The year moved into Blotmath, and Sam knew he was being a difficult patient. He was desperate to be doing something, anything, but the slightest exertion - always against Merry’s advice - came with its retribution as he was confined, weak and shivering, to his bed again.
‘Sam!’ said Merry, exasperated. ‘You are not going to get well if you keep trying to do things like that. Your Gaffer’s got one of Widow Rumble’s grandsons doing the heavy work in the garden, and he’s making sure your garden’s not ruined by inexperienced enthusiasm.’
‘I can’t stop thinking about him, Merry,’ said Sam, not really listening to Merry’s lecture. ‘I go round and round in my thoughts, wondering if I could have done anything different. Maybe if I’d stayed at Rivendell with him...’
‘Things would still be the same,’ Merry cut across him. ‘Only they wouldn’t, because you wouldn’t have Rosie and Elanor, and maybe he’d have gone sooner.’ He sat on the edge of Sam’s bed and took his hand. ‘Sam,’ he said gently, ‘do you know you hardly ever say Frodo’s name now?’
Sam bit his lip. Of course he knew. So many times he’d spoken that name with love, with longing, with burning need and with offered comfort; whispered it, moaned it, used it to gentle and to arouse. Now, to speak the name as though Frodo’s part in the story were ended gave him inexpressible pain. Well, no, not inexpressible. ‘Oh, Frodo!’ he whispered, and his pain found its outlet in tears. He curled up on his side, pulling the sheets into himself to cocoon him in his grief, and suddenly he was not just weeping, but hurtling into the darkness where there was nothing but loss. He was only dimly aware of being gathered into arms and rocked, and from a long way away he heard Merry’s voice. ‘Oh, Sam! I’m sorry. Forgive me.’ And then there was only the sound of someone keening, the sound resonating with the misery that was his whole world.
His first coherent thought was how his throat ached, the next that he was thirsty and cold. He felt arms holding him firmly, and Merry’s quiet voice broke into his wretchedness. ‘Sam, come back to us.’
Another voice echoed Merry’s. ‘Sam, my dearest Sam, come back.’ A cool hand stroked his face, and a drink was held to his lips.
‘Rosie,’ he croaked, and opened eyes that were so drained of tears they felt sore and gritty. He looked for Elanor, but she wasn’t there, just Rosie sitting on the edge of the bed, and Merry supporting him on the other side. His thoughts pulled up short. Just Rosie? How could he think that? She looked exhausted, and he forced himself to lay his hand over hers as her fingers traced his jaw line. ‘I love you, Rosie,’ he said, a little surer in his voice. She need never know it was an apology, and he was gladdened when her face lit up with a smile that hid the dark shadows under her eyes, if only for a moment.
‘Oh, Sam! I love you.’ She leaned in and kissed him. ‘I wish... I wish I could make the time pass as would take you past the pain. I wish you could just say his name and smile ’cause of all the good memories.’
So, Merry had been telling her what had set him off. Merry’s arm around him tightened, as though afraid Sam’s present calm was only a respite. Sam turned his head, but there was only Merry’s waistcoat to be seen. He tried to struggle into a more upright position, but the weakness that had driven him back to bed was still with him, and he shivered with the effort and with the chill that enveloped him. Frodo was always cold after... after... The memory of holding Frodo as he wept came to him in such vividness that he could almost feel Frodo quietening in his arms, trembling as in an ague. ‘I’m cold, Sam.’ Was he lying, cold and grief-locked, in a strange land without his Sam to comfort him? That thought was almost the worst of any. He shivered again, and Merry shifted, easing Sam back into recumbency. Sam looked up into his face, lined by a worried frown.
‘I’m sorry, Sam. I said it before, but I don’t think you heard me. I didn’t mean to...’
Sam managed a smile for him. ‘Don’t apologise, Merry. You’re right. I’ve been avoiding saying Frodo’s name.’ Merry smiled back in relief and tucked blankets around him as he shivered again.
‘It will get easier, Sam. I know it’s hard to believe at this moment. And I know you just want to be up and doing, but you’re just prolonging your illness. Being a patient means you have to be patient.’ Merry clambered off the bed and straightened his waistcoat, a far more sombre affair than his usual bright garb. ‘Right now, I think the best thing for you is a good sleep. I’ll get you something that will help.’
Sleep? Yes, sleep would help. Sam turned his attention back to Rosie, who was clasping his hand now as it lay on the bedcover.
‘Where’s Elanor?’ he asked.
‘With Ma. I couldn’t risk her being frightened...’
‘Oh.’ The thought of Elanor’s being frightened by him - frightened of him, sent a fresh shiver through him.
Rosie reached for another blanket and tucked it round him. ‘I’ll go and get her now,’ she said, straightening. Sam watched her go, feeling - when all things were said and done - that he was a lucky hobbit to have her love and care, and even luckier to have had his time with Frodo. He closed his eyes and felt long fingers soothe gently across his face. ‘Everywhere you look in the Shire, I will be there. Do not shut me out in your grief, but welcome the memories. They will become less painful in time, and a source of comfort to you.’
Sam kept his eyes closed, knowing the looking would only show him the emptiness of the room. The remembered touch rested feather-light on his lips and then was gone. He sighed. He knew Frodo was right, but that didn’t make the remembering any less painful now. Now, he wanted Frodo naked in his arms, not to love - he’d had no urge for lovemaking since his return - just to hold.
Just to hold.
The black pit of his grief beckoned, but there was a breathless giggling coming nearer, and he opened his eyes in time to see Rosie holding the door open and Elanor crawling through at speed.
‘That’s right. Sam-dada’s here,’ said Rosie as Elanor made for him, disappearing from his view, only to reappear as she pulled herself upright against the bed. She stood swaying, gurgling and giggling, then disappeared as she sat down suddenly. Sam raised himself on his elbow, worried she might have hurt herself. Rosie scooped her up and placed her on the bed next to him. ‘Don’t go worriting over her,’ she said. ‘She’s well-padded.’ Elanor crawled onto Sam, and Rosie patted Elanor’s bottom to indicate the nappy.
Sam tried to draw Elanor into a hug, but she wanted him to play with her toes and recite silly rhymes while he clapped her hands together. Sam played ‘this little piggy’ and ‘pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake,’ until Merry returned and handed him a drink. Elanor twisted round to see Merry, and made ineffectual little claps to show him what they were doing.
‘Good girl,’ said Merry, approvingly, and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Now let your Dada drink this, and we’ll go and see if your gammer has a biscuit for you.’ He swung Elanor up, throwing her up towards the ceiling and catching her. She shrieked with laughter, and Rosie sighed. Merry lowered Elanor and winked at Sam; he and Pippin were always getting Elanor over excited.
‘Say night-night to your Sam-dada,’ he said, and Elanor leaned from his arms and touched her lips to her dada’s cheek. It wasn’t a proper kiss, more a pressing of her face against his, but the sweetness of it went straight to Sam’s heart. He wouldn’t have believed he had any more tears left in him, but there they were. Merry patted his shoulder. ‘Sleep well, Sam,’ he said.
Rosie closed the door behind Merry, slipped off her dress and climbed into bed with Sam. She wrapped her arms around him. ‘Sleep now, my Sam,’ she whispered, and he felt a warm drowsiness seep through his weary mind. It was good to be held, even though soft feminine curves were not what he wanted. He closed his eyes and took the gift of sleep.
When he awoke, he was alone, and wintry-morning sunshine was giving a glow to the closed curtains and filling the room with muted light. He felt better able to cope for being less exhausted, but it was an effort to get up. Not just a physical effort, as his body shook, but a mental effort. Now he realised how Frodo had felt, dragging himself from day to day, exhausted by small tasks. He slid his hand under his pillow for the welcome feel of Frodo’s letter. He had no idea why he was putting off opening it. Was he shying from the pain of Frodo’s voice talking to him across the gulf that separated them? Or was he savouring the anticipation? He drew the bulky envelope out. Today. Yes, today he would open it, but not yet. He rubbed his thumb over the seal and laid the letter aside while he slowly dressed.
He walked to the kitchen, stopping twice to lean against a wall until he had the energy to go on; he knew he was in for another lecture, knew he was being stubborn, but he wanted to do this without help. The kitchen was warm, rather steamy from the boiling of stock-bones, and there was a welcome aroma of breakfast to greet him. Both Rosie and Merry rushed to help him.
‘Sam! You should have waited!’ cried Rosie, as Sam sank into the welcome support of the armchair. ‘I’d not’ve been long.’
‘I meant what I said, Sam,’ said Merry. ‘You have to be more patient.’
‘It’s my belief as Samwise don’t know how to sit still and be idle,’ said Lily as she fried mushrooms.
‘Well, you’re just going to have to learn, Sam,’ said Merry.
Sam closed his eyes and leant his head back against the wing of the chair. He didn’t feel up to arguing, and he let their concern wash over him. At least he felt hungry. Did they have mushrooms where Frodo had gone? He rubbed his face hurriedly and opened his eyes to see Elanor pulling herself up against his breeches. She gave him a big smile, and Merry hoisted her onto Sam’s lap.
It was hard to be getting upset about whether Frodo would have mushrooms to eat when his daughter was climbing over him, especially as Elanor wanted him to play with her. He looked over her head at Merry, who was sitting at the table, chin in hand, watching them with a smile on his face.
‘Pippin said to tell you goodbye,’ said Merry. ‘He left very early. Didn’t want to disturb you. He said he’ll be back as soon as he can.’
‘It’s hard to believe Fastred’s one year old, already,’ said Sam. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t go.’
‘Don’t you worrit about it, Sam,’ said Rosie as she set out plates. ‘They’ll be other chances. If Pippin’s planning to go to all his children’s birthdays, he’ll be a busy hobbit, I’m thinking.’
Merry laughed. ‘I had no idea what a paternal streak our Pippin was hiding from us.’ He looked at Sam, suddenly serious. ‘But then I’d no idea Frodo would be such a natural father. What about you, Sam?’
Sam stroked Elanor’s curls. ‘Oh, yes. I knew,’ he said quietly.
Mother Cotton made a ‘Tsk!’ noise, and they all turned to her. She looked from one to the other as she dished out bacon and scrambled egg. ‘I don’t hold with what’s been going on,’ she said, shortly. ‘And I ain’t never come across such a peculiar state of affairs as existed in this smial, but what’s done is done. I couldn’t ask for a sweeter little moppet as a gran’child, and there’s no doubting she’s loved. I feel sorry for the Gaffer though, thinking as she’s his flesh and blood.’
Rosie gave her mother a kiss on her way to pour the tea. ‘I keeps on telling you, Ma,’ she said, ‘they’ll be plenty more babes in this smial, and he’s got a heap of gran’children already. Sam’s going to tell him. He just needs to be a bit weller first.’
Mother Cotton looked at Sam, and he nodded. ‘Well,’ she said drily, ‘I wish you luck wi’ that one, but then he never could say you no. Learning letters from Mr. Bilbo an’ all. And look where that led!’
Sam was getting an angry reply together, but Merry forestalled him. ‘Well, as to that, Mrs. Cotton,’ he said, ‘it led to the Shire’s being saved from destruction, and I for one applaud Bilbo for his tutelage. Now, I think it is time to eat some of this excellent breakfast you’ve cooked. You stay there, Sam. I’ll bring you a plate over.’
After breakfast, Sam had a bath and then was glad to go back to bed for another sleep. Rosie insisted on bringing him his lunch in bed.
‘Don’t mind Ma,’ she said to Sam, as she set the tray down in his lap. ‘She’s coming round to the idea. And I meant what I said: you’re not to go telling your Gaffer until you’re feeling weller.’ Sam nodded, but knew he’d tell his father if the right opportunity presented itself, and never mind how well, or otherwise, he was feeling. He looked out the window; it was a blustery, grey day, but he was determined to cast an eye over the garden. Frodo’s garden. It would always be Frodo’s garden to him.
Merry came to help him, and they walked slowly round. There was nothing Sam could fault. The leaves had been swept up, the borders dug, the kitchen garden well tended. Everything had the melancholy, straggly look of winter, but neatness would come at the expense of risking frost damage to the dormant plants; cutting back now would remove protection from the cold. Sam had a rough rule of thumb, learnt from his Gaffer: any shrub that blossomed before Lithe day was cut back immediately after flowering; but if they flowered later in the year, they were pruned back in the spring, so as not to encourage frost-susceptible new growth in the autumn.
He steered Merry slowly down the west side of the Hill, glad he had his staff and Merry to lean on. Maybe he should have come here alone, but he wanted to stand in the hollow before shutting himself in the study with Frodo.
They stood surrounded by bare trees, birds’ nests stark against the leafless branches. The wind kept everything in constant movement, and a few leaves whirled at their feet as the wind eddied around them. Sam closed his eyes and saw, sharp and painful in the clarity of the memory, Frodo smiling at him warm and glad. ‘I’m happy. You do know that, don’t you, Sam? Whatever is to come, I am happy now.’
‘He was happy here, though he knew what was coming,’ whispered Sam, and Merry’s arm tightened around him, pulling him into a hug as Sam’s shoulders shook. ‘I was happy here. Such good memories.’ He gave up and wept on Merry’s shoulder. Merry said nothing, was just there, until Sam calmed a little. Then he rubbed Sam’s back.
‘Hold those memories, Sam,’ he said. ‘You are lucky to have them.’
Sam pulled away to blow his nose and made ineffectual efforts to dry Merry’s shoulder. ‘We’ve not spoken of the Grey Havens,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry, Merry. I never knew.’
‘Nothing to apologise for, Sam. I’m just a fool. I never thought of Frodo like that, until I saw him with you, and... well, I was jealous. At first I just thought I was jealous because you’d taken my best friend away from me - until I realised I was being stupid, because you’d restored him to me - and then I realised I was envious.’ He sighed. ‘You know, Pippin said to me the other day he thought you two must have always been in love and never realised it. I’m glad you found each other, Sam. I truly am. I’m glad you gave Frodo such happiness.’
Sam stood back and held Merry’s shoulders while he studied his face. Merry smiled at him, but his eyes were overly bright with tears.
‘I used to think you rather bossy, and, well, patronising,’ said Sam. ‘I’m sorry, Merry. I learnt to know you better, and I’m glad to call you my friend.’
‘As I learnt to know you better, Samwise,’ said Merry, resting his hands on Sam’s shoulders in turn. ‘I suspect I have only the smallest notion of what you’re going through. You know, I can’t really believe we’ll never see him again...’ His voice trailed off, and he looked down.
Sam squeezed his shoulders. ‘Come and sit with me, Merry,’ he said softly.
Merry looked back to him. ‘I don’t think that’s wise,’ he said. ‘It’s too cold and damp for you to be sitting around out here.’
Sam regarded him for a moment. ‘You’re beginning to sound like me, Merry,’ he said, and Merry’s lips twitched. ‘I’d suggest we walk on, but I don’t think I can go much further. I need a rest before I even go back up the Hill. The edge of the bank, here, ain’t too bad, and we’ve got our cloaks to sit on.’
Merry nodded. ‘Not for long, though, Sam,’ he said as they seated themselves. ‘What do you want to say, that can’t be said in the smial?’
A distant sound made them both scan the sky until skeins of pink-footed geese came into view, being blown down the wind. ‘He loved watching the geese arrive,’ said Sam quietly. Merry raised an eyebrow, and Sam corrected himself: ‘Frodo loved watching them arrive. After Bilbo left, they used to make him restless.’
‘I’m glad Bilbo was allowed to go with him,’ said Merry, following his own thoughts. ‘Why was he? Do you know?’
‘I think it was because he was a Ring-bearer,’ said Sam, then added quietly, ‘I was a Ring-bearer, too.’
‘Yes, of course you were, I was forgetting.’ Merry placed a hand over Sam’s. ‘But you weren’t able to go?’ he asked.
‘Not yet,’ said Sam softly. ‘Not yet.’
Merry’s eyes widened with amazement. ‘Sam! What are you saying?’
‘Do you know what the last thing Frodo said to me was?’
‘He said something in Elvish. No, I don’t know what it was.’
‘Tenn’ enomentielva,’ said Sam. ‘That’s what he said. “Until we meet again.”’
‘Sam?’
Sam suddenly smiled and gave a great sigh. ‘One day I can follow him, Merry. It’s a long time away, but I’ve been promised that.’
‘Oh, Sam!’
‘Don’t mean we really will meet again, but I’ve always been one to hope. Makes the bearing a little easier now.’
‘I... I don’t know what to say. I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start.’
‘Then leave them. I don’t want to discuss it now, I can’t discuss it now. I just wanted you to know.’
‘Can I tell Pip?’
‘Yes, you can tell him, if I haven’t first. Now, if you don’t mind helping me up the Hill, I’d like to spend some time alone in Frodo’s study.’
Merry stood to help him up. ‘I’ll get the fire lit for you.’
By the time they reached Bag End, Sam was breathing heavily and feeling shaky. Merry looked at him anxiously. ‘Maybe you should go back to bed, Sam,’ he said. ‘You aren’t looking very good.’
‘I’ll be all right once I get sat down,’ Sam replied. He leaned on Merry to lift his foot into the foot bath, but Merry tugged his arm.
‘Sit down now, and I’ll bring the water to you.’
Sam was glad to obey, and closed his eyes as Merry washed his feet for him. ‘You’re right, Merry,’ he said. ‘I should go back to bed.’
‘Good. I’ll light the fire in the study anyway. You can go there when you’ve had a rest.’
Sam felt better after another sleep, although every waking came with the pain of Frodo’s absence. He sighed and rolled over, wanting to feel Frodo wrapped around him, pressing against him. ‘Oh, my love,’ he whispered and searched under the pillow until his hand found the letter. He pulled it out and rubbed his thumb over the seal again. ‘Soon, very soon,’ he said softly and for the third time that day pulled on his clothes.
The study was warm and welcoming. He closed the door softly behind him and leant against it, staring at the portrait. There was a pain in his chest, and he slid down the door into a ball, forehead resting on his knees as his breath came in short gasps.
“I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil, and only through grief can you come to joy.”
He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, and raised his head to look again at the picture. How had the painter managed to capture such a feel of Frodo’s presence? He reached up to grasp the door handle, to give him some support as he pulled himself back to his feet, and walked unsteadily over to the picture. He couldn’t resist lifting his fingers to trace over arching eyebrow, down curve of cheekbone, and onto the full lower lip. He shifted his gaze to the eyes that smiled at him, drowsy and inviting, and the picture blurred. ‘I love you, Frodo,’ he said softly and pulled the letter out from an inner pocket of his waistcoat, one of the ones Frodo had given him. His hand shook, and he looked around, debating whether to sit at the desk where it had been written, or occupy the armchair. The armchair, he decided; it faced Frodo’s portrait - no happy chance, he was sure, but Rosie’s design - and he would be able to raise his eyes to Frodo’s whenever he wanted to as he read.
His body shook as he lowered himself. Clearly, Merry’s advice was to be heeded, if such a small amount of exertion in the garden laid him up like this. He would have to learn patience, and he raised his eyes to his role model as he fingered the crisp envelope. Now the moment had come he was reluctant to break the careful Baggins seal. Opening the letter was a delicious pleasure he had been anticipating; it was almost a shame to lose that knowledge that the letter was snug against his heart, waiting for him.
He looked down at the well-loved writing on the cover and turned it to slide his finger under the wax. Slowly he drew out the contents: a letter, and another envelope addressed to Elanor. He set the envelope aside - he had been expecting that - and unfolded the letter with care.
Oh, Sam, my dear Sam,
He looked up at Frodo and blinked back his tears. He hadn’t realised how hard this would be. He turned to look out of the window at the clouds scudding across the sky. The room was a little gloomy, and candles would help him read more easily, but he preferred it like this. He sat quietly for a few minutes, then wiped his eyes and started reading again.
Oh, Sam, my dear Sam,
What can I write that will make this any better, any easier for you or for me? I must go, and you must stay, and only the prospect of your following me one day allows me to hold this pen with a hand steady enough to form these inadequate words. Yet you are not bound to following me when your time comes, and if you are unable to - for any reason - do not hold yourself in guilt. I know there are many chances that would mean you remain here, and none of them signify you do not love me.
Despite the warmth of the room, Sam shivered. He looked at Frodo’s portrait. ‘Death,’ he said quietly. ‘Death is the only thing as would stop me, my love.’ He looked down again, and found Frodo’s thoughts were also on death.
And if you come, and I am not there to greet you? Will you believe that I have failed in my love for you? Or will you know that if love alone could have kept me drawing breath, then I would have been there at your coming, to welcome you with words of love and hold you to me with joy?
There, that is all I will say of the failure of my dream, for dream I have, my Sam. I dream that you and I will meet again upon a distant shore, and dwell for a time in a far green country. Even as I write these words, the hope I feel dries my tears, and my breath comes more easily.
Sam was tempted to close his eyes and call up an image of Frodo in his arms, to tell him that if he were not there - if he had already died - then Sam would not be long to follow, but the next words leapt out of the page at him, and he read on.
I love you, Sam.
Maybe this is all I have to say. I know you know this. I write it so that you may hold a small token of my love within your hand.
Trembling, Sam folded the letter to his chest and sat in tears for a while until he could bear to go on. He kissed the parchment and opened it again to find the words repeated.
I love you, Sam, and my thoughts wander as I try to capture what it is about you that stole my heart, and I the willing victim of the theft. Your devotion and care have been your gifts to me from almost the first moment we met. Before I knew of our love, you entered each of my days with as much of my notice as the rising sun: always welcome, but accepted as the rightful order of the world. I basked in the sweetness of your smile and never noticed you had left childhood behind. You stole my heart in tiny portions, each one unmissed, until you held me captive. Such a willing captive.
And still I have not found what it is about you, Samwise Gamgee, that makes me love you so, other than the fact that you are my own self. No mirror image, but something else entirely that completes me and makes me whole. I think of the many things I love about you, and yet none of them alone explains my love for you. I see the loving expression of your warm brown eyes, and your welcoming smile. I feel your arms around me and your breath warm against my skin, and I tremble at the depth of my feelings for you. Your body, naked against mine, is perfection in my eyes - and yet when you move against me, whispering words of love, I realise perfection is yet to come. But my joyful union with you is but a product of my love, not its cause, and were it absent I would still love my Sam.
Sam laid the letter carefully aside to protect it from his tears; he put his head in his hands and wept while the room darkened around him. A tap on the door disturbed him, and Rosie slipped in.
‘Oh, Sam! I thought you must be sitting here in the dark!’ She hurried to his side to slip an arm around him and kissed his wet face.
‘Please go, Rosie,’ he whispered. ‘I want to be alone, please leave me alone.’ He saw her catch her lower lip in her teeth, and realised he was causing her distress. He reached up and touched her hair. ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. It ain’t you. It’s just... I need to be alone. Just for a bit.’
She straightened, her eyes searching his, and then nodded. ‘Let me light the candles, then,’ she said, ‘and the fire could do with some care.’ The room glowed into life, and Rosie’s eye fell on the letter. She picked it up, but forestalled his cry of protest by handing it to him. ‘I’ll come back if you’re too long, Sam me dear,’ she said, kissing him on the top of his head and wiping away his tears. ‘In case you’re not well.’ He nodded and held the letter tight until she had left. It was easier reading with the candlelight flickering round the room. The logs, new laid on the fire, crackled and popped, and he hastily put the guard up, in case of sparks, then settled down with the letter again. Rereading from the beginning, he smiled at the first new sentences, then smiled again at Frodo’s knowing he would smile.
For of all hobbits, you are the best. The most generous and the most wise. Do not smile in gentle disbelief; your wisdom is known to me and I value it, as I value your kindness and good humour, your loyalty and love. I count myself blessed above all others that you love me.
Yet in return, I have deceived you as to my intentions and broken your heart.
Sam’s smile faded and he shook his head, looking up to Frodo’s likeness, captured so completely. ‘Oh, my love, my poor dear love, don’t believe that,’ he said hoarsely. He looked down again and choked over Frodo’s next words, because how could he tell him now that they were unnecessary? That there was nothing to forgive?
Forgive me, Sam. My silence was for my sake. Until recently, I believed this parting would be final, and if I had told you of it, I would either have had to leave at once... or never. I could not live, day after day, with your foreknowledge of the parting. I was going in despair, believing only that this was better for you than my dying in the Shire. But now? Now I go in hope, and I smile as I write the words.
That was better, and Sam’s breath steadied. Frodo’s going in hope was so much more bearable than his going in the belief that he needed to be forgiven.
And my other deceit? I should say deceits, since I encouraged Rosie to marry you, outside your knowledge, knowing even then (forgive me!) that this time would come. Hoping, even then, that a wife and child would keep you safe, keep you from letting go of your life as a burden to be rid of. Elanor was conceived in the hope that she would be a comfort to you, and that your care for my child would draw you from the dark. I know you love her, and for the rest I can only hope that it is so.
Hope is with me, my dear Sam.
Sam sighed and rested his head on his hand, letting his hope add itself to Frodo’s.
You will find a letter for Elanor enclosed, sealed for her. I hope she will let you read the contents, but I wish her to know that my words come straight from me to her with no one to read them between. The time of the giving is yours to judge, my love.
You have my trust, Sam. You have always had my trust. Look after Rosie and Elanor, and come to me when you can without harm to your family. Remember I love you, now and forever.
Tenn’ enomentielva,
Frodo
Sam sat very quietly, hugging the letter to himself, and then slowly reread it in the flickering candlelight. He knew this was something he would do many, many times.
Each time he read it, he felt as though Frodo were leaning over his shoulder, wrapping his arms across his chest and murmuring the words into his ear. A dreary winter came and went, and the letter kept him company. On a day full of memories, he laid the letter down on his lap and looked out of the window at the bright blue sky; a gift of summer in late Rethe. As usual, Frodo’s words had moved him to tears, although in general he was showing his grief less. He could even talk about Frodo quite normally sometimes, but he wasn’t sleeping very well, and he often paced the smial until the small hours. The winter had been hard for him, as his illness held him in thrall, and it was a delight to find he could do small tasks in the springtime garden without feeling like a rag wrung out and draped to dry. Now, this unexpected warmth had enabled them to hold Elanor’s birthday party in the garden. He breathed in the mellow taste of Old Toby and listened to the sound of voices drifting in through the open study window.
His Gaffer was holding forth on some topic, and Sam smiled as he recalled his father’s reaction to the news that Elanor was not his granddaughter. It had been everything that Sam had expected, but the Gaffer had come round. ‘Far as I can see, there weren’t much to choose between himself and yourself,’ was his final verdict, ‘so maybe it comes to the same thing in the end. I thought no good would come o’ you marrying little Rosie Cotton when you was so besotted by Frodo Baggins, may he rest in peace, but I takes it all back, and don’t go telling me Elanor ain’t my gran’child, for I’ll not be listening!’
Which was very satisfactory, except for his Gaffer’s insistence on referring to Frodo as though he were dead. Sam sighed. And if you come, and I am not there to greet you? He folded the letter, and looked at Frodo. ‘You know the answer to that, my love,’ he said quietly, ‘but your Sam still hopes.’
There was a light tap on the door, and, at Sam’s invitation, Pippin looked in. ‘Are you all right, Sam?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Would you rather be alone, or may I come and sit with you?’
‘Come and sit with me, Pippin,’ said Sam. ‘Join me in a pipe. Have you had enough of being crawled over?’
Pippin grinned. ‘I persuaded Jolly into the game and then shamelessly left him to the mercy of his small tormentors,’ he said. ‘Last I saw, he was on all fours with Fastred sitting on his back, and Elanor and Holman swinging from his jacket. Nick and Nibs have deserted him and gone down the Ivy Bush; too much baby talk, I think.’ He took the pouch of pipe-weed that Sam proffered. ‘What about you? How are you doing?’
‘It’s a hard day, Pip,’ said Sam, and he looked down at his hand still holding the letter. ‘There’s all the memories of that dread mountain, the end of all things, as we thought.’ He looked up at Pippin as the younger hobbit got his pipe drawing well and sat wreathed in smoke. ‘And I can see Frodo when he first saw the mallorn,’ he added. ‘It don’t seem possible that was two years ago today. You should have seen him, on his knees in the Party Field, gazing up at the new grown sapling. He shone, Pippin, and I don’t just mean glowing like he did - though not all seemed to see that, neither - but his eyes, his face... I’d have given a great deal to keep that look on his face. But it couldn’t be done. Too much shadow and darkness for a body or mind to take, in my opinion.’
‘Dear Frodo. Yes, too much shadow and darkness. Hardly a day goes by, Sam, when I don’t hope he’s found some healing.’
Sam nodded. ‘But I think Elanor gave him some light. He does love her so. That’s the other time I saw his face light up, when I went to him to tell him the babe was born safe, and he named her. Such a lovely name.’
‘Such a lovely child,’ said Pippin with a smile, and Sam nodded again. Pippin looked at him with his head on one side, considering. ‘And you’re looking better, Sam. You look very smart. I remember Frodo admiring you in that.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Though Frodo admired you whatever you wore.’
Sam carefully folded the letter and tucked it back into his waistcoat pocket. Pippin was right; he was beginning to put back much of the weight he’d lost over the winter, and the waistcoat didn’t sit so loosely on him. He was itching to get back into more work-a-day clothes, pull on his old weskit and feel easier in himself, but this was Elanor’s birthday. However, Pippin was also right that Frodo had admired him whatever he wore. Or didn’t wear, Sam added in his thoughts, and found himself smiling at the memories that conjured.
Pippin’s own smile broadened in response to Sam’s. ‘That makes you look better still, Sam,’ he said. ‘I’ve not seen you smile much this winter.’
They sat in silence for a while, Sam still lost in thoughts of Frodo asking him to stand still while he was undressed and admired. ‘I don’t think you can, Sam...’ and then Pippin shifted in his chair.
‘Rosie looks tired,’ he said. ‘She’s been looking rather sad lately. Is she all right? Are things all right between you?’
Sam’s head jerked up with an angry frown, and he saw Pippin bite his lip.
‘I’m sorry, Sam. It’s none of my business. I’ll leave you to think about Frodo some more.’
As Pippin stood to leave, Sam realised he was disappointed. His reaction had been that it was none of Pippin’s business, but now, perversely, he wanted Pippin to press him, to make him talk. His chance was slipping away; Pippin was about to close the door behind him.
‘Pippin!’
Pippin paused with one hand on the door handle, his eyebrows raised in query.
‘I’m being stupid, Pip. Come back and sit down.’
Pippin nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll come back, Sam, but how about a beer? I could do with one. No, you wait there. I’ll get them.’
Sam waited, wondering if he was ready for this conversation. His gaze followed its usual path when left to idleness in the study, and settled on Frodo. Frodo had told him to look after Rosie, and he wasn’t doing a very good job. Pippin was right again; Rosie wasn’t sleeping well either, and she wasn’t happy, and it was Sam’s fault.
Pippin came back carrying two pint pots. ‘It might be warm out, but dark will still come early,’ he said. ‘They’ll be in for tea soon, before it gets too damp, and then they’ll be wanting us to join them.’
Sam took a beer and wondered how to get back into the conversation, but Pippin came to his rescue.
‘So, all is not well between you and Rosie,’ he said gently.
Sam swallowed some beer, and looked at Frodo for inspiration. ‘I... well, I suppose you could say I know what it was like for Frodo now,’ he said carefully.
Pippin waited, and when Sam made no more effort to explain, he came and sat on the arm of the chair and gave Sam a hug. In his usual blunt way he said, ‘We’re talking sex, here, are we?’
Sam blushed and nodded. He ran his thumb over the rim of the pint pot as he cradled it in his hands, and then looked up at Pippin.
‘Just like Frodo?’ asked Pippin. ‘Is it that you can’t, or that you don’t want to? I mean, Frodo found lots of ways to show you he loved you without that, and... well, I’ve not seen you hug Rosie or give her a kiss.’
‘Lately, I don’t want to touch her, Pippin. I do love her, believe me, but I just can’t bear to hold her close or kiss her.’
‘Because of Frodo?’
Sam leant forward as the tears came, and Pippin rescued his pint pot and set in on the floor and swore. ‘Oh, Morgoth’s balls, Sam! I can’t tell you how sorry I am you’re having to go through this!’ He pulled Sam to his feet and held him tight as Sam shook in his arms. ‘And I’m sorry I brought it up. You were looking happy when I came in, and now look what I’ve done!’
Sam couldn’t answer for some time. He heard a tap on the door, and Pippin called out sharply, ‘Not now!’ Footsteps receded, and Pippin went back to crooning a soft lullaby in Sam’s ear. It was very soothing, although at the same time it reminded him sharply of Frodo. His grief gradually subsided, and Pippin rubbed his back in wide circles. ‘I’m truly sorry, Sam. Forgive me for meddling.’
‘It’s all right, Pippin,’ Sam said with difficulty. ‘I need to talk about it. It ain’t fair on Rosie, and maybe talking on it’ll help.’
‘So, the problem is you want Frodo holding you? Is that it?’ Sam nodded. ‘And holding Rosie just makes it worse? Because she’s not Frodo?’ Sam nodded again.
‘I don’t... I don’t have any desire for her, nor for Frodo neither, for that matter. I mean, that’s not what I’m missing. I feel... I feel as though everything’s... frozen, I suppose. When Rosie tries to warm me with a kiss or a hug, I just start thinking on Frodo. I want him in my arms, Pippin. I want him so much, and anything else is like a bitter gall.’
‘But Rosie...’
‘...is being hurt! Don’t think I don’t know it, Pip.’ He rested his forehead against Pippin’s shoulder, and there was silence again.
‘Do you remember our trip to Bindbole Wood?’ asked Pippin, at last.
Sam raised his head. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You’ve been a good friend.’
‘Well, know I’m going to be a good friend again, because this needs to be said, Sam. When I found you in the ruins of Bag End, you looked like Rosie does now. No! Let me finish. You looked lost, as though all the light had gone out of your world, and it was because you doubted Frodo loved you. Remember that? Remember how you felt, when you thought he’d turned away from you? And yes, I know you’ve been devastated by Frodo’s going, but Rosie is here, Sam. She’s here, and you say you love her. She’s hurting, and I’m guessing she thinks she’s lost your love.’ He gave Sam a shake. ‘She’s hurting, Sam.’
They stared into each other’s eyes, and Sam bit back an angry retort. ‘You don’t understand, Pip,’ he said, and Pippin’s eyes blazed.
‘Well, no. I don’t. I can’t.’ He broke away and prowled the small room. ‘I’ve never had the good fortune to have one other hobbit love me the way Frodo and Rosie love you. It’s time you woke up to the fact that Rosie has been an absolute rock for you.’ He turned towards Sam and threw up his hands. ‘For Eru’s sake! What other lass would have done what’s she’s done! Marrying you, knowing she was second best; letting you love Frodo under her very nose; having his child for your sake!’ He came and stood in front of Sam again, and Sam swallowed his ire as the truths hit home. ‘To coin a phrase, Sam, Rosie is a jewel among hobbits, and Frodo recognised that when he gave his blessing to your marrying her, and when he agreed to conceive your lovely Elanor.’ His face gentled, and he laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. ‘Sam, you must set this right, if for no other reason than Frodo’s sake. He left hoping you would find happiness. Rosie is offering you that, Sam. Happiness may be in short supply at the moment, but it will come if you let it. Frodo’s gone. I know you miss him. I miss him. But you must make an effort - a pretence, if necessary - for Rosie’s sake.’
Sam hesitated for a moment, and then pulled the letter from his pocket and handed it to Pippin. He turned and sat in the armchair, his head in his hands. As the silence lengthened, he looked up to see Pippin gazing at him with his mouth open.
‘I may read it,’ the younger hobbit whispered, and Sam nodded. It was hard to remember that Pippin was still a year off coming of age; his maturity was staggering. Pippin sat down at the desk rather suddenly and unfolded the letter with trembling hands. Sam watched his expression as he read through, and finally, Pippin lifted his face to Sam. His eyes were red, and a tear trailed down his cheek.
‘Thank you, Sam.’
Sam didn’t need to see the letter to know what Frodo said on the matter. “You have my trust, Sam. You have always had my trust. Look after Rosie and Elanor...” ‘You’re right, Pippin,’ he said. ‘I’m failing in Frodo’s trust.’
‘Not to Elanor,’ said Pippin. ‘But to Rosie, yes.’
There was another knock on the door, and Jolly called out to tell them tea was in the pot, and they would be cutting Elanor’s birthday cake. Pippin gave assurance they would be there shortly, and pulled out a handkerchief to rub his eyes and blow his nose. Sam had already made his soggy beyond use; he rubbed his face on his sleeve, and they looked at each other critically, to see if they passed muster.
In the kitchen, they found Merry had arrived. Elanor was in his arms, but she struggled to get down and ran to Sam. ‘Dada, Dada,’ she cried happily, and held up her arms to be picked up. Merry looked at them with concern, and Sam suddenly guessed it had been his knock they had heard earlier.
Rosie was busying herself with preparations for tea. She gave Sam the briefest glance as he pursed his lips against Elanor’s hair and blew a raspberry to make her giggle. Before he could think about it, he strode across to Rosie, shifted Elanor to his right hip, and wrapped his left arm around his wife. She looked up, startled, and then relaxed into his arm with a sigh. She looked lovely. ‘You’re looking lovely, lass,’ he said, and kissed her lightly on the lips.
‘Oh, Sam,’ she murmured, and then seemed to remember that she had guests to tend to. She straightened up, gave him a delighted smile and reached for the teapot to start pouring the tea.
Pippin patted Sam on the back as he passed behind him to greet Merry, and Sam looked at Elanor. ‘I think you have something for your mama, don’t you, my Elanorellë?’ he said, and produced a small parcel from his pocket. Elanor reached for it, but needed some persuading to give it up again. She was mollified when Rosie gave her the coloured tissue paper it was wrapped in. Rosie kissed her daughter and smiled at Sam to thank him. He realised she had probably thought he had not done anything about a present from Elanor. Everyone else craned in to see, and Rosie held it up with a laugh that sounded as though it could easily turn to tears.
The present was a small block of plaster embedded with Elanor’s hand print. Elanor let the paper go, and leaned from Sam’s arms to pat her palm against the impression.
‘Thank you, my sweetheart,’ said Rosie, and kissed Elanor. Sam bent to kiss her again. ‘I love you, lass,’ he murmured as his lips closed over hers. There was some laughter, and Nick and Nibs applauded, and then they all got on with the business of celebrating Elanor’s first birthday.