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Notes: This story starts a
new series, Far From Home, that will follow Shire Morns, and cover the quest.
Please note that this is AU! (Or for all you old Trekkers out there, a favorite
device - a parallel universe! But without Spock in a goatee.) And many thanks to
my poor beta, Tinewen, who tends to get hit with double blasts from me.
Spectres Of The Past
Frodo found himself strangely glad that Bilbo had been fond of dragging him over
half the countryside about Hobbiton. Although the night was only barely lit by
the thinnest of moons, he knew the path through the backfields well enough.
Pippin and Merry, of course, followed him blindly, having no idea where they
were, as did even Sam, who had never really developed much of a sense of
direction, always having relied upon Frodo for that. Frodo was still not
entirely sure of the direction that would be the wisest, but he did know that he
wished to keep The Water between the East Road and themselves for as long as
possible. There were some rocky, craggy hills bordering the road that ran north
from the great East Road, not long out of Hobbiton, and that was the first place
that he could think of to go. From there, he would have time to rest, and
collect his wits, and think of what to do next. And answer Merry and Pippin’s
inevitable questions.
Through the neighboring fields, they quietly made their way. The hay in the
Cottons’ fields had been already cut, and the dim moonlit shadows of the neatly
stacked shocks lay on ground before their feet, as they quickly but cautiously
walked through the stubble-strewn field. Sam felt a definite twinge of regret,
as he passed through the upright straw that he himself had helped stack only a
few days before. He would have been expected, in the next few days, to help load
it into the barn for the winter, and when they would look for him, he would be
gone. The gaffer knew that he had had to leave though, and would think of
something to tell them, but he couldn’t help but feel that he had failed his
sister and her family. But if he had not gone, he would have failed Frodo, and
that would have been utterly unthinkable. Someday, he would explain it all to
Marigold and Tom. Sam realized that he and Frodo would necessarily be gone for
probably quite a while, but with a bit of luck, they’d be making it back in time
for him to be helping out with the spring planting.
Pippin closely followed a silent Merry, and tried his best to work out how they
came to be fleeing through strange fields in the dark of the night, on Frodo’s
birthday eve. It was clear to him that Merry had a better idea of what was
happening than did he, but he knew there was no point to asking questions quite
yet. He did not plan on going to sleep though, whenever that time might come,
without a few answers.
Merry was indeed silent, but his mind was churning through the possibilities,
and not thinking very much of any of them. Frodo’s secretiveness was never a
good sign. Usually it meant that there was something from which Frodo felt he
should be protected. Sam was clearly upset as well, and had even shown evidence
of tears more than once these last few days, something that was totally out of
character for the sensible, even-tempered hobbit Merry thought he knew. And for
some reason, the thought that all of this was somehow connected with Bilbo kept
popping into his head. Bilbo was the only hobbit that Merry had ever known to
have regular contact with the world outside of the Shire. And Merry couldn’t
help remembering that the mysterious strangers had only mentioned the last name
of Baggins, but never a first name. Could it be Bilbo they were actually seeking
and not Frodo? Grimly, Merry was even more determined to get it out of Frodo at
the first opportunity. But that opportunity was not yet.
The moon rose higher as they continued to travel on, and the light was somewhat
better. It was just as well, since they were starting to leave the larger
farmsteads, on mostly Baggins’ land, behind, and were now crossing through the
smaller fields. These belonged to the independent farmers, difficult, stony
soil, where only smaller subsistence crops could be grown. Many of these farms
kept sheep as well, and sought additional income from the sale of wool and
fleece. Frodo knew these farms all too well, and quickly led the others up into
the hills, away from the dark cottages, and the sleeping sheep in their pens.
This was not a neighborhood of which he was particularly fond.
The hills became progressively more steep and rocky, leading up toward a ridge
that overlooked the road to the north. There were caves in these hills, in which
he and Bilbo, and later he and Sam, had frequently found shelter from rain on
their hiking excursions, and it was for one of those, an especially well-hidden
one, that he was making his way now. Sam began to recognize the countryside too,
even in the dim light, and guessed that Frodo would be stopping soon. That left
him feeling a bit heartened, and he thought of what might go with a bit of tea
for a very late supper, or an exceptionally early breakfast.
Sure enough, Frodo halted in a small clearing surrounded by boulders, and
pointed to one. The sky was beginning to take on the dusky blue tint of the very
early morning, and a hollowing in one of the boulders could be seen. With an
exclamation of relief, Sam recognized it, and walking to the other side of the
boulder, seemingly vanished. Pippin gave a short cry of surprise, but Merry gave
a sudden grin. “I remember this place,” he grabbed Pippin’s hand. “Come along, I
think Frodo’s finally going to give us a bit of rest.”
Frodo had disappeared already, following Sam, and the other two hobbits saw, as
they rounded the boulder, a spacious cave hidden by the boulder from the casual
passer-by. “One of Bilbo’s favorite camps,” Frodo murmured, giving Sam some of
the dry wood he had picked up on the way in. “Just the right distance from Bag
End to feel you’ve really gone somewhere. I think a fire would be safe enough
here.”
At that last remark, Sam had given Frodo a quick look, but Frodo lay down his
pack, and rummaging through Sam’s, produced a pot and the tin of tea as if it
were the most ordinary of camping trips. Laying the tin down beside Sam, he
walked out of the cave with the pot, mentioning over his shoulder as he left,
“I’ll just go get the water. I know where the stream is from here.”
It was only after Frodo had left, that Sam gave a quiet sigh. Merry took that as
an indication that he might be inclined to give them some information, and
snatching up a few of the logs himself, began to help Sam stack them for the
small fire, Pippin hovering nervously behind him. “What can you tell us, Sam?”
Merry muttered, as he kept his hands busy, but giving Sam an intent look. “Is he
really in that much trouble that he needs to fly off like this?”
Sam nodded his head stoically, and concentrated his attention on lighting the
tinder. “There’s trouble a’plenty, right enough,” he mumbled, not looking at the
other two hobbits, “but it’s Frodo as needs be tellin’ you about such things.
When Big People come searchin’ you out, though, you know it can’t be any good,
no ways at’ll.” And he would say nothing more until they heard Frodo returning
with the water.
It was after the tea had been prepared, and a hot mug was steaming in each hand,
and Sam had brought out another tin of teacakes, that wouldn’t be lasting all
that much longer, that Merry could wait no more. “Frodo,” he said emphatically,
setting the mug down after only one sip. “You need to tell us all about this
mess, now. Pip and I will do anything for you, of course, but we do need to know
what is going on.”
Frodo sighed, and stared into the fire. “Sam and I need to leave the Shire,” he
said at last. “There’s something we must do. I had hoped to move to Crickhollow
first, and leave inconspicuously from there, but I don’t know if there’s time
for that now. Things have happened a little more suddenly than I thought they
would.”
Merry watched his cousin’s face intently. “You’re still not telling us that much
we don’t already know, Frodo,” he said softly, when Frodo seemed to have come to
a halt.
“I really can’t say much more,” Frodo replied unhappily, lifting his eyes up to
Merry’s steady ones. “It’s not safe for you to know much more.”
“Hmm,” Merry replied noncommittally. “Then let’s try this. Why did you rent out
the house in Crickhollow under an assumed name?”
Frodo looked startled at Merry’s statement, but said nothing.
“It’s Brandybuck land, Frodo, and the agent recognized you. At this point, only
he, my father, and the four of us know this, but I suspect your departure may
not be as inconspicuous as you would like it to be.”
Frodo gave Sam a glance at that, but Sam returned his look steadily. “Those as
love you deserve to know, Frodo,” he said quietly, and Frodo gave him a rueful
slight smile.
“Very well, then,” he turned back to the other two. “Bilbo picked up something
unusual on his travels, and left it with me when he left years ago. It was a
trick ring, not seemingly of much value, and it lay in his trunk in the study
until Gandalf came to see me last summer. He had been curious about it for
years, as it turns out, and had been looking into its past.”
“What sort of trick?” Pippin’s face was alight with curiosity. “Did it have
anything to do with the way Bilbo vanished the night of his last party?”
Frodo nodded. “Yes, when it’s put on, it causes the wearer to disappear as long
as he wears it. Bilbo always had it about, and was fond of slipping it on when
he saw Lobelia or that sort approaching. But I had put it away, since Lobelia
never bothered much about me, and besides, Gandalf seemed to think there was
some danger to using it. I had completely forgotten it when he turned up.”
“Sounds like dwarvish magic of some sort,” Merry responded mildly, “and I’m sure
it’s wildly amusing to have around at times, but I’m still not following you,
Frodo. What does that have to do with you and Sam having to take off?”
“It turned out not to be just a trick ring, Merry,” Frodo continued,
reluctantly, “but something much more evil and powerful that that. Gandalf says
that it cannot stay here, that it will bring a malice that will destroy the
Shire.”
“Really.” Merry’s tone was decidedly skeptical. “Bilbo has been gone now nearly,
what, twenty years? And he picked this thing up roughly sixty years prior to
that? So this thing of supposedly immense evil has been cooling its heels in Bag
End for nearly eighty years before Gandalf suddenly decides that it cannot
remain in the Shire another minute more, and packs the two of you off into the
wilderness with it? Frodo, this just sounds quite impossible, you know.”
Frodo took a deep breath. “I know, Merry, it does, but there is something about
it that makes me believe Gandalf implicitly.”
“And you, Sam, what do you think of this?” Merry turned to Sam suddenly, who had
been quietly sitting by Frodo’s side.
Sam paused for only a moment, before his eyes solemnly met Merry’s. “I know it
sounds like summat from a fauntling’s tale,” he said slowly, “but I was there
too, Merry. An’ that thing is evil through and through, no mistake.”
Merry’s expression sobered as he studied the two of them carefully. “Very well,”
he said abruptly. “So this Ring is as evil as you say, and Gandalf wants it out
of the Shire. Why, being the mighty wizard that he is, does he need the pair of
you? Why can’t he dispose of it himself?”
“Because he cannot touch it,” Frodo explained, grudgingly. “He says that he has
too much power already, that it would tempt him beyond endurance.”
Merry’s eyebrow rose again. “Whereas you, Frodo, having no power at all, are
free to cart it about?” Frodo remained silent, and Merry shook his head. “All
right then, where does he want you to take it?”
“I’m not really sure,” Frodo admitted unhappily. “He was supposed to meet us at
Bag End, and he said that he would be here by my birthday at the latest, but he
never came.”
Merry studied him a moment longer, and then, moving closer to him, put an arm
around Frodo’s shoulder and gave him a warm hug. “Well, it does sound as if
there would have been trouble if you had stayed around Bag End any longer,” he
agreed reluctantly. “The fact that these mysterious Big People are asking for
you is the one thing that has me believing that there really is something to all
of this, after all. But don’t worry, Frodo, I’m sure the three of us can help
you figure out what to do.”
“Yes, don’t worry, Frodo dear,” Pippin chimed in as well, and then spoiled the
effect with an unexpectedly hearty yawn.
Frodo gave a sudden smile, and said softly, “I think that the whole situation
might make a bit more sense to all of us after a bit of sleep. It’s nearly
morning, I know, but I don’t think anyone will be disturbing us here. A fine
birthday present I’ve given the three of you, I’m afraid.”
Pippin rose to his feet, yawning once again. “Well, Frodo, never let it be said
that you’ve become stodgy and boring in your old age,” he chuckled sleepily.
“And I know I must have missed dinner, and probably first breakfast as well, by
this time, but I really am too exhausted to care. I warn you, though, I shall
definitely care after some sleep.”
Frodo rose as well, and gave Pippin a warm hug. “We’ll find something for you to
eat, my dear, never fear. Sam is infallible about that sort of thing.”
As Pippin carried some blankets to the other end of the cave, Merry embraced
Frodo as well. “No worries, Frodo,” he murmured, raising a hand to the side of
Frodo’s face gently. “We’ll help you out of this. We’re not letting you and Sam
go off on your own. You both mean far too much to Pip and me to lose you to the
world beyond the Shire.” He studied Frodo’s face for a moment more and softly
added, “As you did Bilbo.”
Frodo’s eyes closed at Merry’s last words, but when he reopened them, there was
gratitude mixed with the still painful memories. “Thank you, Merry” he
whispered. Merry nodded, and letting go of Frodo, went to join Pippin.
Sam had already doused the small fire, and rinsed out the mugs. Spreading his
cloak, and a blanket on the side of the cave opposite the opening, he let Frodo
settle down next to him before covering both of them with Frodo’s cloak. “I
never got to say happy birthday to you, Frodo-love,” he whispered, drawing Frodo
up in his arms as Frodo turned to him and caught Sam’s hand tightly in his own.
“The morning will come soon enough. You just sleep now, me dear, and let me hold
you close.” Frodo gave him a quick thankful kiss, and closing his eyes, was
surprisingly soon asleep.
*****
The four hobbits woke up rather late in the morning, driven mostly by hunger.
Pippin was ravenous indeed, but even Frodo, the lightest eater of the four, felt
the definite lack of at least two meals. Sam was joined by Frodo in preparing a
surprisingly lavish, considering the circumstances, second breakfast consisting
of fried sausages and mushrooms, fried tomatoes, fried bread, and quite a large
pot of tea. It wasn’t until the dishes, mugs, pot and frying pan were all
cleaned and packed away, that the hobbits all comfortably settled around the
remains of the cook fire, and munched on apples, to fill up the corners.
Somehow, matters seemed so much more sensible in the daylight, especially with a
full stomach to rely upon, and evil rings and excursions from the Shire suddenly
seemed quite impossible.
“Well,” sighed Frodo, beginning to feel the uncomfortable burden of leadership,
“I suppose the best plan would be to make our way to Crickhollow, avoiding the
main roads as much as possible, and wait for Gandalf. With any luck, he’ll have
a better plan for disposing of it, and we can be well rid of it and back home in
no time.” Any doubts the others had were prudently kept to themselves, as they
quickly agreed, and finished packing up.
The sun was high overhead, and the sky clear as they left the boulder-circled
clearing and wound their way down the stony trails that led to the road to the
north, but the occasional chill light wind at their backs was a constant
reminder that it was indeed autumn, and that the warm days would soon be gone.
Sam now, in the daylight, recognized the trail, and gratefully anticipated the
road ahead. It would be nice to have a bit of smooth going, for picking his way
through stones, burdened as he was with the heaviest pack, was not his idea of a
pleasant walk. He agreed with Frodo’s plan of keeping their distance from the
heavily used East Road, but that from the north ought to be safe enough.
They reached it shortly after noon, a great ancient thoroughfare stretching from
the center of the Shire to far into the north. Although broad, and still fairly
well packed, it was beginning to show signs of disuse, with grass growing freely
between the wagon ruts, and the edges all overgrown with black-eyed Susan and
goldenrod. All was quiet and peaceful as they stood at the edge of the road,
gazing up it as far as could be seen. Dust swirled off the road with the gusts
of the breeze, since it had not rained for at least a week. Leaves of the oak
and sycamores along the road rustled, just beginning to dry and become brown and
gold, and the buzzing of bees was prominent, lazily sipping their fill from the
wildflowers. The occasional staccato drill of a woodpecker, hoarding food for
the coming winter, was all that disturbed the peaceful scene.
“We ought to be able to follow this for a bit, don’t you think?” Merry, standing
with Frodo in front of the other two, proposed. “If we take it down to where the
Water runs, we can then follow the Water east to the Brandywine Bridge, and
avoid the East road that way. Cutting across country east from here might be a
bit dodgy. It’s mostly woods, with the odd small farm here and there.”
“Well, I had hoped to avoid roads altogether,” Frodo gave a reluctant frown,
“but this road does seem rather sparsely used, and it would certainly save some
time, rather than just cutting cross-country from here.”
“And,” added Pippin hopefully, from behind the two older hobbits, “there’s more
likely to be a good place to have a bit of lunch. Travelers must have to stop
sometimes, you know.”
Merry turned around and gave him a fond glance. “Pippin, we would never dream of
depriving you of a meal. Seeing, of course, as we would hear about it for the
rest of the afternoon.”
Frodo laughed too, and turned to Sam with a smile. “What do you think, Sam?” he
asked, laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Do you think the road is safe enough?”
“In broad daylight, I’d reckon so,” Sam answered thoughtfully, shifting his pack
somewhat.
Frodo narrowed his eyes slightly, mentally resolving to check the weight of
Sam’s pack at their next stop, and conceded to the general consensus. “The road
it is, at least for now. And I do believe, Pip, that there does seem to be a
likely spot to stop for lunch right up there, under that oak.”
That promptly settled the matter, and it wasn’t until well into the afternoon
that they even thought of starting down the road again. All their walking had
caused particularly hearty appetites for lunch, and somehow, the warm sun, the
birds chattering among the rustling leaves, the somnolent buzz of the bees, and
the stress of the night before combined to lull all four of them into a rather
prolonged post-lunch nap.
Merry woke first, and stretched his arms over Pippin, lying on his side next to
him, with a hearty yawn. Pippin blinked a few times, and then sat up next to
Merry, rubbing his eyes. Merry sat up as well, drawing his knees up and wrapping
his arms around them, giving Frodo and Sam, both still asleep lying side by side
facing each other, a thoughtful stare. “What do you think of all this, Pip?” he
asked finally, turning to look at him. “Does it seem as preposterous to you as
it does me? Obviously, they both believe Gandalf’s stories, but to fly off to
the Lady knows where because of them?”
Pippin looked back at him thoughtfully. “What about those strangers?” he asked
slowly. “That is odd, you must admit.”
“Well, yes,” Merry shook his head. “But there might be a perfectly rational
explanation for them. All we know is that they have apparently been asking for
Frodo, and seem to have found out where he lives.”
“No one who’s met them seem to think their intentions are any good,” Pippin
pointed out with a frown.
“Perhaps not,” Merry murmured. “All the same, I’d like to have a look at this
Ring that’s the cause of all this fuss and bother.”
Pippin gave an involuntary shudder at Merry’s words. “I’d rather not,” he said
bluntly. “I’ll take Frodo’s word that it’s evil.”
Glancing over to Frodo and Sam again, who were beginning to stir themselves
awake, Merry shot Pippin back an argumentative look. “If we’re going to be
helping them, Pip, we ought to know as much about this nuisance as possible. I
think we’re entitled to see it.”
Meanwhile, Frodo, stretching, blinked his eyes open, and, glancing up at the
sun, started. “We’ve been asleep too long,” he murmured uneasily, nudging Sam
awake as well. “We should be farther down this road before dark.” Sam, quickly
awake at Frodo’s words, grunted assent and got up, starting to pick up the last
of the articles around their campsite.
But Merry was not dropping the subject, and approached Frodo, with Pippin
anxiously behind him. “Let’s have a look at that thing. I’d just like to see the
cause of all this.”
Sam gave an involuntary shiver, not paying much attention to the others as he
started to fold up the blanket he and Frodo had been using. That breeze
certainly seemed to have picked up, and the afternoon was growing decidedly
chill.
“Merry,” murmured Pippin uneasily, but Frodo and Merry were taking no notice of
him. Reluctantly, but with a compulsion to show it that he could not resist,
Frodo withdrew the small box out of his pocket, and opened it.
“Seems rather plain, doesn’t it?” Merry muttered, his eyes held by the small
gold band.
Unobserved by either Frodo or himself, Merry’s hand had risen up, as if to
stroke it. Frodo was watching his face in mesmerized silence, but Pippin, his
eyes widening in horror, suddenly gasped out, “No, Merry!” and quickly snatched
up Merry’s hand in his own. “No, Merry,” he repeated insistently, as Merry
turned to him in surprise, his hand still held tightly in Pippin’s. “Don’t touch
it! It wants you to, it’s calling to you.”
Frodo quickly shut the box, shoving it down into his pocket, but Merry didn’t
notice, staring at Pippin in amazement. A lifetime spent beside Tooks, and
especially this one, had taught him a healthy respect for their intuition, and
he had no doubt whatsoever that what Pippin said was somehow true.
In the meantime, there was something that had been nagging at Sam as he packed,
something that was very wrong. He had not been concerning himself with the other
three, trying to determine what that something was, and quite suddenly, he put
his finger on it. It was quiet, much too quiet. There was no sound from neither
bird nor bee, even the rustle of the leaves had somehow unexpectedly been
stilled, and a cloud had seemed to pass before the sun, the very sky darkening,
even though it was still far from night. With a sinking feeling of dread, he
started to turn toward Frodo, but Frodo abruptly lifted his head up, looking
away from the other hobbits and drawing in a quick breath. And his face suddenly
changed. “Away from the road,” he gasped, a look of horror crossing his face.
“Away from the road!”
There was no question on the part of any of his companions. They ran into the
undergrowth at the side as noiselessly as possible, with no look behind them,
until they could draw themselves down into the thick brush. Only then did they
dare to look back to the road.
It was a tall figure upon horseback, black-clad, but somehow indistinct, as
though their eyes could not quite grasp the details of the figure. No face could
be seen, for the entire figure was shrouded in a hooded black cape, but the
hands upon the reins were covered in great black gloves, and there was a glint
of metal from them as well. Both the figure and the horse itself were clearly
from beyond the Shire, stately, majestic, and irrevocably dreadful.
Silently, the horse stood at the side of the road with its proud neck bent
downward, while the cloaked figure upon it turned its head from side to side, as
if searching. It gave no sign of seeing the terrified hobbits, huddled in the
brush, but once or twice lifted its hidden face up, almost as if it were trying
to catch the scent of prey in the breeze. And then, they moved, the horse
without noticeable command, slowly starting to stride down the road to the
south, back towards the center of the Shire.
Almost immediately as the apparition left their sight, the cloud passed from the
sun, and the light shone more brightly again upon the resumed buzz of the bees
and song of the birds. Except for the racing of their hearts and the certainty
of the fear they had felt, there was no evidence that any evil presence had
disturbed the peaceful scene.
Frodo finally stood up, still rather shaky, and the other three did the same. “I
think we’d best go cross-country,” he murmured to his distraught companions. “We
dare not trust the roads, I’m afraid.” There was no disagreement on that score,
and the four travelers quickly but quietly made their way into the deeper woods.
*****
For the rest of the afternoon, they walked through the woods in a single file,
going as quickly as they could and yet remain quiet, at times almost a hasty
half-running gait, bent on leaving the road as far behind them as they could
before they lost the light. Frodo was in the lead, and Sam at the rear, with the
two younger hobbits in between. There was no thought of conversation, not even
any thought of stopping for tea, and it wasn’t until the dusk was becoming quite
deep that they came upon the first farm.
It was a farm much like those on the other side of the road, with stony,
unforgiving soil, surrounded with sheep pastures. Frodo felt his heart tighten
for a moment. He wished he had known of its presence a little sooner, and he
could have gone farther north and perhaps avoided it.
Merry, though, coming to a halt behind Frodo, felt his spirits left slightly.
The small cottage could be seen in the far distance, down in a small dale, smoke
already rising from the chimney, and flickering light to be seen in its windows.
It wasn’t a smial, of course, the rocky hills in this part of the Shire did not
allow for much digging, but it looked cozy and homely enough anyway. “Perhaps we
could get shelter from the night there,” Merry murmured, as both Pippin and Sam
caught up with the both of them. “It’s going to be damp and chill out tonight,
I’m afraid.”
“No,” Frodo disagreed at once, shaking his head. “We really can’t take that
chance. I’d rather as few folk as possible saw us. It would just be putting them
in unnecessary danger.”
Sam had been looking about as well. They were standing on what was obviously an
upper pasture, for there was a pen on the hilltop, with a path running down to
the cottage, and a dozen or so sheep already within, settling for the night. But
only a little further on, under the shelter of a small stand of trees, was a
small wooden outbuilding. “Over there,” he said quietly, coming up beside Frodo
and lightly touching his arm. “We might be able to stay there tonight without
notice bein’ taken.”
Frodo nodded, but continued to survey the hillside with a barely concealed
anxiety. The thought of shelter was too attractive, though, for Merry and Pippin
to resist, and they started to skirt the upper part of the field, keeping to the
shelter of the trees.
It was as they did so that the low howl broke the evening silence. Frodo froze,
his face clearly revealing his fear, and Merry and Pippin hastily ran back to
where the other two were standing. The low howl was repeated, this time ending
in a threatening growl, and a low-slung creature could be seen approaching them.
Sam could hear Frodo suck in his breath, crouching beside him in preparation for
flight, with both of his cousins warily at his back, but to Sam, the shape
didn’t seem particularly fearsome, and he wondered at the reaction of the other
three hobbits to it.
“Here, now,” he muttered, giving them a perplexed glance. “ ‘Tis only the
sheepdog.”
Strangely enough, this explanation did not seem to belay anyone else’s
anxieties. The other three hobbits still seemed poised to run, but Sam knew that
would not be the way to be dealing with a sheepdog. No sense in making the dog
think there was something it ought to be chasing.
Still rather puzzled by his companions’ reactions, Sam decided to take care of
matters himself. Slowly he walked forward towards the dog, which had dropped
forward on its front paws, still growling intently. He gradually lifted his
hand, extending it toward the dog, and began to speak in a low soothing voice.
“Ah, you’re a fine one, you are. Doin’ a right nice job of guardin’ those sheep
o’yours now, you are at that. We’ll not be goin’ near them, so you don’t need to
be frettin’.”
It almost seemed to the others that the dog understood Sam, for it ceased its
growling, and sat down to watch them, still keeping a wary distance from the
strangers. “Now, I’ll keep talkin’ to him,” Sam casually mentioned, keeping his
tones in the same low voice with which he had spoken to the dog, his eye still
on it, “And you can slowly walk, no runnin’, mind you, over to that shed.
Because this dog is doin’ as he ought,” he continued, the comments returning to
the dog, “and a fine guardian he’d be.”
By this time, the others had reached to shed, and Sam casually followed behind,
still speaking in that calming voice to the dog. “A lovely evenin’ to you, to be
sure, and you keep a good watch on those sheep of yours, and we’ll just be on
our way on the morrow.” He entered the shed as well, and Merry hastily shut the
door behind them.
It was dark in the shed, with only filtered light coming from the open loft door
above, but Pippin had noticed a lantern in the corner on the way in, and was now
rummaging through his pack for his tinderbox. In a few moments, he had it lit,
and they could suddenly see about them, as well as each other’s faces.
The building appeared to be a shearing shed that was also used for the storage
of hay for the winter months. As it was the end of summer, the loft above,
accessed by a wooden ladder nailed to the wall, was nearly full, and there were
stacks of hay about down below as well. There were some rough benches along one
side, such as were used by the sheepherders during shearing season, and it was
on one of these that Frodo sat down quite heavily, sinking his head in one hand,
which was noticeably shaking. With immediate concern, Sam sat next to him and
threw an arm around his shoulder. To his dismay, he could feel Frodo’s entire
body shivering, but Frodo would not look at him.
Merry commented softly behind Sam, “Frodo’s not too fond of dogs.” And as Sam
raised his head, giving him a rather stern look, he guilelessly added, “But
then, neither are we. You may have noticed that.” And Pippin, still rather
wide-eyed, nodded behind him.
“However did you learn how to talk to them, Sam?” asked Pippin then, starting to
draw some bread and apples out of his pack and offering it to the rest of them.
Sam nodded his thanks and took the food, but Frodo didn’t move. After just a
moment’s hesitation, Sam took Frodo’s share as well, and stuffed it in his own
pocket to give to Frodo later.
“Oh, my cousins up north,” he replied casually, starting to eat, without
withdrawing his arm that was firmly around Frodo’s shoulders. “They herded
sheep, likewise. ‘Twas my mother’s brother, and I used to go up with her, of
summers. It was them as showed me the way to talk to a dog. And right handy
those dogs are,” he added thoughtfully. “Those foxes can be a bother, especially
in the spring, when there’d be new lambs about.”
“I suppose so,” Merry said pensively, as he sat down cross-legged next to
Pippin. “They just aren’t that common in Buckland. Only Farmer Maggot kept them
as far as I knew.”
Frodo gulped, almost inconspicuously, at Merry’s words. But it was just enough
for Sam to tighten his grip, just the slightest, and to suggest, not long
afterwards, that they get some sleep. Both Merry and Pippin nodded then, still
grateful for a bit more sleep to compensate from the night before. Casting his
eyes up, Sam quickly volunteered Frodo and himself for the loft, leaving the
ground level for the other two. With a reassured glance at the well-shut door,
the other two agreed, and before very long, Sam was assisting a still-silent
Frodo into climbing up the ladder and into the loft above, bringing their packs
up as well.
Busying himself with spreading out the straw, and laying out their cloaks and
blankets, Sam let Frodo be, for the time being, not speaking to him, but keeping
an unobtrusive eye on him all the same. Frodo had walked over to the loft
opening, and was staring out over the dimly lit fields and woods beyond. But it
wasn’t until Sam had arranged everything for the night, and had lay down to
wait, his arms crossed behind his head, that Frodo finally turned to him, and
joining Sam upon the straw, knelt down beside him. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he
whispered, his head bent low, and his eyes downcast.
Sam said nothing at first, but drawing an arm out from behind his head, lay his
hand softly against Frodo’s cheek, guiding an unwilling Frodo’s eyes back to
him. “I never knew that you were afraid of dogs,” he said quietly. “After all
these years, I never knew that.”
The ghost of a reluctant smile appeared on Frodo’s face then. “I know,” he
murmured. “I always tried very hard not to let you know. Bad experience when I
was young, you see. I suppose I never really got over it.”
He fell silent again, and just as Sam was starting to think that he had said all
he was going to say about it, he spoke again in a voice that was suddenly husky
and unsteady. “I don’t think I can do this, Sam. I’m not brave, like Bilbo, or
even you. I’m terrified of a sheepdog while we’re still in the midst of the
Shire. How could I have ever thought that I could take on a task like this?”
Gently, Sam drew him down then, and wrapped his arms around Frodo, kissing his
forehead lightly, and then his cheek, and finally finding Frodo’s mouth with his
own. Frodo gave a low moan, but returned his kiss briefly before drawing away,
and tucking his face into the crook of Sam’s neck.
“It’s not just the dog, is it, Frodo-love.” Sam stroked his back instinctively,
and lightly kissed the side of his face again. “It’s all of us, lookin’ t’you,
thinkin’ you’ll always have the answer. It’s goin’ who knows where, with evil
followin’ us, as has got you scared. And, me dear, I’d say as you’d be a right
ninny if you were not scared. And you’ve never been that.”
Frodo gulped, and Sam could feel hot tears on his neck then. “You know why I’m
not as scared as you?” he whispered softly, continuing to caress Frodo. “Because
I’d be with you, and as long as I am, I’m never truly afraid. But, you, Frodo
dearest, you’ve got take it on all yourself, and watch out for all of us.
There’s no shame in feelin’ as you do, none at all, love.”
“But I do know,” Sam continued tenderly, reaching under Frodo’s chin and drawing
his face up again and gazing gravely into his eyes, “That there would never be
anyone better to be with than you, in a time such as this. An’ I know that you
will always make the best choices you can, that you will always use your heart
as well as your head, that you will never give up, and that if anyone can,
‘t’will be you as will bring us back to the Shire. For there’s never been a
heart as true as yours. So don’t you be frettin’ now, as to what you can, or
can’t do. Just leave it be, and trust yourself, as do I.”
“Oh, Sam,” Frodo breathed, and just before his mouth met Sam’s again, he
murmured, “I do love you so.” Drawing up his arms and encircling Sam’s neck, he
rolled them both slightly, until he was under Sam. “You are my comfort,” he
whispered, after their kiss broke apart. “There’s never been a day that I
haven’t been thankful beyond all words that you came to love me. What a bleak
life I would have had without you, my sweet Sam.” Still hungry for his mouth,
Frodo tightened his grasp around Sam’s shoulders once again, and sought it in
the faint light, instinctively moving under him.
Sam found his breath catching as he suddenly became aware of Frodo’s body
stretching under his, with the obvious indication of Frodo’s changing mood. He
could hear quiet voices below; Merry and Pippin were apparently discussing the
day’s events and were clearly a long way from sleep, but there was no denying
that he wanted, very much wanted, to give Frodo what he seemed to desire. For
who knew what lay ahead for them, and the chance for privacy might become rare
indeed in the days ahead. And there was no denying, he had to admit to himself,
that the feel of Frodo under him, that strong lithe body, the passionate kisses,
the barely-breathed moan, and the slow, knowing movement against him, well, he
had never been able, nor had ever wanted, to resist any of it.
He let his hands speak for him then, letting them travel slowly down Frodo’s
side, as Frodo pushed, ever more insistently, up against him. Their mouths were
still together, and Frodo was claiming his even more unrelentingly, his tenacity
taking Sam’s breath away. Frodo’s right hand had by now found its way under
Sam’s clothing, and was slowly, ever so slowly, running up Sam’s chest, while
his left still clasped Sam tightly to him. Then Frodo moved again, ever so
discreetly, but Sam gasped against his mouth as Frodo sunk deeper into the straw
underneath the blanket, and drew his knees up slightly on either side of Sam.
His own clothing caught at him painfully, and reaching a hand between the both
of them, Sam unfastened his own and freed himself, and then did the same for
Frodo. With a rather shaky sigh, Frodo’s mouth left Sam’s, and he ducked his
head against Sam’s shoulder, and slowly drew himself against Sam, clutching him
tightly all the while. Sam exhaled tremulously, and burying his face in Frodo’s
curls, began to rock against Frodo, his hand still between them, stroking them
both. Silently they clung together, each lost in his own pleasure, but always
keenly aware of the other, giving and taking with the intricate rhythm their
years together had taught them, until at last Frodo reached the brink, his mouth
pressed against Sam’s shoulder to silence his cries. With only a couple pushes
more, Sam followed, gasping and shuddering over Frodo, as Frodo held him closely
and fervently whispered Sam’s name in his ear.
They lay together, listening to the turbulent beating of their hearts beginning
to calm, and Merry and Pippin’s low conversation continuing uninterrupted below
them. Sam lifted himself up at last, and reaching for his pack, withdrew his
water skin and a cloth to clean Frodo and himself. Then, clothing adjusted again
and blankets wrapped about them both, he settled himself next to Frodo for
sleep.
Drawing Sam’s hand up to his mouth, Frodo kissed his palm tenderly. “Thank you,
love,” he whispered.
“You’d never need t’be thankin’ me for that,” Sam whispered back, a little
sleepily, but still with a smile.
“That’s not all I’m thanking you for,” Frodo answered softly, still holding his
hand. But Sam knew the best answer to this, and kissed him once again. By the
time Merry and Pippin put the lantern out down below, the two hobbits above were
sleeping soundly.
*****
After Sam spoke to the dog as they left the shed, early the following morning,
Frodo walked past it without a second thought. By the time the sun was high, the
four hobbits were drawing near the Water, and the Brandywine Bridge.
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