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Floating Into Light, Part Four
Paladin Took tapped the shell of his egg in its cup irritably. “So now you’re
telling me, Esme,” he grunted, messily breaking the top of the shell off, “that
your son has gone missing as well?”
“I really don’t think that that has anything to do with Pippin’s vanishing into
thin air,” Esme commented sourly, giving her brother a glare as she carefully
stirred her tea. “It was more than past time that Pippin went home. It’s hard
enough for Merry to learn all his new duties now that he is a tween, without
having the distraction of a young cousin always about who only wishes to be
amused.” If there was more to her reasoning than this, she had thus far kept it
from, as far as she was aware, anyone else. Distasteful matters such as Frodo
Baggins and his recent disreputable conduct really need not be discussed. Her
judgment should be sufficient when it came to matters regarding her son.
“I sent Pippin home properly escorted by one of our most reliable drivers,” she
continued sternly. “I can’t help it if he shakes him off at the inn, and goes
off on his own. Merry is probably checking on some matter that needs his
attention. It’s unfortunate that he’s forgotten to mention it to either his
father or myself, but I’m sure he’ll have an appropriate explanation when we do
see him.”
“Humph.” Paladin’s observation was clearly disbelieving. “Then you are telling
me the fact that apparently Frodo Baggins has chosen to vanish at this same time
on a walking excursion has nothing to do with the disappearance of your son or
mine? A fine coincidence, I’d call it.”
“I have warned Merry to stay away from that worthless cousin of his,” Esme
replied loftily, “so I fail to see the connection there. Pippin, of course, may
be an entirely different matter.”
“Do you suppose that Frodo has gone off after Bilbo?” suddenly interposed
Eglantine Took, “and taken the lads with him?” Her green eyes widened at the
thought, and she suddenly clutched her husband’s arm tightly.
“No, Lana dear, don’t you fret,” Paladin’s voice was gentle as he lay a soothing
hand on hers. “I’m sure it’s just lads’ nonsense. They’ll turn up soon enough.
What could go wrong here in the Shire?”
Esme surveyed her brother and his wife with an annoyed expression. Too trusting
by half, that’s what they were. And if there was one thing that she was sure of,
it was that Frodo Baggins had a good deal to do with this matter of Pippin. At
least Merry had more common sense than that. It was understandable enough that
Paladin and his wife had come to Brandy Hall in search of Pippin when he had
failed to return home. But Esme felt it was immaterial exactly why she had so
summarily dispatched Pippin Took.
*****
Pearl wandered about the garden of Bag End, an early morning cup of tea in her
hand. Daisy’s visit at breakfast had been, unfortunately, a hasty one. Her
sister, May, had arrived at Number Three with the sunrise, apparently an unheard
of event. Daisy had felt it only right to give fair warning that May was
planning on conferring with their other sister, Marigold Cotton, regarding some
sort of welcoming festivity in her honor. Pearl sighed, taking another sip of
her tea, and noting, in an absent-minded sort of way, the exceptionally
beautiful deep blue morning glories that wreathed the window of Frodo’s bedroom.
She had had hopes that she would escape that sort of recognition, but evidently
not.
Preoccupied as she was concerning the dreaded forthcoming social affair, Frodo’s
gardens were definitely beginning to catch her eye. They truly were lovely, and
so carefully tended. Almost as if they were meant as a gift to the master of Bag
End, she mused, and then shook her head at her foolishness. She had heard of the
Gamgees’ talent along those lines before, and the son certainly seemed to have
his share of it.
Wistfully, she returned to the kitchen. She had found Bag End to be remarkably
peaceful and warmly welcoming, for all that it was the home of her eccentric
bachelor cousin. She really wouldn’t mind at all if Frodo turned out to be gone
for quite awhile.
*****
The three travelers, who were walking up the road to Brandy Hall in the warm
mid-morning sun had, each of them, their own reasons for dreading their arrival
at that imposing destination. Frodo had them leave their camping gear in the
cave, with the private hope that, if he was summarily dismissed by the Mistress
of the Hall, at least he and Sam could spend the evening there and then be on
their way back home. And if things appeared dodgy enough, he was even willing to
include Pippin in his escape plans. All in all, that was not the worse scenario
he could imagine. Moodily, he paid little attention to the verdant fields and
orchards of the land where he had grown up, lush and ripe though they were in
the early summer light.
Sam walked close by him. Frodo’s discomfort and anxiety were clear to him, and
he fervently wished that whatever lay ahead of them was all over and they were
on their way back to Bag End. But his gardener’s eye could not be denied, and he
found the beauty about him humbling. No farm around Hobbiton was any larger than
what one family, with perhaps a friend or two, could manage, but these lands
obviously required the services of scores of workers. What was more, the rows
were immaculate and uniform, every tree in the cherry orchard they passed was
flourishing and heavy with fruit, and there were no weeds to be seen anywhere,
not even along the sides of the dirt roadway down which they walked. He spied an
oat field in the distance, with a harvesting crew busy at work before the sun
rose too high. They were all working diligently, but there was a lively
conversation going on as well, interspersed with many a laugh. With all his
heart, Sam briefly wished that he could join them rather than face the Hall
again, but he firmly removed the thought from his mind. Even though he doubted
his own usefulness in this matter, Frodo needed him by his side, and that was
where he’d be staying.
Pippin said nothing as they walked, and was notably quiet and subdued. Merry had
never returned last night.
*****
Saradoc Brandybuck strode through the doorway of the front dining hall, where
his wife and the Tooks had been breakfasting. An imposing, strongly built
hobbit, he was every inch the Master of Brandy Hall, but his expression this
morning was concerned and he only gave his brother- and sister-in-law the
briefest of nods before turning to his wife. “The lad hasn’t shown up yet?” he
quickly asked, with a frown.
“And which lad would that be?” Esme asked, with an only partially concealed air
of infinite patience.
“Why, either one,” he barked impatiently. “Bad enough to lose the one, but our
son as well? He seemed fine enough yesterday, what’s getting into these lads
anyway?”
“When was the last you saw of him?” Paladin rose, walking over to where his
brother-in-law stood pouring himself a quick cup of tea, next to the long wooden
table.
Saradoc hastily poured the contents of the cup down his throat, and set it down
with a noticeable thump. Esme winced, those cups had belonged to her mother, and
were rather fine. But Saradoc paid no heed, scratching his head as he tried to
remember the details of his last sight of Merry.
“Just came back from the cherry orchard, ought to begin harvest on that
tomorrow, those oats are just about through. Ponies went to the stall, I went to
the barn to have a word with Halstad, herd was just coming in for the afternoon.
Merry said that he was going to get cleaned up for lunch, but I didn’t have time
to eat.” Saradoc paused thoughtfully. “That was the last time I saw him. He was
supposed to go have a word with the barrel makers in Frogmorton yesterday
afternoon; this year’s pipeweed harvest promises to be an exceptional one. When
I didn’t see him at dinner last night, I assumed he was waiting the storm out at
the inn.”
“But the rain ended before sundown,” Esme said fretfully, “and he wasn’t at
dinner last night, nor first nor second breakfast this morning. And I just went
to check his room and the bed was never slept in.” She also rose, and striding
over to the bell pull, gave it a sharp tug. “Really, Sara, I do wish you and
your son would do a better job of communicating. He probably has a valid excuse
for all of this, but you really need to keep better track of him.”
Saradoc began to say something and then thought better of it. “He’ll turn up,”
he stated flatly, and then turned to Paladin. “I’ve put up a new rack for drying
the pipeweed. Would you like to take a look at it?”
“Certainly,” Paladin laid his napkin on the table and was nearly instantly out
the door at Sara’s heels. Esme might be his sister, but he couldn’t help but
admire Sara’s fortitude these last several years.
“Humpf,” Esme’s snort left no doubt as to her opinion at her husband and
brother’s quick retreat. “So, Eglantine, I’m amazed that you let Pearl go off to
Hobbiton entirely on her own,” she turned on her sister-in-law with a snap. “Do
you really think that was wise?”
Lana strove hard not to rattle her tea cup as she placed it on the table. Her
sister-in-law had always secretly terrified her. “Pearl is very reliable,” she
stated quietly, her voice only quavering the tiniest bit. “She has plenty of
friends in Hobbiton with whom she can stay.”
“Well, I don’t see why she has to wait for that Baggins lad to return,” Esme’s
disapproval was evident. “Surely she could have left a message with someone.”
“I thought it might be nice to let her have a bit of a visit,” Lana bravely
declared. “There are so few lasses her age around us that it’s nice for her to
have a chance to get into town.”
Esme raised an eyebrow at that. The housemaids had just responded to her ring,
and silently, she swept her hand in the direction of the dishes on the table.
But after they had left, with full hands and arms, she commented darkly, “Well,
I would hope it’s not only the lasses that she’s visiting, but perhaps some of
their brothers as well. How old is she again, anyway?”
*****
Pearl stood in front of the mirror of the guest bedroom at Bag End, studying her
gown in front of the small looking glass. Slowly she sighed. No, it really would
not do at all. A useful dress, to be sure, but in no way a festive dress.
Glancing at the only other dress that she had brought with her, which lay in a
rather rumpled heap on the floor, she considered her situation.
The dinner in her honor was to be tomorrow night. Her choice of apparel for that
event consisted of either the dress she was wearing (and as she was becoming
uncomfortably aware, had been wearing for a couple of days now), or the other
dress, more festive perhaps, but unaccountably sporting a rather large blueberry
stain prominently on the bodice. In any event, it seemed that the need for
laundering one or both of them was upon her.
And here was her dilemma. For wasn’t Daisy, by profession, a laundress? Yet for
some reason that she could by no means account for, she was very reluctant to
request Daisy’s services. Falling back onto the comfortable bed, she stared up
at the ceiling. For some reason, she had been drawn to Daisy from the moment of
their meeting. She treasured the hope that Daisy might actually think of her as
a friend, and certainly, one did not ask a friend to do one’s laundry.
At last, she sat up on the bed. Surely she ought to be able to manage this task
by herself. After being gone all this time, Frodo just couldn’t choose this
particular moment to return home. She could launder both of her dresses herself
(for certainly that stain would come out if she used very hot water and scrubbed
quite hard), and dry them before the fire. Her chemise would do in the meantime.
Heartened by her decision, she quickly set to work.
*****
Once again, Sam was amazed by the number of hobbits about the courtyards and
outer buildings as they approached Brandy Hall. Only on market day and festival
days had he ever seen as many in one place, and he knew, from his and Frodo’s
last visit here, that this was just a normal day at Brandy Hall. But he did
notice the looks that Frodo and Pippin were receiving as they passed by.
Certainly their faces were known here, and he saw some of the laborers talking
to each other and staring at them as they passed. Frodo’s face was impassive,
and he was giving no outward indications of his emotions, but Sam knew by the
set of his shoulders and slight clench of his jaw that he was uncomfortable as
well. He moved ever so slightly closer to Frodo, willing him comfort, and
determined to undergo any amount of uneasiness for his sake.
The murmurs around them grew louder and more distinct as they approached the
Hall, and once again, apparently forewarned, the Mistress of Brandy Hall came
from the grand front door, as she once had several months ago. But this time,
she was followed by another gentle-hobbit of about the same age and strangely
familiar green eyes, and when she gave a sudden sob and rushed into a startled
Pippin’s arms, Sam realized that this must be his mother. Quietly, she drew
Pippin willingly off, and Frodo and Sam were left alone before Esme Brandybuck.
Coolly, she gazed at Frodo, as if he were a not particularly interesting insect
that she might have found upon the table, and the decision as whether to swat
him or allow him to fly away was entirely without consequence to her. With a
sudden rush of passion that was entirely foreign to him, Sam abruptly found
himself hating her, hating the lack of affection with which she had allowed
Frodo to grow up, hating the absolute lack of interest with which she had
regarded Frodo on their last visit, hating coldness with which she observed him
now, and silently vowing that if it took his whole life, he would compensate
Frodo for that lack, a thousand times over.
“Pippin came to me,” Frodo stated quietly but firmly. “I guessed that his family
would come here to look for him, so I brought him back here. And the next time
you send him off, Aunt Esme,” he added, with a bit of a bite edging into his
voice, “I would suggest that you do so a bit more diplomatically.”
Esme Brandybuck coldly turned her head past Frodo at that, as if he had made no
comment worth remarking upon. “Please see that you are gone by lunch, Frodo,”
she remarked over her shoulder as she turned away. “Make sure that your boy
leaves with you, and kindly do not come back without an invitation again.”
*****
Pippin did feel rather ashamed of himself when he saw how upset his mother was,
though she tried to hide it from him. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he said remorsefully,
as he took her arm and drew her along a path in the shade, away from the Hall.
“I really should have asked Frodo to send word to you that I was with him. But
we were just having such a lovely trip back, he and I and Sam, and we didn’t
stop at any inns where I could have sent word, and, well, I suppose I just
didn’t think.”
“Oh, Pippin,” she replied, giving his arm a small squeeze and quickly pecking
his cheek, for she had never really been able to be stern with the lad, “you
have a good heart, my dear, but you are just so impetuous. And now your father
and I have had to make this trip to Brandy Hall, and you do know how your father
hates that.”
Pippin couldn’t help a grin at this. There was a reason he normally stayed at
Brandy Hall without his parents’ company. “Is Aunt Esme driving him wild yet?”
he laughed, but then suddenly the reason for his departure jogged his memory.
“Aunt Esme,” he swallowed hard. “Has she said, erm, anything about me?”
“About you?” his mother stopped, clearly surprised by the question. “No, not
really, other than she had asked you to go home because she thought that Merry
needed to pay more attention to his duties.”
Pippin felt himself relax at that as his mother continued. “Oh course, it’s odd
that Merry can’t be found at the moment, but I imagine she’s right, he’ll have
some reasonable explanation when he does show up. Merry is always so sensible
and clear-headed.”
“Merry’s missing?” Pippin repeated, puzzled. “Why we just saw him…” and then
Merry’s last words to him came back to him. Resolutely, he steered his mother
back around towards the Hall. “We have to go back, Mother,” he informed her. “I
need to find him myself.” Concealing his concern, he flashed her that impish
grin that always made her forgive him, no matter what the circumstances. “Cousin
Merry has really never been that hard to find. Don‘t worry, I promise I‘ll have
him back by tea.”
****
Pearl Took slumped in a chair in front of the kitchen fire. The attempt at
laundering had not gone particularly well. The blueberry stain had proved
impossible to remove, and the wet dresses seemed to be taking an infernally long
time to dry. Worse yet, she was now trapped inside Bag End in her chemise, and
it was turning out to be a lovely day outside. Gloomily, she glared at the wet
fabric laid out on the floor, and wondered if popping them in the oven might not
speed the process along. Probably not the best of ideas, she conceded with a
sigh. They would probably just dry out in nasty little balls, and she would
never be able to get them on again.
Her heart suddenly jumped into her throat, as she heard the sound of someone
opening the kitchen garden gate, and she immediately had a horrific image in her
mind of Frodo deciding to return at just this moment, and finding a rather
scantily clad cousin with her wet clothing strewn about, making herself quite
free with Bag End.
With great relief, she heard footsteps approach the kitchen door directly and
with a quiet rap, let herself in. That had to be Daisy, and to her immense
relief, it was.
Daisy took in the situation with a glance, and began to giggle, quite
helplessly. Pearl tried, for one brief moment, to appear affronted, but Daisy’s
laughter was far too infectious, and she was forced to join in. “Oh, very well,
then,” she finally managed to get out, “I concede that I am hopeless. But,” she
added, no longer laughing, but looking up at Daisy, suddenly wistful, “I so do
wish there was something I could get right.”
“Oh, my dear,” Daisy said instantly, ashamed immediately of her first reaction,
“There’s no-one as is born knowin’ these things. I just wished that you‘d asked
me.”
“But I didn’t want to,” Pearl responded quietly at that. “You don’t do for me,
Daisy. I don’t want you to do for me.” An unexpected silence fell at that, and
Pearl suddenly felt that she was in a situation with no known guidelines, no
normal procedures, and, perhaps, no definite boundaries.
But Daisy looked straight back at her, her warm brown eyes regarding Pearl
carefully. “I don’t want t’be doin’ for you, neither. But I would’ve helped
you.”
*****
Saradoc and Paladin strolled onto the drive leading from the outlying buildings
to the main hall and stopped in surprise. Down at the end of the drive, Frodo
had just turned away from Esme Brandybuck, and was already heading away from
Brandy Hall, with another hobbit they did not recognize at his side. Breaking
into a quick trot, Paladin Took ran down the drive, calling out Frodo’s name,
with Saradoc Brandybuck at his heels.
“Oh, lad, ‘tis good to see you,” exclaimed Paladin, grasping Frodo firmly by the
shoulders as he met up with him. “And Pippin?”
“Came back with me,” Frodo assured him, with a smile. “He’s with his mother
right now.”
“Ah, now, Frodo, I thought we could count on you,” Saradoc joined them quickly,
a relieved smile on his face. “He certainly did give us a scare. But, where
would you be going, now?” Paladin had already left to check on his son when
Saradoc suddenly registered the fact that Frodo had been walking away from
Brandy Hall, not toward it. “You can’t be leaving like this, you haven’t even
eaten with us yet.”
“Well, I really do need to be getting back,” Frodo began, but Saradoc was having
none of it.
“Nonsense, my lad. Tomorrow will be soon enough for you to be going. I really
had no chance to talk to you that much this Yuletide, what with that lot that
always shows up here, for no particularly good reason other than to make free
with my provisions. Come, you’ll at least stay for dinner tonight, now, won’t
you?”
Frodo was silent for a moment, but his wry sense of the potential drama of this
situation was proving hard to resist. Besides, he really did want to speak with
Merry once more before they left, although he had no idea what he actually had
to say to him.
“Thank you, Uncle Sara, I will,” he said finally, but immediately added, “but
first let me just have a moment with my friend.”
“Certainly, and of course he‘s invited as well,” Saradoc nodded. “I need to
speak with my foreman anyway. I’ll meet you in the courtyard.” And he was gone.
Frodo turned to Sam, who had been quietly waiting to the side during this
exchange, hoping against hope that he and Frodo would be able to return to the
cave where they had spent the previous evening. It was with sinking spirits that
he had heard Frodo agree to stay, but he was resolved to hide that from Frodo.
But Frodo seemed, as always, to read his heart.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he said softly, turning and taking his hand, no matter that
the courtyard was full with the bustle of Brandy Hall. “I really should do this,
I think, and not let Aunt Esme run me out.”
Quickly, he gave a glance over his shoulder to where Saradoc was standing near
the stables, engrossed in conversation with the foreman of Brandy Hall. He
turned back to Sam, and felt Sam’s reassuring return grip, and looked into his
warm hazel eyes. “This next bit could get nasty,” he said haltingly, “and I’ll
not put you through it. If you go to the servant’s hall, you can eat there, and
look for Halstad. Tell him I asked you to stay with him, and I’ll find the two
of you as soon as I can.”
Sam nodded, but kept Frodo’s hand firmly in his.
“And Sam,” Frodo swallowed and then added softly, his clear blue eyes searching
Sam’s, “I’ll be with you tonight. I promise you that, my dearest. And we’ll
leave tomorrow. You have my word on that, too.”
Sam smiled warmly at him, and raised Frodo’s hand, still tightly grasped in his
own, to his breast. “Don’t you never let them fret you, Frodo-love,” he
murmured, holding Frodo’s gaze. “You are so much finer than they could ever be.
Never you forget that, me dear.”
Frodo looked at him for a moment in silence. “I do love you so, Sam,” he
whispered, and then, releasing Sam’s hand, followed Saradoc down the drive
without a look back. Sam watched him go with a smile.
*****
It was in the apple shed that Pippin found Merry. He had been stretched out on
his side upon a bale of straw, hidden in the shadowy back corner, but he looked
up as Pippin entered the shed with no surprise whatsoever on his face. “Yes,
here I am,” he said flatly. “You always do find me, don’t you.”
Pippin looked down at him. “Well, you could at least let me have a corner. I’ve
been walking my legs off lately.”
Merry silently moved his legs slightly to the side, allowing Pippin only the
smallest of corners on which to sit, but Pippin plopped himself down and
thankfully stretched his legs out.
“I’d offer you an apple,” he commented, looking about the shed, “but it seems as
though that would be a little unnecessary. I didn’t finish the bread, though.”
From under his jacket, he produced the remains of the heel of bread he had been
munching on as they had traveled to Brandy Hall that morning. He tossed it over
to Merry, who caught it, gave it an appraising look, and then started to consume
it moodily.
“So you’ve been found again,” he at last asked Pippin, rather querulously.
Pippin had produced an apple of his own from his pocket, and was gnawing on it
thoughtfully. He looked over at Merry’s question and gave him a brief smile.
“Yes,” he answered, turning to stare unseeingly out the door of the shed. “And
then you go missing. I’ve promised to bring you back by tea time, you know.”
Merry gave a brief grunt at that, but said no more.
They sat silently together after that until at last, Pippin flung his apple core
out the doorway of the shed and said, with a certain edge to his voice, “I
suppose we really aren’t free to choose, are we, Merry. Not like Frodo.”
Unconsciously, he had pushed himself back on the bale, until he was leaning into
Merry’s outstretched legs.
Merry was still silent, but drew his knees up, wrapping himself around Pippin.
“Sometimes, I wish we were just nobodies, and could do what we like,” Pippin
continued, still rather mournfully, but tucking himself a bit further into
Merry.
Merry gave a reluctant snort of amusement at this. “You will never be a nobody,
Pippin Took,” he commented wryly. “I don’t think you’d be capable of that.”
Pippin was curled up by now quite thoroughly against Merry, who had draped an
arm casually over Pippin’s shoulder. Silence fell again, but a more comfortable
one this time. Merry broke it by saying, very quietly, “I’m sorry, Pippin. For
what I said last night. I was upset. It was a pile of rubbish and I didn’t mean
a word of it.”
Pippin was still gazing in front of him, through the opening of the shed to the
green fields beyond. He smiled at that, but didn’t look back at Merry. “I know,
my dear,” he murmured. “It’s all right.”
Merry found himself examining Pippin’s profile as if seeing it anew. The
distinctively Tookish sharp features, the coppery curls, the green eyes staring
thoughtfully away to the fields, they were all so familiar, and yet they were
not. Somehow, Merry realized, Pippin had been growing up. Almost without
realizing that he spoke aloud, he said simply, “Frodo was right.”
“He generally is,” Pippin responded easily. Turning his head to Merry, he
inquired curiously, “What about this time?”
Merry gave him a smile at that, a warm one. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you.” He
swung his legs off the bale then, and stood up to stretch heartily. “I suppose
it’s nearly lunch. May as well face the family. If Cook is in good form, perhaps
they’ll be distracted.”
But as Pippin also rose, Merry caught him up quickly in a fierce hug. “I‘m glad
you always find me,” he said softly as he held Pippin close. Then, releasing
Pippin, he strode out into the sunlight. Pippin followed with a smile, for it
was definitely a kiss that he had felt on his cheek, before Merry had let him
go.
*****
“It’d be the breeze as does it,” Daisy pronounced mildly, as she and Pearl still
stared at the drying dresses in the kitchen of Bag End. “That, and the sun.
Especially on such a fine day as this’d be.” And indeed, the day outside had
become quite warm, a true harbinger of the summer that had nearly arrived. As if
coming to a sudden decision, she gathered up the damp clothing and handed one
dress to Pearl. “Just wrap it about yourself, they’d be none to see,” she said
briskly. “There’s a back field to Bag End, we can be spreadin’ them out there.
There’s naught as could be botherin‘ us, don’t be frettin’ about that.”
“Wonderful,” Pearl replied gratefully. “”It’s so much nicer out-of-doors than
being cooped up in this kitchen. Here, I’ll be right back.” She disappeared
through the doorway to the pantry, and reappeared in no time with a bulging
sack. “Cousin Frodo, will clearly have to go to market when he returns,” she
announced with a grin. “But fortunately he apparently believes in a well-stocked
larder.”
“Ah, that would definitely be Sam,” Daisy laughed, unthinkingly, as they exited
out the kitchen door into the nearby garden. “Mr. Frodo would never keep it so
well, but Sam now, well, that lad has always had an appetite.”
“Really?” Pearl answered, curious, as she followed Daisy up the path to the back
hill. “Frodo and his gardener do appear to be rather close.”
Daisy stopped short, her face suddenly flushed. Gazing unseeingly at the lush
green meadow sprinkled with the gold of dandelions that stretched out before
them, she softly said, “T’would not be my place to say.”
“As close as all that?” Pearl came up to her side, with a warm smile. “Well
seeing as how it’s your brother, I’d say that Frodo is a very lucky hobbit.” And
before Daisy could have time to react, Pearl stepped forward, and laying down
the dress that she had wrapped about her out on the grass, she twirled
impulsively around in the light breeze in her chemise. “Oh, Daisy,” she beamed
back at her, ”I can’t tell you how lovely this feels. You really should try it
too.”
Daisy only watched her for a moment before years of inhibitions fell away, and
dropping the other damp dress quickly upon the grass, she rapidly stripped
herself of her own, and in her chemise as well, ran laughing up to Pearl.
Pearl caught up her hand. “Up here,” she said quietly, holding Daisy’s hand
tightly, “who our families are really doesn’t matter. Here, it’s just the two of
us.”
“Aye,” Daisy breathed, feeling as if a whole world had unexpectedly opened
before her amazed eyes. And in the brief moment before Pearl kissed her, she
suddenly understood everything Sam had ever told her.
******
It was with a sharp hiss of her breath that Esme Brandybuck registered Frodo’s
entrance, along with that of her husband and her brother. But the luncheon table
was set, and Cook had prepared a rather extraordinary mushroom tart, and the
strawberries were still quite good. So she stifled her comments until the dishes
were being removed, and the party withdrew to the front parlor. It was then that
she spoke her mind. “Really, Saradoc,” she elegantly draped herself upon the
chaise lounge, teacup in hand, “I do not understand in the least why you allow
Frodo’s presence here any longer. He is hardly a proper influence on our son.”
Frodo set his teacup down upon the side table and walked towards the door. There
really was a limit, and the thought of returning to his beloved Bag End with Sam
was beginning to prove irresistible.
But Saradoc moved gracefully but purposefully to the doorway, effectively
blocking Frodo’s exit. “Tell me, my dear, what frightful crime has Frodo
committed this time?”
Esme glanced carefully at the cup in her hand. “I believe Frodo should be the
one to give you that information,” she replied loftily. “I’d just rather that
he’d not come into contact with our son any longer.”
Saradoc turned to Frodo with puzzled frown, and Frodo suddenly felt as if he’d
had enough of these half-truths, and delicate nuances. “I believe Aunt Esme is
referring to the fact that I share my home and my bed with Sam,” he stated
bluntly, more than glad to get it out and then just go.
“Sam?” replied Saradoc with a puzzled frown. “Never heard of the fellow.”
“Samwise Gamgee,” Esme pronounced the name as if it were a particularly
distasteful species of mold.
Saradoc turned to Frodo with a grin at that. “Can’t say as I know him,” he
commented, “but that’d be Hamfast Gamgee’s son, surely? Fine hobbit, the father.
Fine indeed. I‘d enjoy meeting his son, that I would.”
Esme rose up at that, in righteous indignation. “Saradoc Brandybuck, you can’t
tell me that you’d allow our son to have any contact with such an unhealthy
influence as this! I simply can’t believe it.”
“Well, if that bothers you so, why didn’t you have any qualms about shipping
Frodo off to Bilbo Baggins, years ago?” Saradoc questioned her sharply.
“Bilbo?” Frodo gasped at that, questions racing through his mind that he had
never before considered.
“Bilbo?” he heard Paladin grunt from behind him. “That one always was a puzzle.”
“Well, I had always heard dwarves were what he fancied,” Saradoc answered
placidly, turning to his brother-in-law. There was a snort of indignation from
Esme at that, as well as a quickly suppressed snicker from Lana, demurely
perched on a window seat and sipping her tea.
“Like enough, if he ever had an actual preference,” Paladin chuckled. “I had
always understood that he was a hobbit of a rather wide range of experiences.”
Saradoc gave a guffaw at that. “Well of course, there was always the incident of
the… Ah, it’s Merry. And Pippin.”
Pleased as he was at his cousins’ appearances, Frodo couldn’t help but feel that
their timing was a bit unfortunate.
*****
Frodo had insisted on his old room this time, high in the upper warren of rooms
that was Brandy Hall. Esme had felt compelled to mention that though doubtlessly
clean, it had not been used much in recent years, and was hardly suitable for
the use of guests. But since there was no accounting for the preferences of
some, and there had been a particular emphasis on that last phrase on her part,
he may as well use it. The question of where Sam was to spend the night was, of
course, entirely beneath her notice.
Sam followed Frodo, who was lighting the way by single candlelight, carefully up
the winding stairway. Sam had encountered stairs for the first time on their
previous visit to Brandy Hall, and was still not too certain about them. But if
Frodo was leading them to a room of their own, where they could escape the rest
of the inhabitants of this populous place, well then, he was more than glad to
follow.
“Not much further, Sam,” Frodo turned back to him, and smiling, stretched out a
hand. “At the end of this corridor.” Sam reached out, and grasping Frodo’s hand,
followed him around one more turn, and through a plain wooden door that had been
left open. “Ah, it hasn’t changed.” Frodo said, with a distant voice, entering
the room. “It really hasn’t changed at all.”
Sam followed Frodo into a small room, lit only by candlelight and the moonlight
that fell through a large round window that was centered in one wall. There was
a bed against the opposite wall, several shelves against the sides of the room,
only partially filled with dusty darkly-bound volumes, and a small wardrobe in
the back corner, empty, and with its door ajar. Situated directly under the
window was a rather sturdy desk and plain chair. Other than the books, there was
no attempt at ornamentation, and the room had the distinct air of disuse.
But Frodo looked about with a smile, as if he had returned to a welcome home. “I
loved this room,” he said softly, placing the candle in its holder upon the
shelves and blowing it out. “Let me show you why.”
Leaning over the desk, he pushed open the window casement, and then climbed on
the chair and then onto the desk. Sam watched in silent amazement, as Frodo
turned back to him, with a laugh, and said lightly, “I’d better check it out
first, Sam. I’ll be right back.” With that, he stepped over to the wide window
sill, placed one foot on a ledge directly outside the window, and disappeared
from Sam’s sight.
Sam moved fearfully over to the window and looked out, but could see Frodo
nowhere. Instead, though, his breath caught in his throat as he beheld the hedge
that surrounded this side of Brandy Hall, lying far below in the moonlight. As
he backed instinctively away from the window, Frodo reappeared with a breathless
laugh. “No-one’s been up here save the pigeons,” he exclaimed. “Throw me that
blanket, Sam, there’s the lad.”
Sam turned and spotted one folded at the end of the bed. He tossed it to Frodo,
who promptly disappeared again. But before Sam could go back to the window to
brave another glance, Frodo had returned, and was standing on the desk again,
his hand outstretched, and a wide smile on his face. “Come, Sam, dearest,” he
said gently. “Come with me.”
Of course there was no question as to whether Sam would follow. He tried his
best to hide his fear, and stepped up onto the desk beside Frodo, who briefly
touched his cheek, and lightly kissed him. “It’s worth it, trust me,” he
whispered, with shining eyes. As if Sam ever wouldn’t. Watching only Frodo
before him, he stepped out onto the ledge as well. “Right here, Sam,” Frodo
proceeded him, showing him the ledge on which to step, the stone to grasp. And
before Sam could quite realize where they were going, they were on the roof over
Brandy Hall, and all of Buckland fell away far below them in the bright
moonlight.
This particular section of the Hall had jutted away from the hill, and the
thatched roof extended from the sheer face of the rise. It was not a large
section of roof, covering no more than Frodo’s room beneath, and had been
constructed more for the purpose for drainage, to the sides, than for additional
living quarters. But whatever the purpose, it was immaterial to the two that
stood there, so far above the courtyards and gardens below.
For the view was everything. Beyond the immediate grounds of the Hall, the tops
of the surrounding trees shone darkly in the silvery light, and far off there
was a glint and sparkle that could be glimpsed beyond them. With a start, Sam
realized that it was the Brandywine he saw. Without words, he sank down on the
blanket that Frodo had already spread out on the thatch, and gazed,
open-mouthed, at the wondrous sight before him. Frodo sat down beside him, with
a pleased smile at Sam’s reaction, and throwing an arm tightly about his
shoulders, softly chuckled. “It’s glorious, isn’t it, Sam?” he murmured proudly.
“Aye,” Sam whispered, finding his voice with some difficulty. “Who’d ever know
the world’d be this great?”
Frodo gave a happy laugh at that. “Exactly what I always thought,” he exclaimed,
warmly. Drawing Sam even more closely to him, with his free hand, he took Sam’s
nearest hand into his lap, and interlaced his fingers through Sam’s. “I used to
come up here to get away, to think, and to day-dream. No-one ever found me up
here, no-one ever thought to look. Only Merry knew where I’d go, and he was
always too afraid to follow me. Of course, he was still quite young then.”
Frodo tightened his grip around Sam’s fingers a bit at that, and fell silent,
staring off to the west. “I used to dream that I could see the sea from here,”
he said at last, very quietly. “I would think I saw it shining silver, very far
off. And I thought that someday I might try to find it, for I saw no reason to
stay here.” Slowly drawing his hand away from Sam’s at that, he raised it to the
side of Sam’s face and gently turned it toward him. “I don’t think that any
more, Sam,” he whispered, and Sam raised his mouth up at that and found Frodo’s
waiting for him.
The long stressful day became immediately a forgotten memory to Sam as his arms
closed around his beloved Frodo, and their mouths sealed in a lingering kiss.
When they slowly, at last, broke apart, Sam took up Frodo’s hand in his, and
held it, gazing at it as if it were some warm, momentarily stunned bird, ready
to fly away at the least touch. “Were you that lonely here, then?” he asked
quietly, not looking up at Frodo. “To be thinkin’ of goin’ so far away as all
o’that?”
Frodo sighed, leaning his head onto Sam’s shoulder, and stared out again to the
moonlit vista before them. “I was,” he murmured. “Uncle Sara means well enough,
but he didn’t have much time for children. And Merry was very fond of me, and I
loved him dearly, but he was still so much younger. And, well, you’ve met Aunt
Esme.”
He was silent for a moment, and then added, almost reluctantly, “Do you know
what I used to wish for, up here, Sam?”
Sam’s hands closed gently around Frodo’s, but he said nothing and waited.
“For someone to fall in love with.” Frodo’s voice was very soft now, and his
emotions were very clearly quite close to the surface. “And I thought that I
would never…, that there never would be anyone. Because I looked so strange, and
was far too shy around others, and liked books and things that no-one else did,
and because,” here he paused, and tucked his face into Sam’s shoulder.
“And because?” Sam gently prompted, somehow knowing that there was a matter of
importance behind this pause.
After a moment, Frodo lifted his head up and set his shoulders. “Because,
whenever I dreamed of that someone, I always saw the face of a lad,” he stated
quietly. “Never a lass.”
Sam said nothing to this revelation, but bringing Frodo’s hand to his lips, he
gently kissed it.
“I don’t suppose that’s the sort of day-dream you ever had, was it, Sam?” Frodo
glanced over at him with a slightly wry smile. “Yours must have been full of
bonnie lasses and bouncing children, I should think.”
“Aye, they were supposed to have been, at that. Wouldna that be the type of life
you’ve ruined for me?” Sam gave him an unexpected sideways smile.
Frodo suddenly felt himself redden slightly, although in the moonlight, no-one
ever could have told. “I still can’t help think that, at times,” he admitted,
rather sheepishly.
Sam regarded him warmly, reaching a hand out to cup his face. “If that’d have
been the life I’d wished for, why then I’d have never come back to Bag End that
night you asked me to sleep with you,” he said firmly, searching Frodo’s eyes
with his own. “I’d never have kissed you in the kitchen. An’ I’d surely never
would’ve stood up to the gaffer, to come live with you at Bag End. There ain’t a
thing you’ve ever forced me into, Frodo. So unless you’d be sayin’ I’d be too
weak-minded to know as what’d be best for me, it seems as though I’ve pretty
much done this to myself.”
And Sam leaned forward at that to kiss Frodo in a way that rather reinforced his
inescapable logic about the matter.
“Well,” Frodo protested rather weakly, his arms still on Sam’s shoulders as
their mouths broke apart, “I might have a distracting influence on you, you
know. You might not have been thinking all that clearly.”
“Oh, aye,” admitted Sam, running a gentle hand through Frodo’s dark curls, and,
caressingly, out to his ear tip. “I’d admit to having the hot blood runnin’
through me, and some other part of me thinkin’ stronger than my brains.” His
hand came back down the side of Frodo’s face and gently teased the curls at the
nape of Frodo’s neck.
Frodo felt an involuntary shudder course through his body at that.
Unconsciously, he was kneading Sam’s shoulder through the fabric of his jacket.
“Doesn’t make my choices wrong though, as near as I can tell,” Sam whispered at
that, scooting closer to take advantage of brushing the dark locks back from the
side of Frodo’s silvered face, and lightly kissing him on the taut skin over the
cheekbone.
“Oh, not wrong,” Frodo’s voice came out in nearly a moan, for surely Sam’s
tongue had become very clever as it sought out the most sensitive areas of his
now exposed ear. Suddenly he felt a rush of emotion, a fervent wave of passion
for this gentle and loving hobbit beside him. And he knew that whatever he had
dreamed up here, all alone, as a lonely and awkward youth, had never come
anywhere close to what he’d been given.
He turned to Sam, cradling his face in his hands, and gazed on the face of the
hobbit that he loved with all his heart. Sam’s eyes had closed, and his tanned
features were strangely glowing in the blanched light, but his strong hands
still cradled Frodo’s head as Frodo bent forward and lightly kissed those shut
eyelids. “Oh, Sam,” he breathed, “oh, my own love. You are the greatest gift
I’ll ever know.”
And then there was no more time for words as his mouth met Sam’s once again. But
now it was his tongue that urgently sought entrance and was willing welcomed by
Sam’s. And even as his breath quickened, and his arms tightened around Sam’s
shoulders, his mouth melded with Sam’s and joined it as one. Inevitably, he had
to finally gasp, and catch his breath, but could not stay away, for nothing he
knew had ever been as sweet as Sam’s mouth. It inflamed him, as always, enflamed
and engorged him, and they were both wearing entirely too much clothing.
Urgently, his hands slipped under Sam’s jacket, and coaxed it quickly off Sam’s
shoulders, and no sooner had he done so, than he felt Sam’s hands under his,
performing the same task. And then Sam’s clever fingers were at the buttons of
his shirt, and they were undone and it was pushed back off his shoulders, and
ah! Sam’s mouth was upon his skin, moving quickly to the crook of his neck,
suckling and nipping, and Frodo threw back his head and laughed joyfully.
“Oh, Sam,” he cried, catching his breath. “Maybe we should go back down to the
room.”
By now, Sam was trailing kisses down what was revealed by the partially
unbuttoned shirt, but he stopped for a moment to growl, “So my fine lady wouldna
be appreciatin’ us endin’ up in her petunia bed below?”
Frodo laughed again, feeling gloriously carefree, “Why, Sam!” He buried his nose
in the mass of golden curls, just behind Sam’s ear, and gave Sam’s neck a
playful nip at that. “Well,” he pronounced with a great attempt at solemnity,
“broken legs are so very inconvenient.”
Sam had broken away his exploration of Frodo’s chest in the face of his action,
and was now sitting with a leg on either side of Frodo. “But we’d have to be
lettin’ go then,” he observed, sliding his hands under Frodo’s open shirt, “and
I can’t say as I want to be doin’ that.”
Frodo, sitting back on his heels, leaned into Sam’s caressing touch and moaned
softly. “You do have a point, at that,” he gasped, his eyes closing.
Leaning forward, Sam brought his hands around to brush aside the inconvenient
shirt, and leaned forward to tease those sensitive dark nubs with his tongue.
“Ah, Sam, we need to go down,” Frodo moaned at that, involuntarily rising up
into Sam’s firm grasp.
“Aye, that’d be the idea,” Sam muttered quickly, before tugging Frodo’s shirt
off suddenly and flinging it aside. It sailed over the side of the roof, but
neither noticed. Sam was far more concerned with Frodo’s trousers, which,
curiously enough, were still on him. One hand kept Frodo still firmly in place,
while the other worried at the fastening, and all the while Sam’s mouth was busy
on that delicious stomach, and Frodo lost all thought of moving from where they
were.
Finally the trousers were open, and Frodo gasped a choked wordless cry as Sam’s
mouth closed around him. He closed his eyes, and gave himself over entirely to
Sam; Sam’s strong hands supporting him from behind, his warm mouth around him,
and Sam’s tongue… ah, when had that tongue become so clever? Teasing him,
fondling him, stroking him, as his rhythm increased its pace, and his hands dug
deeper into Sam’s shoulders, and his breath came out in short harsh pants, and
he found himself entirely unable to even say Sam’s name, until, inevitably, he
felt the throbbing surge beyond all control, and he burst convulsively into
Sam’s waiting mouth.
It wasn’t until he could catch his breath that he sank back down for a moment
between Sam’s legs, and laid his head on his shoulder. He could hear Sam’s
pleased chuckle, and feel Sam wrapping his arms around him in a warm embrace,
and felt the sudden rush of passion in his heart for this, the treasure he’d
never thought to find, hidden in his cousin’s garden.
Suddenly, he raised his head and, sweeping his arms around Sam, caught him up in
a fervent, adoring embrace. “Sam, oh my Sam,” he cried, and gently but
insistently pushed Sam back onto the blanket upon which they were sitting. Sam
lay back, saying nothing, but raised a hand to the side of Frodo’s face,
silvered in the moonlight, and smiled lovingly up at him. “You are mine, Sam,”
Frodo whispered, staring down at him, “always mine.” And he bent down, kissing
him fiercely.
“Aye,” Sam murmured, his arms flung around Frodo’s neck and his eyes shining
with happiness, “always yours, Frodo-love. Always.”
It was fortunate the Mistress of Brandy Hall chose the next morning in which to
sleep late. Had she risen earlier, she might have found her nephew’s and his
gardener’s jackets draped over the petunias outside of her bedroom window, and
Frodo’s shirt cast upon the primrose. However, by the time she rose for her
morning tea, they were once again quite properly covering their rightful owners.
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