Rosie’s hand tightened around Frodo’s, and her eyes brightened with tears. ‘Frodo! No!’ she exclaimed. She struggled a little to get up, and he released her hand and took Elanor from her, before aiding her with a hand under her elbow. She tucked a muslin square over his shoulder just in time as Elanor regurgitated a little milk.
‘How can you not go, Frodo?’ she asked in a whisper of distress. She wiped Elanor’s face with a corner of the muslin to remove a dribble of milk from her chin, and then wiped her own face with the back of her hand; it didn’t stop more tears from overspilling. ‘I know I begged you to stay if you thought you was wrong,’ she said, ‘but that were before last Win’filth!’
Frodo bowed his head over Elanor, and felt his own tears rise in response to Rosie’s. ‘But if I go, I reject Elanor,’ he said hoarsely.
Rosie looked around wildly, searching for something. Her eyes settled on the carrying-basket; she lifted it onto the table and took Elanor from Frodo to lay her down. She was weeping uncontrollably now, as she threw her arms around him.
‘I’m so sorry, Frodo. So sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I din’t understand what I were asking of you, or leastwise, I hoped Elanor might give you a reason to stay. I thought... I thought you might stay and live and be happy with us. I never dreamt you might stay and die. Please don’t stay, please don’t!’
Frodo held her close, the scent of babies and milk already familiar. He gazed over her curls and out of the door, to where washing hung, idly flapping in the sunshine. He had not guessed that Rosie had any thought of his own well being when she made her unorthodox suggestion. A year ago, he now realised; it had been just a year ago. A year ago he had not guessed how much joy and heartache Elanor’s birth would bring him.
It was not that he cared more for her than Sam - far from it - but he felt her helplessness in their plans. Sam had chosen to love him and had taken what had followed, for good and ill. Elanor had no say in the matter; she had not asked to be cast as a link in the chain of their love, nor to be Sam’s redemption. He had given Elanor life, and he felt it was not his right to choose to walk away.
He look down at Rosie again as she stirred in his arms, worried by his silence, and he kissed the top of her head. As he looked up, it was to see Merry turning away in the doorway, clearly intending to leave unannounced.
‘Merry,’ he said quietly, and Rosie jumped. She hastily pushed away from him and wiped her face again. Merry turned back at the sound of his name, and stood awkwardly in the doorway.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. I can come back later, if this is a bad time.’
‘M...Merry,’ said Rosie, ’please don’t go. Stay and talk some sense into Frodo. He says he can’t leave.’ She gave a sob and busied herself with the kettle.
Frodo held his hand out, and Merry dropped his pack to take it. They embraced.
‘Oh, Merry,’ said Frodo. ‘It’s good to see you back again so soon.’
‘Are you all right, Frodo?’ asked Merry, holding him at arm’s length. ‘You look tired. I saw Sam as he was heading down to the Gaffer’s, and he said he thought you’d not been sleeping very well.’
Frodo couldn’t deny it. ‘I thought I’d kept it from Sam,’ he said, and knew it was a stupid thing to say, even as he said it. Keep things from Sam? What a foolish notion. He could keep some things from him, but never how he was feeling.
‘Well, he thinks you’re sleeping at the moment,’ said Merry. ‘And looking at you, that’s what you ought to be doing. I think talking some sense into you can wait until you’re more rested, my dear.’
Frodo sighed, and nodded. It was a just observation, but he was too tired to say so.
Merry hugged him again. ‘Go to bed, Frodo,’ he said. ‘I’ll freshen up from my journey and come and sit with you, and be there when you wake. If you want to talk then, we can do.’ He kissed Frodo on the forehead. ‘Go to bed.’
Frodo nodded again. He left Merry and Rosie together, knowing they would talk about him, but also knowing Rosie would not tell Merry the cause of his dilemma, any more than he would. He climbed into bed, but tossed restlessly, unable to stop worrying at the problem. He could have asked Gandalf’s help in getting to sleep, but he rarely did so. Gandalf was one of the Istari, not some hobbit nursemaid; although sometimes Gandalf took matters into his own hands, and then Frodo slept, whether he would or no.
He heard the latch click and Merry enter, but he feigned sleep. It was comforting to know he was there, though. As Frodo relaxed, pretence slipped into reality, and he slept.
Merry drew his feet up onto the seat of the armchair, wrapped his arms around his shins and laid his chin on his knees as he quietly regarded Frodo. His cousin was restless, even when Merry was sure he was asleep. Each time Merry saw him, he had aged a little, and this time was no exception. The grey was thicker in the hair around his temples, his face more finely lined. Merry had hoped that Frodo would recover in health, in the same way as he had the previous summer, but it did not appear to be happening. Sam was looking worn, and Merry would be willing to bet that was not just the effect of a young babe in the smial. Now, it seemed, Frodo had changed his mind about leaving, and Pippin’s words echoed in his mind: ‘I would rather you were gone away from us and alive, than dead in the Shire.’
Merry lifted one hand and wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm.
After a while, Sam looked in. He smiled when he saw Merry. Merry made as though to move, but Sam shook his head and held up his hand.
‘No, no, Merry,’ he whispered. ‘You stay put. I just wanted to check he was asleep. Rosie’s in a taking about something. I’ll see you later.’
Merry nodded, and resumed his quiet contemplation of Frodo. He wanted to be there when Frodo awoke. He wasn’t sure Frodo would want to talk to him about what was troubling him, but Merry had a question for his cousin which might unlock his reticence.
After a while, Merry stood and stretched and took a turn around the room to get the stiffness out of his limbs. He looked out of the window. The garden was bright with flowers, jumbled together in seeming random profusion, but Merry could see there was order in the gradation of heights and the way the colours mingled. He guessed that a lot of effort had gone into the seeming naturalness of the planting. A wren was flying back and forth into the rambling rose, whose branches, rich with tight furled buds, hung down over Frodo’s window. The tiny bird carried small insects in its beak, and Merry realised it must have a nest close by.
It was still a bright day, but the effect of the rose branches hanging over the window was to give the room a muted, green light. Merry smiled. He had no doubt that the roses would be sweet-smelling.
A noise made him turn: the restlessness of Frodo’s sleep had increased, and he was muttering to himself, although the words were unintelligible. Merry pulled the chair closer, reseated himself and laid his hand on Frodo’s forehead. He made soothing noises - not wanting to wake Frodo, but hoping to quiet him in his dreams - and after a while, Frodo sighed and relaxed into deeper sleep. Merry took Frodo’s hand in his, and waited.
He was almost dropping off himself, when Frodo stirred and muttered Sam’s name. Merry’s head jerked up.
‘It’s Merry, my dear,’ he said quietly. ‘I can get Sam if you need him.’
Frodo opened his eyes and struggled up onto his elbow. ‘Merry! No, I don’t need Sam. Have you been here all the time I’ve been asleep?’
Merry smiled. ‘I’ve been waiting to talk some sense into you. Remember?’
‘Yes. Yes, I remember.’ Frodo frowned and swung his legs out of the bed. Merry let go of his hand and stood to help with a hand under his elbow, not sure how much strength Frodo had gained since his last visit.
‘Would you like to talk?’ he asked, as Frodo pulled off his night-shirt and reached for his clothes. His cousin’s thinness still distressed him. Although there was no doubt he was filling out a little, he was still a world away from the well-rounded hobbit with colour in his cheeks that Merry remembered from before the quest. Merry suddenly realised there were no mirrors in the room. He felt the warning prickle of tears as he recalled how they used to tease their cousin as he posed in front of the long mirror in the hall, checking all was just so before setting foot outside Bag End. That mirror had never been replaced after the restoration of the smial. He blinked the tears back and made himself useful handing Frodo his clothes.
Frodo remained silent as he dressed. He fastened the last button on his waistcoat and rubbed his hand over his face with a sigh. ‘I don’t think I can fully explain why I can’t leave,’ he said, and looked full at Merry for the first time.
Merry stepped close and put his arms around Frodo. ‘Why don’t I help you?’ he said, looking into Frodo’s eyes.
‘Help me?’ replied Frodo, and his voice was guarded. He stared at Merry.
‘My dear Frodo. You are very good at keeping a secret, but hopeless at hiding the fact you have one to keep. When are you going to tell Sam about Elanor?’
He was expecting some shock and blustering on Frodo’s part, maybe even angry denial; instead, Frodo bowed his head against Merry’s shoulder, and his body shook in Merry’s arms. Merry tightened his hold, drawing Frodo into a closer embrace, and Frodo wept. He had not been completely sure his suspicion was right until that moment. He couldn’t begin to guess how or why, but now there was no doubt left in his mind: Frodo was Elanor’s father.
‘Hush, dear one, hush,’ he murmured, and ran one hand up Frodo’s back to slide his fingers into his hair and press him close. ‘I can’t imagine how it happened, but knowing you, you were only thinking of Sam.’
Frodo suddenly laughed through his tears. ‘And that’s truer than you will ever know,’ he said, and raised his head to look at Merry. ‘How did you guess? Is it that obvious?’
‘No, not obvious she’s your child. She has a strong Tookish look to her; there was some talk at the Ivy Bush. That Sandyman was making out she was Pippin’s, but Sam dealt with that very credibly. You’d have been proud of him.’
‘I always am,’ Frodo said. ‘Proud of him,’ he added. ‘So how did you guess?’
Merry released Frodo to dig in his pocket for a handkerchief. He handed it to his cousin. ‘It was the talk we had before, about your not wanting to go until you’d held her, and it was seeing you with her. You don’t usually see that look on the face of any but the father, lost to everything around you. I’ve seen it on Pippin’s face many times. After the talk in the inn, I suddenly realised Pippin wasn’t the only Took around, and it all started falling into place.’ He suddenly hugged Frodo and kissed him.
‘Congratulations, my dear friend,’ he said. ‘I don’t pretend to understand, but congratulations! I never thought I’d see the day. It’s truly wonderful. But when will you tell Sam?’
‘It’s not that easy, Merry,’ Frodo said quietly. ‘Firstly, Rosie has asked to be the one to tell him, and secondly, I’m reluctant for him to be told yet. My reason - Rosie’s and my reason - is tied to my leaving with the Elves. Sam knows I’m going, but not that it’s for all time.’ He made use of Merry’s handkerchief again and then dropped it in the laundry basket; it was looking very soggy.
‘So you don’t feel you can tell him one, without the other. Is that it?’ asked Merry. Frodo nodded. ‘But now,’ continued Merry, ‘you’ve decided not to go?’
‘I can’t leave her, Merry. I can’t let her think her own father just walked away. I think of my own parents, and I think how much worse I’d have felt if they had somehow chosen to go.’
‘Frodo, how much have you been sleeping?’
Frodo looked at Merry, puzzled.
‘Only I don’t think you’re being very rational about this,’ said Merry gently. ‘How would you have felt if you knew your parents could have been safe, but they chose to stay and die for your sake? You would have lost them either way, but how would you have felt about being responsible for their deaths? Tell me that!’
Frodo remained silent, studying the pattern of the rug on the floor.
‘All right, cousin Frodo,’ said Merry, at last. ‘Don’t tell me. But think about it.’ He gathered Frodo into his arms once more, and Frodo hugged him back. As they separated, Merry took his left hand and gave it an appreciative rub as he felt Frodo’s fingers tighten on his. ‘I didn’t tell you how pleased I was to receive your letter,’ he said. ‘Thank you for letting me know about your recovery. My family thought I had gone quite mad. I did a dance in the main hall at Buckland.’
Frodo smiled at him. ‘At the risk of repeating myself, it’s good to see you again, Merry,’ he said. ‘I will think about what you’ve said. It’s not something I’d considered.’
‘You should tell Sam.’
‘Oh, Merry. Will he understand?’
‘Sam? You’re worrying that Sam will take ill something you’ve done! My dear Frodo, you really are not thinking straight.’
Frodo’s mouth quirked at Merry’s laughter, but then he frowned. ‘I know I will cause him pain. Whatever I have done or will do, I know that for certain.’
‘If I were Sam,’ said Merry, turning serious again, ‘I think that Elanor would ease the pain a little. Although I suppose I might resent her, if I knew she was the reason you stayed and died.’
Frodo looked at him in shock. ‘Resent?’
Merry shrugged. ‘I’m not Sam,’ he said. ‘That’s just how I would feel. Think about it.’
Over the following days, Frodo did little except think about it. Whatever Gandalf might say, he could not clearly see his path. Alone in his study a few days later, he threw down his quill and spoke to Gandalf.
‘Ah, Frodo. You’ve been very quiet. There is a tiredness about you; have you not been sleeping?’
‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘That does not answer my question, my dear hobbit.’
Frodo sighed. ‘No. I’ve not been sleeping very well.’
‘Then I suggest you consult the herbalist, since you don’t seem willing to call on me for help. Thinking comes to nothing if your mind lacks sleep.’
‘That’s what Merry said. At least, he said I wasn’t thinking straight, because I hadn’t been sleeping well.’
‘Hmpf. I always knew that Brandybuck was a wise hobbit.’
‘Wise enough to know I am Elanor’s father.’
‘And what about Sam?’
‘No. He still doesn’t know.’
‘Are you going to tell him, now that Merry knows? It will be hard on him, don’t you think, to find he is the last to know.’
‘I... It’s not my right to tell him.’
‘Oh, I see. So when will Rosie tell him?’
‘I don’t know. At least, the original intention was to tell Sam when I left...’
‘But now you’re not sure if you are leaving?’
‘No, I’m not sure.’
‘We have been thinking about what you said, Frodo. About loneliness. We think it best if Bilbo is permitted to come with you, if you decide to take the gift of Arwen. Best for both of you.’
Frodo felt the room wheel around him as tight pain gripped his chest. He felt Gandalf stagger under the force of his cry, but paid no heed to the wizard’s concern and urgent pleas for an explanation. He lost contact with him as the grief engulfed him, and he wilfully set up a barrier to his thoughts. If Bilbo was permitted, then surely Sam would have been... had he not bound Sam to the Shire. It was a moment of complete darkness for Frodo, but despite his tiredness, his common sense had not entirely deserted him. From deep within himself came the voice of reason. But you knew it was not the right thing for Sam. You said as much to Rosie. Sam’s love can’t make the Shire your home, and your love isn’t enough to make the Elven lands right for Sam. There is so much he must be and do, here in the Shire.
With that thought, Frodo laid his head on his desk to weep, and let down his guard. Gandalf was there instantly and insistently.
‘Frodo! What is it? What has happened?’ Frodo didn’t answer in words. He just let his wordless sorrow at losing Sam speak for itself, knowing Gandalf would understand. An arm laid across his shoulder made him jump.
‘Sam,’ he whispered, before he even raised his head to see brown eyes gazing at him in concern.
‘Frodo, my love, will you tell me what’s wrong?’
‘Just hold me, Sam. Please, just hold me.’
Sam took his hand and drew him to his feet and wrapped him around with the comfort of his love. Frodo leaned against him, and gradually he stopped shaking.
‘Hush, love,’ murmured Sam. ‘Oh, my love. Hush now.’ His kisses roamed lightly over Frodo’s faceas Frodobreathed deeply, both to steady himself and savour the rich scents of the garden that clung to Sam. Among the mix, he could pick out the green smell of new cut grass, the earthy richness of loam, and the sharp fragrance of rosemary. Sam nuzzled against him to make him turn his head, and they kissed - tentatively at first, then surer and deeper as they found they both wanted this.
‘It’s lovely out,’ Sam said at last. ‘You ain’t hardly been in the garden these last few days. Will you come for a walk with me before supper? Not far, I don’t mean. You don’t have to tell your Sam that you ain’t ready for a long walk as yet. Just down to the west lane and across the fields to the river, I was thinking. Will you come?’
‘If you wish me to, Sam. Yes.’ He tucked Sam’s wayward hair back and picked a leaf out of the thick curls. There was no doubt in his mind that his cry, voiceless though it had been, had brought Sam rushing to his side.
‘Good,’ said Sam and kissed him again. ‘But you must say if you get tired. Let me just tidy my tools away and clean the grass off the shears, and I’ll be ready. Merry’s off somewhere on Buckland business.’
‘I know. He’s gone to see Tom and Jolly about their drainage plans. There are several places along the Brandywine that would benefit from being drained. He’s interested to see what they’re up to.’
‘Well, if it’s arguments he’s after, he’s gone to the right place. I don’t believe those two Cotton lads’ll ever agree.’
‘I’ve no doubt Merry will listen to what they say, work out his own method and have the entire Overbourn Marshes drained, before they’ve come to an agreement,’ said Frodo. He smiled and saw Sam’s expression lighten in response.
‘Aye, they’ll probably be off to Buckland next year, to see how it’s done,’ said Sam. ‘And I’ve no doubt Merry picked up some ideas on his travels. A clever hobbit is our Merry.’ He stroked Frodo’s face with the back of his hand, and Frodo knew that - however mundane the conversation might appear - Sam was worrying about him. He leaned his face into the touch.
‘Mmmm. Yes. Too clever, sometimes.’
Before they set out, Rosie insisted on giving them some tea and a snack. ‘I told Merry supper’d be around sundown,’ she said, as she handed them mugs of tea and large squares of her sticky gingerbread. ‘Don’t go tiring Frodo out, will you, Sam!’
‘We’ll be back well before sundown,’ said Sam. ‘That’s three hours away or more.’
The late afternoon sunshine was still warm, although there might yet be a cold snap to damage young seedlings and tender shoots; Frodo knew that Sam was regarding the clear sky with suspicion. It was late in the spring for a night-time frost, but not impossible. Riding higher than the sun was the pale circle of the moon, following the sun down to an evening moonset. If the sky did stay cloudless, it would be a good night for stargazing.
They made their way down the west side of the hill, across the meadow and out onto the narrow lane. They didn’t follow it westwards, but almost immediately turned off south on a green lane that serviced the fields between the Hill and the river. The cartwheel ruts were already beginning to dry out, and walking was relatively easy along the grassy track between them. As usual, the hedging along either side was mainly hawthorn, interspersed with oak and ash. Near the Hill, the hawthorn hedges had all been layered the previous autumn and were only beginning to grow back, denser and more stock resistant than before. Here, however, the hawthorns had been allowed to grow tall, and in places the branches interlaced above their heads to form a long cool tunnel. The shrubby trees were covered in a profusion of white blossom, sweet smelling in the warm air, and the ground at the hobbits’ feet was carpeted with the petals that had drifted down.
They walked in silence as their eyes took in all there was to see. The oaks were always the last trees to bud in the spring, and their leaves were still small, unfurling in pale greens. It was easy to follow the progress of a family of long-tailed tits as they flitted from oak tree to oak tree ahead of them, their flutings and twitterings clear on the still air. Frodo loved the dip and rise of their flight, the compactness of their small pink bodies and the elegance of their long tails.
A skylark’s song formed a constant backdrop to their progress towards the river, and was interspersed with the distinctive songs of yellowhammer, blackbird, robin and chaffinch. Flowers were present in abundance: yellow broom and red campion, white flowers of twining bryony and yellow of wild honeysuckle. Bluebells and cow-parsley were there in profusion, and everywhere insects took advantage of the warmth and wealth of food.
Frodo sighed and wished, as Sam had done before, that he could hold memories undimmed by time. The thought was followed by the cold realisation that there would be no need if he stayed: what need for memories if he were dead? He sighed again. Merry had indeed given him much to think about, but it did not make the decision any easier.
Sam took his hand and linked his fingers with Frodo’s, and they arrived at the river hand in hand. Here the scene was very different - more open for one thing - although in places alder hung down low over the water. Yellow flag irises were growing in marshy places along the bank, and a heron flew up with a croak of protest at being disturbed in his fishing. They watched him fly off down river with slow lazy beats of his wings, his legs trailing behind him, his long neck bent back over his body in serpentine elegance.
They turned and walked towards a small bridge over a tributary stream, and stopped to lean on the rail. They watched the water-boatmen scooting across the sluggish brook; the tiny feet of these long-legged water-beetles dimpled, but did not break, the surface of the water. Mayflies danced in the air before them, weaving and darting in patterns as complicated as Frodo’s thoughts. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and sighed again, and Sam gathered him into his arms and nuzzled against his neck.
‘You’re anxious, my love, and you’re not talking to your Sam,’ he murmured, and his breath was warm and inviting against Frodo’s skin. Frodo accepted the invitation, and tilted his chin up. He felt, rather than saw, the fingers working at releasing his top shirt button, and then Sam was gently nipping and licking at the base of his neck. ‘Mmmm,’ said Sam, raising his head again. ‘You taste of you.’
Frodo smiled at him, and they kissed in unhurried harmony.
‘So,’ said Sam, some minutes later, as he straightened Frodo’s clothes, ‘are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?’ They both turned their heads at the splash of a fish breaking from the water to take a mayfly. ‘Are you, my love?’ asked Sam again, as they watched the ripples spread out in widening circles. ‘Rosie says you’re talking about staying, though she can’t seem to explain why, and I’ve been waiting for you to say something to your Sam.’
Frodo turned his head back to look at him, but remained silent.
‘And you’re looking at me with so much trouble in your eyes, as I can’t bear,’ added Sam, quietly. ‘I’ve been hoping and hoping you’d tell me, but looks like I’ll have to save you the difficulty. It’s as plain as a pikestaff that you don’t know how to, though why you’d be worriting that I should mind is beyond me to fathom.’ He tightened his hold on Frodo, and his brown eyes were full of love.
Frodo looked at him doubtfully. There was no sound of bird or murmur of water; the world held its breath with him.
‘Frodo, dear Frodo,’ said Sam gently. ‘Elanor is no child of mine; I’ve come to know that well enough. Even though her father is my own self.’
The worn planks beneath Frodo’s feet were suddenly little more than quicksand, and he could no longer focus on Sam’s face as the world staggered around him. Without knowing how, he found himself sitting on the bridge, one hand on the narrow rail, with Sam squatting beside him, supporting him. He let go of the rail to touch Sam’s face.
‘Oh, Frodo! I’m sorry,’ cried Sam, anxiously kissing his fingertips. ‘You must forgive me for being no more’n a ninnyhammer. You ain’t strong enough for me to go springing such surprises on you.’
Frodo tried to grasp what Sam was saying, but the only thing he understood was that Sam was apologising to him.
‘Oh, Sam, I’m sorry,’ he whispered, staring down at the water flowing under the bridge. ‘Forgive me. I’m so sorry.’ He felt as though he’d been struck between the eyes with a poleaxe.
‘Look at me, Frodo!’ said Sam, and Frodo obeyed the imperative and looked. Sam’s eyes held his gaze, steadying the world around him. ‘That’s better, my love. You ain’t listening to your Sam. Maybe you’ll listen to this.’ Sam shifted one hand behind Frodo’s head and drew him into a kiss.
In a daze, Frodo responded to Sam’s insistent probing, and opened to him. The rhythmical flow of movement was soothing, and within him there was no doubt: Sam was singing. Oh, Elbereth! Sam was singing with joy. As they parted, Frodo leaned into Sam’s arms, breathless and weak.
‘Oh, Sam,’ he murmured. ‘What must you be thinking!’
Sam’s mouth quirked into a smile. ‘I’m thinking it’s a long way to be carrying you home,’ he said.
Frodo managed to smile back at that. ‘You know what I mean, Sam,’ he said.
‘Well, I’m wondering how Rosie persuaded you to it, but we ain’t going to talk on that now,’ said Sam, and suddenly his eyes were bright with tears. ‘The only thing you have to know now is that you have given me such a treasure, such a treasure. Your daughter; oh, Frodo! Your daughter, to hold when you are... when you... Oh, Frodo.’ Sam slipped forward onto his knees and buried his face in Frodo’s hair and wept, and Frodo wept with him.
They stood after a while, Sam pulling himself up by the rail and helping Frodo to his feet. They clung to each other anew, talking in broken voices. The sorrow of loss and parting was heavy on them, and it was not long before they were weeping again, but Frodo felt easier in his heart than he had for months. The knowledge of this deceit had weighed like a Ring around his neck, and he felt light-headed at the sudden relieving of his burden. Not only that, but he was freed to tell Sam of his reluctance to leave Elanor.
‘I... I’m sorry, Sam. I thought my leaving was better for you than my dying, but leaving Elanor troubles me greatly.’
Sam lifted his brown hand and brushed the hair back from Frodo’s face; there were fresh tears in his eyes. ‘You must do what you think best, my love,’ he said. ‘Go or stay. I’ll understand either way.’
‘Thank you, Sam. I don’t know what to say, except I love you.’
‘Will you tell me? When you decide?’
‘Of course, meleth amin.’ He clung to the solidness of Sam’s love. Maybe it was standing by the river that brought Tom Bombadil to mind, but he was reminded of the old fellow’s description of Farmer Maggot. Sam was another wise hobbit who had the earth under his feet and clay under his fingers; there was wisdom in his bones and both his eyes were open. ‘Oh, Sam,’ he murmured.
‘Are you ready to be walking back?’ asked Sam, softly. ‘Only the sun’s a long way down, and we told Rosie we’d be back well before this. She’ll be worriting. We’ll have to get her alone, without Merry, and break the news that I know.’
‘Merry knows, Sam. He guessed as well.’
‘Did he, now? No wonder you said he was too clever. Still, we need to tell Rosie without him being there.’
‘Yes. I didn’t mean otherwise. I just wanted you to know he knows. I’d like to tell Pippin, now.’
‘Of course. But no further, I’m thinking.’
They didn’t start straight back, but kissed again, and the twilight was gathering, along with a low mist over the river, as they left the bridge. There were little rustles amidst the hedgerows, which told of small creatures becoming active as the daytime hunters went to rest. A hedgehog ran across the path in front of them, and they laughed at the comical sight. With its fast-moving short legs and the skirt of coarse hairs along its flanks, it looked as though it was gliding over the ground. At the sound of their laughter, the small creature froze and curled into a tight ball. Thick spiky bristles poked out in all directions. Sam carefully scooped it up, so it lay on his calloused palm. There was no sign of face or legs. He gently stroked the bristles back from the head in a slow rhythm, and gradually the hedgehog began to uncurl. Frodo looked with delight at the long questing snout, the small bright eyes and the pads of the long feet. He touched one of the feet, and Sam’s magic was broken. The animal curled back around Frodo’s finger, and he had to pull it free.
Sam set his captive on the ground again, and they stood back, waiting quietly. After a few minutes, the black nose appeared, exploring from side to side, followed by the bright eyes. The hedgehog uncurled and apparently unperturbed set off about its business again. The watching hobbits smiled at each other, then looked up the lane at a shout of greeting. It was Merry.
He came up at a run. ‘Is everything all right?’ he asked, breathless. ‘Rosie sent me to find you. She’s worried.’
Frodo reached out and took his hand. ‘Yes, Merry,’ he said. ‘Everything’s fine. Sam knows.’
‘Ah! I wondered,’ said Merry and he looked at Sam.
‘Everything’s fine, Merry,’ repeated Sam. He clapped Merry on the shoulder, and together they returned to the smial to reassure Rosie.
Elanor seemed to have picked up Rosie’s mood and was crying fitfully when they entered the kitchen. Rosie looked cross with them, rather than relieved, as she struggled to finish supper and soothe the baby. Sam hastened to take Elanor from her. He walked up and down, rocking Elanor in his arms as he quietly sang, and gradually she settled. Rosie scowled, but didn’t speak her mind in Merry’s presence. After supper, Merry tactfully announced he was visiting the Ivy Bush.
Rosie cleared the table, slamming down plates on the draining board, and Frodo hoped no more were going to get broken. Sam stilled her hand with his and placed his other hand on her shoulder. ‘You’d best tell us, lass,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if we worrited you.’
‘Worrited! I was more than worrited, Samwise Gamgee! You was gone for hours, and Frodo in no state to go tramping around the countryside! I thought you’d be back to help me long since. Elanor's been crying on and off all the time, ‘til I’ve not known what to do ‘cept sit down an’ cry with her, and... and I’ve been imagining all sorts of things. Where’ve you been?’
Frodo joined them and slipped his arm around Rosie. He kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m sorry, Rosie,’ he said. ‘We didn’t go far, but Sam and I were talking and we forgot the time.’ He looked at Sam.
‘I know about Elanor,’ said Sam softly, and he bent to kiss her. She looked from one to the other, and her eyes settled on Frodo.
‘You said I could be the one to...’ she started to protest, but Sam silenced her with another kiss.
‘It was me as told Frodo,’ he said as he straightened.
‘Oh, Sam! I...’
‘Hush, love. There’s nothing as you need to worrit yourself about, but I do need to thank you most kindly.’ As Sam took his wife in his arms, Frodo released her and stood back to make the thanking easier. She looked as though she had a hundred and one questions, but her eyes fluttered shut as Sam’s mouth closed over hers. Sam’s eyes were closed as well, but he reached out blindly to Frodo and pulled him into his embrace. As Sam released Rosie, he turned his head, and Frodo was ready for him. They kissed, and he felt desire stir within him. There was no hobbit in the Shire as generous as his Sam, and he wanted to hold him naked in his arms. Maybe later. When they turned back to Rosie, she was in tears.
‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ she sobbed. ‘I did it for you.’
‘Now don’t you start, an’ all,’ said Sam. ‘We’ll leave the whys an’ wherefores for another time, if you don’t mind. All you both need to know tonight is how happy I am about this. Elves and stars! I’d have wished it, if it hadn’t seemed beyond all wishing.’ He dried her eyes, and patted her bottom. ‘Now be a good lass, and put the kettle on, and I’m sorry again we worrited you.’
Rosie seemed exhausted after her trying afternoon with Elanor, and Elanor seemed happy to sleep, so Sam took his wife to bed early that evening, and after some time returned to smoke a pipe with Frodo and Merry in the garden. Merry and Frodo talked quietly while they waited for him, and when he appeared, Frodo moved up to make room for him. Sam slipped his arm around Frodo’s shoulders to hold him close, and Frodo took Sam’s free hand in both of his. The night was clear, and Frodo was confirmed in his prediction of stargazing: with no moon to outshine them, the dark sky was filled with a myriad of constellations. The hobbits stretched their legs out and tilted back their heads to enjoy the tranquil beauty of it.
After a while, Frodo shivered, and Sam was instantly on his feet. ‘You’re getting cold, my love,’ he said, knocking out his pipe. ‘Come to bed and let me warm you up.’
Merry laughed. ‘That sounds very enviable, Sam,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to settle for a hot-water bottle. I hope you sleep better tonight, Frodo.’
‘Thank you, Merry,’ said Frodo, kissing his cousin. ‘I’ll write to Pippin tomorrow.’
‘No need. I’ll ride over to Tuckborough in the morning and ferret him out. I think there’s some serious celebrating to be done; that is if Sam doesn’t mind.’ He raised an eyebrow to Sam, gauging his reaction.
‘Oh, I agree,’ said Sam quietly and smiled at Frodo.
Once in Frodo’s room, they slipped naked between the sheets, and Sam covered Frodo’s body with his own to warm him.
‘You smell of lovemaking, Sam,’ said Frodo.
‘Rosie wanted a little comforting and reassuring that way,’ said Sam. ‘I think she was more worried than you, thinking it might alter how I felt about her, or some such nonsense.’ Satisfied that Frodo was warm enough, he kissed his way down Frodo’s body and gave a soft hum of pleasure as he nuzzled at Frodo’s limp shaft. Frodo’s body stirred in response; it wasn’t much, but enough to encourage Sam to try and arouse him further.
‘That feels good,’ whispered Frodo.
Sam raised himself on one elbow, tenting the bedclothes. Frodo pushed the covers back to see Sam’s face, and they smiled at each other.
‘It’s like last year,’ said Sam, seriously. ‘You said then that maybe worry was part of the problem; right after I’d settled to marry Rosie, you said that. I’m wishing I’d spoken to you about Elanor sooner. You do look easier.’
‘I didn’t want Rosie to marry you so she could bear my child, Sam,’ said Frodo quietly. ‘I wanted you to have her, and your own family. I wanted you to have someone to love, and who loved you, after I left. Later, when you were ill, Rosie was worried about what would happen to you when I was gone. That’s when she asked me if I would... father a child.’
Sam eased back up Frodo’s body, to prop himself on his elbow again and look into his eyes. ‘So you’ve known a long time that you’d be going,’ he said.
‘Yes, Sam. I’ve known a long time. I’m sorry. Forgive me.’
Sam kissed two fingers and laid them on Frodo’s lips. ‘I’m thinking I might need to ban that word,’ he said. ‘I’ll say back to you what you said to me in Minas Tirith: sorry’s not something you ever have to say to me.’
Frodo kissed the fingers that invoked his silence, and smiled beneath their gentle touch.
‘Now,’ said Sam, ‘were you enjoying that? Would you like more?’
For answer, Frodo lifted the covers again, and Sam laughed. Working his way down, he continued where he had left off, and Frodo closed his eyes. Lips and tongue and helping hand were bringing him warmth and comfort, and the first stirrings of desire. He moaned softly and thrust into enveloping warmth, and Sam’s fingers tightened around him in response. The sensation faded, and Frodo drew Sam up the bed once more, to lie in his arms. They had not spoken of it, but he had no doubt that Sam was staying in his bed. They kissed gently, and then Sam settled his head on Frodo’s shoulder with a sigh of contentment.
Frodo breathed deeply, loving the scent of his love, the weight of him in his arms. He nuzzled into Sam’s hair, sensing rather than seeing the sleepy smile in response. ‘How did you know about Elanor?’ he murmured into Sam’s ear.
Sam lifted himself to lean over Frodo, and now his smile was plain to see in the flickering candlelight. His explanation was punctuated with kisses and caresses, and Frodo returned each one, so that the telling was drawn out as the candle gradually burnt down.
‘I think I’d be hard pressed to say exactly when I started to wonder,’ Sam said, after a moment’s thought. ‘There were just lots of little things all coming together. Some of them I didn’t even notice at the time, but when I thought back, I realised they all pointed the same way.’ He smiled at Frodo. ‘It was when I was sitting in the study, watching you both asleep: that’s when all the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. You know how it is with babies; sometimes you just get a glimpse of resemblance to one side of the family or t’other, and suddenly there you both were - as Baggins as they come. It seemed so unlikely at first that I thought my mind was just wanting to see you wherever I looked. But there was Mother Cotton’s joke: asking me if I was sure I was the father, and Rosie giving Elanor to you to hold first; there was the way you said “our child”; and your wondering at her perfection. You were so wrapped up in her, and even when you were ill, you knew if she was there and you were more settled. Whenever you woke a little, you’d ask how she was, did you know?’ Frodo shook his head, and another kiss came his way. ‘Then Sandyman had his say,’ continued Sam, ‘questioning her paternity. I think I knew, really, even before I saw the likeness. Then suddenly you couldn’t go, and Rosie was beside herself, and I knew I was right.’
Frodo lifted his hand to Sam’s face, and felt truly blessed by Sam’s loving acceptance. Sam’s gentle brown eyes were all his world, and he saw his own tears mirrored there, but they were tears of quiet joy that their love had brought Elanor into the world. ‘Thank you, Sam,’ he said. He drew Sam down into a sleepy kiss, and as they settled together for the night, he was more at ease than he had been for a long time.
In the morning, he was woken as Sam extricated himself from his arms. ‘Is it time to get up, Sam?’ he mumbled sleepily.
‘Sorry to wake you, love,’ said Sam, with a good-morning kiss to accompany his words. ‘I was just going to make Rosie a cup of tea. Would you like one? Or will you go back to sleep?’
Frodo laughed, and rolled over to watch Sam get dressed. ‘Maybe I want you not to say sorry. You don’t let me say it.’
‘Well, that’s different,’ said Sam, snapping his braces into place.
‘How’s that?’
‘Hmm. Give me some time, and I’m sure to think of a reason,’ answered Sam with a grin. ‘Would you like tea in bed?’
‘Yes. Please.’
Frodo drank his tea and then got up; he wanted to see Merry before he left. Merry held him in a close embrace, and released him to hold him at arm’s length. ‘How did you sleep, Frodo?’ he asked. ‘You look better.’
‘I feel a lot better. I slept well.’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can. We should be back in plenty of time for supper. I don’t know of anything that will keep Pip in Great Smials, but if he can’t come for any reason, I’ll send a message back.’ He smiled at Frodo. ‘I won’t tell him. I’ll let you do that. I’m looking forward to seeing his face.’
When Rosie heard that Pippin was likely to be arriving for supper, she sent Sam to South Farm for a joint to roast. After Sam had gone, taking the Gaffer with him for a visit with Mari and Holman, Frodo helped Rosie clear away the breakfast things. She had slept better as well, and seemed to have lost her bad mood of the day before. Even so, Frodo felt it was diplomatic to be as helpful as possible, and Sam obviously thought the same when he returned. Between them they managed to get under her feet one too many times, and she begged them to just go for a walk.
They went, grumbling a little between themselves at the vagaries of women, but had the sense to not absent themselves too long, and were back in time to help set out lunch. In the afternoon, Frodo disappeared into his study and wrote steadily. For part of the time, Elanor slept in her carrying basket beside him, and her presence was very soothing. When she woke, Frodo picked her up and talked to her until she became restless. He carried her to Rosie in the kitchen and sat at the table, drinking a cup of tea while Rosie fed her. His armchair had been taken over as a nursing chair, but he had no problem with this.
For supper Rosie roasted a leg of lamb. The old main crop potatoes were past their best, wrinkled and sprouting, but it was too early for the first new potatoes. She picked out the best for roasting, and - knowing the Captains’ appetites - bulked them out with mashed potato. Sam brought her a large cauliflower and a handful of fresh mint leaves for mint sauce.
It was early evening before Merry reappeared with the young Took. Pippin hugged Frodo warmly.
‘Thank you for coming at such short notice,’ said Frodo, returning the embrace.
‘Merry seemed to think I should come straight over, though he assured me you were fine,’ Pippin said, releasing Frodo. He lifted Frodo’s left hand and kissed it. ‘I must say, you do look better.’ He had come bearing some bottles of best vintage red Southfarthing wine; he picked one up to draw the cork and stood it near the warmth of the stove to breathe.
Rosie handed Elanor to Frodo; the babe was making sleepy little yawns, and she settled happily against his shoulder. He sat down carefully in the armchair vacated by Rosie; it was still necessary to support his daughter’s head, and he didn’t want to jolt her. Elanor yawned again and closed her eyes. Frodo smiled as he watched her. The pleasure was even more intense for being free of the taint of guilt.
‘So what’s to do?’ asked Pippin, as Rosie busied herself making a white sauce for the cauliflower. Merry and Sam both looked at Frodo. Frodo hesitated, not sure how to break the news, since so far it had been Merry, then Sam, telling him.
Merry picked up the wine. ‘Oh, don’t bother with letting it breathe, Pip,’ he said as he fetched wine glasses from the cupboard. ‘We have a toast to drink.’ He poured the wine out, ignoring both Pippin’s look of distress at such irreverent treatment of a fine wine and his protests about letting the sediment settle before decanting. Merry handed the glasses round, and raised his own to Frodo and Elanor. ‘To our dark horse, cousin Frodo, and his lovely daughter Elanor,’ he said dramatically.
‘Oh, is that it,’ said Pippin, repeating the toast without a glimmer of surprise. He set his glass down, his eyes dancing with Tookish devilment at their expressions. He kissed Frodo on the forehead and sat on the arm of his chair, smiling down at him. ‘Congratulations, my dear, dear Frodo,’ he said. ‘I guessed weeks ago. I’m glad we can talk about it now, and I’m very, very glad that Elanor is your daughter. You are a foolish old hobbit to think I would be surprised.’
Frodo looked up at Pippin and laughed. ‘So it would seem,’ he said.