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A Rose For My Love
Part One
The message arrived from Tuckborough only three weeks before Yuletide. It was a
miserably cold and wet morning, and the unexpected knock on the door was a
surprise to both Sam and Frodo as they sipped their second breakfast tea in the
cozy Bag End kitchen. Frodo was loathe to leave the warmth of the kitchen, but
he hurried down the halls, and quickly opened the door to find an extremely
soaked and red-nosed young hobbit standing deferentially on the front doorstep.
“Hello,” he greeted him kindly. “Come on in out of this wet, lad, before you do
anything else.”
“Well, if it ain’t Toby!” came Sam’s surprised voice from right behind him. “Old
Tom Bellows, as keeps the Green Dragon,” he added parenthetically to a bemused
Frodo, “This’d be his youngest,” he added, nodding towards the scrawny tween,
who was occupied in simultaneously shivering, bowing deferentially to both Frodo
and Sam, and trying to unobtrusively survey the wonders of the fabled smial.
“Ah, that’s it,” Frodo smiled in recognition. “Thought I’d seen you before,
lad.”
“Brought a message, sir,” the young hobbit ventured timidly. “Me dad told me as
to be bringin’ it right on by, please, sirs,” he added with another deferential
nod.
Sam’s eyes opened a little wider at the novelty of being included in that
plural, but Frodo laughed, and quickly took the startled visitor’s cloak from
him. “How kind of your father to be sending you out in a morning like this,” he
replied with a smile, “and surely he won’t expect me to be sending you back
until you’ve had a chance to dry out a bit. Weren’t you just putting on another
pot of tea, Sam?”
“Aye, that I was,” Sam grinned, and hurried ahead back to the kitchen to do just
that. The young hobbit followed Frodo, who was still carrying his dripping
cloak, down the hall, with both his eyes and mouth open wide in awe.
And, as he told his enthralled audience at the Green Dragon later that day,
“A’fore I knew it, I’us sittin’ at the table w’the Master o’Bag End, and Sam
Gamgee, a’sippin’ tea and a’eatin’ a scone, just as if I’d be a’callin’ on them
any time I choose.”
“Now then,” Frodo said comfortably, after he had carefully hung the noticeably
patched cloak up on a hook near the kitchen hearth, and had regained his chair
next to Sam, “I believe you’d mentioned a message?”
“Oh, aye,” Toby gulped down a full half scone as he reached inside his jacket
and drew out a small parcel wrapped in oilpaper. “Me dad ‘ad it covered up
tight-like, so as not t’be gettin’ it wet. Came up on a wagon from Tuckborough,
it did, yesti’day night. He said as t’tell you he’us that sorry he couldn’t get
it out to you last night, but there’us a crowd around the place, and he’d be
needin’ me.”
“Oh, I hardly think it’s urgent,” Frodo said kindly, placing it on the table.
“Well, I’d best be off,” the young hobbit stood up, bowing again. “Me dad needs
me back, an‘ me mam still has work for me t’be doin’.”
“Here, Toby, take the rest of these, and keep ‘em well tucked under your jacket
now,” Sam, who had been sitting quietly next to Frodo, said, as he wrapped the
rest of the scones up in a dry dishcloth and handed them to Toby.
“And tell your father that we’ll be sure to be by for a mug, as soon as this
shows any signs of letting up,” Frodo added, as he wrapped the still wet cloak
around the tween.
With a last nod, and bow, warm scones securely tucked under his jacket, and a
wealth of information with which to regale his companions, Toby darted from the
kitchen door down to Bagshot Row, and was soon lost in the thick foggy drizzle.
Sam stirred his tea, watching Frodo with curiosity as he unwrapped the thick
coated paper. Two envelopes fell out of the parcel, the first a rather large
one, with what Frodo immediately recognized as Pippin’s large scrawl on the
front of it, addressed without ceremony to Frodo and Sam. But there was another
smaller envelope, in a smaller and much neater handwriting, with a request on it
to be forwarded to Miss Daisy Gamgee, Number Three, Bagshot Row.
Frodo picked up the smaller envelope first and stared at it inquisitively. It
was not the first such envelope that had arrived at Bag End. Indeed, there had
been a number of such messages received during the summer, but the last one
prior to this had been delivered about the time of the Harvest Festival. He
handed it without comment to Sam, who put it down with a small sigh, and turned
his attention to the other.
It was an invitation to both Frodo and Sam to spend the Yuletide this year in
Tuckborough. The body of the message was penned in the careful hand of Eglantine
Took, but the more exuberant scrawl of Pippin was under it. “Merry’s coming
too!” it announced enthusiastically. “Please come!” But there was another
sentence written directly underneath that puzzled Frodo. “Bring along as many as
you like, there’s plenty of room.”
“Now what would that be about?” he asked, looking up at Sam, mystified. “Both of
our names are on the envelope, so it isn’t you he’s talking about.” But then,
both of their glances fell on the other envelope.
“Mayhap I need to be askin’ Daisy,” Sam responded, quietly.
*****
It had been about three weeks after their return, earlier that summer, from
Brandy Hall, where Frodo and Sam had gone on their mission to return the errant
wandering young Took that the first such envelope had arrived. Both Sam and
Frodo had been greatly puzzled by it, but when Sam had stopped by the Row to
deliver it to Daisy, she had snatched it out of his hands, nearly trembling, and
turned such a bright pink and then pale by turns, that Sam did not dare to ask
anymore. He mentioned to Frodo that Daisy had seemed rather excited about the
letter. For the next few days, he had waited for Daisy to mention it, but she
didn’t, and as the week went by, he forgot the incident.
Until the next letter arrived. It was a couple of weeks after the first, and was
addressed in the same manner. Daisy grabbed this one up in the same agitated
way, but then threw a quick forlorn glance at Sam. She said nothing more, but
after carefully tucking it in a pocket behind her apron, returned to her task of
sweeping out the kitchen.
But late that afternoon, as Sam was clearing off the tea things, and Frodo had
retreated back to the study, there was a gentle rap at the kitchen door. Sam
opened it to find a distinctly flustered Daisy. He greeted her warmly, and
immediately made a new pot of tea for her over all her protests. Then he sat
himself at the kitchen table, across from her, and, giving her a level look,
quietly said, “Tell me about it, Daisy.”
Daisy slowly brought her eyes up from her tea cup, and looked into her brother’s
patient eyes, which were not a little concerned, and so very like their
mother’s. “I need t’learn my letters, Sam,” she murmured. “Will ye no teach me?”
Sam stared at her in surprise. Truth be told, he had forgotten that he was the
only one of the Gamgees who knew his letters. But then the question of the
mysterious letters came back to him, and he suddenly realized Daisy’s
motivation. “Would y’like me t’be readin’ aught for ye, Daisy?” he asked
hesitantly. “I’d not mind.”
“No!” Daisy blurted out, and then immediately turned very rosy indeed. “No,
need, Sam,” she added diffidently. “I’d just like t’be learnin’ them, that’s
all. I’d be learnin’ more herb lore, I’d be thinkin’, if I could be readin’ what
as is in books.”
“Oh, aye, that’d be true enough,” Sam agreed quietly, not pursuing such a
sensitive topic any further. “Of course, Daisy, it’s pleased I’d be t’help you
out.”
So it was, that summer, that early evenings found Daisy with Sam in the kitchen,
after supper, working her way through the same letter books that Sam had used
with Mr. Bilbo, years ago, when the former Master of Bag End had taught Sam his
letters. At first, Frodo did not sit with them, for Daisy would quickly get
flustered, and make mistake after mistake. But gradually, as the weeks went on,
Frodo stayed a little longer and a little longer, until by the end of summer, it
was quite a snug threesome to be found about the kitchen table of an evening.
As summer wore on though, the letters came less and less often, and Sam never
knew of an answer returning for any of them. And after the letters ceased
coming, Daisy’s lessons seemed to be ended as well.
*****
The night was fearsome cold, this close to the end of the year, and the fire in
their bedroom just barely took the chill off. Both hobbits had taken to wearing
their nightshirts, for it was warm enough under the covers, but the odd arm that
was accidentally stuck out during the night was quickly chilled without some
sort of covering. Frodo warmed his cold knees against Sam’s back as he snuggled
next to him, earning a muffled squawk from Sam.
“Ah, me dear, you need proper warming, true enough,” Sam sighed in mock protest,
turning around to face him.
Frodo smiled expectantly at that, pushing up closer to Sam. “I hope so,” he
murmured, thrusting his chilled hands under Sam’s warm backside.
“Bless me, Frodo,” Sam gasped, with a slight flinch, “but how’d those hands of
yours be gettin’ that frozen?”
“I don’t have your warm blood, my dearest,” Frodo gave a throaty chuckle. “But
you, now, you, Sam …,” leaning forward, he met Sam’s mouth with his own.
Sam gave a wordless hum at that, and rolled Frodo around in his arms until he
came to rest on top of him. “Aye, you want proper care, you do,” he gave a low,
husky laugh. “An’ what’d you be doin’ wi’out me, that’s what’d I like t’know.”
“Be all alone, in this bed,” Frodo answered to that, somewhat breathlessly,
staring up at Sam’s face above him in the dying light of the bedroom fire. “Be
cold, with no-one to warm me.” Unconsciously, his grip around Sam tightened. “Be
lonely, and wanting you so much that I could dream of nothing else.”
Sam bent his head to Frodo’s again and found his mouth, for there was really
nothing he could say to that which could have made any sense at all. “Ahhmm,”
was Frodo’s satisfied purr to that response, and he drew his knees up around Sam
only to be stopped suddenly short.
Sam correctly interpreted Frodo’s grunt of annoyance with a quick laugh. “Aye,
entirely too much cloth between us, I’d be thinkin‘,” and he lifted himself off
of Frodo slightly in order to hike up that which lay between. Instantly, Frodo’s
knees rose again, and this time Frodo’s legs were quickly wrapped tightly around
Sam’s back.
“Ah,” Sam gave his immediate approval, and adjusted his position just a trifle.
“Oh, yes,” sighed Frodo, in agreement, and rocked slightly under Sam.
“Mmmmhpf,” Sam was in absolute concord as he found Frodo’s mouth again, having
no intent whatsoever this time of parting from it until absolutely necessary.
Frodo gave a sigh that might have been interpreted as Sam’s name, if his tongue
had not been quite so busy, and one hand was flung out from the blankets toward
the side of the bed, in order to improve his leverage.
One of Sam’s arms was quite wound about Frodo’s neck at this point, but the
other was firmly planted on the bed next to Frodo’s face, to allow just the
optimum amount of elevation.
Somehow they were managing to bury themselves deeper under the bedclothes, as
they rocked intently against each other, but there really was no time to adjust
that, for the thought of withdrawing from each other’s touch had passed the
threshold of possibility several moments ago, and now it didn’t matter in the
least if they ended up thoroughly buried under blankets, or barely clutching to
the side of the bed, or, indeed, off of it altogether and in a heap on the
floor, for the all-consuming pleasure of their joining was now beyond rational
thought.
At last, it was Sam, this time, who could no longer hold himself from the edge,
and shoved himself one last time into Frodo’s expert touch. Frodo gave a pleased
grunt at that before he, too, arched his back up, and tightened his legs around
Sam even more, and threw his head back, gasped, and stiffened.
They both lay in a tangle afterwards of sticky limbs, and damp nightshirts, and
the most delectable lassitude. “Frodo, me dear,” Sam was finally heard to
murmur, from under a well curled and by now quite warm hobbit, “these shirts
really should be goin’ on afterwards. Now we’d need to be changin’ them all over
again.”
“Don’t you think of moving, Sam, love,” Frodo chuckled sleepily. “Plenty of time
in the morning to be doing that.”
Sam found that Frodo’s logic was reasonable enough, at that, and the cold rain
outside was heard no more by the two hobbits, as they fell into a very satisfied
slumber.
*****
The next morning, preparations were begun for the trip to Tuckborough. Although
it was still three weeks to Yuletide, snow had been predicted within the week,
and the first snowstorm of the season usually stopped all travel for several
days. Fortunately, this time of the year, there was not much to consider as to
the care of the gardens of Bag End, so it was really only a matter of leaving a
message as to their whereabouts. Sam headed down Bagshot Row midday, to deliver
that information.
Daisy was in the kitchen, rolling out pastry dough, when Sam arrived, shaking
the drizzle from his hair as he entered the smial. May was also home for the
Yuletide season, and was occupied, as she sat by the kitchen fire, in adding a
new strip of lace to the bodice of her green dress. The sisters both greeted Sam
with a smile, but when they heard Sam’s news, Daisy’s face suddenly grew pale,
and she bent over her flour-dusted hands without a word.
“Would I,” she began hesitantly, and then looked up bravely at Sam, “would I be
able t’come w’you and Mr. Frodo, Sam?”
Sam looked at her in amazement, but then he suddenly remembered the second
envelope. “Why’d ye be askin’ that, Daisy?” he asked gently, watching her
carefully.
Daisy’s face colored violently at that, and her gaze returned to the pastry.
“I’ve been asked,” she murmured, almost inaudibly.
May was watching this exchange with fascination, her dress and needle forgotten
in her lap, but she remained silent.
“But, Daisy,” Sam began, uncertainly, “You canna be goin’ w’Mr. Frodo and
myself. T‘would not be seemly…”
“I could go too,” came May’s sudden and unexpected offer. Both of the others
turned quickly to face their sister, who had been forgotten up until now. “I
could go along with Daisy,” she repeated in a firm voice. “There’d be naught
unseemly about that, Sam. If the lass has an invitation, then she has the right
to go.”
Sam could see at once that Daisy’s surprise over May’s unexpected support was as
great as his own, but she said nothing, merely nodded, and turned back to Sam.
“But Da…” Sam began weakly, using his final argument.
“Can stay with Marigold,” May added firmly. “I’m sure she would love to have him
about. Naught to worrit about there, Sam.”
Sam definitely had his private doubts on that score, but bowed his head to his
two sisters. “I’ll ask Mr. Frodo,” he temporized hastily, and quickly made his
exit.
*****
Frodo found the proposed travel arrangements highly intriguing, to Sam’s secret
dismay. “So that was an invitation for Yuletide?” he asked Sam curiously,
turning around at his desk, and stretching out his toes before the study fire.
“Who does your sister know at the Great Smials?”
Sam stood before the fire, holding out his hands to warm them, for the day had
come up misty wet, and bone-chillingly cold. “I wouldna have thought a soul,” he
answered with a frown, “but it must be Pearl Took herself. Although why she’d be
invitin’ the likes o’Daisy, is anyone’s guess.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. Hadn’t Marigold mentioned that Daisy and Pearl had got
on surprisingly well when she was staying here, while we were gone?” Frodo asked
calmly. “Then it must have been Pearl who was sending her the letters earlier
this summer. Why would it be so odd, then, to ask her to Yule?”
Sam gave a sigh at that, and gave a short worried shake of his head. “She’d be
gentry, Frodo,” he tried to explain, giving him a quick glance.
“As am I,” Frodo mentioned mildly. “And?”
Sam couldn’t help give a chuckle at that. Crossing over to stand behind Frodo,
he wrapped his arms around him and, leaning down, lightly nuzzled Frodo’s dark
curls. “Ah, but you’d be special, you would,” he whispered into them.
Frodo gave a laugh at that, and reaching up and throwing his head back, met
Sam’s mouth with his own. “I remember Pearl Took as being rather unique,
herself,” he responded gently, as he drew his mouth finally away from Sam’s.
“Let’s bring the lasses along, Sam. They’ll enjoy a bit of a holiday, I’m sure.”
“Oh, aye, me dear,” Sam agreed, unbuttoning Frodo’s collar with ease and running
his hands firmly down Frodo’s chest. “Whatever you’d wish, Frodo-love.”
“Well, in that case,” and he gave Sam’s arms an insistent tug, “you’re much too
far away. Come down here, and I’ll show you exactly what I wish.”
*****
Frodo lay on the hearthrug afterward, head propped up on a pillow, with Sam
lying beside him, his arms around Frodo and his head on Frodo’s chest.
Contently, Sam listened, eyes closed, to the crackle of the fire, the soft
dripping of the rain that had now begun to fall from the eaves, and the steady
beat of Frodo’s heart. It was in moments such as this one, that it suddenly
struck him how extraordinarily lucky he was, and how there was nothing at all he
could ever wish for, other than what he already had. He held Frodo just a little
closer, at that, eyes still closed, and felt a slight hum of happiness from
Frodo in response. A gentle hand rose, to briefly stroke the side of his cheek,
before returning to its clasp around his bare shoulder.
“Why’d you always be sayin’, Frodo,” Sam said dreamily, as he suddenly
remembered the night before, and what Frodo had said then, “that you’d be all
alone wi’out me?” Rolling to his back, but still resting on Frodo, he looked up
into Frodo’s face.
Frodo’s dark hair hung around his face, as he gazed down at Sam with a slight
smile, and the firelight lit the ivory planes of his face with gold. “Because I
would be,” he answered simply.
“But you could be havin’ anyone you wanted, Frodo-love,” Sam continued softly,
still watching Frodo’s expression. “Be it lass or lad, none would ever say you
nay.”
Frodo’s smile broadened a bit at that. “You may be just a bit biased, my dearest
Sam,” he responded fondly. “I never did look to the lasses, as I told you, and I
always felt that Bilbo’s gold was my biggest attraction in their eyes. It
definitely was, in their mothers’ opinions. And as for a lad, well, that was not
that easy either.”
“Why not, Frodo?” Sam questioned quietly.
Frodo gave a small sigh at that, and lightly brushed the curls back from Sam’s
forehead. “More a matter of the wanting than the getting,” he answered, after a
few moments. “I’m not terribly trusting, Sam. My past experiences before coming
to Bag End didn’t particularly lend themselves to making me so. And I had found
myself very reluctant to let anyone that close to me. Only you could have broken
past that, Sam.”
“Why me?” Sam whispered, watching Frodo in fascination.
Frodo leaned down at that, and lightly kissed Sam’s forehead. “Because you can
make me laugh in bed,” he said softly. “No-one else has ever done that. I’m
always home when I’m with you.”
Dinner was very late that night.
*****
That same afternoon, at the Gamgee smial, May was looking for answers, and felt
that she was due some. “Well, now, Daisy dear,” she said quietly, after Sam had
left. “Seems there’s summat as you ought t’be tellin’ me.”
Daisy kept her eyes on her hands as she deftly rolled out the pastry and laid it
in the dish, but she couldn’t help the fact that the color was beginning to rise
in her face again.
“This’d be Pearl Took inviting you, I’d imagine,” May continued on,
relentlessly, standing up and walking over to the kitchen table where Daisy
stood. Without being asked, she picked up a pared potato and began to slice it
into the dish.
Daisy merely nodded at that, and grabbing an onion, cut it up with rather
surprising vigor, and added it to the potato.
“The eldest of the Took lasses, Daisy,” continued May with a smile, still
watching her sister, as she started to slice the second potato in as well. “And
they the eldest family in all of the Shire, not to say mayhap one of the
richest. An unlikely friend for one of us Gamgee lasses t’be havin’, I’d be
thinkin’.”
“ ‘Tis unlikely, truth enough,” Daisy said softly, still not looking at May.
Carefully, she poured in the bit of gravy left from last night’s meat, and then
laid the top crust on, skillfully twisting the crusts together around the edge.
But as the pie went in the oven, Daisy finally looked up at her sister. “We got
on well, I’d not deny it. But I need t’see her again.”
“Why, Daisy?” May asked gently, starting to clean the flour and pastry scraps
from the table.
“Because I don’t know. I don’t really know,” Daisy answered simply, turning from
her sister to stare out of the round open window, into the dark foggy gloom. “I
need to be fetchin’ Da from the Cottons. I’d best be lettin’ him know.”
May said no more, but watched her sister leave, and privately resolved to learn
more before they arrived at the Great Smials.
*****
The foursome set out the next morning, a breathlessly chilly one. Their breath
formed white clouds about them as they walked, when it wasn’t swept away by the
occasional icy gust. The two lasses strode ahead, arm and arm, in easy
conversation. Frodo and Sam fell slightly back, walking quietly together, and it
wasn’t long before they were unobtrusively hand in hand.
Frodo had planned on renting a wagon, upon reaching Hobbiton, but to his dismay,
there were none to be had, once they reached town. The cold weather and the
upcoming holiday had taken up all that were available. Sam was almost relieved
to think that they might have to turn back, but when he saw the disappointment
on Frodo’s face, he thought better of it. “It’d still be early enough,” he said
quietly, laying a hand on Frodo’s arm as they left the last of the Hobbiton
stables. “If we’d step out smartly, we should be makin’ the Laughing Cow ‘ere
dark.”
“But your sisters?” Frodo asked, glancing with concern at the two lasses
patiently waiting in front of the Green Dragon.
“Don’t you ever think of tellin’ them that you’d be turnin’ back on their
account,” Sam advised him with a slight smile. “They’d be country lasses, they
would, and not be mindin’ a bit of a good walk.”
Frodo gave a chuckle at that. “Well, if you think it’d be best…”
“Aye, that I do,” Sam confided with a grin. “I’d not want t’be the one t’stand
between May and the Great Smials.”
But the afternoon’s walk did prove long and wearisome, and the road seemed much
longer than Frodo ever remembered it being. In addition, by late afternoon, the
air had turned white and dense, difficult to breathe, and flurries of wet snow
were starting to blow by their faces. There was no-one else about, on the road
south from Bywater, and all were quite glad to see the inn appear in the late
afternoon. Indeed, Sam privately felt they were quite fortunate to have reached
shelter in time. Unfortunately, they were not the only travelers who had found
shelter there.
*****
The Laughing Cow was far more crowded than Frodo had ever seen it before. Their
entrance went undetected for several moments, in the general crowd that was
seated at the tables and leaning against the walls, until the innkeeper, shoving
his way genially through with a tray of empty mugs held high over his head,
happened to notice them. “Ah, good sirs, and ladies,” he cried out, handing off
the tray to a plump female hobbit behind the bar, and wiping off his wet hands
on the well-used apron about his waist, “I’ll be w’you as soon as may be.”
Frodo gave a cheerful nod, and stood near the door with the three Gamgees until
the innkeeper could squeeze his way over to them.
“Bless me! If it ain’t Mr. Baggins, Mr. Frodo Baggins,” he exclaimed cheerily,
upon getting a better look at the travelers. “On your way out to see your
cousins, no doubt?” he smiled, with the born innkeeper’s infallible memory for
names and connections. “ ‘Tis been a while, ‘tis been a while, indeed.” He bowed
to Frodo heartily, and held out his hand to take his wet cloak. “Nasty bit of
weather, now, isn’t it,” he added merrily, and then he glanced curiously at
Frodo’s companions.
“My gardener, Samwise Gamgee,” Frodo indicated politely at that, “and his
sisters.”
“Lovely to have you all, yes, lovely, indeed,” the cheerful short hobbit added,
starting to look a bit distracted, giving the Gamgee sisters a curious glance.
“”My good hobbits, we are but a small place here, and what with the bad weather
and all, I’m not sure, well, of course I have a room for you, Mr. Baggins, but…”
“Not to worry, Mr. Bottleby,” Frodo hastened to interrupt, while the innkeeper
brightened at the mention of his name. “For now, I think a warm meal and a mug
of your finest would be at the top of our minds. We can sort the rest of it out
later.”
And so it was that the four travelers from Hobbiton found themselves squeezed
together at a back table, happily enjoying a fine steak and kidney pie and
roasted taters. Other travelers about them took notice immediately of the
addition to the general company, and both Frodo and Sam soon found themselves
being genially pumped for news of Hobbiton. Daisy and May kept quiet, but
several other travelers gave an amiable nod in their direction.
Finally, though, as the evening wore on, the proprietor of the Laughing Cow
returned, with a rather anxious expression. Bowing to Frodo, he murmured, “A
word with you, Mr Baggins, if you please?”
Frodo stood up willingly enough, and followed Mr. Bottleby to a quiet corner
table in the back where a well-dressed older hobbit with a peeved expression,
sat. “Mr. Baggins, Mr. Bracegirdle,” the innkeeper bowed, introducing the two
gentle hobbits to each other. “I’m that sorry, sirs, but this’d be a smallish
inn, and I’ve but two rooms, that’d be worthy o’the likes o’hobbits such as
yourselves. So those as’d have come with you, they’d be welcome enough t’the
common room, but I’m afraid it’ll be a mite crowded tonight.” He turned to
Frodo, then, with another bow. “The lasses, now, they’d be more than welcome
t’the kitchen, as me girls’d be puttin’ up for the night there, seein’ as they’d
be no goin’ home for any body this night.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Bottleby,” Frodo responded amiably, “I couldn’t ask
for better. And, as a matter of fact, my companions are more than welcome to
share the room with me for the night. That will ease the strain a bit, I should
expect.”
“Well, I’ll not be sharing with anyone else, be they mine or not,” growled the
older hobbit. “Most likely a cramped ill-favored room, at best.” He gave a
suspicious squint at Frodo again. “Baggins, is it? No relation to that old
crackpot that used to live up near the Water, now, are you?”
“He was my cousin,” Frodo answered evenly, “and that he was not. I won’t be
taking any more of your time, then.” Turning briskly away, he returned to the
table where the Gamgees awaited him.
“Well, we do have a room for the night,” he announced, “but I’m afraid we’ll
have to share it.” Sam gave him a quick glance. Something had put the color in
Frodo’s cheeks, but he was giving no indication of what it might have been.
Daisy and May had started to politely decline, but Frodo quietly added, “They
really need all the room that can be spared for the rest of the folk here,” and
then, of course, there was no further protest.
*****
May awoke in the frosty silence of the early morning. She was quite comfortable,
actually, warmly curled against the sleeping form of her sister in the rather
narrow bed, and lay quietly, savoring a mattress that was distinctly more
comfortable than the one she and Daisy shared at Number Three. It wasn’t until
she realized that the faint sound she was hearing was the familiar quiet snore
of her brother that she was suddenly swept with curiosity, and raised herself up
cautiously, to peek over Daisy without awakening her.
There had been no question, the night before, as to giving the two lasses the
bed. Frodo had laughed off any other solution, insisting that he had been on too
many walking trips to be bothered by sleeping on the floor, and as long as the
snow stayed out, and he stayed dry, he was well content. So Daisy and May had
the bed, and most of the blankets, and Frodo had settled down in front of the
small hearth, with the rug under him, a blanket over him, and Sam at his side.
Sleep had come quickly for all four of them despite the unusual circumstances.
None of the four had shed any more than a jacket, what with the cold night and
close quarters, and Frodo and Sam had begun the night chastely enough, lying
close together for warmth under the blanket, but side-by-side, with only their
hands twined together. But by morning, habit had had its way, and they had
turned to each other in sleep, and May saw that they were, quite clearly,
wrapped tightly around each other under the blanket. Frodo’s head had come to
rest in the crook of Sam’s neck, and even their curls were, dark against light,
woven together. May studied the two of them in silence, until her brother
sighed, and stretched an arm out, eyes fluttering open. Quickly diving back
behind Daisy, she successfully feigned sleep, until the rest were stirring, and
it was time to look for first breakfast.
*****
As the four left the room, a raised voice could be heard in the other guest
room, next to theirs, and a harried-looking hobbit quickly exited, rapidly
closing the door behind him, and nearly knocking Frodo over as he did so.
“Oh, many pardons, sir, I was not watching where I went,” he exclaimed, bowing
hurriedly, his face instantly fearful.
“My fault entirely,” Frodo responded immediately, reaching out a hand to steady
the flustered hobbit. “My thoughts must have been on breakfast rather than where
I was going.”
The other hobbit stopped short at that, and gave a rapid discerning glance at
Frodo, and the party standing silently, though amiably, behind him. With another
quick bow, he muttered another apology, and scurried on ahead to the kitchen
before them.
“Not much of an employer, I’m afraid,” Frodo cast a look of scorn toward the
closed door, behind which growled imprecations could still be heard, as he
remembered his exchange with Mr. Bracegirdle from the night before. “Probably
didn’t think much of the way his bread was toasted, or some other trivial
matter. No call for treating the other fellow like that.” Sam cast a curious
glance his way as he walked alongside of him down the narrow passageway, for it
was quite unusual for Frodo to actually express a negative opinion of someone he
scarcely knew. He normally saved that sort of thing for Lobelia and her brood.
But there was no time to go into the matter, for the kitchen, when they reached
it, appeared to be in turmoil.
Orders were being shouted into the kitchen by both the innkeeper, and a lad who,
except for being as bony as the innkeeper was plump, was a dead image of him.
The female whom Frodo had noticed behind the bar the evening before, apparently
the mistress of the establishment, was busily directing three agitated lasses in
breakfast preparations, and occasionally reaching out and flipping the contents
of a pan herself.
And once the four travelers saw the common room, the reason was clear enough.
Apparently, other passers-by had managed to find their way through the snow the
night before, and the room was well and truly packed.
Sam took one look at the room, and immediately turned to Frodo. “What did you
say this fellow’s name is, as owns this place?”
“Mr. Bottleby,” Frodo answered with a smile, already knowing what Sam had in
mind.
“Well, it’d be lookin’ like Mr. Bottleby’d be havin’ that much on his hands that
he might be appreciatin’ a bit o’help,” Sam gave a quick glance around the room,
and then to his sisters, who both nodded in silent agreement, and with a smile.
“So if you’d like t’be examinin’ our prospects to be leavin’ today, I think
we’ll be givin’ him a bit of a hand before we eat.”
Frodo’s smile broadened at that, and he gave Sam a nod. “Excellent plan, Sam.
I’ll ask about the state of the roads, and let me know if I can help.” But Sam
and his sisters had already returned to the kitchen.
*****
It was soon clear that no-one would be leaving the shelter of the Laughing Cow
that morning. Snow was falling heavily, whipped about by a biting wind, and all
of the outdoors was nothing but white. After the flurry of first breakfast had
subsided, Frodo and Sam joined Mr. Bottleby and his son, as well as various
other local hobbits who had been trapped by the storm, as they cautiously opened
the front door a crack, and stared out.
“Ponies’d need feedin’,” mentioned an older hobbit laconically. “Wasn’t expectin’
this bit of weather yesterday afternoon.”
“True enough,” Bottleby stared in the direction of the invisible stable with a
worried frown. “But a body could get right lost in that, just tryin’ t’make it
back.”
The others nodded. Snow storms like this were rare, and definitely not to be
trifled with. But Bottleby’s son suddenly looked up with a thoughtful
expression. “Ropes, Dad,” he mentioned, rather shyly. “If we’d have enough rope,
we could be makin’ our way out and back w’out getting’ lost.”
Bottleby gazed at his son proudly. “Aye, we could do that,” he agreed quickly.
“And I’ve enough rope about, sure enough.”
So it was that Frodo found himself in the midst of the snowstorm. Some hobbit,
whose name he did not know, held to the other end of the rope that he had in his
left hand, and at the end of the rope in his right was Sam. He stood in the
swirling, biting, whiteness, feeling his toes starting to tingle with the chill
of it, and tried to breathe under the woolen scarf that was wrapped around his
face. There was nothing audible in all of this colorless world; all sound had
been deadened and hushed, except for the wind whistling past his ear tips. It
was disorienting, and for a moment, he almost felt frightened. But then he
thought of Sam, just at the other end of this rope, and really, this was the
Shire after all, and he was only standing in an innkeeper’s yard. It wasn’t as
if he had gone to the ends of the world and back. He wasn’t suddenly alone and
bereft in this world, for he only had to give the slightest of tugs upon this
rope, and there would be Sam. And as he was berating himself, the rope that
connected him with Sam suddenly slackened, and there, in the pale light, Sam did
appear, smiling warmly at him. And then behind him were the rest of the hobbits
who had formed the chain, and they were once again back in the warm, noisy,
crowded inn.
*****
The Gamgee lasses had been warmly welcomed in the kitchen, for they had an air
of capable assuredness that was more than appreciated. But after the initial
onslaught had subsided, and most of the patrons were contentedly trying to fill
the corners with the odd bit of toast or two, the proprietor approached them
once again.
“Mistress Gamgee?” he asked hesitantly. “Would y’be Daisy Gamgee from over
Hobbiton way?”
“Aye,” Daisy replied uncertainly, “that’d be true enough.”
“Ah, now, lass, I’ve heard tell that you’d be havin’ an uncommon way w’healin’
those in need,” he continued in a tentative manner, “and if that be true now,
why, I’d wish you’d be havin’ a look at my little ‘un, for his cough fair
worries me, I don’t mind tellin’ ye.”
“I have studied a bit of herb lore,” Daisy answered cautiously, as she rose from
the table where she had finally had a chance to eat her own breakfast. “I would
be glad to try t’do what I can for your lad.”
“Ah, bless you, Mistress Gamgee,” the proprietor’s face cleared at once. “He’d
be in our back room, and I’d be thankin’ you ever so much.” Daisy followed him
immediately, and May, with a quick nod to her sister, left with her.
It didn’t take long for rumor to spread that there was a healer in their midst,
and all afternoon, hobbits throughout the crowded inn found their way to the
back room, for a quiet word with Mistress Gamgee.
*****
Sam, Frodo, and the rest of the hobbits who had made their way out to the stable
and back, had returned to the common room in time for second breakfast, and it
was generally agreed that there’d be no leaving the Laughing Cow this day. Most
of the patrons decided to treat the unexpected captivity as an unexpected
holiday, and gladly settled in, forming congenial groups and ordering the first
half-pint of the day. But Sam had noticed, as he and Frodo had made their way
back into the crowded room, that Frodo had been wincing slightly as he walked.
He unobtrusively laid a hand on Frodo’s shoulder, and gave him a silent
inquisitive glance.
“Nothing really,” Frodo responded, turning to Sam with a rather sheepish smile.
“I think my toes might just be a bit frozen, but I’m sure they’ll thaw out soon
enough.”
Sam gave him a quick discerning look, and muttered, “Then you should be goin’
back to our room, Frodo, and I’ll be meetin’ you there soon enough.”
Frodo had, as usual, to cave in to Sam’s good hobbit sense, and made his way
back to the small room. Sam followed shortly, carrying a basin of steaming water
in his hands, and a towel under his arm. Setting it down carefully on the small
table in the corner of the room, he turned to Frodo, arms crossed over his
chest.
“All right then, let’s be seein’ it,” he grumbled, softening the effect entirely
with the glance he cast at Frodo.
Frodo, who had been sitting at the edge of the bed, lifted his feet up on the
bed, and gave Sam a wry glance.
Sam, frowning at what he saw, gave a low hum of concern. Frodo’s toes were too
pale, a sure sign of possible frostbite. Picking up the pitcher of cold water
that had been left behind that morning, he carefully mixed it with the basin of
hot water, testing it until he was satisfied with the adjusted temperature.
Then he turned towards Frodo, who had been quietly seated on the side of the bed
watching him, and piled up the blankets behind him.
“Lie back,” he ordered, in a preemptory manner, and Frodo willingly did so. Then
Sam carefully grasped one of Frodo’s feet, and gently manipulating the toes as
he did so, carefully submerged it in the basin of by now warm water.
Frodo unavoidably gasped at the sensation. At first it stung and shocked him,
but Sam continued to gently, lovingly massage his toes, his arch, his sole, and
indeed the entire foot, until Frodo gave an unavoidable moan at the sensuous
caress, and leaning back against the blankets, closed his eyes.
Sam did not miss anything, and his smile widened, but his first concern was
still Frodo‘s well-being. Carefully, he removed Frodo’s foot from the basin, and
laid it back upon the bed, to the side of his own leg. With great care, he dried
it, testing and exercising the foot until he felt completely assured no damage
had been done. Then slowly, methodically, he repeated the procedure with Frodo’s
other foot.
It was then that he glanced back over to Frodo, and a smile lit his face again.
“You all right then, love?” he queried softly, and the smile only broadened when
Frodo’s eyes fluttered back open and, gazing at him breathlessly, Frodo quickly
muttered, “Lock the door, Sam.”
Gladly and without hesitation, Sam rose and examined the door of their room.
There was, indeed a rudimentary bolt, and Sam quickly shoved it into place and
turned back to Frodo. Frodo had already, in that short period of time, removed
the towel and basin to a small chair by the side of the bed. He looked up to
Sam, his gaze frank and hungry. “Come to me, Sam,” he whispered, and Sam never
needed any more invitation than that.
Unconsciously, he stripped himself off his jacket, never taking his eyes from
Frodo, and the white cold light from the small window shone about Frodo’s pale
face, glistening and shimmering, and Sam felt his heart clench with the longing
and wanting of this gloriously fair creature.
Dropping down beside Frodo on the narrow bed, he reached out, wrapping that
beloved presence in his arms, and there was Frodo in his embrace, and Frodo’s
passionate kisses were falling on his mouth, the side of his face, oh,
everywhere. And then Frodo had rolled him on his back and had his arms pinned to
the pillow on either side of his face, and was looking down at him, his eyes
dark and serious as the pale light shone from behind his head, touching and
frosting his dusky curls.
“Frodo,” cried out Sam at that, his voice husky with the wanting. “Frodo,
please, love.”
There was a sudden wondrous answering smile at that, both tender and knowing,
and bending over Sam, Frodo kissed him again, long and lovingly. “Of course,
dearest,” he murmured at last, his hands now moving to Sam’s clothing, quickly
unbuttoning and unfastening, clearing the garments to the side, for it was too
cold to remove them altogether. And now it was Frodo’s kisses on Sam’s
sun-browned throat, down to his chest, and down further yet, playing, teasing,
tasting those darker sensitive areas, until Sam could not help gasping, crying
out, straining against Frodo’s firm hold.
Frodo stopped for just a moment at that, giving a low and guttural laugh. But
without any further hesitation, he then continued his trail down to Sam’s navel,
his tongue lapping it, teasing it. And how Sam moaned at that, arching his back,
thrusting himself up, almost wild with the desire, the craving, until at last
Frodo had pity on him, and closed his mouth around Sam.
Then, indeed, Sam bucked up, and with all the control left to him, fought to
keep himself from wailing out in his need, and bit his lip, and threshed up
again and again, to be met every time by Frodo’s own craving for every bit of
Sam that he could take into his mouth, until, at last, there was no further
boundary to cross, and Sam gave himself over to Frodo’s own need for him,
completely and wholly, choking back the wild cries in his throat, and shuddering
under Frodo‘s very touch.
They lay together for several moments in silence, except for Sam’s quivering
sighs, and Frodo’s heavy breathing. It wasn’t until then that they heard the
cautious turn of the door handle, and then nearly silent footsteps receding down
the hall. Frodo, who had been draped heavily over Sam in the aftermath, raised
himself up with reluctance, and stared down at Sam, with a fond smile.
“We’ll have our own room at the Great Smials, Sam, my dearest,” he murmured,
lightly stroking Sam’s damp curls back from his forehead. “I’ll wait, Sam, my
love.” Quietly then, his hand glided up Sam’s cheek, passing behind his head
again, and into his curls. With a last kiss, he rested his forehead against
Sam’s. “Always yours, Sam,” he breathed, “always yours.”
*****
By the next morning, the storm was gone, and that midday, the four travelers had
arrived at the Great Smials.
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