some gossip, my cousins have put aside everything they know about you, Sam, and believe you would do something that would hurt me.’

Merry looked taken aback. ‘I’m sorry, Sam. I should have known it wasn’t true,’ he said, flushing.

‘But it is true, Merry,’ said Frodo, ‘and you will apologise to Sam knowing it’s true. Both of you,’ he added, looking pointedly at Pippin.

‘But Frodo,’ said Pippin, in bewilderment. ‘I don’t understand. Sam is going to marry Rosie, and you don’t mind?’

‘I didn’t notice you asking for any explanations before you tried to give Sam a beating,’ answered Frodo. ‘Or, in your case, stand by while Merry tried.’ He turned to Merry. ‘Although I think you were in for a surprise, Merry. Now I’m going to ask again. Apologise to Sam, or leave Bag End.’

Sam looked at Merry’s flushed face and realised that if he didn’t stop this now, things might be said that would be hard to unsay. Merry had taken the humiliation at the Ivy Bush, but he didn’t understand Frodo’s suppressed fury now, and neither did Sam.

‘Frodo,’ he said gently, moving forward to wrap his arms around him protectively from behind, ‘we knew Merry and Pippin would be upset. It’s not like you to get so angry, not with them. It’s only a misunderstanding.’ He leant forward to rub his cheek against the side of Frodo’s face as Frodo pressed back against his body. Frodo laid his hands over Sam’s and turned his head to kiss him.

Sam felt a lot of the tension held within Frodo’s sparse frame ebb away. Frodo must have been holding his breath, judging by the slow collapse of the thin chest in his embrace and the long sigh warm against his face. He looked over Frodo’s shoulder to where Merry and Pippin stood in confusion.

‘I’m sorry you heard the news before we could tell you,’ he said. ‘That’s not what we wanted.’

‘I... I’m sorry, Merry,’ said Frodo. ‘It’s just that you don’t understand, and you’re being unfair to Sam. Nothing’s changed between us. We still love each other.’ He tilted his head back against Sam’s shoulder and closed his eyes. One hand made its way unerringly to Sam’s face and stroked slowly down. Sam leant into the sure touch but kept his eyes open. He was watching Merry and Pippin closely.

‘And because you love each other, Sam is marrying Rosie,’ said Merry, glaring at Sam, his voice edged with sarcasm.

Sam smiled at him. ‘Yes,’ he said. It was a masterly summary of the situation.

‘Frodo?’ Merry’s unspoken question was clear.

‘We trust each other, Merry,’ said Frodo quietly, eyes still closed, body still relaxed back in Sam’s arms. ‘I want this for Sam, because I love him and would like him to have the opportunity of a family. He hasn’t made the decision lightly, but he made it because he loves me. I am not hurt by this, and Sam does not deserve your anger.’

Sam had only to turn his head into the stroking hand to press a kiss against Frodo’s palm. The love and trust between them was threatening to engulf him. He was tempted to act in an unseemly way, to run his hands freely over Frodo and kiss his way down his neck which was stretched back so invitingly, to take a mouthful of the warm scented flesh and suckle contentedly. Instead, he turned back to watch the cousins again.

‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ said Merry humbly. ‘I have no idea what is going on here, but Frodo is right, and I’ll say it again. I should have known you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.’

‘I’m sorry as well, Sam,’ said Pippin. ‘Sorry I doubted you.’

‘You got off lightly, anyway, Pippin,’ said Merry, rubbing his nose. There was a rueful smile on his face. ‘You’ve not had your reputation ruined.’

‘And which would have been better, Merry?’ asked Frodo, lifting his head away from Sam’s shoulder and opening his eyes. ‘Gossip that you were fighting Sam because he was your rival in love, or that you were fighting because Rose was my rival in love?’

Merry swallowed. ‘I’m sorry, Frodo,’ he said.

‘But Frodo,’ said Pippin, undaunted, ‘how can you be so calm about it and say this doesn’t hurt you?’ He looked at them both in turn. ‘We’ve apologised now. What is going on?’

‘I’m not sure I understand myself, Pip,’ said Sam. He kissed the tip of Frodo’s ear. ‘I have a suspicion I have been outmanoeuvred. But as long as Frodo and Rosie are happy about it, I’m very happy to bring her to Bag End as my wife.’

‘Here?’ said Merry weakly.

Frodo levered himself free of Sam. ‘Yes, Merry, here. You can’t imagine I’d be happy if I were losing Sam, can you? Rose has no wish to hurt me.’ He slipped his arm around Merry. ‘Since she isn’t here yet, you can come and help get some lunch together.’

Despite the apologies, the atmosphere at lunch was initially uneasy. Frodo brought out some wine and proposed a toast to Sam and Rose. Merry and Pippin sighed in frustration, but followed his lead.

‘So when’s the day, Sam?’ asked Pippin with rather forced cheerfulness.

‘I’m hoping you’ll be here for supper tomorrow,’ said Sam. ‘Frodo’s going to name the first day of Thrimidge.’

‘But that’s not much more than a week away,’ Pippin cried, as though a longer betrothal would somehow make it all right.

Merry suddenly looked at Frodo. ‘Who’s going to give the wedding speech?’ he asked, frowning.

‘As deputy mayor, the pleasure will be all mine,’ said Frodo. Merry choked on his wine, and Pippin stared at Frodo. ‘And I hope you have no objection to my joining you at Crickhollow for a few days afterwards,’ Frodo added.

This time it was Sam who choked. ‘Frodo, you know that’s not necessary,’ he said, reaching out to take Frodo’s hand.

‘I think it is necessary, Sam. It’s only fair for Rose to have some time to settle in with you, without me around.’

Pippin looked as though a new, unwelcome thought had struck him. ‘Sam, you can’t mean to... with Rosie. I mean you wouldn’t, I mean...’

Sam looked at him gravely. ‘So you’re suggesting I should wed her and not bed her, is that it?’ Pippin groaned at such bluntness.

‘Oh, Sam,’ he said, ‘I don’t know which is worse. But I suppose I’ll just have to trust you and Frodo.’

Frodo came round the table and kissed him. ‘Thank you, Pip,’ he said, smiling. ‘That’s what I wanted to hear.’

Sam stood as well and took Frodo in his arms. ‘You’re tired, my love,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you go and have a lie down? When I’ve finished clearing up I’ll come and sit with you. Merry and Pippin can amuse themselves.’

Merry threw his napkin onto the table and looked at them in exasperation. ‘Go with him now, Sam. We’ll do the clearing up. Maybe one day you’ll tell us what this is all about.’