CHAPTER 16: GIVE and TAKE

Sam was awake, his eyes closed, listening to the steady breathing beside him. The darkness through his lids was not complete, and he could hear the blackbird’s tentative first notes confirming the dawn. As the bird broke into song, with fluid phrases and pauses to listen, Sam rolled over and breathed in the sweet scent of Rosie. It was so different from the rich mix of smells that characterised Frodo.

He lay for a while, still sleepy and contented, just looking at his wife’s face in quiet repose and her curls spread over the pillow. He tried not to make comparisons: her soft, rounded curves to Frodo’s lean and wiry frame, her acquiescent loving to the mutual intensity of his coupling with Frodo in times lost. There could be no comparison, and it was unfair to Rosie to let his mind dwell on past glories. Loving Rosie was no chore, no dreary obligation, and if he had never known any different he would no doubt have thought this lovemaking a very fine thing. It was a fine thing, he just missed the way Frodo seemed to know exactly what to do and when to do it. Either Frodo could read his smallest movements and moans to perfection, or he could sense Sam’s state of arousal some other way. The result was a harmony of loving that he had yet to experience with Rosie, sweet as it was.

His own inexperience in loving a lass no doubt played a part, and he was trying to find all the ways to give her enjoyment. Some were familiar and seemed to please her, although he wasn’t as sure as he was with Frodo. She was shyer, as well, preferring to wear a night-gown. While there was a certain excitement in reaching beneath for the hidden delights, he missed the touch of Frodo’s naked body blazing into heat and fire in his arms. But then he had missed that for some time with Frodo as well, so comparisons were doubly unfair.

The light in the room was growing, and the smell on the morning breeze gave an early promise of a good day for gardening. He smiled at Rosie with affection as she stirred but did not wake, and he reminded himself that she was a new bride, inexperienced in love.

He and Frodo had thought they were scaling the heights of pleasure in those first heady days in Ithilien, but their understanding of each other’s needs had grown with every passing day. They had still been learning months later, finding new and surprising ways to intensify their lovemaking, fine-tuning the small touches and caresses that could drive an already aroused hobbit wild. They had learnt when to ease back and when the point had been reached where there was no return. They knew, instinctively it sometimes seemed, when to be gentle and when rough demands would be met with rough demands, to send them crashing over the edge together, crying their love to the night.

With time, he hoped to overcome Rosie’s reticence over nakedness, and grow to understand her different needs. So far the process had been hampered by first his illness and then Frodo’s long sleep. It was therefore all the more generous of her to have sent him to lie with Frodo, the first night after he awoke. Sam felt a rush of love for his sweet Rose and reached out to stroke her face.

Other birds joined the early soloist, some more tuneful than others, and their contrasting songs welcomed the rising sun. Sam knew how they felt. It was not so long ago he had experienced a feeling of amazement each morning: he had lived to see the sun rise on another day.

He lifted himself on one elbow and kissed Rosie, remembering the times his thoughts had turned to her on his journey. She had represented what he had left behind, forever as he had then believed. A simplicity and innocence that characterised the Shire for him, and put a hobbit face on what they were trying to save. The kiss was a light one, intended to relieve his feelings rather than wake his wife, but she opened her eyes and smiled at him. Touched with sleep, she still managed to look happy and contented.

Sam smiled back and kissed her again, properly this time, welcoming her into his day. She snuggled into his arms and sighed deeply.

‘Sam,’ she murmured, ‘I love you.’

‘I love you, too, lass. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘I were awake, Sam. Or mostly anyways. Don’t forget we starts at dawn on the farm.’

‘There’s not the need to be up so early here, my dear. I was just going to look in on Frodo, quietly like, and make some tea. If you stop in bed, I’ll bring you a cup.’

‘That would be lovely, Sam.’ Rosie stretched within his arms and wriggled a hand free to stroke his face. ‘I’ll make you some breakfast after. It’s too early for Frodo, ‘specially if he stayed up writing last night, as he said he were going to, but I’ll cook some second breakfast later.’

‘It’s lovely to hear you call him Frodo like that,’ said Sam, turning his head to kiss her hand.

‘I worry about him,’ she said, following her own train of thought.

‘I know you do, lass, and I love you for it.’

She lowered her eyes and let her fingers twine nervously in his hair. ‘I love him, Sam,’ she said, after a moment, and looked up again, her brow drawn into an anxious frown. Sam’s smile widened. He smoothed the furrows from her forehead with his fingers and kissed her again.

‘Aye, and I love you for that an’ all, my Rosie. I don’t think I could’ve asked you to wed me else. That, and the fact Frodo cares about you. He has a great affection for you.’

‘Has he ever loved a lass, Sam? Do you know?’

‘No he hasn’t, not to my certain knowledge.’ He eased himself from the bed and pulled the covers back over Rosie. ‘Now go back to sleep while I get the stove lit and some tea made.’

Frodo was asleep when Sam looked quietly in on him. He appeared peaceful enough, and reassured, Sam tiptoed out again and pulled the door closed. In the study he pursed his lips and shook his head when he saw how far the candles had burnt down. These were slow burning, good quality, beeswax candles, and the story they told was of scribing into the early hours of the morning. The woodpile by the hearth told a different story, though. Not many logs had been used. Likely, he’d let the fire go out and ignored the coldness growing around and within him. It was possible Frodo had only been in bed for a couple of hours.

In the kitchen, Sam riddled the ash in the stove and lit a new fire with kindling he had left ready the night before. He waited for the first logs to take hold with a good blaze, before damping the air flow to slow the burning and allow the heat to build. Setting the kettle on the hot plate, so they heated together, he went to pump more water. He brought in firewood ready for Rosie’s use and noted the pile of both kindling and logs in the store-shed were getting low. He added replenishing the stock to his mental list of things to do that day.

As the water warmed in the kettle, he tested a little against his arm. Satisfied, he went to the pantry and broke off some yeast from Rosie’s store, where it was wrapped in waxed paper to stop it drying out. Crumbling it into a bowl, he added a measure of the warm water, stirring until the yeast dissolved. A little sugar, and he was done. He set the bowl on the warming plate of the stove, and almost immediately small bubbles started to rise to the surface. By the time Rosie had drunk her tea it would be covered in an even froth and ready to use. It seemed like a form of magic to Sam, and he breathed the comforting smell of yeast deep within him. He was just warming the tea pot when Rosie joined him, already tying her apron around her waist.

‘I was going to bring your tea to you,’ said Sam, looking up in surprise.

‘I can’t be idle. I’m not used to it,’ answered Rosie. ‘Over at the farm I’d have cooked first breakfast by now.’ She came and stood next to him, placing her hand against the small of his back. She saw what he had done and smiled at him. ‘Why, thank you, Sam. Wood and water and the bread started. I’ll make some rolls for second breakfast. What do you fancy now? Some porridge?’

Sam nodded. In the chill of dawn porridge would be welcome, however warm the day might be later. He finished making the tea, pulled the tea-cosy over the pot, and left it to brew while he got the milk-can from the pantry. He sniffed it to make sure it was still drinkable; more would be delivered by second breakfast.

Once tea was poured, they sat companionably together at the table, neither of them dreaming of sitting in Frodo’s armchair now he was back. Rosie blew on the scalding tea and sipped at it cautiously.

‘I don’t think Frodo’s been long gone to bed,’ she said suddenly. ‘That don’t seem wise.’

‘Wise or not, he was determined to stay up last night,’ answered Sam. ‘He said he’d spent too long sleeping in the day, and he wasn’t tired. I couldn’t persuade him out of it. Seems as one of my worries was well-founded, he forgot the fire. The days are warm now, but the nights are still cold. And I’m anxious that he might start dwelling on painful memories and get took bad, with no one to know ‘til the morning.’ He sighed. ‘But there’s a limit to how much I can fuss over him. He likes a little, but too much, and it just brings out his stubborn streak. He can be very stubborn you know.’

Rosie’s mouth quirked into a smile, then she laughed. ‘Hark at you, Samwise,’ she said. ‘You’re quite a pair, as far as stubborn goes.’ Her laughter died as she looked into his eyes, suddenly grave and thoughtful. ‘I don’t think either of you would have got there and back, if it weren’t for how stubborn you both are. Neither of you was going to give up.’ She laid her hand over his. ‘I’m so proud of you, Sam.’

Sam felt himself blush as she continued to gaze at him. ‘Hush love,’ he said. ‘Frodo’s the one to be proud of. He was going to crawl there on his hands and knees, if he had to.’ His voice caught over the words, and he dropped his head into his hands, bowing to the table. The sob was there before he could check it back.

‘Oh, Sam. I’m sorry,’ cried Rosie, and she was at his side, her arm around his shoulders. ‘Forgive me, I din’t mean to wake the pain. And I don’t see as I have the right to be proud of Frodo, exactly. He’s a bit above me being proud o’ him, that’s how it seems to me, anyways.’ She lifted Sam’s face from his hands and bent to kiss him.

He responded to the offered comfort, and as she straightened again, he buried his face against her belly, holding her close. He felt sick and shaky. Small memories could take him like this, rising in vivid intensity before him. His words had instantly conjured the image of Frodo falling exhausted to his knees under the weight of his burden. A pitiful creature crawling forward, starved and physically broken, but still refusing to bow his will to the will of the Ring. It went beyond stubborn, and Gandalf had spoken truly when he named Frodo Bronwe athan Harthad*. Such endurance beyond any hope, or expectation, of succeeding was a mystery and a wonder to Sam. He had only been able to endure because he never stopped hoping. He may not have believed they would get back, but he never stopped hoping they might.

And now he still hoped. Hoped that Frodo would be able to settle into Bag End, to wrap the smial around himself again, as he used to wrap his father’s old coat. Sam released Rosie and pushed back his chair to stand. He took a deep breath to put the memory of Mordor behind him.

‘This isn’t going to get the chores done,’ he said, and patted Rosie’s backside to reassure her he was all right. ‘If you get that porridge made, I’ll be clearing out the fires.’ He picked up the ash bucket and gave her a kiss of thanks for her understanding.

Rosie called him when the porridge was ready, and he ate his laced with honey and creamy milk. ‘What plans have you got today?’ he asked, as he scraped the last of the thick mess into his bowl. ‘Are you going to market? Because we need more candles.’

Rosie had already started on the bread-making, her sleeves rolled up out of the flour. ‘Yes, I’m going, but later in the day. Pippin says there’s a new herbalist doing the rounds at the markets.’

‘And?’

‘And he might have something to help melancholy. He’s from Bree, and word is he’s trading with Minas Tirith, and even further afield. Pippin thought it were worth me talking to him.’

Sam suspected Rosie had no real idea of how far away Minas Tirith was, but with the Greenway opening up, all sorts of new trade was likely. He was thoughtful as he headed out into the garden; something to help Frodo’s melancholy was an encouraging thought, and he tried not to raise his hopes prematurely. Best to think of all that needed to be done.

There was a lot he wanted to cram into his day, and the more he could do before second breakfast, the more of the day could be spent with Frodo. He was used to working long hours, and making the most of the day seemed to him the best way to be able to keep both his loves happy. The ground was still covered in dew, and it would be easier to work in the garden once the moisture had been burnt off by the sun. It would be hot later, or he was no judge of the day. He would start with some of the warmest work in the early cool of the morning and combine it with a visit to Bill and Strider. He picked up his saw from the tool-shed and headed down the Hill.

One thing that Sharkey’s men had not stinted them for was firewood, but it saddened Sam to be sawing up trees that should have graced the Shire for years to come. The Party Tree had been put to a variety of good uses, but the smaller trees were only good for stakes and firewood, and had been stacked at the edge of the Party Field.

Now the weather was warmer Bill and Strider were left free in the field, with the option of the shelter their stable provided. The trotted over as soon as they saw Sam coming, nodding their heads and whinnying in greeting. He fussed them, looking them over to make sure there were no problems, and fed them a wrinkled apple each. The apple store was almost empty now, and the few remaining apples needed eating up. None were home grown; the old Bag End orchard was roughly stacked before him, awaiting the attentions of his saw.

Sam rested each trunk in the sawhorse he had made and worked steadily through the early morning. The dew-laden grass was cool around his feet, but elsewhere sweat clung to him and made his shirt uncomfortable, even this early in the day. He continued until there was a large pile of logs and the palm of his right hand was sore. He hardly glanced at the sun, his innate clock told him when second breakfast was due. He followed his instincts back to the kitchen and found food nearly ready. The smell of new-baked bread filled the smial.

As he passed through the kitchen on his way to Frodo, he filched a slice of fried bacon and licked the fat from his fingers. Rosie called after him, and when he turned back to see what she wanted, she handed him two mugs of sweet tea.

He entered Frodo’s room quietly, not wishing to wake him if he wasn’t ready. More breakfast, or a brunch, could be cooked later if necessary. The important thing was that Frodo had enough sleep. Sam sat himself by the bed, and as he watched, Frodo smiled without opening eyes.

‘Mmm, sweat and ponies and sawdust. You’ve been busy, Sam.’

‘Did I wake you?’

Frodo opened his eyes. ‘No, I don’t think so. I just sensed you were here.’ He pulled himself up and hoisted the pillows up the carved headboard to sit against, moving over to make room for Sam beside him. They leaned together, drinking the tea Rosie had provided. Sam put his arm round Frodo’s shoulders.

‘Were you all right last night? You let the fire go out.’

‘I was fine, Sam. The writing was going well, and it wasn’t anything unpleasant. I was getting some of Merry’s and Pippin’s tales in order. I need to talk to them again, there are some details that aren’t very clear.’

‘And you weren’t cold?’

‘No, not really. By the time I realised the fire had gone out, it didn’t seem worth relighting it.’

Sam made a humph noise, knowing Frodo’s ability to lose touch with the world around him. Frodo laid his head on Sam’s shoulder, cradling his mug in his hands. ‘Honest, Sam. I was fine. I’m better off sleeping when I feel like it and working when I don’t. If I’d gone to bed, I’d just have lain awake. As it is, I’ve slept well, so don’t worry, my love.’

‘Will you promise me you’ll call me, if you need me?’ Sam set his drink down on the bedside table to free his hand to stroke Frodo’s face, letting his palm explore the well loved contours. Frodo closed his eyes.

‘Mmmm.’ It was more an exhalation than an answer, an appreciation of the light pressure over his cheek and down his jaw line. He turned his chin, rubbing into the caress.

‘Do you promise?’ persisted Sam. ‘I need to know this, Frodo. I need to know that you’ll tell me if you need me.’ Frodo’s mug was nearly empty, and Sam took it from him and placed it next to his. Frodo opened his eyes as the hand cradling his face was withdrawn, and then smiled as Sam turned back to him. In one movement their arms dovetailed into a tight embrace, and they worked their bodies down the bed to lie wrapped tightly together.

‘Promise,’ insisted Sam, his face nuzzling against Frodo.

‘I promise, Sam.’

Sam sighed, releasing tension that worry had knotted within him. Frodo rubbed his nose against Sam and teased at his bottom lip with tongue and teeth.

‘You’re wearing too much, you know.’

Sam gave Frodo an apologetic kiss. ‘Later, me dear. Rosie has breakfast nigh ready. Tempting though it is to ask you to relieve me of these sweaty clothes, I’m not going to do her the discourtesy of being absent from her table.’

‘Oh, Sam. I’m sorry. You’re right. I just didn’t realise it was time for breakfast. It’s sleeping odd hours, my sense of the day seems to be all wrong.’

‘No need to say sorry,’ said Sam, running his hand up Frodo’s back to tangle his fingers in the sleep-tousled curls. ‘But we both agreed to Rosie being here, so to speak, and seems to me as we can’t keep this smial comfortable without some give and take.’ He leant in, at the same time pressing lightly on the back of Frodo’s head, and Frodo responded immediately, as Sam had known he would. Opening his mouth, Frodo welcomed Sam’s lips and tongue with warm delight.

‘I just want you naked in my arms, Sam. I don’t want anything more,’ he whispered, as they parted.

Sam let a slow, lazy smile and another kiss answer the anxiety in Frodo’s voice. ‘It’s all right, I understand,’ he murmured in Frodo’s ear. ‘I’ll be very happy to be naked in your arms, and feel you warm against my skin. Just lying beside you fills me with happiness, but you know that, don’t you?’

‘I know when you’re happy. I usually know how you are feeling, meleth anim. You are a song inside me, that’s the only way I can describe it. Do you feel that? I sometimes think you must, or how is it you seem to know what I need at every turn?’

‘Naught as fancy as that. I reckon I’ve mostly just learnt to read to you,’ answered Sam, feeling tears come to his eyes at Frodo’s words. It was such a beautiful notion, that Frodo perceived him as a song. ‘You still manage to surprise me, though,’ he added. ‘Now, would you like some breakfast bringing here, or will you join us in the kitchen?’

Frodo didn’t answer with words, but eased himself out of Sam’s arms, and swung his legs out of the bed. He pulled his night-shirt over his head and reached for a clean shirt. Sam raised himself on his elbow and watched Frodo dress himself, enjoying the lean economy of his movements. ‘So what does this song of yours tell you now?’ he asked.

‘That you’re happy, Sam.’ Frodo stopped in the act of buttoning his shirt and leaned over the bed to kiss Sam. ‘There’s a background theme of anxiety, but not as loud as it was, and all the harsh edginess has gone. You’ve been on edge for so long, it’s lovely to lose that sharp discordancy. Marrying Rose has been good for you.’

‘Frodo, it’s not that Rosie...’

‘Hush, love. There’s that anxiety. Have faith. We can live in harmony, but it will help if we show ourselves before breakfast is cold, and your lovely wife cross with us.’

Sam laughed and came to help Frodo pull on his breeches. Not that he needed help, he was rapidly getting his strength back, but Sam just liked the opportunity to slide his hands up Frodo’s thighs. He buttoned on the braces and handed Frodo a waistcoat.

When they reached the kitchen, Rosie was sitting at the table drinking tea. She jumped up when they entered, and blushed when Frodo kissed her cheek.

‘Good morning, Rose,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting for Sam.’

Rosie was quick to deny this, but Sam noted how she didn’t quite look Frodo in the eye. He wasn’t sure if this was because she was annoyed, or as a result of her confession to him that morning. It beat him how anyone could not love Frodo, so it had been no surprise to him to hear that Rosie did.

Rosie had eggs beaten all ready, with a little cream and grated cheese, and she set to making scrambled eggs. Sam put the rolls in a bread basket and dished out bacon and mushrooms onto warm plates. Rosie added the eggs as soon as they were cooked, and they ate them before the scramble could lose its creamy consistency.

Frodo ate well. ‘Rose, you make the best scrambled egg I’ve ever eaten,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Sam.’

Sam laughed, ‘Oh, I agree. It’s why I married her, you know.’ He collected up the cleared plates and smiled at Rosie. ‘Thank you, lass,’ he said. He set the plates down and reached for the kettle to pour hot water in the sink.

‘I’ll do that, Sam, if you wants to get on in the garden,’ she said.

Sam put his arm round his wife and kissed her. ‘I’ll wash up after supper, then. You’re not doing all the chores in this smial.’

‘It’s all right, Sam,’ said Frodo, levering himself to his feet. ‘I’ll give Rose a hand now, and then I’m going to bring some work into the garden. It looks lovely out there.’

‘Now, Frodo, you know that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to suggest...’

‘I know that well enough, Sam. But I’m not helpless, and I’m going to wash up.’

Sam started to protest that he hadn’t meant Frodo was helpless, neither, but Frodo came and silenced him with a kiss.

‘Stop digging holes for yourself in the kitchen, Sam,’ he said laughing, ‘and go and dig some in the garden.’ Sam couldn’t help smiling; it was lovely to see warm humour in Frodo’s eyes, even if he was also aware of the effort Frodo was making in his offer to help. He would have to have a word with Rosie later. He wasn’t sure if she knew how such simple chores tired Frodo.

In the garden there was no digging needed. The kitchen garden was already raked to a fine tilth, and some sowing and transplanting had begun. Early plantings of vegetables, protected by glass cloches or under cold frames, were well ahead, and Sam had already planted seeds in the open that needed thinning out as they germinated. By sowing a variety of plants at two week intervals he could ensure a constant provision of fresh food for the kitchen, avoiding gluts of crops that would go to waste for lack of storage, or dearths when everything had gone over, and they were left without. His earliest potatoes were already in need of earthing up, and the weeds were not behind hand in germinating.

Sam worked through the morning. Hoeing left the unwelcome opportunists’ roots exposed, but Sam had a very variable definition of what constituted a weed. Many similar seedlings appearing in the herbaceous border would be left to add their colour. Only those of a pernicious nature, that would give him trouble eradicating if they took hold, were dealt with as soon as they were spotted. In the kitchen garden it was a different matter; anything not planted by Sam was unwelcome, since it would compete with the growing of food for the smial, and his hoe would be busy here on a daily basis.

As he worked, he kept glancing towards Frodo, sitting on the bench. Rosie had brought him out some cushions and a small tray for ink, quills and knife, but Sam hadn’t seen him do much writing. Mostly he either met Sam’s eyes with a smile when Sam glanced towards him, or seemed lost in thought, head tilted back in the sun.

Sam worked along the lines of onions and shallots, cutting the weeds off at ground level. With the workmen trampling everywhere he had been rather late planting them out, but, he reasoned, small onions were better than none. He got to the end of the row and looked up to find Frodo watching him. He smiled, and Frodo smiled back, a lazy sun-drenched smile.

‘Why aren’t you pulling those weeds, or hoeing?’ asked Frodo, suddenly.

‘Onions have such shallow roots, it’s easy to damage ‘em and I reckon these onions need all the help they can get,’ explained Sam, straightening up. He collected the wood-ash he had cleared from the fires that morning and sprinkled it along the rows he’d just weeded. He wiped his face with his hand, and Frodo laughed.

‘You’ve got ash on your face, Sam,’ he said. He set his papers aside and weighted them with a stone, before joining Sam. Pulling out a handkerchief he spat on it, and Sam tilted his face to be cleaned. Frodo had just finished when Rosie called them to lunch. Sam rescued the papers as they passed the bench; there was very little writing done.

After lunch, Rosie took off her apron and left for the market. Most of the perishable food stuffs they required were delivered, although the orders to the butcher had diminished since a good supply of meat now came from South Farm. Sam was well aware that if Rosie needed to top up on the deliveries she went to market in the early hours of the morning, to ensure a good choice of produce. Today, however, she was going to pay bills, consult the herbalist, and buy some general household necessities. For this the afternoon suited her better. The market would be less crowded, and apart from cooking supper, she had got all the chores out of the way. She could take her time and enjoy socialising with any friends she met. Sam knew it would be some time before she returned.

After Rosie had left, he went back to the garden, but Frodo decided to work on in his study. ‘I just keep watching you, Sam,’ he said with a smile. ‘If I can’t see you, maybe I’ll get some work done.’

When Sam took a break mid afternoon and looked into the study, it was empty. He found Frodo asleep in his room, curled in on himself, and clutching the white jewel. Sam smiled to see that he was naked under the sheet. He went to pump water to heat for a bath, and when the fire below the copper could be left, he returned to Frodo and stripped off his clothes. He slid under the light covering and nestled in against Frodo’s back, conforming to the curve of Frodo’s spine. Reaching around his love, he took hold of the hand that clasped the star-gem. Frodo did not awaken, but Sam felt the body in his arms relax into a deeper sleep.

Sam did not sleep. He was thinking about what Frodo had said that morning. He was still moved by Frodo describing the way he sensed Sam’s emotions, as a song within him. That Frodo knew how he was feeling was no surprise to Sam, he had suspected Frodo could actually read his mind.

He himself had no idea how he sensed Frodo’s moods. It was like looking at the weather. If any one asked him how he predicted what the day would bring, he would be hard pressed to say what myriad of small signs he was noting. He looked at the clouds, and sniffed the air, and that was that. He guessed right more times than wrong, but the process was never done. Sam would be constantly aware of patterns changing around him that might bring a change in the weather.

It was, no doubt, the same with reading Frodo. Every small nuance of expression and body posture, every whimper and moan, were so well known by Sam that he knew Frodo’s mood and needs without having to think about it. He had known, before Frodo said anything, that Frodo’s wish to hold him naked in his arms had no promise of sex within it. It had been simply a wish for closeness. Now it seemed Frodo was somehow aware of Sam’s presence, even in his rest, and the comfort that gave him had deepened his sleep.

Sam pondered on Frodo’s comment about his edginess. He had not been aware of being on edge, but he could see the justice of the remark. He did feel more relaxed now. He and Rosie together were taking better care of Frodo than he had alone, and having spent the night with Rosie, he came to Frodo without a tight knot of need within him.

He settled his head comfortably against Frodo’s shoulder and closed his eyes to lightly doze until he felt it was time to check the state of the water in the bathroom. As he moved, Frodo stirred and his body stretched against Sam’s. Sam let go of Frodo’s hand and slid his palm up Frodo’s arm and over his shoulder. He pressed lightly, and Frodo responded. Still half asleep, he sighed and turned to Sam. He hugged Sam close, fulfilling his wish for Sam to be naked in his arms. Sam murmured his appreciation in Frodo’s ear and decided that checking the water could wait. He made a present of light kisses and little nips to Frodo’s lips, until Frodo came fully awake and demanded more.

‘I love you,’ whispered Sam. Frodo never seemed to doubt this, but it was still a joy to say it.

Frodo smiled and reached up to tuck Sam’s hair back from his face. ‘Oh, Sam, my love,’ he murmured, ‘you are my heartbeat.’

Sam swallowed. Frodo seemed determined to say things to bring tears to his eyes today. ‘Now you’re being daft,’ he said, and his voice came out gruffer than he’d intended. He blinked and tightened his arms around Frodo, wanting to keep him safe. His mind shied away, as usual, from the thought of losing Frodo.

‘Sam!’ Frodo gasped.

‘Hmmm?’

‘I can’t breathe!’

Sam hastily let go. ‘That’s a Gamgee for you,’ he said apologetically. ‘So worried about losing you, he near crushes you to death.’

He wasn’t prepared for the reaction his words produced. He expected Frodo to laugh, but instead he rolled onto his back and flung his arm up across his eyes. Apart form a slight trembling of his chin, he lay perfectly still. A tear slid down his cheek.

‘Frodo?’

Sam very carefully drew Frodo’s arm down and wiped the tear away with his thumb. ‘What is it?’ he asked, gently. He wasn’t sure what he had done, but he was horrified to have, somehow, caused the distress he was seeing in Frodo’s eyes.

‘Just the thought of losing you, Sam.’ Frodo spoke with difficulty, and his voice was hoarse. Sam gathered Frodo back into his embrace.

‘Stop right there, Frodo,’ he said, pressing his face into Frodo’s hair, so his words were muffled. ‘You’re making yourself miserable over something that’s not going to happen, and I’m as bad starting this whole thing, as it were. There’s no way you’re going to lose me. Hush, love, hush now. Just you try losing Samwise Gamgee, and see what happens.’

Frodo’s body shook in his arms, and Sam could feel tears wet against his chest. He rubbed Frodo’s back. ‘This is what comes of staying up most of the night and getting tired, it’s no more’n that, hush now. There’s hot water should be all ready. Come and have a bath with your Sam.’

Frodo took a deep breath and lay quiet. Sam released him and sat up to lean over him. He brushed the hair back from the dear face, and bent to kiss him, still not sure what had brought on his misery. He decided not to pursue this, Frodo was in control, but he could feel the fragility of it. He wondered whether to mention Rosie’s plan to visit the herbalist, but decided not. Nothing might come of it. He would welcome anything that might ease Frodo and stop him falling into such a wretched state of mind. Getting upset over such a nigh impossible event worried Sam. Frodo had too much imagination, that was the problem.

By the time they climbed into the bath tub together, Frodo was in a more cheerful mood. They took turns to soap each other, and the soap took on a life of its own, escaping them under the water. Sam would have enjoyed the groping and laughter that ensued at any time. Now, the sight of Frodo’s laughter, chasing out the tight, anxious frown of earlier, was an added delight. There was more room in the tub than in the ones at Crickhollow, but they were cramped. Pursuing the soap, Frodo knelt up between Sam’s knees and leant forward, feeling for the wayward bar as it slithered beneath Sam. Sam shifted to reach up and draw Frodo into his arms, and suddenly he was skidding down the tub, jarring against Frodo and making him lose his balance. With a gasp of surprise, Frodo fell forward on top of Sam, and they both came up coughing, spluttering and laughing. Much of the water had performed Pippin’s favourite trick, and swamped the bathroom floor. Frodo shook the water out of his hair and settled down on top of Sam, as well as he could within the confines of the bath.

‘No space and no water,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’m getting old, but we could do this as well, and more comfortably, in bed.’

Sam laughed. ‘We need one of those great baths they have in Minas Tirith.’

‘Now there’s a thought,’ said Frodo, in mock seriousness. ‘But we’d need the servants to go with it, and that underfloor heating system they use.’

‘And that special ridged ceiling that kept the condensation from dripping on our heads. Very clever that was. And I fancy some of those fish mosaics on the walls. Very fetching they’d look, to my way of thinking.’

‘They weren’t fish, they were porpoises. Apparently they swim round the boats in the Bay of Belfalas,’ said Frodo.

‘Whatever. They looked very fishy to me. If you want us to move to the bedroom to get dry, you’d best get off me.’

Frodo pulled himself up. ‘I don’t think staying here to get dried is an option,’ he said. ‘The floor is awash.’

They wrapped towels around their waists, and Sam opened the windows to let the steam out. ‘I’ll clear up later,’ he said. ‘I don’t know about the Bay of Belfalas, but there’s enough water here for one o’ them poorpawses.’ He grabbed a couple of smaller towels to dry their hair, once they were out of the steam.

They wandered out into the hall laughing, and came face to face with Rosie and Mayor Whitfoot. Rosie was just in front of the Mayor, obviously in the process of showing him into the best parlour. Sam saw her look of initial surprise change to one of suppressed mirth.

Frodo rose to the occasion.

‘Will, what a pleasant surprise,’ he said, moving forward smoothly to shake his guest's hand warmly. ‘Give me a moment to dry and get dressed, and I’ll join you in the parlour. We were just about to have some tea and cake, will you join us?’

‘Mistress Rose has already offered, and I’d be delighted to stop,’ said the Mayor, still looking surprised and rather flustered.

‘Good. Make yourself comfortable, and we’ll not be long.’

‘I was hoping for a word in private, Frodo.’

‘Oh, I see. In that case make yourself comfortable, and I’ll not be long.’


Frodo and Sam managed to keep straight faces until they got back into the bedroom, and then collapsed against each other hiccupping with laughter. They dried and dressed, and spared a curse for Will Whitfoot for preventing them just climbing onto the bed together, damp and sweet-smelling.


In the kitchen, Sam found Rosie setting out a tray to take to the parlour. She looked up as he came in.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t give you no warning about that,’ she said. ‘He caught up with me as I walked up the Hill, and I couldn’t very well say him no.’ She added a pot of tea, and filled a jug with hot water in case they wanted to top up the pot. Will Whitfoot was a great one for his cups of tea.

Sam added milk-jug and sugar, while Rosie arranged cakes on a plate. He felt an apology was in order on his part as well. ‘I’m sorry if we embarrassed you, Rosie,’ he said. ‘We didn’t know anyone else was in.’

Rosie looked up. ‘Don’t you worry, Sam. It were funny; leastways, I thought so, and everyone knows you can trust old Flourdumpling not to gossip. It’s one o’ the reasons he’s so well liked. It could’ve been worse; you could’ve been naked or holding hands or some such.’ She snorted at the thought, caught Sam’s eye, and laughed out loud. ‘I wish I could’ve seen the mayor’s face, just at the moment you walked out.’

Sam drew Rosie close and kissed her. ‘From his look, we might just as well have been naked and holding hands,’ he said, and changed the subject to one closer to his heart. ‘How did you get on at the market? What did the herbalist say?’

‘He were ever so helpful. He reckons as how yellow star-wort might help, though Frodo were looking cheerful enough just now, I have to say.’

‘He seems to swing back and forth, like a scythe in the hayfield,’ answered Sam, sighing. ‘He got himself into a sad state this afternoon, though truth to tell I helped him into it. Not meaning to, you understand, but it’s easy to be wise after the event.’

He idly picked up the packages on the table. ‘So what are these for? Cow-itch and horny goat weed. I’ve never heard o’ them. Horny goat weed?’ He raised his eyebrows and looked quizzically at Rosie. She was blushing.

‘I’ve got an apology to make to you ‘bout them later, Sam. But I think I’d best take tea along to the parlour, don’t you?’ She picked up the tray and was heading out of the door before he could protest. An apology? What for?

He picked up the second best tea pot and made more tea. It was ready to pour by the time Rosie returned. Sam was curious about the apology, but he was even more curious as to what Will Whitfoot wanted. They sat at the table with mugs of tea, and he asked Rosie what Frodo and the Mayor had been talking about.

‘Just general chit-chat when I went in,’ answered Rosie, ‘but Mr. Whitfoot made the mistake of congratulating Frodo on the devotion of his servants. Frodo looked at him, quick like, as though he weren’t sure if he were being made fun of, but he told Old Flourdumpling in no uncertain terms that you was his dearest friend, and no servant. He said he were blessed ‘cause the two of us lived here with him and took such care o’ him.’

‘And what did old Will have to say to that?’

‘He looked pleased, I thought, and he smiled at me, though I were blushing like anything. He said the whole Shire had cause to bless Samwise Gamgee.’ Rosie took Sam’s hand and beamed at him. ‘He said how he never expected to see so much blossom last month, and it were all your hard work.’

Sam covered his embarrassment at this second-hand praise by picking up the packages again. ‘So what are these for? And why do you have to apologise?’ he asked.

Rosie cleared her throat and studied the table. ‘Well, I had to pretend I needed those other medicines for you. I couldn’t very well say they was for Frodo.’

‘Rosie? What are they for?’ He tried to stay patient, but Rosie showed no sign of explaining. She was biting her lip and looking at him with her brows drawn into an anxious frown. He waited.

‘I had to tell the herbalist you was having difficulties, Sam,’ she said at last.

‘Difficulties?’ He was none the wiser. Sleeping? Crapping?

‘I’m sorry. He thought I were blushing because it were such an embarrassing thing to say, but truth to tell, it were because you don’t need no such thing, and no one can blame my Sam for not being vigorous.’ She looked up at him, and a mischievous grin replaced the frown as she saw Sam was getting the picture. ‘He were very sympathetic, me being a new bride an’ all,’ she added.

Sam just sat with his mouth open, both at the slander to his prowess and at the implication that Rosie not only knew about Frodo’s problems, but was also prepared to do something to help. It had never occurred to him that any help could be had.

‘It’s all right, Sam,’ Rosie reassured him, tapping him under the chin to make him close his mouth. ‘He’ll be discreet. There’s lots of husbands have that sort of problem, especially as they get older, and if the herbalist was to go blabbing about ‘em, no wives’d dare consult him.’

‘Lots?’ he heard himself ask foolishly, the least of what he wanted explained.

‘Oh, yes. Women gossip to each other ‘bout it, but I ain’t naming no names to you, so don’t ask me.’

Sam brought his mug up to his lips but set it down again without taking a swallow. ‘Erm, just how did you know Frodo had a problem with, erm, vigour?’ He couldn’t imagine how that conversation could have come about. Frodo was reticent in sharing his troubles at the best of times. He was very relaxed with Rosie, but surely they didn’t sit around, discussing such things over tea and biscuits?

Rosie swirled her tea in her mug and hesitated before she said: ‘I were asking him about children. About whether it were something he would ever want.’ She blushed. ‘He said it were beside the point what he might want, because he couldn’t have none. I upset him, Sam. Not meaning to, anymore than you did this morning, but he shut himself away and wouldn’t let me give him no comfort. I’m sorry Sam, I truly didn’t mean to cause him pain.’

Sam sighed and turned his hand beneath Rosie’s to interlock fingers. ‘What makes me really sad about that, my Rose, is that I’ve never even thought about Frodo wanting children,’ he said.

‘I’m not sure he’d thought about it, afore I mentioned it, so I felt doubly bad about how upset he were, when he’d time to think on it,’ she answered, squeezing Sam’s hand. To Sam’s mind, Rosie’s guilt over upsetting Frodo explained why she wanted to make amends with the herbalist’s assistance. He was about to ask if this were the case when they heard the Mayor taking his leave and Frodo accompanying him to the front door. The door shut, and they expected Frodo to appear any moment, probably running his fingers through his hair and bemoaning official duties. There was silence.

After a moment, Sam went to look and found the hallway empty apart from the clutter of coats and jackets hanging on pegs. He opened the door and stepped out onto the front path. His eyes were drawn to the mallorn, as they always were, but he didn’t let his gaze linger on its imposing beauty. The fragrant scent of pipe-weed drew him to Frodo, sitting on a bench looking out over the Party Field.

He sat beside him, and took the proffered pouch of pipe-weed, reaching into the inner pocket of his weskit as he did so. He pulled out his pipe and filled it with the fine leaf. They leant together as Frodo set a light to it with his tinder box, and there was silence as they straightened and made sure their pipes were going well.

Satisfied, Sam took his pipe stem from his mouth and leant back, blowing a small smoke ring. ‘Mr. Whitfoot’s beginning to show his years,’ he said.

‘I thought so,’ agreed Frodo, stretching his legs before him. ‘It’s no laughing matter being shut up in the Lockholes at his age. His mind’s as sharp as ever, though.’

‘What did he want?’ Sam looked carefully at Frodo as he asked this; Frodo was not as relaxed as he was pretending.

‘Partly to see if I was recovered, he was worried by rumours about my health.’ Frodo frowned as he said this, and Sam knew how he hated to be talked about by tongues wagging freely at inn and market. It was unavoidable though. Frodo had come home from Crickhollow in a state of near collapse and had not been outside the boundary of Bag End since. Of course there would be talk.

‘What else, then?’

‘He wanted to reassure me he was happy to take over officially at the Free Fair and do whatever is necessary, unofficially, now. I won’t pretend that isn’t a huge relief.’ Frodo closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He took the pipe from his mouth to blow the smoke away on the light breeze. The song of a skylark flowed down from on high, rising and falling in a liquid cadence, bathing them in sound.

Frodo smiled, without opening his eyes. ‘That is such a lovely song. It’s as relaxing as one of your massages.’ He tilted his head, triangulating for the sound, and then opened his eyes and smiled at Sam. Together they looked into the bright sky, trying to spot the small, dark dot hovering above.

‘There,’ said Frodo suddenly, pointing almost straight up, but Sam couldn’t see it.

‘Too high for my eyes,’ he said. ‘It’s a wonder the song is so clear from right up there.’ He turned his face back to Frodo. ‘So why are you sitting out here, trying your hardest to relax, if there was naught but relief to be had from old Will? Tell me that, nîn meleth.’

Frodo sighed and brought his eyes down from the tiny speck in the sky, to look at Sam. ‘Your eyes are too sharp, Sam, even if you can’t see the lark,’ he said. He transferred his gaze to his feet and remained silent.

‘So, what is the matter?’ asked Sam. Out the front of the smial was not the best place to be having this conversation, he realised. He wanted to lay his palm to Frodo’s face and draw him into a kiss. They were not private enough for any overt show of love, and he resisted the urge. Not touching Frodo always tried him sorely.

‘Will asked me to go to the Free Fair to hand over office in person,’ answered Frodo, still absorbed with the view of his feet on the path. He pulled at his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger, but made no further comment.

Sam studied him. They had not spoken openly about Frodo’s reluctance to go out. Sam was aware of it, had been aware of it for some time, but let Frodo make his own choices. He might fuss over Frodo, but he had no wish to add to his distress by pushing him to do more than he felt comfortable with. Frodo forced himself to be sociable when it was unavoidable to be anything else, but Sam knew what a triumph of willpower it was to appear bland and carefree on these occasions.

‘It ain’t necessary that you should go,’ he said at last. Being a leap year there would be the Overlithe celebration, in addition to the normal three days spanning the Lithe Days and Mid-year’s Day. Then there was time travelling there and back. ‘It’ll mean the best part of a week away from home,’ he added, voicing these thoughts, ‘and if you ain’t happy about that, they can manage perfectly well without you.’

‘I’ve told Will I’ll go,’ said Frodo, quietly. He looked at Sam and smiled. ‘It’s all right, Sam. I want to go.’

Sam made no open comment, but raised his eyebrows, expressing his doubt.

‘Well, maybe “want” isn’t the right word,’ said Frodo. ‘I feel I ought to go.’

‘And it’s our Mayor as has made you feel that, or my name’s not Gamgee,’ said Sam.

‘Perhaps, but I don’t want to discuss it at the moment. What are your plans now? Have you much left to do today?’

‘I must get the logs I cut shifted and under cover,’ said Sam, accepting any discussion about the Free Fair was over for the time being. ‘Now the day’s cooler I’ll fetch the barrow and cart them up before supper.’

‘If it’s all right with Rose, ask Ham up to eat with us. I’d like to see him coming up here more often.’ Frodo stood up and looked down to the Party Field. ‘I wish I were stronger, Sam. I’d give you a hand with those logs.’

Sam stood as well and fought down the urge to hug Frodo. ‘I don’t know another hobbit as has your strength,’ he said. Frodo looked at him quickly.

‘I mean it,’ said Sam, in all seriousness. ‘Now come indoors where I can hold you. Will Whitfoot ain’t my favouritest hobbit for his interruption earlier, and he’s said something to cause you worry, that’s clear. Come back in. There’s something I want to talk to you about, and I can’t begin on it without you being snug in my arms. Come back in, my love.’


*Bronwe athan Harthad: Endurance beyond hope