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Author: Elderberry Wine |
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Elegy, Part Three
“I sense that I have offended him somehow,” Frodo gave Halilhil a wry glance, as Sam began to stir sleepily. “I believe you have, Master Frodo, in daring to heal yourself with relatively little assistance,” Halilhil stated dryly, with a smile. “I am sorry that I could give yourself and Master Samwise no warning, but he was, as usual, most insistent. Shall I bring a breakfast tray to you?” “No need, thank you,” Frodo reassured him. “We will find my cousins when we are prepared to breakfast; I feel quite ready to be on my feet today.” Halilhil nodded agreement to Frodo’s proposal, and left the room. Frodo then turned his attention to Sam, who had not quite awakened at the sound of the voices. With a sleepy murmur, of what, Frodo could not hear, he nestled his face in the crook of Frodo’s good arm, and was nearly instantly breathing steadily again in slumber. Frodo gazed down at the tawny curls with a warm smile. It was so unlike Sam not to awaken at the sounds of conversation about him that he had to assume that Sam had been well and truly exhausted over the last several days. It had to have been several days, he thought suddenly, glancing out of the open windows without quite seeing them. He had certainly lost track of the time, but for Sam to be looking the way that he did, it must have been a while. And he hadn’t really been paying that much attention to himself, but he was decidedly scrawny, he realized with some dismay. Just as well he’d managed to thwart the plans of the healer, or he’d have starved entirely away before the elf would have agreed to let him stay awake long enough to eat anything. And with a sudden rumble, as if just reminded of that fact, his stomach let him know that at least one of those missing meals was far past due. That woke Sam, when the conversations around his head had not. With a drowsy chuckle, he lowered his head and planted an emphatic kiss on Frodo’s stomach. Frodo gave a surprised laugh as Sam raised his head and grinned up at him. “You need t’be doing something about this right fast, me dear,” he murmured. “These hipbones o’yours would put a body’s eye out, they’re that sharp.” “Can’t help that, Sam-love,” Frodo replied casually, ever so slightly raising himself higher up in the bed. Sam, however, saw through this subterfuge instantly. “Ah, no, dearie,” he chuckled, but not before taking Frodo in his mouth momentarily as a quick compensation, Frodo giving a sharp gasp of delight. “None o’that, until you’ve been having at least first and second breakfast.” And as if in agreement, Frodo’s stomach gave another groan, and its owner had to admit laughing defeat. There was another matter to be considered, however, as they rose from bed, and dressed themselves, and that was what still lay untouched upon the floor, at the side of the bed. “I really suppose I should wear the Ring for now,” Frodo remarked, with definite reluctance, eyeing the gold object as It lay innocuously under the table beside the bed. “After all, it really wouldn’t do to cart It all the way here and then misplace It.” Sam turned away from Frodo for a moment, catching his breath, and fighting to keep his composure. He knew that that was entirely reasonable, and had no explanation whatsoever as to why the thought of Frodo placing the chain about his neck filled him with a dull terror. Frodo, however, did not notice Sam’s reaction, as his back was towards Sam. He knelt down, and picking the Ring up by the chain, gingerly let It drop down around his neck and tucked It under his shirt. Returning to Sam’s side, he lay a gentle hand at the side of Sam’s troubled face, and gazed into his concerned eyes. “It won’t be for long, Sam, love,” he murmured softly. “Just until I can give the thing over to someone at this meeting later this morning.” Leaning forward, he met Sam’s mouth in a long and tender kiss. “We’ll be well rid of It soon, dearest,” he added, smiling reassuringly at Sam, after they at last broke apart. “Now then, let’s find the others, and a bit of breakfast.” &&&&& Frodo looked about with great interest, as he and Sam left their room and started toward Merry and Pippin’s quarters. “This is quite unusual,” he noted, taking in with curiosity the airy open walkways and gracefully carved pillars, “but it does somehow seem right, the sort of place where I’d imagine elves would live.” “Aye,” Sam had to agree, walking at Frodo’s side with his hand firmly clasped about Frodo’s. “ ‘Tis all that beautiful to be sure, but the grandness’d naught be feeling much like home to me, if you’d know what I mean.” “Perhaps, but ah, now, Sam, you have to admit that this is lovely,” Frodo exclaimed with delight as they entered the courtyard outside of the room that had been given to the hobbits. He stopped still in the middle of the yard, letting the spray from the small fountain blow lightly against his face, and closing his eyes in enjoyment. “And what is it that is growing here that smells so delicious?” “I’d not know at all,” Sam had to admit, watching Frodo with a fond smile, “but it is right nice, no mistake. Mayhap they’d be letting’ me take a sprig or two o’whatever it is back with us, for it would smell right nice about the front door, I’m thinkin’.” “Excellent idea,” Frodo approved immediately, opening his eyes again, with a grin. “Indeed, it smells so good that I am really quite famished for breakfast now. Do you think those two scamps thought to save anything for us?” There was no sign of a hobbit inside the room, however, although there was certainly evidence of their recent presence, such as a very rumpled bed, and some stray articles of clothing strewn here and there. “Do you suppose they are already through?” Frodo asked in some disappointment, glancing about, but Sam had noticed the lack of any breakfast items, and had reached a conclusion. “Mr. Bilbo,” he stated, turning to Frodo with a grin. “They’d be havin’ breakfast with Mr. Bilbo, no mistake.” He took Frodo off, hand in hand once again, and in no time was rapping on Bilbo’s round green door, as Frodo looked on with a pleased wonder at the sight. “A hobbit hole, in Rivendell. Who would ever have imagined that?” he was musing in delight, when Bilbo suddenly opened the door. “Frodo, my lad!” he exclaimed at once, his weathered face lighting up with a happy smile. “My dearest hobbit, you’re doing the Baggins blood proud, to be sure! How fit you are looking, although a trifle thinnish, certainly.” Quickly whisking Frodo inside with a hearty hug, he called out to the others inside, “Come see what a pretty package I have found upon the doorstep!” The sound of feet running down the hall was immediately heard, and Frodo was quickly engulfed by cousins. “Have a care, lads,” he laughed happily at the assault. “You need to feed a famished hobbit before you can be expecting to knock the fellow about so.” “And your poor shoulder, too!” Merry was instantly all concern. “Really, Frodo, you need to thump us on the head, and remind us to have a care. All this waiting around’s been a bit trying, that’s all.” Frodo laughed again, and playfully kissed Merry on the cheek. “Silly hobbit. I’m sturdier than I look, you know that. I’ll be right as rain in no time at all.” Meanwhile, Pippin had noticed Sam standing quietly in the doorway. “Come on in, Sam, don’t be a noddy. Come and get your hugs, too.” He dragged him inside with a cheeky grin, and in no time at all, both Sam and Frodo were being tugged down the hall into Bilbo’s cozy kitchen, in which breakfast was well underway. It was in the midst of a rather heated exchange regarding the merits of cream scones as opposed to oatmeal scones, that a loud knock was once again heard upon the door. “Dear me,” Bilbo exclaimed, rising from his comfortable corner seat, “whoever can that be? The elves never knock, you know, the point of closed doors seems quite beyond them.” He left the room as the others paused the debate in a curious silence. “Wonders upon wonders!” they therefore heard Bilbo’s happy cry. “My dear old friend, how long has it been?” Pippin was up in a moment, at that intriguing observation, and the others tossed polite manners immediately aside, and followed after him. The visitors, for there were two of them, seemed to fill Bilbo’s front room; not so much that they were taller, although they certainly were, but there seemed somehow to be so very much of them, not to mention a rather considerable amount of flowing hair. Even Merry and Pippin, who had never seen one before, realized immediately that they were dwarves. The white-haired older one had nearly engulfed a joyful Bilbo in his embrace, but the ginger-haired younger dwarf stood somewhat awkwardly behind him, and seemed to be gazing on the hobbits with every bit as much inquisitiveness as with which they gazed back at him. “My very old friend, Gloin,” Bilbo announced to the other hobbits, beaming toward them. “My esteemed companion on my adventures when both he and I were so much younger. You’ve met Frodo, I know, but he was just a tween the last time you saw him, I think. Grew up nicely, didn’t he? And here is Samwise, the gardener’s lad; I believe you might remember him as well? He would have been but a wee thing back then, I suppose, but he’s quite grown now, likewise. These two rascals,” he added, pointing towards to the other two wide-eyed hobbits, “are my cousins, in a general sort of way, and are the terror of the Shire, but you may call them Merry and Pippin.” The dwarf bowed most politely as the introductions flew by him, murmuring acknowledgement in a deep voice. He then indicated the other dwarf, standing silently next to him, and rumbled, in somewhat harshly flavored common speech, “Most pleased to meet all of you good hobbits, may the hair on your toes never fall out. I have with me my son, Gimli. We have come to see Lord Elrond on urgent business, but no business is so urgent that I can not manage to visit my dear friend first.” Bilbo shook his head with a rueful smile. “The halls of Rivendell seem filled with urgent matters these days, and yet there should always be time for a meal and a smoke with friends. This hole was meant for but one, I’m afraid, but the sun is warm and the air is fresh in the yard in front of my door. Quickly, lads, all grab food and chairs and let us enjoy ourselves while we may.” So in no time at all, the food was carried to the grassy yard before the door of the hobbit hole, and spread out picnic-style. Chairs and cushions and blankets were rapidly spread out as well, with both Sam and Merry keeping a stern eye on Frodo to ensure that he brought out only the lightest of items, and all settled down quite comfortably, several drawing out their pipes as a post-breakfast treat. No one brought up the reasons for this unusual reunion, since such grave matters were best spoken of in places other than the lovely green courtyard, with its fragrant flowers, and the light sparkling mist that arose from the Falls far below. Instead, conversation was insubstantial and trifling, in a way that pleased the hobbits and enchanted the dwarves, and at last Frodo fell asleep leaning against Sam’s shoulder, with a strong arm around him, the hum of bees in the goldenrod behind him, and the sun warm on his face. It was the arrival of Strider that at last broke up the sociable gathering. Gloin had immediately hoisted himself up to his feet, dutifully followed by his son, and gave the new arrival a courteous bow. “The best wishes of my people to you, Lord Elessar,” he rumbled, as Strider graciously returned the greeting. “Well met, indeed, my Lord Gloin, and to your son as well,” he murmured respectfully. “I am quite sorry to disturb you here, for there surely is no better company than that of our dear esteemed hobbits, here, but both Lord Elrond and Gandalf have requested your company this morning, before we meet with the others gathered here this afternoon. And yours, as well, Master Frodo,” he added with a slight smile and nod in Frodo’s direction as the hobbit watched the exchange, still a trifle sleepy. “Ah, so it’s Master Frodo now, is it, Strider?” Frodo chuckled, rising, somewhat stiffly, to his feet. “And it sounds as if you have more names than one, as well. Well, I’m sure you and Gandalf will explain it all to me in good time.” He turned to Sam, who had silently been watching Frodo with a look of concern. “I expect I’ll be back by lunch, Sam dear, and this unlikely trio should keep you pleasant enough company until then.” Sam could not help but watch the slight figure of Frodo, following behind the tall man and the dwarves, leave with a sense of foreboding. It was not for the likes of hobbits to be involved in such matters, he thought privately, not for the first time, and the sooner they were on the road back to the Shire, the better it would be. &&&&& “So what is this Elessar business anyway, Bilbo?” Merry asked curiously, leaning back comfortably against the trunk of the alder and absently stuffing some more pipeweed into his pipe. “He seems awfully at home here for not being an elf, said something about growing up here, didn’t he, Pip?” “Mmph,” confirmed Pippin, taking care of a stray scone. “You don’t mean to say he went all the way out to fetch you, and you still don’t know who he is?” chuckled Bilbo, shaking his head as he poured another cup of tea. “Tea, Sam?” he offered kindly, noticing the rather worried expression that Sam was still wearing. Sam declined politely, but Merry gave the older hobbit a wry glance. “We were a trifle busy, Cousin Bilbo, and family histories didn’t really enter into it. There wasn’t much time spent about the campfire chatting, if you know what I mean,” he mentioned, rather sharply. “Well, yes, I imagine so,” Bilbo gave Merry an apologetic look, after seeing the expression on Sam’s face change. “I won’t bore you with all the specifics,” he quickly returned to the original subject, “but Lord Elrond raised him in his household here at Rivendell, a sort of foster son, I believe. He is human, to be sure, but I have heard tell that he is the last of the race of Numenor, the great Kings from the West in the days of old. Certainly, I have no doubt that there is elf blood somewhere in his past, for he is definitely a different sort of creature than the kind of Big Person one might find at Bree, or on occasion in the Shire.” “Elessar is the name the elves have for him,” he continued, warming to his subject as Pippin spread himself out on a blanket on his stomach, propping himself up with his elbows and listening to Bilbo with fascination and wide eyes. Sam himself felt nearly like a faunt again, listening to one of Mr. Bilbo’s splendid tales, even if they were very far from the study of Bag End. “Elessar, the Elfstone of Elendil. Strider is, of course, the name given to him by those in Bree who know him simply as a Ranger, although I have heard Longshanks as well, and indeed, Stick-at-Naught. But truly, he is named Aragorn, son of Arathorn.” “And there is more,” he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I have even heard tell, for the minstrels here see much, and they know I am quite fond of a good tale, that he and my Lady Arwen, Lord Elrond’s daughter herself, have fallen in love.” “An elf and a human?” Merry asked in amazement. “Can that be?” O’er stony mountains cold and grey, Through halls of iron and darkling door, And woods of nightshade morrowless. The Sundering Seas between them lay, And yet at last they met once more, And long ago they passed away In the forest singing sorrow less. “Indeed,” came Bilbo’s quiet voice as the other two turned to look at Sam in surprise. “The lay of the mortal man Beren, and Luthien, daughter of the King of Elves. You have remembered that tale well, Sam.” Sam turned inexplicably red at that remark however, and looked quite grateful when Merry suddenly sat up and exclaimed, “Sam! You haven’t had a chance to check on Bill, now, have you?” “Aye, to be sure, and thankee kindly for reminding me,” Sam exclaimed, with an attempt at composure, springing to his feet. Merry smiled privately as he arose as well. He had not forgotten Frodo’s gift to Sam, on the occasion of his fiftieth birthday, when he still thought he’d be leaving the Shire alone. &&&&& For Sam, the rest of the morning passed in waiting. He was grateful for the opportunity to walk out under the pines, and quite thankful to Merry and Pippin for keeping an eye on Bill when he had been unable to. Bill had given a pronounced snicker and shake of his mane on catching sight of Sam, and had quickly trotted over to him. Sam had greeted the little pony with a fierce hug and an apple, remembering the so recent days when his silent sympathetic companionship had given him such comfort. Merry and Pippin had considerately found the view down into the Valley of the Falls quite interesting, at that point, and left Sam to apologize to Bill for his neglect, and promise him to take him out for a bit of a walk as soon as Frodo was able to accompany them. They had returned to Bilbo’s chambers for lunch, for as Bilbo had mentioned, the elves were good enough, as far as breakfast went, and they did quite a fine dinner, to be sure, but were not much concerned with meals in between. That did bother Sam, thinking of Frodo cooped up in council with all those important folk, with nothing to eat, and him being just out of a sick bed. Fortunately, when he mentioned these misgivings to Bilbo, the older hobbit quickly agreed, and offered to take Sam to find Halilhil, who possibly could be persuaded to reclaim Frodo for some much needed food and rest. And it certainly was well he did, Sam thought with dismay, as Halilhil returned with Frodo to an anxiously waiting Sam and Bilbo, and escorted them all back to the room which Sam and Frodo had been occupying. The white room, in which Frodo had laid insensate for so many days, was pleasant and airy, the tall drapery whispering soothingly in the slight breeze, and there were tempting foods laid out on a tray next to the bed. Halilhil helped Sam assist an obviously weary Frodo back into bed, and murmured, “I will inform the others that you will be resting this afternoon.” “Thank you, Halilhil, that would be most kind of you,” Frodo sighed, leaning back against the pillows, his face alarmingly pale. “I rather seem to have lost a bit of stamina, I’m afraid, and that really does sound like an excellent plan.” Bilbo gave a quick nod too, and declared, “Don’t you worry, my lad, whatever they have to discuss, they will still be discussing tomorrow. Elves are never hasty, you know. I understand there is a group of elves, from Mirkwood, expected in the next day or so, and certainly nothing will be decided without their consent. So you’d best rest up for tonight, my lad, and I’ll leave Sam here to make sure you do just that. Don’t forget, though. Feasting and singing such as you’ve never heard tonight, my dears. But I’ve seem to have left those two cousins of yours unattended, and that will never do. No telling what mischief those two could find,” he added with a chuckle, and left the room. Halilhil politely cleared his throat at this point, and mentioned, “I do hate to disturb you, Master Frodo, but I need to change the dressing on your shoulder before you rest.” Frodo gave an involuntary weary sigh, and started to struggle back up to a sitting position again, but Sam stopped him with a gentle hand. “I could be doin’ that, if you’d not be mindin’ it,” he offered politely to the elf. “I’ve a fair hand with a bandage, if you could be leavin’ that salve, as well.” “Very good,” the elf gave a quick smile. “I must commend you both for being so very self-sufficient. And is there anything else I might be permitted to do?” “Aye,” Sam replied instantly, with a small smile. “Since you’d be that kind t’be offerin’, later, afore dinner, a great tub of hot steamy water would be that fine.” “Ah, tub-bathing. Master Bilbo is quite fond of that as well,” Halilhil nodded, with a light laugh, as he began to leave. “Indeed, you shall have just that.” Sam’s smile had disappeared, though, when he turned his attention back to Frodo, who had lain back in bed, his eyes closed. “Come, my dear, let’s get this taken care of first, love,” he said softly, urging Frodo to sit back up again, and carefully beginning to remove his jacket. “Of course, you are right, Sam,” Frodo’s eyes blinked groggily open again, and he reached for the buttons of his shirt. “No dearie, you best be lettin’ your Sam be doin’ that,” Sam chided him tenderly, leaning forward and kissing Frodo lightly on the forehead to prove his point. Frodo smiled, but acquiesced, allowing Sam to deftly unbutton the shirt, and cautiously pull it off. With a few snips, the bandages were also cut through, and gingerly pried off, and then Sam tried to suppress his dismay at the sight of Frodo’s shoulder, and the gold chain, with its burden, resting on Frodo’s chest. “Yes, it would seem I still have the Ring, at least for now,” Frodo remarked, rather despondently, glancing downward. “And Gandalf had quite a good excuse, apparently, for not meeting us in the Shire. I’m beginning to see that this whole matter is going to not be easy at all.” He glanced back up at Sam, and Sam could see a shadow pass across his tired face. “But there’s plenty of time to discuss those matters later, my dear, for right now, nothing sounds more tempting than a nap.” “Please, Frodo-love,” Sam murmured forlornly, and after a moment, Frodo slowly drew the chain from around his neck, and laid It once again on the table beside the bed. “Outside of this room, Sam dearest, I still must wear It,” he reached out, cupping Sam’s face in his hand, and looking earnestly into Sam’s troubled eyes, “but I will not let this accursed thing touch you, or us. In this place, Sam, we are safe, safer, for the moment, than in the Shire itself. It cannot hurt us within these walls, my dear.” Sam glanced down at his hands for a moment, trying to control his emotion, and then looked back up with renewed determination. “I trust you, me dear, to do as you see best. And now, I’ll need to be lookin’ to that shoulder of yours.” Frodo said no more, as Sam gently rubbed the salve into the wound, and skillfully bandaged it once again. Indeed, he was asleep before Sam had quite finished. &&&&& The large copper tub had been set up in a curtained alcove that Sam had not noticed before off of the balcony walkway that ran behind the windowed wall of their room. Evening was not far off, and shadows lay long across the wide bed when he and Frodo had finally arisen, but the sky was still gilt, even though the sun had disappeared behind the western wall of the Valley. The small nook was lit, however, with white pillared candles set into clear sparkling glasses, so that the errant breeze from the valley below would not cause the flame to waver. The draperies that sheltered this secluded corner were not the white ones that flowed from the high bedroom windows, however, but were rather made of warmer and richer stuff, in brilliant deep oranges and rose, shot through with streaks of burnished gold. There were small intricately carved wooden tables next to the tub, with baskets of fragrant soaps and mysterious flasks with what appeared to be scented oil inside, as well as heaped towels, softer than any to which they were accustomed. And draped on a bench to the side were two robes, flowing and costly in appearance, and obviously too short for the accommodation of any elf. “Looks as though they expect us to dress up for dinner, Sam,” chuckled Frodo at the sight. “Oh, that’d not be for the likes o’me,” Sam glanced at the garments in confusion and not a small amount of horror. “I suppose that will remain to be seen,” Frodo threw his good arm tightly around Sam’s shoulder and gave him a wry smile. “But we have been in these things rather a while. And for the moment, I would rather be in nothing so much as that delicious hot water,” he added, eying it longingly, “and I expect those soaps make the most lovely suds.” “Then that’s what we shall be doin’,” Sam stoutly declared, resolving privately to worry about the question regarding dinner dress later. “Here, m’dear,” he gave Frodo a hand in ridding himself of his garments as soon as possible. Following suit in short order, he insisted in stepping into the tub first, and gave a blissful sigh. “Ah, ‘tis perfect, Frodo-love, how would they be managing that? Let me give you a hand, m’dear.” And in no time at all, they were happily submerged in the warm water, Frodo’s bandaged shoulder carefully up in the air, and his other arm draped around Sam’s neck. “How long is it since we’ve had a good soak, Sam?” Frodo sighed contentedly, closing his eyes and laying his head against Sam’s broad shoulder. “Well, I did have a quick one at Bilbo’s, the other day,” Sam answered truthfully, “but only as the elves wouldn’t let me near you otherwise. An’ they must have given you one at some point, but I can’t say when, as it was before I got here.” “Mmm,” Frodo murmured thoughtfully, turning to kiss Sam’s neck, so temptingly close by. “I certainly don’t remember that. But then, I don’t remember much, after parting from you.” Sam said nothing, but his head drooped down, and his hold around Frodo tightened a bit. Frodo gave him a quick glance and then continued on, as if resolved to persevere no matter how unpleasant the subject. “I may as well tell you everything that I learned this morning, Sam dear. It is only right that you should know it all.” Sam looked up quickly and carefully searched Frodo’s face, with fear in his eyes at Frodo’s suddenly somber tone, but he then unconsciously bit his lip and slowly nodded. “Well, then,” Frodo took a deep breath and stared past the golden draperies to the opening beyond that looked out into the Valley. “This Ring seems to have been created by the Dark Lord himself, Sauron. He is searching for It, for if he is able to recover It, his dominion over Middle Earth will be complete; even over,” he added with a involuntary pause, “the Shire itself.” Sam gazed at him in bewilderment. “But how could something all that mighty end up in the chest of our front parlor at home? That’s not makin’ much sense t’me, no ways, Frodo.” Frodo shook his head slightly and continued. “Nor me, really, Sam, but somehow, in his travels, Bilbo picked the Ring up and brought It back to Bag End. Gandalf, when he left us last, went to consult the head of his order, the wizard Saruman, for advice as to what to do with It. But apparently, Saruman has fallen in with the enemy, and held Gandalf captive. That is why he did not arrive as he had said he would.” “The dwarves,” he went on, as Sam sat silent and troubled, at his side, “have come to Lord Elrond for advice, since the Dark Lord has sent emissaries to them, asking of any news that they might give him of a certain hobbit, a thief, who had once accompanied them on a journey to the east, and had stolen a ring of power. He promised them friendship, and rings of power of their own, if they would but give him any information they might have, but there was also a threat behind those words if they did not assist him.” “Mr. Bilbo? A thief?” Sam cried, staring shocked at Frodo. Frodo, though, frowned and trailed a hand absently through the water. “Bilbo was never all that clear about how he came about the Ring,” he said, at last. “His story seemed to change from time to time. And he was not at the meeting this morning. I don’t suppose he actually stole It, but there may be something irregular about how this object came into his possession.” “But that is not all,” he turned back to Sam again. “There was also a man there, the son of the ruler of Gondor. He came because of a dream that came to him, in which a voice spoke forth in the midst of a storm, bidding him to seek the sword that was broken, here in Lord Elrond’s halls, or else doom would befall his folk. It seemed to me that both Gandalf and Lord Elrond understood this riddle, but they would not speak of it yet. And there was more,” his voice trailed off, troubled. “What, Frodo? Tell me all, me dear,” Sam urged him, alarmed by the look on Frodo’s face. “The last lines of the dream were these,” Frodo replied, with reluctance. “ ‘For Isildur’s Bane shall awaken, and the Halfling forth shall stand.’ ” “Halfling?” Sam gasped in alarm, “That would never be us hobbits, now, would it, Frodo-love?” Frodo nodded in begrudging agreement. “I’m afraid so, Sam,” he said softly. “Oh, now, that can’t be good, no ways,” Sam said in distress. “Hobbits have no business in the dreams of men far off in their mighty kingdoms. An’ we’d be havin’ naught to do with the Dark Lord’s plans, surely. Was there none there that would be takin’ this horrible thing off of your hands, and be seein’ to It properly?” Frodo shook his head sadly. “It seems that upon those with any powers of their own, the Ring acts quickly, and turns them to the will of the Dark Lord all the faster. That’s why Gandalf would never touch It, and remember, Strider wouldn’t either. Since I’m just an ordinary hobbit, it appears I’m stuck with It for a little longer, at least until they decide a course of action.” “I’m not likin’ the sound of this, not at all,” Sam whispered unhappily, tucking himself closer to Frodo. “Nor I, dearest,” Frodo held him all the tighter, burying his face against Sam. “Not in the least.” &&&&& Sam walked at Frodo’s side, valiantly trying to not feel quite foolish. They were wearing the robes the elves had left for them, and only the reluctant admittance that his one set of clothing could really use a bit of cleaning had forced Sam into his. Frodo was striding through the hallways of Rivendell as if he felt it to be entirely natural to be wearing a soft flowing garment. Sam did have to admit that the dark blue color was quite flattering on him. The subdued brown of his robe looked well enough, he supposed, but it still felt like something that he should be wearing to bed rather than in front of the keen eyes of the assembled elves. Not that he normally felt the need to dress for bed, usually. Not any more. He gave Frodo’s cousins a quick glance as they followed behind Frodo and himself. Surprisingly enough, they had both managed to keep a straight face at the sight of both of them, when they had shown up at the door to Frodo’s room, and had mentioned that the elves had left behind similar robes in their room as well. In a touching show of solidarity, they had actually gone back to their room, and had changed. Merry was in a deep gold, and Pippin in a dark green, and apparently, it had been the right choice, for when they met up with Bilbo, he was wearing a richly ornate gown of silver hue. He gave all four of them an approving nod, and muttered, as he turned to lead them to the Great Hall, “Very good, lads. Custom of the country, you know.” But Sam’s clothing was completely forgotten when they entered the Great Hall that evening, and Sam looked upward in wonder. He could not see to the end of it, but the columns were what caught his eye at first. For a moment, he thought that they were living trees, stretching loftily upward, but then realized that they were cunningly carved to appear so. As was the custom in the halls of Rivendell, the wall closest to the Valley was open, being only the height of the tables that were running along it which were heaped with tempting foods, most of which were unfamiliar to him. Along the top half of the wall, above the tables, was a series of spired arched openings, with graceful and beautiful carved figures posed in between. There were great fireplaces interspersed along the opposite side of the Hall, and as usual, the air was comfortably warm despite the openness of the great chamber. A long, seemingly endless table stretched through the center of the Hall, laid with beautiful swathes of rich fabric, and splendid goblets, plates, and cutlery. Flowers were everywhere as well, suffusing the entire Hall with a heady presence. The stone floors were nearly covered completely with elaborately patterned soft rugs, and the Eldar were comfortably arrayed there, as well as in the chairs along the great table. There was music, and soft voices, and laughter, and Sam felt as though he was watching a scene that mortals were not privileged to see. But Bilbo, ahead of the other four hobbits, turned back to them with a pleased grin, and nodded. “Rather splendid, isn’t it?” he chuckled. “Come along, lads, follow me, and don’t stray, mind.” They meekly followed him through the Hall, Merry and Pippin as open-mouthed as Sam, and uncharacteristically silent. Frodo’s expression was unreadable to Sam, however, and Sam drew just a little closer to him, and was only reassured when Frodo turned to give him a small smile, and unobtrusively took his hand. “Here we are, then,” Bilbo stopped halfway through the Hall, in a small alcove that lay between two of the fireplaces. The other hobbits were both surprised and pleased to find Gandalf there, quite at home in a large comfortable chair, with an empty plate at his feet, and a filled goblet in his hand. “There you are, my friends,” he smiled welcomingly. “I’m afraid I could not wait for you, my dear Bilbo, for councils are wearying work, and the need for food would not be gainsaid.” “I’m afraid that trinket of mine is causing you all grief again,” Bilbo laughed lightly, settling down in what was obviously his accustomed place, a small chair next to Gandalf’s. Sam saw the quick piercing look that Gandalf gave the elderly hobbit before he gave a rumbling laugh and placed an affectionate hand lightly on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Not to worry, my old friend, we’ll all sort it out, I’m sure.” Glancing quickly up at Frodo, he added, in a light tone that did not quite match his intense gaze, “Why don’t you find yourself something to eat, Frodo, and fetch your uncle a plate while you’re at it?” “That would be most kind of you, my dear lad,” Bilbo looked up with a hopeful air. “I might add that they do sauces especially well here, although it’s hard to go wrong, really.” Merry and Pippin eagerly perked up at this invitation, although it had not been precisely addressed to them, and quickly led the other two toward the heaped tables. In no time at all, they were all contentedly settled back in the alcove, with plentiful food and drink. Frodo was seated on a comfortable soft rug near Bilbo, well propped up by soft pillows, and Sam sat cross-legged at his side, his robe fortunately accommodating this. The other two hobbits, though, had settled for a high, elf-sized bench near Gandalf, the better to survey the Great Hall and its occupants, as they ate. “Oh, there are the dwarves again,” Pippin pointed out with interest, nodding his head in their direction. “But there are more than just the two, Bilbo. Quite a few more.” “Well, you can’t expect two dwarves to venture into the lands of the elves alone, you know,” Bilbo responded mildly, looking up from his chicken leg. “It took thirteen of them to come to even the Shire.” “They certainly didn’t strike me as being particularly timid,” Merry chuckled from Pippin’s side. “Why is that, then?” Bilbo gave a short snort of amusement at Merry’s remark. “I’d advise not describing them quite that way within hearing distance. Actually, it’s more that they tend to feel out of place, when they are away from their own mountain halls, and it gives them comfort not to be alone. And then there’s this business with the elves.” “They don’t get along?” Pippin asked curiously. Even Gandalf had to chuckle at that understatement. “Night and day, my dear lad, night and day,” Bilbo clarified, with a grin. “I suppose they got along once, but I doubt if even Lord Elrond remembers back that far. Normally, their paths don’t cross much, but it is indeed a rarity to see dwarves in the halls of the elves. I expect Gloin is still wary, after that last visit we had with the elves of Mirkwood. Fortunately, I am far more prone to forgive and forget; otherwise I would not have found this wonderfully pleasing situation.” Frodo gave him a sharp glance, at that last statement, but said nothing as a sudden chord from a harp was heard to ring through the Hall, and voices immediately fell silent. “Ah, there we are,” Bilbo whispered to his guests with delight. “The master minstrel is ready. Now, you shall hear some singing, indeed!” Sam closed his eyes as the melodies filled the Hall with their beauty, and his heart with hope. He did not recognize any of the words, but he understood them, nevertheless. &&&&& It was quite late, and the room was only lit by moonlight, when Frodo and Sam returned to what had become their haven at Rivendell. Frodo had been curiously silent all evening, and as they had entered, he had shut the door firmly behind them, and, taking Sam unresisting by the hand, had led him over to the opened balcony, that overlooked the Valley of the Falls below. The air was still and calm, the draperies only faintly stirring, and the night sky was clear. There was an air of expectation about the night, and Sam suddenly realized that he was waiting. Frodo had not told him all about the meeting that morning, he was quite sure of that. It wasn’t as if he felt Frodo was hiding anything from him however, but it was rather as if there was something that Frodo hadn’t quite worked through yet himself. That was why he had been so quiet through the dinner, and the singing. He had sat, lost in his thoughts, as if everyone and everything around him was part of a story that was happening all about him, but from which he was somehow far away, only hearing it told to him. No one else seemed to notice, except Sam had caught an occasional piercing glance, in Frodo’s direction, from Gandalf, and whatever preoccupied Frodo, he had suddenly realized with a fierce certainty, Gandalf knew of as well. But Frodo showed no sign of mentioning the morning’s events again as he turned to Sam, in the brilliantly icy light, and stretched a hand up to the side of his face. “This robe looks quite handsome on you, after all, Sam,” he murmured intently, his eyes dark in the shadowy moonglow, and steady on Sam’s. “Such a fair-haired princeling you look to be.” Sam’s eyes widened, startled almost as much by Frodo’s tone as his words. “You know, Frodo-love, I’m naught but a simple hobbit, now.” Frodo’s smile was quick, and instantly gone. “A simple hobbit? Others may think that of you, Sam, but I know far better than they. I watched your face, during the singing tonight, and saw it enter your heart. You’ve the spirit of a poet, my beloved Sam, but I’ve known that for so very many years.” His hand was gentle but insistent, slowly traveling from Sam’s cheek down the side of his throat and then back up again, to the back of his head. “And a princeling needs to be brave, but you faced a great horror, as no hobbit has ever done, and would have willingly sought it again, and embraced it, for my sake.” Frodo’s voice was still low, and his other arm had by now swept around Sam’s waist. “Hardly any, in all that great hall tonight, has ever been as brave as that, my dear.” “Brave, and poetic, my princeling, with the kindest and truest heart that I’ve ever known. And of course, beautiful,” the last was nearly a whisper, when Sam threw his arms around Frodo’s neck and caught him up in an intense, passionate kiss. “Oh, I never tell you that often enough,” Frodo gasped hungrily, as they broke apart, “but you are, Sam, you are.” His hand, lost in Sam’s curls, splayed out and held him firmly as he lightly, but ardently, kissed Sam on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his lips. Sam swayed heavily against him, still held closely by Frodo about the waist, and felt his blood run hot under Frodo’s onslaught. Oh, this was worth anything and everything, and to be loved like this was worth any price that he might ever have to pay. He moaned fervently at Frodo’s caresses, and threw his head back in ecstasy. “I used to think,” Frodo continued, as if unable to stop the words as he traced kisses down Sam’s throat, the soft brown robe beginning to slip off of Sam’s shoulder, “that I was responsible for you somehow. I suppose it was because you were so young when we fell in love, and I would never have wanted your gaffer to think that I had treated you ill.” He paused then, his head rising back up so that he could look directly into Sam’s eyes. “But I was wrong about that, wasn’t I, Sam. It’s always been your choice, hasn’t it, to follow me, to stay with me. You’re not my responsibility, and never have been, but rather my equal, my other half, as necessary to me as breathing the air itself.” For a moment, he was silent, turning to look out over the Valley, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, and then turned back to Sam once again. “Wherever we go, Sam, we go together. Whatever happens to us, will happen to us together. You are my happiness and my home, Sam, as you always have been, and I could never bear to be parted from you, never, not for any reason.” At that, Sam felt the tightness that had unknowingly been building in him all day long suddenly released, and joy flooded his heart. “I would walk the ways of this world to my last day, Frodo-love,” he whispered, cradling Frodo’s face with both hands, “and be as happy as the first day that ever I saw your beautiful face. As long as ’tis at your side, dearest, there’d be naught more that I’d ever ask for.” “Ah, Sam,” Frodo’s exclamation was both passionate and hauntingly sad, as he threw his arms tightly around Sam, and lowering his head, buried his face against Sam’s chest. “Oh, hush now, me dearie,” Sam crooned softly, willing the tears not to fall, and coaxing Frodo wordlessly toward their bed. “Come to me, my own sweet love, and let tomorrow come as it may. Tonight is ours, dearest, ours alone.” Frodo stopped in the pool of moonlight that stretched across the floor and, stepping back, reached out toward Sam’s shoulder. “You are right,” he murmured, unfastening one more of the buttons at the neck of Sam’s robe. “This night is ours, indeed.” And with only a whisper, the fabric of the robe slid past Sam’s shoulders and fell in folds at his feet. “Well, now, these thing’s be havin’ their merits, after all,” Sam smiled warmly into Frodo’s eyes, copying his action and letting the other robe fall as well, leaving Frodo standing before him as naked as he was in the pale light. Almost naked, that is. Only the involuntary small intake of breath from Sam that made Frodo gaze back down to his chest. And then, with a slow but deliberate gesture, he raised his eyes back up to Sam’s and without looking at the Ring once, lifted the chain from around his neck and, extending his arm out, let It drop to the ground. “Not in here, dearest Sam,” he breathed, “and never between us. It will never have that much power.” Sam made no answer to him then, for indeed, he had no answer that he could express in words. Instead, he threw himself into Frodo’s waiting arms. “Ah, me darling,” he moaned, his face finding shelter in the crook of Frodo’s neck, and his arms tight around Frodo’s torso. “Yes, Sam, yes,” Frodo murmured, his eyes closing, as he clung tightly to Sam, “whatever else happens, nothing could ever take this from us. Come, follow me,” his voice fell to a whisper, as he began to move Sam toward the bed. “Let me love you, Sam.” Sam felt the back of his legs hit the bed, and he quickly turned to scramble atop it, but never letting go his grasp of Frodo’s hand. Unconsciously, he tugged at Frodo’s hand, urging him up as well, and then his hand fell away as he saw the expression in Frodo’s eyes. Falling back against the pillow, he could only look up in a sort of wonder as Frodo knelt by his side on the bed, gazing down at him, the dark-lashed eyes catching the brightness of the moon with an almost unearthly clarity. Frodo leaned across him then and lifted his hand, bringing it to Sam’s side. “Sometimes, you think you know a person rather well,” Frodo murmured, as he leisurely stroked his hand up from Sam’s side, up his torso, and lingeringly down his breastbone and lower, as Sam could not, transfixed, take his eyes from the face above him. “But then you find that perhaps not. That you are used to seeing this person, possibly, in a certain place, in a certain way.” Sam’s breath hitched, as Frodo’s knowing hand paused for a moment, and caressed what so desperately wished to be caressed. “And that when everything about you changes,” Frodo quietly continued, never watching his hand, but keeping his eyes still on Sam’s, “you find that there is more to this person that you never thought to look for, that a lifetime really would never be long enough to truly learn all there is to know, that this person will continue to surprise you, and startle you, and change you, for the rest of your lives.” Bending over Sam then, he met his mouth in a long and searching kiss, his hand still expertly grasping and stroking, as Sam moaned helplessly, and drew his knee up, twisting his body into Frodo’s touch. Throwing his arms up, he twined them around Frodo’s neck and arched his back, surging up into the kiss. Frodo moved farther over Sam then, and he could feel Frodo’s own arousal hard against his hip. Suddenly Frodo pulled away, and gazed back down at Sam with great seriousness as Sam froze, watching him with an odd expectancy. “And that is why, my beloved Sam,” Frodo said quietly, “I cannot do what makes sense, what would be the best and right thing, when it comes to you. Even when I know the dangers and the jeopardy that I put you in, I can no more separate myself from you than part my heart from my body. There may be a day when you need to forgive me for this, but please know why.” “There’ll never be that day, Frodo, never. That’s my promise to you,” Sam whispered roughly, as he reached up again to bring Frodo’s mouth unresistingly back to his, one hand behind Frodo’s head, and the other progressing lingeringly and hungrily down his back. Frodo’s eyes slid closed, and he drew himself tightly over Sam, matching Sam’s arching upward with a consummately delectable pressure, an enticing push upwards, a tantalizing pull downwards, and a more urgent motion of his hand hidden between them. “Oh, Frodo, dearest Frodo,” cried out Sam, throwing his head back and rocking under him, striving to bring them closer, indeed, impossibly close. Frodo caught his breath, and lifting his head, buried it at the crook of Sam’s neck. Their breathing coming in ever shorter gasps, their pace quickened, and the world around them was lost to the frenzy of their need to join, to connect, to become, for the moment, one. And then Sam heard Frodo’s sharp choked cry in his ear, and felt the warm wetness suddenly cover his hip, and with that, he released into Frodo’s hand, and Frodo collapsed over him. Several moments passed before either could move, but it was Frodo who rose, and picking up a cloth near the bed, cleaned them off and prepared them for sleep. Sam lay, almost dazed, and felt that he should consider what Frodo might have been trying to tell him, but the bed was too warm and comfortable, his body was limp in the most lovely of ways, and Frodo slid in next to him in no time, gently cradling him in his arms, and brushing his forehead with light kisses. “My Sam, my own,” he barely heard Frodo whisper before he slid into the most delicious sleep.
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