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Celebration
The drummer
marched smartly by on the bleached stone walk way outside, the rapid
drumbeat beating an urgent tattoo.
“Sam,” Frodo frowned, speaking with reluctance, “they’ll be expecting a
hero.”
Another drummer, behind the first, in perfect unison.
“Mayhap,” Sam murmured softly, his arms cradling Frodo, stroking his
back with years of intimacy in his touch. “They’d be like that, I’m
afraid.”
Another beat, rigid and unyielding.
“They don’t know; they have no idea,” the words grated out.
Strong and rhythmic came the next drummer, just as those who had
preceded him.
“Who could, Frodo-love,” came the soft response. “But they must be
lookin’ up to someone. Big Folk’d be like that, seemingly.”
The beats were demanding, harsh. All of Gondor must pay mind, it
appeared, and must follow the drummers to the great celebration hall.
Frodo couldn’t help a reluctant snort at Sam’s response, and tucked his
forehead in the crook of his neck. “That’s rather impossible to imagine,
the looking up business. You’re the only one around here who’s my size,
anymore.”
It was half a dozen drummers who had passed in the cobbled street
outside by now, and the noise of the crowd in the streets could be heard
as well.
“Aye, Merry and Pippin are still a bit of a shock, no mistake,” Sam gave
a short chuckle, but his soothing touch continued on, slow and sure.
Yet another drummer passed.
Frodo gave a last sigh, then, and straightened up. “Well, I suppose
there’s nothing else for it. I just hope I don’t end up dumping the soup
in my lap or something equally as awkward. This is still so confoundedly
clumsy,” he added, raising up his bandaged hand and glaring at it.
The steady beat of another drummer was not noticed by either hobbit.
Sam took the maimed hand, and tenderly raised it to his lips. “Say what
you will, Frodo-love, you are a hero, and you’ll never convince me
otherwise.”
Yet another passed, and the hubbub outside the walls was steadily
growing.
Frodo closed his hand around Sam’s, and reached his other hand up to
tenderly cradle Sam’s face and gazing steadily into those achingly
familiar golden-green eyes, the mirror to his heart for all these years.
“I’m not sure why you call me that, Sam. I was never alone; even in my
most confused moments, I was always quite sure of that.”
Another drummer, but neither heard.
“All I had to do was follow you, me dear, as if I never would,” Sam gave
that sweet smile that had always meant the world to Frodo; the smile
that was for him alone. “ ‘Twas not a thing brave about that, no ways.”
Frodo closed his eyes, and met Sam’s mouth, just as the next drummer
passed by. “Don’t ever stop following me, my own Sam,” he breathed as
they at last broke apart.
Sam lowered his eyes then, and when he raised his head again, there was
a suspicious brightness about them. “Wherever you go, me dearest,” he
whispered, “though it be to the very ends of the world.” Then with a
lift of his head and a visible effort, he added with a slight smile,
“And even to this great dinner. And I’ll promise to do my very best to
stay awake through every speech, be they ever so long. We must be back
here together at the last, for all things, both good and bad, must needs
come to an end. Lead on, Frodo, me dear.”
And as the last drummer passed, they left the room that was their
sanctuary in this great fortress of Men, and headed towards the Great
Hall, with their hands firmly clasped together.
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