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Floating Into Light, Part One
Quicksilver light. Palest green, shimmering and sparkling when sunshot. Frodo
had once found a piece of glass like that, by the Brandywine, its surface
smoothed and silkened by the inexorable movement of water. But now he was
floating, buoyant, sun over him and the warm water under him, as he lay held in
a dream.
And although it was what had taken his parents’ life, he had never feared it. It
would not be water that would harm him in the end. That, he had always known.
Giving himself over to the flow of the river, he floated slowly down current,
eyes closed, and his dark hair swirling out in arabesques around his face.
******
It was nearing the end of spring, when the warm days were just beginning to
outnumber the chill ones, that Pippin had knocked on the front door of Bag End.
It was early afternoon, just after lunch, and Sam had already disappeared into
the back garden. Frodo was immediately taken aback to see just Pippin at the
door. He couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, that Pippin had come to Bag
End without Merry. But by the look on Pippin’s face, there was a tale here to be
told.
“Pip,” he exclaimed, opening his arms, and Pippin was immediately in them,
clutching tightly to Frodo, and burying his face in Frodo’s weskit. “Why, Pip,
there now, lad,” Frodo murmured, still standing in the doorway, his mind racing
through all manner of worried thoughts, mostly concerning Merry.
“Here, love, this won’t do at all,” he finally ran a gentle hand through
Pippin’s reddish chestnut curls, and realized the lad had grown at least half an
inch since he had last seen him at Yuletide.
Ever since Frodo had opened the door, Pippin had not uttered a word, and he
remained silent as Frodo led him into the kitchen, and seated him at the table.
“Tea, Pip?” Frodo asked, turning to put the kettle over the fire without waiting
for an answer. “And I believe… ah, yes, here they are.” He uncovered a plate
that had been left on the counter. “Sam made these scones for our tea, but I
know he wouldn’t mind you having a few just a little bit early.”
Frodo bustled about, without glancing in Pippin’s direction, and once the teapot
was steeping before the traveler, and a dish of butter had been laid out with
the scones, Pippin was starting to look far more like himself. Frodo sat next to
him and poured out a cup of tea for himself.
“So, cousin,” he said gently. “Tell me.”
And Pippin did.
“It was just a couple of days back,” Pippin began, his words still
distinguishable among a mouthful of scone. “That friend of Aunt Esme from
Hobbiton came by Brandy Hall for a bit of a visit. Chubb, I think, the rather
frightening one with the pinched-up little eyes.”
Frodo nodded, not recognizing her, but then he had never paid any mind to Aunt
Esme’s acquaintances. They had seemed to flow into one chattering,
brightly-colored multitude in his mind during his years at Brandy Hall, and his
chief preoccupation at the time had been to avoid being found at all costs when
they were about. Aunt Esme had had an alarming habit of wishing to produce him
as an illustration of her fortitude and forbearance.
“Well,” Pippin continued, washing down the pastry with a swig of tea, “she
brought the news from Hobbiton with her, including…” Here he stopped short and
stared rather intently at the table, his fingers unconsciously rubbing along the
grain of the wood, and clearly more at a loss for words than Frodo had ever seen
his cousin before.
Frodo sighed. He had no doubt what the news had been. “Sam and I,” he prompted
Pippin.
“Why, yes,” continued Pippin, still engrossed by the table’s finish, but
beginning to redden, “and apparently, this Chubb person was rather specific.”
Frodo felt his heart sink. Why his personal relationships had suddenly become a
source of fascination for the good matrons of Hobbiton was beyond him, but he
had been made all too aware, during this past winter, that it was indeed a fact.
“I assume she did not take the information well?” he asked Pippin, even though
the answer was evident in Pippin’s expression.
“Apparently, she let out a noise rather like a severely scalded cat,” Pippin
replied, with a wry smile, finally looking back up at Frodo, “So we can assume
not. I believe the chief concern was that you had dared to flaunt your degrading
personal business before her last Yule. The fact that she did not seem to have a
clue at the time is, of course, entirely beside the point.”
“So apparently, Sam and I won’t be receiving any invitations next Yule,” Frodo
said, a little impatiently. “I will try my utmost to not be crushed by despair.
But how does Merry fit in to all of this?”
Pippin sighed, and pushed his chair back. “She thinks you’re a bad influence on
Merry.”
“Always have been,” Frodo grinned, but his grin faded as he studied Pippin. “Go
on, Pip, there’s more. What else?”
“She thinks I am, too,” Pippin said in a very quiet voice, watching Frodo.
“I don’t follow,” Frodo frowned.
“She says Merry is to get serious about his position in life and doesn’t need
cousins always about. Besides, she thinks that Merry and I… that Merry and I
might… “ and here Pippin could no longer hold back his tears.
“Why? Did she say that?” Frodo was indignant as he immediately moved over to
Pippin’s side and put his arm around the teen’s shoulders.
“No, but the look she gave me, oh, Frodo, she’s never looked like that at me
before… “ choked out Pippin. “And then she sent me away, just like that. ‘Go
back home, Peregrin Took‘, and she never calls me that, and she wouldn’t even
let me say goodbye, just ordered a pony and cart, and Merry was out at the
brewery with Uncle Sara, and he doesn’t even know…” and here Pippin noisily
buried his face in the handkerchief that Frodo had silently produced for him.
“How did you get here, Pip?” Frodo asked softly, when it seemed that the stream
of information had ended.
“Lost the cart and pony at the Toad and Whistle,” Pippin admitted rather
proudly. “I convinced the innkeeper to stand Old Toby, the cart driver, a few
mugs on Brandybuck credit. That brew is rather amazingly strong. I figure he
won’t go right back, or he’ll act as if I got back to the Great Smials all
right, and in any case, it will be awhile before anyone thinks of sending
anybody here to look for me.”
“So, apparently, I’ll be harboring a kindred poor influence?” Frodo smiled at
Pippin, his arm still firm about the wiry shoulder. “Well, Pip, obviously you
must spend at least the night. Let’s put this matter before Sam tonight, and see
what his advice would be.”
“Sam?” Pippin looked somewhat dubious. “But he really doesn’t know Aunt Esme.”
“All the better,” Frodo reassured him amiably. “The outsider’s opinion, you see.
And I think you’ll find that Sam reads people rather well, much better than I
do.”
Pippin had been packed off for a nap in the master bedroom, since the guest room
had not been prepared, and he awoke on the wide feather bed with a bit of
initial confusion over where he was and why. But then the whole miserable mess
came flooding back to him, and he realized how late he had slept by the sunset
tints beginning to show in the sky. Quietly he rose, neatly straightening the
bed back to its prior condition, and left the room.
The aromas floating down the hall suggested that someone was busy at work in the
kitchen, but to his great surprise, when he entered, it was Frodo. “Ah, there
you are,” Frodo looked up briefly as Pippin entered, and then gave a nod to
several potatoes on the kitchen table. “Be a good lad, would you, and clean off
the spuds for me? I’m trying to get this rhubarb crumble finished off, but it’s
getting on, and the potatoes need to start to roast.”
“Frodo!” exclaimed Pippin, wide-eyed at this new aspect of his cousin. “I never
knew you could cook.”
“Well, of course I can,” Frodo answered, rather impatiently, as he crumbled the
butter into the flour and sugar. “Sam hasn’t always lived here, you know. I’m
not totally hopeless in the kitchen. There you are, Pippin, the water’s there,
and be sure you prick them well with the fork before you pop them in the coals.”
Pippin hurried to do as Frodo had requested, even though it was clear that the
entire process was a novelty as far as he was concerned.
“You don’t need to impale them, you know,” Frodo had been watching his progress
with amusement as he finished the topping of the crumble, and shut it up in the
oven. “Just poke them a few times.”
Pippin revised his method of attack on the potatoes, and soon had them safely
shoved into the coals to roast.
“Very good, Master Took,” Frodo said with a smile, handing him a large bowl
filled with peapods. “Let’s see how you go about these, then.”
Pippin held up a pea pad and eyed it carefully. “Pea pod, right? Peas inside and
all of that?”
“Rather the point,” Frodo chuckled. “All you’d need to do would be to get them
out, then.” Taking pity on Pippin’s look of bewilderment, he picked up a pod.
“This is why I gave you this task,” he confided with a grin. “I’m not terribly
good at this, you know. No nails. Here, you try, Pip. Just run your fingernail
down the side, see? Pops right open. Now just knock the peas into the bowl and
there you are.”
Pippin was a quick study and soon enough produced a bowl full of peas and a pile
of pods. “Very good,” Frodo praised him with a smile. “The rest can wait until
Sam gets in. I was just going to make bacon-and-onions tonight, and that doesn’t
take long.”
“So when did you learn to cook, Frodo?” Pippin asked again as he watched Frodo
refill the teapot with fresh steaming water.
“Like I said, I always knew,” Frodo repeated with a wry grin. “It’s just that it
isn’t all that inspiring when you live alone. I still let Sam do it most of the
time, because he enjoys doing it, but this time of year is a fairly busy one for
him outside. And Bilbo also enjoyed pottering about in the kitchen, so I never
really had a chance there, either. Sam still does the real baking though, it’s
too exacting for me.”
“And you’d not be al’that bad at it, if you’d not be distracted from time to
time,” came Sam’s voice as he entered through the kitchen door, stamping the mud
from his feet first. “Master Pippin,” he added, giving a nod in the young Took’s
direction.
“Sam.” Pippin eyed him with a distinct hint of exasperation. “It is your own
kitchen, after all.”
Sam crooked an eyebrow up at that, as he wearily sat down at the kitchen table,
pouring himself a cup of tea. “Aye, true enough,” he chuckled, before taking a
sip, and stretching his tired legs out. “Well, Pippin it is then, leastways,
here.”
Pip laughed at that. “Good. ‘Master Pippin’ always makes me want to look for an
aunt or two lurking about. And it certainly is much nicer here, without them.”
There was a smile on Frodo’s face as he turned to the frying pan to complete
their meal. Pippin alone, he had noticed, worked his way through Sam’s defenses
at a much faster rate than the combined Merry and Pippin team. But then, Pippin
usually had that effect on the unwary.
Dinner had been quite sociable, and Pippin had exercised his not inconsiderable
talent for amusing conversation that never touched on a single subject of
import. Frodo had insisted that Pippin relax in the study afterward, while he
hastily cleaned up the kitchen. Sam had gone for a quick bath.
But it wasn’t long before the three hobbits sat about with feet facing the warm
glow of the study fire, and after-dinner pipes in hand. “So, Pippin,” Frodo
finally brought up the reason for Pippin’s appearance again, “Tell Sam what
happened.”
Pippin repeated his story, somewhat less emotionally this time though, and at
the mention of the name of the instigator, Sam gave a distinct huff. “Those
Chubbs, they’ve never been any less than meddlesome busybodies, never,” he
puffed indignantly on his pipe. “I’d like t’be knowin’ what concern it’d be of
hers, that I would.”
Frodo smiled fondly at him at that. “Face it, Sam,” he answered, wryly. “You
know we were the chief topic of conversation all winter. I certainly will be
thankful when a new scandal comes along, and we can go back to being unnoticed
again.”
The _expression on Sam’s face at that left no doubt that he was completely in
agreement to that sentiment. But when Pippin disclosed Aunt Esme’s reaction, and
her banishment of Pippin, he frowned, and shook his head. “But there’d be naught
that we’d have t’do with Mr. Merry and yourself,” he gave Pippin a puzzled look.
“Is there any reason Aunt Esme should think so, Pippin?” Frodo added quietly,
watching his cousin carefully.
Pippin reddened a bit at that, and carefully examined his pipe. “No,” he finally
said, very quietly. “Merry wouldn’t have it. He says that I’m too young.”
“And so you are,” Frodo quickly agreed, with some relief. “I know how strongly
you feel about Merry, Pip,” he added sympathetically, “but the both of you have
plenty of time.”
“But I can’t go on without seeing him,” Pippin replied, gazing directly at Frodo
with a bleak expression.
“No,” Frodo answered softly, “I suppose not.”
“And what about Mr. Merry?” Sam asked suddenly. “What would he be thinkin’? If
you’re gone without a word, what would he do?”
Pippin stared at the fire forlornly. “I don’t know,” he answered softly. “It’s
never happened before. And I have no idea what Aunt Esme would have told him,
but I doubt it was what actually happened.”
“No,” Frodo agreed to that. “It probably was that you’d been called home
suddenly, or something along that line.”
“In that case,” Sam pointed out to Pippin, “Mr. Merry’s not likely to be that
worried until your family starts t’come lookin’ for you.”
“Probably in the next day or two,” Pippin agreed, “and then they’ll come here as
well. But no-one’s ever going to tell Merry why I had to leave without a word,
and they aren’t going to let me near him, and I’ll be stuck in the Great Smials
for the rest of my life, and I’ll never have a friend like that, ever again,” he
finished, his expression growing more and more distressed as he continued,
until it was clear that tears were not very far behind.
“Oh, Pip, don’t you fret so,” Frodo rose up, and holding out his hand to Pippin,
pulled him up and gave him an affectionate hug. “We’ve got a day or two to
figure out how to get word to Merry and then the two of you can figure out what
you are going to do about this together. Most likely, if you just stay out of
sight for a month or so, it will all blow over, anyway.”
Pippin, his arm still tightly around Frodo, gave him a look that clearly
revealed his doubts as to that matter. “You do know Aunt Esme,” he replied
flatly.
Frodo sighed. “Yes, unfortunately, you have a point, there,” he admitted.
Pippin had been settled in the guest room, and Frodo returned to his bedroom,
where Sam was already waiting for him in bed. “How’s the barley coming, Sam?” he
asked as he undressed. “I never had a chance to ask.”
“Mostly planted,” Sam answered, with a yawn. “We’ll be finishin’ by the morrow.
‘Tis wearisome work, though, and I can’t say I won’t be that glad when it’s all
set in the ground.”
“I’m sure Ned Proudfoot is grateful to you and the Cotton lads for helping him
out this spring,” Frodo murmured, climbing into bed and wrapping his arms around
Sam. “It was very kind of you to offer, you know.”
“He’s been a good neighbor an’ friend, it’d be the least bit I could do,” Sam
rolled to his side against Frodo, resting his head in the crook of Frodo’s neck
and wrapping a warm arm around him.
“Sam,” said Frodo softly after a few minutes of silence, as Sam’s steady
breathing showed that he was starting to fall asleep.
“Mmm,” Sam murmured, giving Frodo a quick kiss on the side of his neck.
“I’m glad you don’t want to go in the other room any more when one of my cousins
shows up,” Frodo said quietly, tightening his embrace around Sam.
“Hmm,” Sam gave a sleepy chuckle. “Never was that fond o’that room. It didn’t
have you in it.”
Frodo gave Sam a light kiss on the nose at that. “I couldn’t sleep without you
here, either,” he admitted softly. “I kept waking up all night to reach for you,
and you weren’t there. This bed is far too lonely without you. Promise me I’ll
never have to sleep alone again, Sam.”
“That I will,” Sam’s voice was tender at that, and he wrapped himself even more
tightly around Frodo. “No matter where we’d be or whoever else’d be about. That
I can promise you, Frodo-love.”
“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo snuggled contently against him, and they were soon both
asleep.
Later that night, Frodo awoke to the sound of light footsteps in the bedroom and
a stifled sniffling. “Pippin,” he muttered sleepily, turning towards the
newcomer in the dark, “come here, love.”
Pippin quickly burrowed under the covers at Frodo’s side, seeking comfort from
his cousin. From the other side of Frodo came an incoherent mutter from Sam as
he curled himself around Frodo in his sleep, his favorite position. Frodo fell
asleep again, cozily sandwiched between the other two hobbits, and hazily
thankful that both he and Sam had chosen to wear nightshirts this chilly
evening.
*****
Frodo could feel the heat of the sun on his face as he glided along. It wasn’t
long until the summer solstice now, and the light was brilliant behind his
closed eyelids. Somewhere upstream, he could hear the rise and fall of Pippin’s
voice, even though he could not distinguish the words themselves.
The current was slow but inevitable, pushing him slowly on, without any effort
of his own. Dreamily, he wondered how long it would take, lying like this, to
reach the Sea. And then he felt himself lazily bump into something. Warm, only
slightly yielding, and very familiar. Blinking against the radiance from above,
he opened his eyes with a smile. Sam.
“You know I canna swim,” Sam was returning his smile with only the hint of a
gentle remonstrance in his words. “Don’t you float away from me now.”
“ Of course not, Sam,” Frodo laughed lightly, squinting slightly up at him.
“You’re my shore, aren‘t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“That I am, love,” he heard softly from above, as he closed his eyes again,
still smiling.
*****
Two days later, the three hobbits were setting out through the round green door
of Bag End, two light packs, as well as a rather heavier one, on their backs,
and stout walking sticks in their hands. It had been decided that a hiking trip
of several days was in order, in the direction of Buckland. Sam had managed to
catch up on his various duties, and Jolly Cotton had promised to keep an eye on
the Bag End garden while they were gone. Word had also been left with Daisy, on
the chance that someone would be showing up while they were gone, but Pippin had
not been mentioned. Frodo had decided on a longer route through the back country
for several reasons, but in the back of his mind, there was the thought that if
things managed to mend themselves somehow, he might be able to leave Pippin at
Brandy Hall. The thought of just he and Sam slowly making their way back to Bag
End through the lush, late spring Shire woodlands was attractive indeed.
The paths winding through the back hills were soft with the overgrown spring
grass, and the various small streams they crossed were still full, and sparkling
with the winter runoff. The woods were alive with the song of birds, and
rustling in the bushes and hedges indicated that young rabbits were about,
hidden by their mothers. It was a lovely morning to be walking, and Frodo and
Pippin began to deplete the supply of every hiking song that they knew.
Laughing, the two cousins got Sam to contribute a few that he had learned from
the gaffer, though he had to insist that they never were songs for hiking, but
more for walking to market and such.
No meals were missed, but it was still quite light, with the nearly mid-summer
sun still well above the horizon, when they decided to stop for the night. They
did not sit up very late that evening though, around their small camp-fire, for
the combination of fresh air and a good deal of exercise that day had them all
nodding over their pipes in no time.
Sam had placed the blanket rolls at the dry, sheltered foot of an ancient oak,
and it was there that Frodo spread them out that night. He lay down first, in
the center, with his cloak spread over him for a light cover. But when Sam lay
down at his side, Frodo immediately rolled toward him, catching Sam up in a
light embrace, as Sam’s happy murmur indicated his approval. Pippin gave them a
quick glance, but said nothing, and curled up on Frodo’s other side. In no time,
the younger hobbits were asleep. Frodo patiently watched the bright stars
beginning to appear in the darkening sky.
It was the quiet murmur of voices that woke Pippin, as well as the cool draft at
his side, where Frodo had been. But it was Sam’s voice that especially caught
his ear, with a slow teasing tone that he had never dreamed possible from the
quiet gardener.
“And what ‘tis it you’d be wantin’ from your Sam?” he heard Sam’s words, warmed
with a barely concealed chuckle. “There’d be no feather bed for you here, me
dear.”
“As if that would matter,” Frodo lightly laughed, but Pippin could hear the
slight edge of impatience in his voice. “Come on, Sam, you know what I…” and
here his words were abruptly cut off.
Pippin cautiously cracked an eyelid open at that, consumed by curiosity. His
interest was well rewarded by the sight of Frodo standing under the great oak in
the moonlight with his arms tightly around Sam. Sam’s back was to Pippin, but
Frodo’s face, with eyes closed, was lit by moonlight, and was shadowed and
silvered. Hungrily, he kissed Sam, intently and purposefully, one hand sliding
up into Sam’s curls, and Pippin could see Sam’s embrace tighten.
Finally Frodo broke away, gasping for a moment, his head flung back, his throat
a long pearl shaft in the moonlight. “Come on,” he lowered his head again, and
smiled into Sam’s eyes, grasping both of Sam’s hands in his own, “come with me.”
“Aye, Frodo-love,” Pippin heard Sam answer softly, but huskily, and the two
hobbits left the clearing around the great oak.
Why Pippin did what he did, he never could have said. But he had had questions
in his heart for some time now, such as what he felt about Merry, and what Merry
could possibly be feeling about him, and somehow, he thought that he might find
answers. So, led by a call he could not resist, he stealthily left his blankets,
and followed Frodo and Sam into the woods.
They did not walk far, but stopped by the side of the stream, where the
moonlight broke once again through the shadows of the trees. Stopping under the
willow by the side of the water, Frodo pulled Sam to him once more, his hands
disappearing under Sam’s shirt, which had come undone somehow from his trousers.
“Sam,” Frodo moaned softly, pulling a willing Sam closely to him before his
mouth claimed Sam’s once again. Pippin had halted under the cover of the trees,
but he need not have been overly concerned, for it was clear that the other two
had eyes for no-one else but each other.
“Ah, Frodo,” Sam’s voice was low, when his mouth eventually broke from Frodo’s.
“Oh, me dearest, whatever you’d want, love, anything at all.”
“You, Sam, always, you,” Frodo sighed, beginning to press very closely to Sam,
and starting to move with a deliberate rhythm against him, and now his hands had
slipped under the waist of Sam‘s trousers.
“Oh,” Sam moaned at that, his eyes shuttering closed, both of his hands holding
Frodo’s hips, pulling Frodo to him ever more closely.
A corner of Pippin’s mind knew that it wasn’t right to stay, that surely this
wasn’t a scene meant for anyone else’s eyes. But he had never seen his elder
cousin look like this before, and was powerless to draw his eyes away. Frodo was
always controlled, held in. Although he laughed freely, it was never with the
helpless intensity that sometimes would strike Merry and himself. And sad? There
had been those times as well, but he knew that he had never seen Frodo cry.
Merry, of course, well, there had been those times too for the both of them, as
they grew up together. But even at this distance, and even in this light, there
was nothing held back in Frodo’s eyes now, only a giving, and almost palpable,
love.
And Sam? Pippin found Sam’s transformation from the shy, humble hobbit that he
thought he knew even more remarkable. It was evident that Sam had become a full
partner in their love, that their former relationship had been discarded long
ago, and that even with all the differences that the world still saw between
them, they had found their balance, and their joy, between the two of them
alone. Sam’s touch on Frodo was assured and knowing, possessing and possessed.
Inexperienced as he was, Pippin suddenly knew that only if he was very fortunate
indeed, would he ever find someone who would love him like this.
The two hobbits near the stream had turned, and it was now Sam with his back to
the old willow whom Pippin saw. Sam, whose eyes closed as Frodo’s kisses began
to descend down his throat, whose breath was growing ever more ragged, and whose
hands had found their way unconsciously into Frodo’s dark curls. Sam, whose
bright hair was gleaming in the moonlight as Frodo dexterously unbuttoned the
shirt before him and trailed kisses even lower down Sam’s chest. Sam’s eyelashes
cast dark shadows across his cheeks, and he was calling out Frodo’s name so
softly and tenderly that it was almost a plea.
But there was no need to ask, as Frodo undid the fastening of Sam’s trousers,
and kneeling, continued further down. One of Frodo’s hands was visible, on Sam’s
hip, still on the fabric, and the tight grip, pulling Sam ever closer, was
clear. Sam was beginning to move, slightly at first, but then more pronounced,
thrusting himself into a rhythm that was matched by Frodo. And then Sam opened
his eyes, gazing upwards into the full moon and countless stars of the Shire
night, and groaned softly, and sighed, and arching himself up, calling out
Frodo’s name one last time, gave himself up to his love.
It was but a moment, as Sam fought to catch his breath, and Frodo was still
bowed down before him, when Sam suddenly reached down to grasp Frodo gently by
the arms and raise him up. Pippin could hear Frodo, in an almost choked voice,
gasp, “Your hand, Sam, please…” Sam smiled warmly at that, but Frodo had already
unfastened his own trousers and, quickly grasping Sam’s hand, drew both his hand
and Sam’s inside. And now it was Frodo rocking into Sam’s hand, still held in
his own, with moans and cries. His head was down on Sam’s shoulder and the other
arm flung around Sam‘s neck. Sam’s other arm was clasped around the
jacket-covered shoulder against him, and his mouth was greedily tasting the side
of Frodo’s face, mouth, and neck, and murmuring the well-loved name over and
over. Sam held his back tenderly and rocked him at an ever-increasing pace,
whispering his love into Frodo’s ear until Frodo finally gave a gulping, moaning
cry, and pressed himself into Sam and froze there, as if to never be parted
again.
Then there was no sound in the clearing for several moments, save the bubbling
of the stream, and the occasional cry of an owl, falling on its dinner from some
lofty perch in the forest about them. Frodo had turned his head toward Sam,
still resting it on Sam’s shoulder with his eyes closed, and his smile, as he
was held in Sam’s embrace, was one that Pippin forever remembered, when he
thought of his youth, and those whom he had loved. And it was only then that
Pippin realized that his own trousers were open, and his hand wet and sticky.
Silently, he crept back to the clearing where their bedrolls lay, stealthily
cleaning himself, and returning to his former position.
The other two soon returned to the clearing as well, Frodo carefully settling
back down next to Pippin, and Sam at his side. Once again, Frodo rolled toward
Sam, and they were asleep far before Pippin was.
****
The water rippled in the occasional light breeze, all sparking pale green and
gold, for it was shallow here, no more than the depth of a hobbit’s waist, and
the stream ran warm in the sun over the sandy bottom. Pippin was standing in the
stream, watching. The other two were somewhat down river, not that far really,
but they had clearly lost track of the third of their party.
Frodo had managed to twine a foot around Sam’s legs, and down Sam had gone into
the water, with a great splash and laugh. But Frodo only had time to give one
delighted laugh himself, before he, too, disappeared under the water amidst a
great froth and bubbles. In just a short time though, both heads popped out of
the water, one dark and the other light, and there was a quick fleeting kiss
before Sam began to pull Frodo toward the shore.
Pippin watched his unclad cousin, and his cousin’s equally bare gardener, in the
Brandywine, and thought of Merry.
*****
Sam had made a small cooking fire, that first morning out from Bag End, and as
Frodo went to fetch water for the kettle, Pippin settled in next to the flames,
warming his toes. The early morning still had a crisp bite to the air, for all
it was that close to summer, and the tangy scent of pines was particularly
prominent, mingling with the scent of the wood fire.
Sam, once the fire had properly started, picked up his heavy pack and drew out
the frying pan and some breakfast provisions. Giving the teenager a curious
glance, he asked, “D’you think that your folks’d be lookin’ for you yet,
Pippin?”
Pippin startled up at that. “Oh, I expect so,” he answered, somewhat
indifferently.
“An’ who’d they be sendin’?” asked Sam, with interest.
“Well…” Pippin paused. “One of my sisters, I’d expect. I can’t very well see my
parents showing up, but they’ll probably send a sister or two.”
“So you have sisters, too?” Sam asked with a smile. “I’d not be knowin’ that.
I’ve sisters meself.”
“So that’s it,” Pippin laughed in delight. “I’ve always wondered what it is that
makes us get along so well. Three for me, all older. And you?”
Sam’s grin widened. “Well, if that ain’t the limit. Three as well, only I’d be
older than one of them, leastways. Though it’d be that hard to tell, truth be
told, since she treats me just like her sisters do.”
“And brothers?” Pippin prompted curiously. “I’ve none, myself.”
“Two older,” Sam answered, holding the pan out over the fire to begin to heat it
for the bacon, “but they’d be that much older. They went up north country, to
stay with me uncle. They’d not want to be gardening, but roping instead. I was
only a small lad when they left.”
“And did you always want to be a gardener, Sam?” Pippin asked, drawing his arms
around his knees, still watching Sam with interest.
“Aye,” Sam answered, watching the pan meditatively. “I can’t remember when I
didn’t.” He paused for a moment, and then continued thoughtfully. “The Gaffer’d
always say I needed to be the Gamgee that looked after Mr. Bilbo’s garden, after
it got too hard on his bones, as I’d be the last one left. But it never seemed a
hardship t’me, no ways. There’s never anywhere I’d rather be, than with green
an’ growin’ things, an’ I’ve never seen any garden lovelier than Bag End’s.”
“What if Frodo moved away?” Pippin asked him suddenly, watching him curiously.
“Left the Shire, just like old Bilbo. Would you go too?”
Sam quickly looked over at him, surprised and yet not so, as one who had
considered the question before. “Aye,” he answered quietly, but without any
hesitation. “There’d be nowhere I wouldn’t follow him. And wherever he‘d be
wantin‘ to stay, I‘d try my best to make him a garden there. It don‘t have to be
Bag End, no ways.”
There was a sharp rap on the door at Bag End, right about that time, but no
answer. The visitor, after several attempts, was not dissuaded, though, and
opened the door herself. Walking down the corridors of the smial, it soon became
apparent that there was no occupant currently at home, and from the cold hearths
and general tidiness of the rooms, that no occupant had been home for the last
day or so, at least. With an annoyed sniff, the visitor was about to leave Bag
End, when she heard a door open at the far end of the smial. Quickly following
the sound, she found a lass, about her age but clearly of the working class,
with her arms full of folded sheets and laundry, entering the Master of Bag
End’s bedroom.
At the sound of footsteps behind her in the supposedly empty smial, Daisy spun
around with a startled look and found herself staring into the face of a
gentle-hobbit lass. Her hair was reddish brown and exceptionally curly, and her
large green eyes and the sharp cut of her features immediately brought those of
Mr. Frodo to mind. Her voice though, when she spoke, had a curious odd lilt to
it that Daisy, who had never been a day’s walk from her home, had not heard
before.
“Frodo Baggins,” the visitor announced crisply. “Is he about? Tell him his
cousin is here.”
Daisy gave a quick bow at that, and nodded her head, her arms still full, to the
newcomer. “Daisy Gamgee, if y‘please, miss,” she spoke up somewhat timidly in
her surprise, “but Mr. Frodo’s gone on a bit of a trip. He’d not be here.”
“Hmpf,” the gentle-hobbit’s eyes narrowed slightly at that piece of information,
but then, catching sight of the linen starting to slip from Daisy’s grip, she
added, not unkindly, “Go put that away before it escapes you, lass. I’m going to
make myself a pot of tea. I don’t think cousin Frodo will begrudge me that. Come
find me when you’re through.”
Daisy gladly slipped through the door into the bedroom, and quickly made the
bed. And as she lay the clean folded shirts in the wardrobe, her brother’s as
well as those of Frodo, she heard the clatter of a pot down the hall, and
considered the fact that gentle-hobbits had some odd customs that she had not
encountered before.
When she had returned to the kitchen, the visitor had managed to start the fire
already, pump some water, and was just setting the kettle handle on the hook as
she entered. “Well, that shan’t take long,” she nodded her head towards the
kettle and held out a hand to a startled Daisy. “Pearl Took, Frodo’s cousin,”
she explained briskly, giving Daisy’s hand an unaccustomed hearty shake.
The family name and features were suddenly familiar to Daisy from Pippin‘s
previous visits, so she asked curiously, “Pippin Took’s sister?” before
remembering her place.
“A regrettable fact,” Pearl answered, the warm grin on her face belying her
words, “you haven’t seen the young scamp in the last couple of days, have you?
Stars, there goes the kettle,” she interrupted herself almost immediately, and
whirling over to the fire, attempted to pick up the kettle before dropping it
back on the hook with a hiss and some rather sharp words that Daisy had no idea
gentlefolk knew.
Daisy quickly picked up a tea towel, but Pearl snatched it from her hand, and
completed pouring the water into the waiting pot. “There we are,” she muttered
in satisfaction, but then held up her hand and sucked on it lightly.
“Why, let me see that, miss,” Daisy moved instantly to her, her healer’s
instinct immediately awake. “That’d burn right proper, that would,” and sure
enough as Pearl drew her hand from her mouth, a angry red mark was already
clearly visible on the milky skin. “Oh, now, isn’t that a shame,” Daisy murmured
sympathetically, and taking the tea towel out the kitchen door, quickly returned
with it soaked in cold water from the pump.
“Now, you just be holdin’ that around you hand for just a bit, an’ there’d not
be that much blisterin’, like as not. No, none of that,“ Daisy sternly
instructed the bemused gentle-hobbit, as she started to lift the cloth, “I know
it’d be stingin’ a bit, but best a little hurt now than tears tonight.”
“You’re rather good at this,” Pearl gave her a thankful smile, and kept the
cloth on. “Are you Frodo’s housekeeper?”
Daisy gave a little laugh at the thought. “Mr. Frodo wouldna be needin’ that,”
she answered with a smile, “there’d only be the one of him. But I do the washin’
for him, surely. My brother’d be his gardener,” she added, a trifle carefully.
“Hamfast Gamgee? Why, I’ve always heard quite highly of him,” Pearl replied
warmly. “My mother has always spoken so well of Bag End’s gardens, but I’ve
never been past Hobbiton before, myself.”
Daisy corrected her with a smile, “That’d be me Da, Hamfast Gamgee. No, ‘tis my
brother as does most of the work now, Samwise Gamgee, as he’d be called, but
he’s shapin’ up to be just as good, he is.”
“Well, now, now that we’ve been properly introduced, come and sit and have a cup
with me,” and before Daisy could properly determine how it had happened, she was
seated in Mr. Frodo’s kitchen having a congenial cup of tea with his cousin.
“So, my brother, Pippin,” Pearl returned to the former topic, lifting the cup
awkwardly with her left hand. “You haven’t seen him about, then?”
Daisy shook her head, gratefully drinking the tea, a much finer leaf than she
was accustomed to drink at home.
“And so where has cousin Frodo gone?” Pearl prompted her curiously. “Would your
brother know?”
“I believe so, for he’d be takin’ him too. Sam said as it’d be a walkin’ trip,
and for a week or two, mayhap, but not where.”
“Frodo took his gardener on a walking tour?” Pearl sipped her tea again, an
eyebrow cocked incredulously at this piece of information, as Daisy suddenly
found the pattern on her cup of particular interest
The three travelers were even then putting out the campfire, and preparing to
leave their campsite. “So, Frodo,” Pippin asked expectantly, “do you have a plan
yet?”
Frodo laughed as he lifted up his pack. “Not a bit of one,” he confessed with a
grin. “Inspiration will have to strike soon, I expect. There is only one thing
that has come to mind, though,” he added after a short pause. “There’s only one
of the three of us who could go about unrecognized at Brandy Hall.”
And as two disconcertingly similar faces turned his way, Sam realized, with a
sinking feeling, that being camp cook was not to be his chief contribution to
this expedition.
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