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Author: Elderberry Wine
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The Empty Smial
Week after week, that grim fell winter continued, unrelenting. There was no indication that spring would ever come again, and in my heart, I felt that entirely fitting. My love was gone, taken from me heartbreakingly too soon, and my life had closed in on me, centering around my profession, and if it hadn’t been for that, I should not like to think what might have become of me. I rode out at all hours, called upon to assist those in the throes of winter fever, and gave no thought whatsoever to myself. My days were spent in toil and my nights in tears, and indeed, if I had met my own fate in trying to assist others, it really would have not concerned me at all. It was truly fortunate that I did not fall victim to my own hopelessness and despair. There was, in fact, to be a reawakening of life and hope to follow this desolate winter, but at this time, I had no inkling of what was to come.
&&&&&
It was nearly three weeks after I had returned to Bag End that I heard the knock, late on a stormy night, on the front door. Widow Rumble soon after gave a polite knock on the study door, where I was wearily pulling on my jacket in preparation for the inevitable professional call. “Mister Samwise,” she gave me a resigned but sympathetic smile, “ ‘tis a young’un for you. But it is,” she added, crossing her arms over her chest, and looking at me quite directly, “a poor evening to be out, for any body. We can put the lad up for the night, and there’s time enough, come morning, to be doin’ what you can. Nothing will change, Samwise,” she added softly, “by worryin’ yourself into an early grave.” I couldn’t help but gulp back my tears at her concern, but nodded wordlessly. She smiled sadly, and left the room, returning shortly with a young lad who was entirely unfamiliar to me. Sodden and dripping on the study floor, the shy fauntling whispered, wringing his hands in front of him, “I’m bidden to ask you to follow me.” “What is it, lad?” I asked him gently. “Is some one in your family ill? Who sent you here?” He shook his head stubbornly, and repeated, “I’m to ask you to follow me. ‘Tain’t no more.” I could not help but be curious at this odd request. “It’s late at night, my lad, and quite wet besides, to be going after you and not knowing the reason why. Can you not tell me any more?” He shook his head obstinately and said no more, but watched me carefully. There was no reason I should have ever listened to the lad, no reason I should ever have followed him, and yet there was something in my heart that had awoken and would not be quelled by the voice of reason. Confused, I tried to tell myself that it was my professional duty to follow this fey lad. “Very well,” I exclaimed, with more asperity than I truly felt. “If you won’t be telling me anything more, I suppose I must come with you.” And throwing a traveling cloak over myself, we were off into the tempestuous night, much to Widow Rumble’s consternation.
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Storm clouds chased themselves past the full moon, and the light was intermittent as we made our way along the rarely used road that ran into the hills behind Bag End, but the young lad walked as quickly and surely down the pathway as if it were the sunniest of summer mornings. I had no chance to ask any more questions of him, for he was lithe and swift and clearly in no mood to tell me more. So I settled myself to follow on this fool’s errand, and concentrated all my attention, as indeed I hastily found necessary to do, on watching my feet as I pursued my guide over increasingly rough terrain. The rain continued to pour down, and after what seemed like a couple of hours of this, I had just about decided that my discomfort and impatience were beginning to outweigh my curiosity, when my guide suddenly stopped short. “That way. Round yonder hill,” he pointed, his odd sharp face once again revealed by moonlight. “ ‘Tis there where I’m bid t’bring you.” And before I could ask a single question, he was gone, vanished into the high brush that grew at the side of the faint track we had been following, and I was left alone in the night. I must admit that both annoyance and fear were causing my heart to beat rather fast, for I was still baffled as to why I had been brought here, and I also was, I now realized, quite thoroughly lost. But there was no point in not following this adventure to its conclusion, so I waited for a few moments, until the silver light glimmered out once more from behind the cloud screen, and continued cautiously in the direction in which the lad had pointed, a low laying hill covered with gorse. The path seemed to end rather abruptly, half up the hill, and it wasn’t until I sat on my heels, and patiently waited in the rain for more light, that I finally saw it. The gorse had been obviously cleared around the end of the path, and I realized that a few of the bushes had been laid carefully in place against the hill, serving as a screen. Warily pulling them aside, I saw a small wooden door. It was, apparently, a smial, in the most unlikely of places. I nearly gave a shaky laugh at the sight. Perhaps my imagination had been over-stimulated by the stormy night and my odd visitor, and here was some poor soul waiting for my assistance. I couldn’t have been that far from Hobbiton, after all, and with all due modesty, I had to admit I had somewhat of a reputation about the area. With a polite rap on the door, I waited for admittance. After several moments, though, there was no answer, and realizing that perhaps my patient was too ill to come to the door, I decided to find my own way in. It was, in fact, a crude smial, with an earthen floor and a short hallway that opened up into a dark room. There was a small lantern, with a weakly flickering flame hung on a peg on the wall where the hallway widened into the room, and I peered curiously about for any sign of the inhabitants of this queer place. A rough wooden table and chair were near the light, and a rusted stove was also nearby, with a pipe that must have gone up to the top of the hill. There was no sign of a fire, or fireplace, and the hole was chill and clammy, a thoroughly uncomfortable place. “Hoy there!” I called out uncertainly, still not seeing anyone about. There was a rustle behind me then, and I whirled around abruptly to find myself staring at the smiling face of Frodo Baggins. I must have cried out something, quite probably his name, but everything seemed to grow suddenly dark, and to my great chagrin, it seems as if for the first and only time in my life, I fainted.
&&&&&
I found myself lying, as I came to, on a makeshift bed of some sort, and found Baggins peering at me in the darkened room with unmistakable concern, as he wiped my forehead with some sort of wet cloth. But there was nothing in my mind other than this was Frodo and he was somehow impossibly, inexplicably, miraculously alive. I breathed his name, still fearful that all this would vanish into another futile dream, and reached for his face. But it was a warm living being whom I touched, not some figment of my desperate imagination, and I could feel tears begin to slide down my face at the sensation of his warm skin under my hand. “Frodo, oh, Frodo, my dearest, it is you,” my voice faltered even as I gulped back a sob. “Sam, please forgive me, Sam, I wanted to let you know but I couldn’t…” and I touched his lips with my shaking hand. “No,” I whispered. “Not yet. Tell me everything later, but not yet. Right now, nothing else matters. Just you, Frodo, my love.” A sharp look nearly of pain, crossed his face for a moment, and he bowed his head. When he raised it again, I could see that tears had begun to fall down his face as well, and some corner of my mind realized that I had never before seen Frodo Baggins shed a tear. But that was a thought for much later, for now all that mattered was to throw my arms around his neck, to feel his mouth suddenly fierce on mine, to arch myself desperately against him as he lay himself down at my side, and to cling to him greedily and to pray for this moment to never end. He was as hungry for me as I for him, however, and we tore each other’s clothing off in a passion, both of us desperately needing to touch the other, to feel our hearts racing against our hands, to lie entwined together breathing no word but each other’s name, as we united with wild kisses and frenzied caresses until our joining brought us together to that point of ecstasy that I had never thought to know again. As we rested together, our pulses still racing, he made another attempt to explain to me what had happened, but I silenced him with a tender kiss. I knew that he had been through some hardship, for I could feel that his body, which I held tightly against mine, was thinner than it had been, and even in this weak and uncertain light, his face was gaunt and pale, but that was a tale for the morning to come. All that I needed or wanted to know, at this point, was that I was holding a very real Frodo in my arms, and that I could caress him, kiss him, whisper his name and confess my love for him over and over. It was thus we finally fell asleep, and even in my fitful dreams, I was filled with joy and peace.
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I awoke, uncharacteristically, the next morning before he did. I knew it was day from the grey light that made its way through a grubby window that I had not noticed the night before. It was covered, probably with the same gorse as the front door had been, but some weak rays managed to shine through nevertheless, and I sat up on the bed and looked about. There was not much to see, as far as the smial was concerned. It was the rudest sort of shelter; a one-room smial, crudely dug out, and obviously little used, judging from the thick dust that lay about everywhere. Indeed, the only evidence that anyone had been in residence was a small pile of sticks and twigs near the cold stove, and a small crude jug and cup on the table. That was all I saw, though, before my gaze turned back to Frodo. He was still asleep, on his side facing where I had been, with one bare arm lying on top of the rough blankets that had covered us. It was only now that I could clearly see the evidence that his health had suffered considerably since I last had seen him. He was much thinner, and his face was drawn, with an unhealthy pallor so unlike his normally fair skin, and there were dark smudges under his closed eyes. There was much he had to tell me, that was clear, and yet I could not help my jubilant heart as I watched him sleep. Whatever had happened could be undone, could be remedied, I was certain. He was restored to me, and I would never let him go that lightly again. Moving quietly, I eased myself from the bed, and dug out my traveling cloak, from the pile of clothing on the floor, to wrap about myself as I addressed the first problem, the frosty temperature of the smial. I studied the stove for a moment, and then loaded it with a full batch of the kindling that lay next to it, and dug through my pack for my flint. The branches took the spark nicely, and closing the metal door, I next gave the jug on the table a dubious sniff. As I had hoped, it proved to be clean water, so withdrawing the small pot that was part of my traveling gear, I poured some of the water into it and set it on the stove. Needless to mention, I had a packet of tea with my gear, and had even thrown a small loaf and a wheel of cheese in as well before I had left. The life of a healer on the road is full of uncertainty, and it had always proved prudent to be able to feed myself, if needs be. So it was that when at last Frodo opened his eyes, the small smial was beginning to become tolerably warm, and there was some tea brewing, not to mention a bite to eat. Not that any of that was of consequence, of course, once Frodo sat up and smiled at me again. I found myself rushing to his side, babbling like a veritable ninnyhammer, and finding tears falling down my face all the while as I caught his hands up in my own and kissed them over and over. “Oh, Sam, my Sam-love,” his voice was thick with emotion as he caught me up in a fierce embrace, “I’ve missed you so very much, dearest. More than I can ever tell you. But here you are again, and nothing will ever be hopeless as long as you are with me, my beloved Sam.” First giving his eyes a quick, furtive swipe, he smiled rather sheepishly at me as he gently pulled away, his grasp strong on my arms. “But I must tell you, dearest, what happened to me. Oh, Sam,” he broke away suddenly, looking past me with amazement. “That can’t possibly be tea that I smell?” “Indeed it is, Frodo, and a bit of first breakfast besides,” I grinned happily, mustering up as much sternness as I could manage. “And before you tell me a thing, I’ll have you know I expect you to eat every bite.” My subsequent kiss possibly alloyed the sternness to a certain extent, but the best of healers always know precisely what is required, and my patient’s prompt response promised complete compliance, at least on that score. “I still have not entirely solved this puzzle,” Baggins began, once we were both dressed and had finished off the breakfast, such as it was. “Indeed, I believe that I am somehow involved in a plot… Oh, I say, is there any more tea, Sam? It’s been far too long since I’ve had a decent cup.” I poured him the rest, and added, mildly, “I could make more if you like, Frodo. After all, it isn’t that far to go to fetch more, if I need to.” “Yes, about that…” his voice trailed off as he gave me a peculiar look. “Not as easy as you might suppose, actually. However, I am getting ahead of myself. Let me present the facts, as I know them, and we will consider a plan of action afterwards. What I wouldn’t give for a pipe just now. It stimulates the intellectual process so very nicely.” “Oh, well, if you would like a bit of a smoke,” I rummaged in my pack, and produced my pipe. “Here, I don’t mind.” He took it from me with a grateful smile, and added, “Very thoughtful of you, Samwise. And your pipeweed would certainly do in a pinch.” “Ah, but I have a bit of yours as well.” I produced a well-wrapped pouch from my pack as well, feeling oddly embarrassed. “Must have been left over from our last trip.” That wasn’t it at all, of course. I had clung desperately to anything that brought back memories of him, and from the loving and understanding look he gave me as he took it, I suspected that he guessed as much. “I can’t imagine the pain I must have cost you, my dear,” he said quietly, attending to his pipe and allowing me a moment to collect myself. “However, there were circumstances… But let me start from when we were last together.”
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“You may remember,” he drew greedily on his pipe, leaning back against a pile of blankets on the bed, “Lotho’s attempt to draw me into some sort of scheme involving curtailing the Elves’ passage through the Shire; utter nonsense, really. I found it quite odd, however, that Lotho would have been selected as the contact for the Shire by this, I believe he called them, alliance. My cousin has always had a rather deluded sense of his own importance, and if this group had truly been looking for a persuasive spokesperson, well, they really couldn’t have selected a worse hobbit for the purpose. The point that struck me, however, was the concentrated effort involved to bring me into this affair.” “Look at the facts, my dear Gamgee,” he leaned forward, his face alight with fascination with this mystery, as he unconsciously fell back into his old means of address. “Saradoc Brandybuck, quite possibly the most influential hobbit in the entire Shire, is kidnapped. I don’t believe it was any surprise at all to his captors that his son immediately sought me out for assistance; indeed, I believe they had planned on that happening. And then soon as we arrive upon the scene, Saradoc and his son are let go, and it is I whom Lotho attempts to talk into assisting his partners. What possible influence could I have over the Shire? I must admit there has always been bad blood, as they say, between Lotho and myself, but it certainly seemed to be an unnecessarily convoluted means of obtaining revenge against me.” “All of that, I must confess, was going through my mind as we rode out the second time to meet Lotho at the smial by the river, and I don’t mind admitting that I was terribly concerned about your safety, Sam. I was beginning to realize that Lotho was far more dangerous than I had ever given him credit for being, previously, and I was extremely worried that he was beginning to see you as a most inconvenient witness. I knew that the call for you to return was staged, but I also knew that you would not leave my side unless you believed it to be a true call of distress. So I let you go back, Sam, fully planning to return to the inn as soon as possible, and tell you of my suspicions. Lotho was waiting for me a little on, and very kindly let me write you a short note. I very much hoped that you never needed to read that, dear Sam, but that was not to be.” I lowered my head at that, fighting my emotions, for those words were still fresh in my memory, and indeed, the letter itself was still folded in my jacket pocket, next to my heart, where I always kept it. “I meant every word of it, Sam,” he whispered, reaching out his hand for mine, when he saw my face. “There’s nothing in that letter that I would ever deny, my dearest.” I nodded, unable to speak, as he drew my hand to his cheek and silently held it there for a moment. “But I must go on. The next few hours are still not terribly clear to me, I’m afraid,” he gave me a rueful smile over his pipe, as he settled back on the bed again. “I believe I was hit over the head at that point, but in light of what happened afterwards, I’m not terribly sure. At any rate, I came to with my head covered with something, most likely a bag of some sort, my hands tied roughly behind my back, and a spirited argument going on next to me. It was not common speech, but a variant of it that is more commonly spoken in the south, by those who have doings with Men. My head was rather ringing at this point, but I tried my best to decipher it, and soon was able to pick out sufficient words to get the gist of it. Apparently, it was an argument as to whether I was the Baggins or not, whatever that meant. Lotho seemed to have convinced them, on the basis of his kinship to me, that I was, but there seemed to be disagreement on that point. I did not hear Lotho’s voice, and it certainly seemed he was no longer in favor with my captors. The conclusion, however, was that I was no longer of use, since I did not appear to be as easily persuadable as Lotho, and it was questionable whether I would help them recover something they seemed to be searching for. What that was, I really have no idea, for none of the words they used are familiar to me.” “At last the argument grew quite heated, and before I realized what was happening, I was bodily lifted off the ground, and rapidly carried off by what must have been a Man, judging from the distance I was raised above the ground. I did not have much time to analyze the creature any further, however, since I was almost immediately roughly cast over what was, I quickly concluded, the ravine down through which the river runs, deep and swift. Fortunately, I had been working on the rope that bound my hands ever since I had regained consciousness, and I was able to break free as I fell. I hit the rocks a few times on my way down, but managed to tear the covering from my face before I landed in the water, which saved me, I believe. I don’t remember much more, other than fighting to catch my breath as the river tossed me downstream, but I do remember ending up in a pool near the shore before I must have fainted.” “I came to in the smial of some kindly river-hobbits, who found me and took me in, but the next couple of weeks are quite a jumble in my mind, as it seems I had caught the winter fever myself. I owe those good folk an immense debt, however, since they treated me as if I was one of their own, and eventually, I recovered sufficiently to begin my journey back. I stopped by the inn at Frogmorton, first, in the disguise of a traveling peddler, and certainly I’ve rarely had less difficulty in disguising myself. Our fellow residents were more than glad to regale me with tales of the dramatic doings that had occurred not that long ago, and it was then that I realized that you must have found my letter and supposed the worst. But I also discovered that Lotho was still not only alive, but quite interested in any further news of me. In fact, he had offered both of our two friends, as well as the innkeeper and his son, a considerable quantity of gold for any news of my whereabouts, a reward they did not seem at all willing to claim, I must add. Their opinion of Lotho, I was gratified to learn, was quite severe, and they had thought quite highly of you, especially, and my own self as well. But that did let me know that Lotho and, I am assuming, his associates, were not at all certain of my demise.” “I made my way back to Hobbiton by the back roads, and have found that Bag End itself, and you, my dearest Sam, are under close scrutiny. Indeed, I believe the only reason that they have not yet ransacked Bag End is that they believe I will come back, eventually, to you, and are using you as bait.” “But that’s preposterous, Frodo!” I could not help exclaiming at this point. “We must let the authorities know what is going on as soon as possible! It’s ridiculous to let Lotho and his band of thieves abuse you in this manner. He ought to be sent to the jail at Michael Delving for a very long while, and that’s a fact! And as for that rabble of scoundrels, why, I can’t believe that a sturdy group of hobbits couldn’t send them packing in no time, if the truth be known!” He gave me a warm smile, and laid an affectionate hand on my shoulder at this outburst. “My dearest, impetuous Sam,” he murmured. “How I wish we could do just that. But the fact remains that we still do not know why they are seeking me out, and what exactly it is that they search for. No, my dearest, there are answers we must yet find, or the risk that the Shire runs will be very great indeed. I regret to say, Sam, I cannot yet go back, and you must be very careful yourself. This, then, is what I propose.”
&&&&&
I left him, not long after, with the greatest of reluctance. The morning fog was beginning to lift as I walked quickly back down the faint path, keeping a very close note of all landmarks as I did so. I planned to be back this way in as little time as possible, and I did not mean to miss my way. Our plan was to leave Bag End alone for a time, and see if our adversaries were thus tempted into making their move on it. I was to send word out that I was visiting my brothers to the north, and the Widow was to go on holiday, visiting her niece in Hobbiton. I had agreed with the greatest of reluctance to this scheme, still having the irrational fear of returning to find him gone. But he managed to assure me that the hill-folk, with whom he had earlier found refuge, would continue to guard over and provide for him until I returned. So I made my way back to Bag End, by a most circuitous route, determined that our separation should be as short as possible. A visit to the Green Dragon was in order, that afternoon, for there was no better way of having the whole farthing know your business than by having a confidential word with the proprietor there. In addition, I invited Jolly Cotton, an old boyhood friend of mine, along, for it was essential that I sent word to Merry Brandybuck, and his father, by someone whom I could trust implicitly, but who would never be suspected of having business of such importance. Swearing him to secrecy, I outlined what had happened to Baggins and I, as we walked home from the inn far from prying eyes and ears. As I knew he would be, he was outraged that Pimple would dare treat Mr. Baggins so, and readily agreed to serve as our emissary. We fixed upon his riding down to Brandy Hall with a cartload of apples from winter storage, for the Cotton orchards are justifiably famed, far and wide, for their golden red apples, and it was not at all unreasonable that the Master of Buckland would send for such a thing. Widow Rumble agreed quickly to my proposal of a holiday for, she had to confess, her heart was just not in her job these days; no affront to myself intended, of course. I had difficulty in resisting the impulse to confess all, but it was essential that she remain convinced that Baggins was gone, so I stayed silent on the matter. As for myself, I swiftly gathered clothing for the both of us, in addition to a goodly store of provisions and other items to take back with me, and most particularly, a couple of select volumes that Baggins had requested from his library. It was a good thing that my brothers lived quite far away, so that a heavy load would not seem out of place. By late afternoon, I was packed and ready, and both Jolly and the Widow were on their routes to their respective destinations, but I had to wait. With great reluctance, I had agreed to Baggins’ directive to leave on the following morning, for such a journey would normally commence in the broad daylight, and not at the tail end of the day’s light. It was reasonable, without a doubt, but my heart was not being reasonable in the least, and I restlessly wandered the halls of Bag End, not knowing what to do with myself. True, my former deep despair was no longer with me, but my impatience was nearly without bounds, and the thought that Frodo was not that far from me, cold and alone in that dismal empty smial, was tortuous. Nothing suited me, nothing else mattered to me, and I prowled through the rooms in a perfect fury that I had to stay. I don’t think that any night was ever as long as that one was, and even when I flung myself on our empty bed, still fully clothed, sleep would not come no matter what I did, and I tossed fitfully against our pillows, rolling over and holding them to my face to catch any lingering scent of him that I could. I watched the dark night sky out our window, the rain that came and went, the occasional pale glimmers of moonlight, and finally, oh, at last, the gradual deepening into dark blue that signaled the arrival of the morning. I left Bag End before the dawn had quite broken across the far hills, and never looked back once.
&&&&&
Even though I found the remote smial before the strands of fog had entirely lifted, I was not the first to arrive. The fauntling who had previously been my guide was rearranging the gorse over the door of the smial as I quietly made my way from the path at the bottom of the hill, and I’m afraid I rather startled him. The child’s exclamation on seeing me caused the door to open and Baggins stepped out into the cold white morning and smiled me a warm welcome. Turning to the young lad, who was still eying me with no small amount of wariness, he spoke a few words in a dialect that I couldn’t quite catch. The lad nodded briefly in response, and gave me a slight bow, touching his forehead, and immediately scrambled back down the hillside and out of sight. “A clever lad,” Baggins watched him go with a look of approval, “and very perceptive. His mother has been kind enough to spare me some food, when she has any to spare, and I rather think the lad has taken me on as a pet project. After all, it was he who found me stumbling down the bank of the stream, not too far away. But I’ve told him that you’re a friend and a healer, and come to stay with me until I’m better.” “Exactly what I propose to do.” I gave him a resolute look as I grasped his hand and drew him, not at all reluctantly, back into the smial. But as soon as the door closed behind us, we were instantly in each other’s arms, locked in a passionate embrace. “Oh, Frodo,” I finally murmured, when we had to break apart for a moment to catch our breath, “I’m quite serious about that, love.” Gently, I touched his face, drawing a careful hand down the side of his gaunt cheek, entirely too pale and bruised under my touch. “Saving the Shire, from whatever this peril turns out to be, is all very good, but I’m far more concerned about saving you. You are not looking in the least well, dearest, I hate to inform you, and we just can’t be having that at all.” He laughed at my words, the first time I had heard that gloriously distinctive laugh since I had found him again, and the spark in his blue eyes was very nearly the same as of old as well. “I put myself in your hands, my dearest Samwise,” he murmured, with an impish smile, “in more ways than one. You will never have a more compliant patient, I assure you.” All my best of intentions as to my making sure that he missed no more meals were very nearly forgotten at that point. As it was, second breakfast ran fairly late, and was taken in bed as well. It was nearly noon before he remembered the volumes he had asked me to fetch, a very uncharacteristic lack of focus on his part, for which I was happily quite responsible.
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By late afternoon, the previously abandoned smial was beginning to take on a decidedly homely appearance, thanks to some determined effort on my part. I had shooed Baggins temporarily out, about midday, and gave the smial a thorough dusting and sweeping, since I had noticed that the thick dust that had lain about was causing him to have coughing fits when it was disturbed. In addition, I sent young Dickon (for that was the helpful young lad’s name, it seemed) off with a bit of coin, and instructions to bring back as much kindling as could be purchased, without raising any suspicion. I had brought warmer blankets, a kettle, and my frying pan, not to mention Baggins’ own pipe and a bottle of Old Winyards, so by the time what light that had shone that cold day had begun to fade, he was better dressed in warm clothing, wrapped in thicker blankets on the bed with his pipe and a mug of hot tea at his side, and I was frying a full pan of taters and onion, with a rasher of bacon and some fried apples at the side. The bottle of Old Winyards stood on the table, promising a relaxing evening, and Baggins had his nose quite cheerfully buried in his books. All in all, even though we were not at Bag End, I couldn’t possibly have been happier. And by the occasional glance he gave me, I knew he felt the same. “Ah, there it is!” he abruptly exclaimed, giving a triumphant crow. With a satisfied nod, he closed his book with a resounding whump. “I knew I had heard that expression; I just couldn’t quite place it. The pieces are beginning to fall into place, Gamgee. Let’s pop open the bottle, my dear, and see if we can’t put a few of the pieces of this puzzle together.” “As long as you eat as well, Frodo,” I gave him a stern look as I loaded a plate quite full and handed it to him. “I really can’t answer for the consequences otherwise.” I slid the rest on a plate for myself, and twisting the cork off of the bottle, filled both of our mugs with the dark wine. “Come here then, Samwise; you’re entirely too far away,” he commanded imperiously, accepting the mug with a nod. “Come have a seat on the bed with me, there’s a dear, there’s plenty of room, but you’ll want to move that lantern over here first. There we are; that’s better. Now where were we? Ah, yes. ‘Treasure’; that was the word I kept hearing. That was what they were expecting me to provide them, somehow. Something ‘the Baggins’ was to supply. I believe Lotho first convinced them that he was this ‘Baggins’ they sought, and then when he did not know anything about the treasure, he bargained with them to produce me. But from the argument that I heard, there is apparently a difference of opinion as to whether or not I am ‘the Baggins’ or another imposter like Lotho. I don’t mind mentioning that it seems as though Lotho is definitely in a bit of a tight spot. Possibly he thought to regain their favor by turning me over to them. It could not have gone well for him when I managed to escape.” “I’m certainly not going to concern myself with Pimple’s fate,” I could not help but huff. “Whatever it is, he certainly deserves it.” “Now, then, Sam,” Baggins interposed mildly. “These scoundrels really are a fearsome lot. Possibly he felt there was not much alternative.” I set down my plate at that, all appetite suddenly vanished. “There is no justification for his behavior, Frodo,” I couldn’t help the lump I felt in my throat. “I’ll never be able to forgive him for those weeks when I thought you were lost to me.” “Oh, Sam, my dear,” his face was instantly contrite, and he sought my hand. “I know I can’t begin to imagine how hard that must have been for you.” I gave his hand a quick kiss, unable to say more for the moment, when a sudden thought struck me. “There’s another Baggins,” I said slowly. “Mr. Bilbo.” Frodo frowned, shaking his head a bit. “This surely can’t be that hoary old tale of dwarvish gold again,” he muttered. “It’s always been total nonsense, of course. Bilbo never brought back anything of value, just a few dwarvish trinkets, perhaps, but no more.” “Perhaps he brought back something more valuable than he knew?” I couldn’t help questioning him. “Well, that’s always possible, of course, but it doesn’t seem likely that these intruders have any connection with the dwarves,” he responded thoughtfully. “They are from the south, as far as may be determined, by their speech, and the kingdom of the dwarves lies to the north. I must say, however, that it seemed to be quite important that this treasure, whatever it is, be recovered as discreetly as possible. Apparently, there are others who seek it so it would not do, it appears, to search for it in an obtrusive fashion. That is why they would not invade Bag End as long as it was occupied, but now that it appears to be deserted, they may well move in.” “You surely do not mean to watch for them?” I asked with a bit of alarm. “No, it would rather pointless for either of us, and especially you, to be caught lurking about when we have taken such pains to make your departure obvious. But no one ever notices an aimless young fauntling or where he might wander. Dickon will be sending word once the game is afoot. And with any luck, Saradoc Brandybuck will be providing some support for us by then. If anyone has cause to wish us well in our attempts to capture these villains, it would be him.” “And so we wait?” “Exactly so,” he answered with a slow smile. “Dickon is a rather popular fellow with his mates, and has recruited several of them to help him keep an eye on Bag End, as well as keep an ear open for news of Jolly Cotton and Saradoc Brandybuck. There isn’t much excitement in these parts, and they have a fair amount of time on their hands during this sort of weather. I think we may safely trust to the keen observations of the North Stream Irregulars. And for the time being, at least, our time is our own.” “Excellent.” My heart beat a little faster as he finished off the wine and let the book slid unheeded to the earthen floor from his fingers. “I have no doubt we can devise some way to pass the hours.” I picked up both empty mugs and plates, and with great satisfaction, noted that it was once again raining. “Seems as though the washing up will have to wait until tomorrow.” “A thousand pities,” he murmured, his smile broadening as he made room beside himself for me to return to the bed. “I shouldn’t think we’d be needing the lantern light tonight. No sense in wasting oil, now, is there?” “Always practical, aren’t you, my dear?” I felt my pulse quicken as I slid under the blankets next to him, my hand seeking the warm flesh beneath the clothing as he did the same. “Precisely. Indeed, I am a most dull and uninteresting fellow, Sam. I’m really not sure what you find attractive about me at all,” he breathed next to me in the dark, following this nonsense with a spirited exploration of certain most sensitive areas right at the base of my throat. “Oh, Frodo, I just can’t imagine, myself,” I gasped, as sparks of desire shot through me, and I felt myself involuntarily arching into his embrace. “But we are of a scientific bent of mind, you and I, and so I think that question should be explored in great detail.” He gave a stifled gasp of his own as my lowered hand brushed against one of his more sensitive zones. “I think you’ve rather hit on the heart of the matter, my dear,” he whispered, and even in the dark, I could hear the smile in his voice. I couldn’t help my own chuckle in return, for I was madly and impetuously in love with him, and my joy was so great I felt it must burst out of me somehow. “Well, no, that is not your heart, Frodo, point of fact, so perhaps further investigation is warranted.” “Of course it’s not my heart, dearest Sam,” his voice was suddenly infinitely tender and caressing as his arms folded about me, “for that is what you have in your possession, and always shall have. I have given it to you for safekeeping, my love, for I know it’ll never come to harm with you.” I quite possibly cried out something incoherent at that point, and left it to my hands, my mouth, and every other part of my body to make my response. I don’t think we hardly slept at all that night, for there were so many words that we had been afraid would remain left unsaid, so many kisses that might otherwise never have been given, and we had only begun to explore this wonder that was our love. So it was a very good thing that it was quite late in the afternoon, the next day, when Dickon politely rapped on the door.
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“Mr. Baggins, sir,” he blurted out immediately upon entrance, giving both of us a quick nod, “there’s two gentlehobbits as followed Mr. Jolly back home, and word is as they’re your relations.” “Oh, good heavens, Merry and Pippin at the Cotton farm?” Baggins chuckled with delight. “Good lads, they didn’t go to Bag End, but I really wouldn’t want them to be turning the poor Cottons topsy-turvy. Very well, Dickon, let me have you bring them here. And just so they don’t think it’s some sort of trap, I’d better give you a note. Here, Gamgee, you’ve a quill and a scrap of paper on you?” Hastily scribbling something on the piece I produced from my pack, he sent Dickon off with the note and a couple of coins, instructing him to have one of the other Irregulars stop by the Green Dragon and see what news there was there. I only had time to make the smial slightly less untidy when there was a scuffling outside, and a pounding on the worn door. Two young hobbits hastily burst through the doorway as soon as I opened it and immediately attached themselves to Baggins with a flurry of hugs and shouts of “Frodo!” and not a few tears. Dickon was watching the scene with quite a grin, so I decided to intercede, stepping out of the smial with him to allow the reunion a bit of privacy. “Hoy, now, they’re right glad t’see him, ain’t they?” he gave a nod to the smial as we stood together on the hillside and let the mist wet our faces. “Cousins,” I explained briefly. “Haven’t seen him in awhile.” “Well, then, I ain’t seen mine in a year or two, but when I do, we just punch each other an’ have done w’it,” he shook his head, still amused. “Gentlehobbits, you know,” I couldn’t help but add. “Which you ain’t,” he gave me a sudden sharp glance. “No worries, you’ve done right nice for yourself. And Mr. Baggins is as fine a hobbit as ever was, so any friend of his is fine w’me, be they gentlehobbit or no.” I couldn’t help but grin back at him at this unexpected endorsement. “Very decent of you, Dickon, I’m glad to hear that. So, since it seems that Mr. Baggins will be occupied for a bit, you might want to stop by later to see if he has any other instructions. And if you could lay your hands on a loaf of bread or two,” I added, producing a bit of coin of my own, “and some taters and cheese, and anything else that can be spared, I’d be very grateful. You’ve no idea what damage those two can do to our meager larder.”
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That evening, we held a war council in our small, and by now, quite cozy, temporary headquarters. Merry and Pippin were there, of course, and Dickon had fetched both Jolly Cotton, and his brother, Tom. Dickon had joined our party as well, for Baggins felt the time was right for all of us to be in accord as to what was to be done. I had fried up a couple of fine young coneys, presented with complements of young Dickon, and the Cotton brothers had brought plenty of bread, not to mention wine and beer for all. The seven of us were crammed quite closely in the small one-roomed smial, and it was, needless to mention, raining quite hard outside, but the mood within was not only rather festive, but quite determined as well. I noticed that both of Baggins’ cousins sat quite near him, finding any excuse they could to give him a quick hug or pat on the shoulder, and I entirely understood. But he was patience itself with their out of character behavior, and soon had them laughing and entirely at ease again. “Our first order of business,” he announced, drawing out his pipe as we finished the meal, “is to understand where our enemies stand. And no, Merry,” he smiled at his cousin’s cry of alarm at that sight, “I won’t use my own pipeweed, if that’s what concerns you. Only Gamgee, here, can take it for any length of time, I’m afraid,” he added, shooting me a privately amused look. Fortunately, there were some empty plates to whisk away just then, and another bottle of wine wanted opening, for I’m afraid my face must have been decidedly rosy. But Tom had news, and all else was forgotten for the moment. “So Ned Proudfoot says as there’s been some ruffians seen up by his farm, you know, a bit north-east out of Hobbiton,” he said slowly, draining the beer in his mug, and giving his mouth a quick swipe with his sleeve. “Why, no, I’d not say nay to another pull; thank’ee kindly, Jolly,” he nodded to his brother as he passed him the jug. “Great shaggy fellows, they were, and Ned says as that he’s never seen Men before, but he’s guessin’ that’s what they were. And he wasna sure, but he’d have sworn as Lotho Pimple was with them, likewise.” “So he’s still up to his neck in this,” hissed Merry in a fury. “”If it weren’t for his traitorous ways, they’d never have gotten so far into the Shire as they have.” “Most likely,” Baggins nodded impassively, “but on the other hand, he has given us some very useful indications as to what is motivating these intruders. They are seeking something which they expect to find at Bag End, and apparently the Baggins whom they have sought is Bilbo, which would indicate that they are seeking something that he brought back with him from his travels. What it is, I certainly have no idea, so whether or not it is actually at Bag End is unknown, at this point. News of the both of you,” he eyed Merry and Pippin, “is bound to travel fast. Neither of you is particularly unremarkable, I’m afraid,” he added, his mouth quirking up with merriment. “And so our time is limited. And where are your fathers?” “Oh, Frodo, you’ll appreciate this,” Pippin burst in, unable to contain his glee. “They are both at Michael Delving, each with a dozen hobbits apiece. Uncle Saradoc put it out that he was interested to trading some ponies, and Da that he was utterly bored, and looking for some amusement in all this wretched rain, so they made a show of agreeing to meet in a central location, and discuss trading. But the upshot of it is that they have two dozen hobbits on ponies, only a hour on pony-back from here.” “Well done,” Baggins shot him a look of approval that caused Pippin to beam happily. “Now, Dickon,” he turned to the young Dickon who had been watching the proceedings wide-eyed, a mug of beer nearly forgotten in his hand. “Here’s where the Irregulars come in. None are as fleet, and knowledgeable of short-cuts through these parts as your lads. I’ll need two up by the Proudfoot farm, and another with Jolly and Tom Cotton, at their farm. As soon as there is an indication that our enemies are on the move, and I believe that will be no later than the next day or possibly two, one of them must arrive here to see me as soon as possible, and the other to the Cotton farm. “Jolly and Tom, I need the both of you to make your way to Hobbiton and recruit as many as you think possible, to assist when necessary. I do not believe that our enemies will make their move in daylight, so you should have at least tomorrow for that purpose. Then as soon as you receive word from the Irregulars, round up your forces and make your way to Bag End. I will meet up with you there. The Irregular in Hobbiton will then make his way to Michael Delving and alert those who wait there. Merry and Pippin, you must return to your fathers and let them know of our plans. They will be our secondary force, for I expect the Hobbiton forces will have their hands quite full until they arrive.” “I must warn you all,” he looked around at us all, suddenly quite grave, “that I do not expect this to be an easy task. I’m afraid that there will be those who will be hurt in what is to come, if not worse. But I also believe that our beloved Shire is in great peril, and that the enemies who have made their way into it will not leave us to live our lives in peace, as long as they are convinced that the valuable for which they search is here. That is why they must be allowed to search Bag End first, for we must discover what this treasure is as well, however that is where we must trap them.” Our faces reflected the flickering light as well as our thoughts, and I am proud to say that not a single face appeared anything less than resolute, nor showed any doubt. “Very well, Frodo,” Merry at last broke the silence. “You may depend on all of us to do our part. And I believe these intruders may find that we hobbits can be a rather stubborn folk, and far tougher than we might at first appear. Murder, theft and kidnapping are innovations that we can do without, no question about it. It’s time they went home, and left us alone.” “Nicely put,” Baggins nodded in approval, with a wry smile. “Let us toss this rubbish out, and encourage them not to come calling again, at least until they learn their manners.”
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We were at last alone, and wrapped in each other’s arms, well burrowed under the blankets. Sleep was the farthest thing from my mind, however, and obviously from Frodo’s as well. There was little to be said, under the circumstances, so I lay with my head on his chest, and listened to the reassuringly steady rhythm of his heart. “There may well be tragedy tomorrow,” he suddenly murmured, his arms tightening about me nearly imperceptibly. “There could be heartbreak ahead for many, and possibly one of us as well.” I closed my eyes, memories of heart-rending loss still so fresh in my memory. “It is a risk that must be taken, dearest,” I found myself whisper, burying my face against him. “And yet I don’t think I could possibly survive that twice.” “Do you think we would lose each other forever, Sam?” he breathed, and I felt his hands softly caressing my face in the dark. “Do you think we would never meet again?” “No.” I found his mouth then, and kissed him slowly, passionately, drawing him over me and clinging quite closely to that delicious form of his. “I would find you somewhere, somehow, my beloved,” I continued with fervor, once our lips had parted. “I don’t mean to ever be parted from you for long, come what may.” “Oh, my dearest Sam,” and the yearning in his voice was unmistakable as he held me quite close, “don’t ever let me go. I’d be lost without you, dearest, I don’t think I could ever be as brave as you were. I’m so in love with you, Sam; I can’t begin to tell you how much.” “Then nothing will happen to us tomorrow, Frodo me dearie, and there’s no sense a’worreting,” I whispered, greedily kissing his face, his neck, his throat. “Let me love you tonight, and the morrow will take care of itself.” Much later, we lay together, sated and sleepy, and I noticed, drowsily, that the rain had finally ceased. Fair weather lay ahead.
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The next day seemed to take forever. Both Baggins and I were to some extent trapped for the time being in our isolated smial; I, because I was supposed to be in the north, and Baggins, of course, was still not supposed to be among the living. About noon, we could stand the suspense no longer. I had to remain behind, in case there was any news via the Irregulars, but Baggins was determined to slip into Hobbiton in disguise to see what Jolly and Tom were managing to accomplish. He slipped into the ragged clothing in which I had first found him, rubbed a bit of soot across his face to appear more begrimed, and altered his posture, and suddenly I could hardly recognize him, Only his remarkable eyes gave him away, so a traveling cloak with a hood were necessary to complete the transformation. “No more than two hours, Sam, and I’ll be back,” he murmured, and was gone. I watched him leave, and felt once again intolerably restless. But there was my pack, and more for the lack of anything else to do, I fell to sorting through its contents. One of my oldest and most worn shirts was at the bottom of it, and I contemplated it but for a moment before, with a mental shrug, I began to tear it into long strips. It was a pity, for my sister had put several hours into sewing it for me, but I suspected that a store of strips for bandages might just come in handy. Possibly the coming confrontation would be bloodless, but I definitely had my doubts on that score, and it would be well to be prepared. I had some salves with me, but the bulk of them were in Bag End’s larder, where I generally kept them. Well, at any rate, they would be close at hand. Bag End as a battleground was a concept that I was having a good deal of difficulty imagining. Baggins returned, just as he had assured me, a couple of hours later. “Jolly and Tom have been quite persuasive,” he informed me, with a wry smile, as he gratefully accepted a mug of tea. “Indeed, my disguise was obviously satisfactory, since they tried to recruit me as well, without even knowing who I was. Merry and Pippin have had sufficient time to reach Michael Delving, I should think, and so all that remains is word that our foes are on the move.” That word came just a short while later, as the dusk began to shade into evening. An excited Irregular pounded fiercely on the door, and announced, with great glee, that Men had been seen in the woods past the Proudfoot farm, great savage creatures with immense swords, and that they had horrible beasts with them as well. The Proudfoot farm was deserted, since Ned and his family had already sought refuge in Hobbiton, so there were none to gainsay them as they strode down the road, holding great torches high for light. How many, he could not say, for he had lit out as soon as he saw them, but the back of the pack was nowhere within sight, of that, he was certain. His fellow sentry had made his way to Hobbiton, as directed, and should be arriving there even now. Baggins nodded at the news, his piercing eyes glittering with excitement in his smudged face. “Very good,” he praised the beaming lad. “You have done quite well. Now go find your captain, Dickon, and bid him find me near the oak on the far side of the road from the path up to Bag End. His services may prove to be quite useful to us still.” The lad was off immediately, and Baggins turned to me. Catching me up in his arms, we met in a mutually fervent kiss. “I want my life back, Sam,” he murmured intently as we drew apart, his eyes fixed on mine. “I want Bag End with you in it, I want our evenings before the study fire, and most of all I want you in my bed every night, the way it used to be. And I don’t mean to let these villains take any of that from me.” “Very well, Frodo, love,” I nodded with grim satisfaction. “Since I’ve never wanted any more than exactly that, myself, let us show them the door.”
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All of what occurred in the next several hours is still rather a blur to me, I’m afraid. Battle seems like such an outlandish notion to us hobbits, but it was exactly that in which we found ourselves involved. The Hobbiton forces arrived at Bag End just as we did, and after a quick exchange of greetings with Baggins, whom every hobbit there was more than gratified to find was truly still alive, contrary to previous belief, Baggins boldly strode forward and stood in the open doorway of our smial. The intruders were already inside, wreaking havoc throughout the previously tidy rooms, searching for something that was still a mystery to us, as we could see through the windows, brightly lit up in the dark night. There were a couple of Men at the doorway, looming large and uncouth, with fearsome swords ready in their hands, and it was they whom Baggins addressed. “This is my home,” he announced, as coolly as if he had discovered some hapless burglar attempting to break in, “and I’ll thank you to leave it immediately.” It took a moment for the guards to react, as they stared at the implacably calm and polite hobbit before them, but they then broke into roars of laughter. “Go your way, little man,” jeered one of them. “This’d be Sharkey’s house now, and you ain’t wanted no more. Go dig yourself a new hole and quit your blubbin’.” But Baggins stood his ground, and gave them an unruffled look. “Very well, then, I have warned you,” he commented, and then gave the signal. Immediately, a flurry of arrows flew out, and the two guards fell to the ground with anguished cries. That attracted the attention of their fellow marauders, who then poured out of the smial with blood-curdling shrieks of rage. “”Get rid of this rabble,” bellowed a large Man, obviously their leader, who then turned back inside with shouted instructions to those within in a language that I did not understand. I had by now caught up to Baggins, who was listening intently to the commands of the leader of the intruders. “They are still searching for this treasure,” he turned and grimly informed me. “Quick, Gamgee, we must know if there is anything to all this or not. Through the back door, and we must not be noticed!” There was a storeroom at the back end of one of the less-used tunnels of Bag End, with a window frame that was loose, nearly completely overgrown and buried into the hill. I knew that, since Baggins had once confided to me that that was how he managed to slip out, from time to time, when he was a tween living here with Bilbo. Both of us had mentioned to each other, on occasion over the last several years, that someone really ought to see to that window, but there never seemed to be any pressing need to do so, and the notion was always quickly forgotten. But now, it was just the obscure entrance that we were looking for, and we both thought of it at nearly the same time. It did need a bit of jostling up and down, since ivy had grown through and around the frame, but at last the both of us managed to work it loose, and Baggins shimmied through, myself rapidly following in a much less graceful manner. The shouts of the intruders could be heard down the hall, and Baggins listened carefully. “They’re in the study and the larder,” he whispered to me, and I caught a glimpse of his mouth set in a grim smile. “I’m afraid Widow Rumble will be most displeased when she returns. Apparently they are bent on turning the place inside out in search of this treasure, whatever it might be.” Just then, though, there was a loud crash from the front of the smial, and the Men began to shout what were clearly imprecations to those outside. “The Hobbiton forces have attacked again from the front,” Baggins gripped my shoulder fiercely. “Now it is our turn to bring up the rear. Quickly, Gamgee, what have we here that we can put to better use?” I gave a rapid glance about, and then seized up a rickety wooden chair with a broken back. Giving it a fierce whack on the ground, it immediately splintered into large pieces. “Here,” I gave Baggins one of the legs, which made a quite tidy cudgel, and found another for myself. “I do hope that was not an antique.” Baggins gave a short laugh as he gripped the wooden weapon tightly before him. “I’m sure Bilbo would not think too harshly of us. Well done, Gamgee. Into the fray then, my dear.” And with a kiss so brief, I wasn’t entirely sure it had happened at all, he strode purposely down the hall, myself at his back. My heart sank, as I followed him, when I saw the destruction ahead of us. I caught a brief glimpse through the doorway of the study of books and papers littering the floor, the contents of all the shelves swept off of them, and even the feather pillows on the settle ripped open, and feathers everywhere. The larder had been just as wrecked, and we entered the front hallway to find Sharkey, clearly the leader of the rabble, coolly sitting on the side table, as if it were a rustic bench, and casually prying the hallway chest open with his knife. “I believe there are some spare umbrellas and mufflers inside that,” Baggins calmly mentioned, stopping in front of the intruder. “Would you like me to open it?” “Well, so there’s another rathole in this warren,” growled the Man, tossing the chest aside as if it were a teapot. “A couple more squeakers to get rid of.” “Since this is my home, I believe it is you who needs to leave,” Baggins returned, without a trace of fear in his expression. “I must say, though, I am curious. Why do you think there is something of value here?” “If you don’t know, we ain’t telling, squeaker,” Sharkey gave a brutal laugh. “You just stay out of our way, and if I’m in a good mood, I might let you back in your hole when we’re all finished. And we’d be finished when we says we. . . Ow!” and he jumped up to his feet at this point. rubbing his shin a bit where Frodo had given him a good clout with his chair leg. “Why, you mangy little rat. . . Hoy! Bob! Gi’me a hand with these vermin!” But Bob apparently had his hands full, for the sound of battle outside of Bag End was becoming more intense, as I lit into the villain as well. Baggins was matching him blow by blow, as I worked on getting at his legs, but the superior strength of his steel, and Baggins’ recent illness were beginning to show, when there was a new roar from outside. His attention only momentarily diverted, Sharkey gave a final lunge that sent Baggins’ weapon flying out of his hand and himself spinning across the hall and slamming into the wall, before striding out of the smial, both of us immediately forgotten. I ran to Baggins, my heart pounding in fear, but he stubbornly raised himself back up from the floor, and muttered, “We must keep at him from the rear, Gamgee. He cannot be allowed to escape again.” I nodded, mutely, and gripped my cudgel more tightly. With a quick, wry smile at me, he strode to the front door, and I followed. But then the sight that met our eyes quite took my breath away. The hobbit forces from Hobbiton were no longer alone. At their back were nearly three score mounted hobbits, the combined Brandybuck and Took contingent, led by Saradoc Brandybuck and Paladin Took. Their sons were mounted at their sides and all held leather shields and fearsome long staffs, and had sharp knives stuck in their belts. A sudden hush fell over both the men and hobbit forces alike as Paladin Took rode his pony a step forward. “I am The Took,” his voice rang confidently out in the stillness. “And none may remain in the Shire against my will. You will take your creatures and leave, never to return, or your lives are forfeit. And if any of you should manage to make your way back to those who sent you here, tell them that we hobbits will defend our lands to the death of the last of us.” For a brief moment, the Men traded fearful looks with each other, but Sharkey quickly broke the silence with a derisive jeer. “You ain’t goin’ t’let this pests get under your skin, now, are you, men?” he hooted, leaning over and giving the nearest hobbit, Ned Proudfoot’s youngest son, a savage cuff. “Why, next thing you know, they’ll be thinkin’ they can keep up with the likes of us!” His men set up an uncertain cheer, as young Proudfoot’s indignant father caught him up in his arms as he fell to the ground. But as Sharkey stepped forward, Saradoc Brandybuck, still mounted on his pony at The Took’s side, let his knife fly from his hand as if he was picking off a plump coney with a stone. Sharkey gave a howl of pain as the knife buried itself deep in his shoulder. “The next one,” Saradoc mentioned, quite conversationally, “will hit your heart. I’d suggest you listen to The Took.” The sight of their leader stumbling about, clutching his bloody arm and howling in pain, was all it took for the rest of the Men. They had not expected resistance, and they did not take it well at all. In no time, they were crashing through the brush at the side of the road, fleeing through the back hills, with the mounted hobbits tight at their heels. “We’ll take care of this lot, now, Frodo,” Merry shouted to him, right before he followed his father. “I’ll be back to tell you how it goes. You might want to tidy your place up a bit,” he gave an excited laugh, his face glinting in the torchlight, and then he was gone. A few of the younger hobbits from Hobbiton ran off after the rest, shouting with excitement and glee, but most were picking themselves off the ground and checking each other for any signs of injury. I set about among them to see if I could be of assistance, but it was mostly a matter of cuts and bruises, and although a few would be limping and sore for a few days, there did not seem to be any severe injuries. In the midst of the milling about, however, there was a sudden shout, and two of Cotton’s sons came dragging a struggling form out of the underbrush. “Well, if it ain’t Lotho Pimple,” a burly townhobbit cried out. “Looks like your friends left you behind, now, didn’t they?” There was an angry mutter from the crowd, and it did not bode well for Lotho as he moaned, and fell to the ground, covering his head. “I had no choice; they gave me no choice!” he shrieked in fear, seeing the angry faces around him. At that, Baggins stepped forward and stood by him. “No one is to touch him,” he announced sternly, looking about at the crowd. “He will answer to the authorities regarding what he has done, but it will be at a proper place and time. He has wronged no one more than me, but I will not allow the type of behavior such as that with which his former companions would have acted.” “I’m afraid you are quite wrong about one thing, Baggins,” came a cold voice from the crowd, and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins stepped forward with an icy smile, full of fury, with an umbrella clutched tightly in her hands. “This is not merely a matter for the authorities, but quite a personal matter as well. A matter that, indeed, should have been taken care of many years ago,” she continued grimly, and Lotho’s face, difficult as it was to imagine, became even more fearful. “He will appear before the authorities tomorrow morning, I can assure you. And until then, you may quite safely leave him in my custody.” There was not a word of dissent from the crowd as they stepped respectfully back from the pair as they left the scene, Lotho’s arm implacably in her grip, and quite a few were seen to give Lotho a glance, very nearly, of pity.
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I slowly followed Baggins back into the shambles that was Bag End. How long had I yearned for this moment, but not like this, not at all like this. Baggins was unmistakably limping, due to the effects of having been slammed against the wall, and I was sore myself as a result of the skirmish. The door was difficult to close, from having been wrenched partially off its hinges, there was debris everywhere, and the study did not bear looking at. Baggins leaned against the hallway wall, looking sadly through the study doorway, and gave me a rueful smile as I walked up from behind and wrapped my arms around him. “Welcome back home, dearest,” I gently kissed the back of his neck and felt his taut form begin to relax in my arms. “Do you think we’ll ever find out what they were searching for?” “I doubt it,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “Probably just one of the wild tales about Bilbo’s dragon gold that reached the wrong ears. I’m quite sure we’ve heard the last of it. But I’m not sure I can forgive them about being so clumsy about their investigation.” “Quite rude of them, without a doubt,” I had to agree, nibbling a little further down. “I must say, it was very brave of you to tell them so, Frodo, my love.” His smile was beginning to turn rather dreamy, as he brought his hands up and clasped mine. “Couldn’t help it, Sam, my dear. They did annoy me so.” I chuckled, drawing him closer to me. “That certainly was poor judgment on their part, I must say.” He gave sigh of pleasure, leaning into me, and then turned around, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight that dimly lit the hall. “Do you know what I should really love, Sam?” I shook my head with a smile, but I must admit the list of options was most enticing. “A bath, my dear,” he replied, and laughed as he saw my face fall somewhat. “Ah, but I don’t think you are considering the possibilities,” he added, suddenly looking quite mischievous and years younger than he had as of late. “It is a rather large tub, you know.” “Why, Frodo, I suppose…” I stammered, for I must admit that was a concept that had never crossed my mind before. This time it was a genuine laugh he gave me, as he began to pull me down the hall. “I’m glad I can still shock you, Samwise; it would never do to become predictable, you know. Fortunately it does not appear they got this far down the hall, and so the kettle should still be intact.”
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Since the master bedroom had been every bit as destroyed as the front rooms, we made our way, at last, back to my former room, at the back of the smial. I glanced about, after setting the candlestick holder on the small chest, with a bit of nostalgia. I hadn’t been back here much, in the last couple of months, and I did remember being quite content living back here. Of course I was at the time, but my life had opened up immensely in the meanwhile, and for all the anxiety and heartache I had recently gone through, I would not have wished it otherwise. Baggins was watching me, his face shrouded in shadow. “A couple of months ago, I might not have bothered to come back here,” he mentioned quietly. “Bag End was a comfortable enough home, but there really wasn’t much to keep me here, and I’ve always been a bit of a vagabond. But that was a couple of months ago.” “And now?” I breathed, mesmerized by the flicker of light across his face. “Now, I can’t bear to be separated from you, Samwise. You were all I thought of as I fought my way back here. I’m afraid I’ve turned into quite a silly sentimental fool, my dear, but there it is.” “Suits me nicely, love,” I know my face reflected the sheer joy I felt as I held out my hand to him. “Shall we be sentimental together?” With a quick laugh, he reached out and pinched out the candle. I felt strong arms encircle me in the dark as we tumbled into the narrow bed. “What fools those Men were,” he whispered, between light kisses down my throat. “Treasure, indeed. No hobbit ever stores any treasure worth having in a chest. My treasure is right next to me in bed, as he ought to be. Their loss, I’m afraid, but then Lotho really wasn’t the hobbit to ask on that score.” “Ahhhmph,” was my only contribution at this point for he had just found my mouth, but it seemed to be satisfactory. However, it is wondrous what having a proper mattress under one again can do in the way of inspiration. The bath had been stimulating, indeed, but perhaps Baggins wasn’t the only one in the mood for novelty. I, too, had a few ideas, and it suddenly struck me what I had left in the small drawer next to the bed. “Frodo, be a love and see if that jar is still in the drawer where I left it,” I mumbled, between nibbles on that delicious eartip. Baggins reached over and retrieved it, and the haunting scent of lavender suddenly combined with his wickedly delighted laugh. “Oh, Sam!”
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