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Leaving Home
Frodo blinked awake, and glanced down at the golden curls. Even though he had
just woken up, his arm was still tight around Sam, and his knees tucked behind
Sam‘s, as they lay closely together on their sides. Although it was not uncommon
for them to fall asleep like this, come morning they had usually drifted apart.
But not this morning. He must have been holding him closely all night long, and
he hardly found that surprising. Sam’s breathing was steady, although he still
held tightly to Frodo‘s hand, and Frodo knew that he was still fast asleep.
Gratefully, Frodo pressed Sam even closer to him, and thankfully inhaled that
special scent that was Sam’s alone, and, almost unwillingly, remembered the
events of the night before. He had come close, far too close, to making a
prodigal mistake, he now realized. As much danger as the two of them now faced
together, it was nowhere near the danger that had been adverted. He had, as he
still sometimes did, underestimated Sam.
Feeling ashamed of that, he closed his eyes, and buried his face at the back of
Sam’s neck, his heart swelling in gratitude once more for this remarkable gift
that had been inexplicably bestowed upon him, this love that was so giving and
true. “You were right, Sam,” he thought to himself, “I need you so much more
than you know.”
Last night, it had been Sam’s fiery words, and Sam’s demanding mouth and hands
on him, that had broken through the icy shell that he had been so carefully
constructing around himself as he had prepared to leave. But once he lay on the
hearth rug, with Sam covering him, he had clung desperately to him, had kissed
him with passion and absolute abandon, had taken all that Sam could give him,
and had moaned for more. It had been late, indeed, when they had finally made
their way back to the bedroom. It hadn’t been until they were at last in their
bed, and Sam had been reassured enough by Frodo, that Sam had finally let
himself fall asleep. It had been a long night for Frodo as well, but somewhere
between their leaving their clothes strewn behind in the study, and their tight
embrace in their bed, he had finally conceded to himself that he was not,
whether for good or evil, leaving Bag End alone.
And now that the decision had been made, Frodo felt nothing but relief. For the
life of him, he could not remember why he had thought it would be a good idea.
He still knew, all too well, that their chances of returning were not good, but
he also knew Sam’s heart, and never doubted, now, that to leave him in
uncertainty, and fruitless waiting for news that might never have come, would
have been the cruelest thing that he could ever have done. The errand upon which
he was prepared to embark seemed suddenly not quite so grim, and perhaps this
whole affair wasn’t entirely hopeless after all.
Grateful beyond measure, he could not keep himself from tightening his grip
around Sam, from lightly nuzzling him behind the ear, from allowing his
customary morning erection to discover Sam’s backside to be irresistible. Sam
stirred slowly and sleepily within his arms, and gave a low murmur of pleasure
at being thus awakened. Still not opening his eyes, he curled his legs up,
raising his knees, and allowing Frodo better access. Slowly and insistently, he
pushed himself back against Frodo, and Frodo’s breath caught at the clear
invitation. Leaning forward, he let his tongue taste Sam’s skin, right under his
ear, that intoxicating early morning taste, which never failed to make his blood
run faster.
With a sigh of pleasure, still tightly caught up in Frodo’s arms, Sam let his
head fall back against Frodo’s shoulder, and now Frodo’s mouth was on the side
of his neck, the side of his cheek, and Sam’s head turned just in time to catch
Frodo’s kiss with his own. Leisurely and slow this kiss was, so unlike the
frenzied kisses of the night before, yet no less demanding in its own way. Frodo
tasted Sam’s mouth fully, with painstaking care, and Sam responded in kind. At
last Sam withdrew slightly, and his eyes opened, and Frodo discovered once again
in those glinting green depths the mesmerizing strength of heart that he
continually found anew in Sam.
“I love you,” Frodo whispered at that, and no matter how many times before he
had uttered those words, he never felt as if he had said them enough. But Sam
smiled, as he always did, and brought Frodo’s hand up to his lips, and tenderly
kissed it.
“ ‘Tis all as I’ve ever wanted from you, me dear,” he murmured, gently reaching
a hand up to the side of Frodo’s face and now, at that, he had turned to his
side and was facing Frodo. Slowly, so slowly, his hand ran down Frodo’s shoulder
and arm, and Frodo could not help the involuntary shiver at his touch. Sam’s
mouth had found the crook of Frodo’s neck, his collarbone, and Frodo gasped as
that mouth and tongue probed gently but insistently. His eyes flickered shut
again, and he lost himself to the wondrous sensation of Sam’s searching caress,
the warmth of that familiar body against his, those clever strong hands that
knew him so well.
“Ah, Sam,” he moaned softly, arching his throat back, offering it to Sam. With a
muffled murmur of an endearment, Sam took what was presented to him, rolling
Frodo to his back and running a firm insistent hand down Frodo’s side to his
hip, curving his grasp around it, and all the while nuzzling and tasting the
base of Frodo’s throat. “Oh, yes, Sam,” he sighed again, his eyes still shut and
his world given over to touch alone. How very often over the years had they lain
together in this great bed, just as they did now, pushing and straining against
each other, but each and every time, Frodo had felt his heart beat faster, and
overwhelming emotion surge through him even as it did now. He could hear Sam’s
breathing quicken, in pace with his own, and no previous or future day ever
existed for him when all that mattered was Sam’s kisses and the thankful
awareness of this beloved form in his arms.
His grip on Sam tightening, he shoved himself upwards, one leg twining up and
around Sam, joyfully meeting Sam’s matching downward pressure. “Sam,” he gasped
out, as he always did, seeking, yearning. And Sam answered, as he always did,
with the merest moan of Frodo’s name, and his mouth once again upon him, his
body covering him, sheltering him, responding to every move of Frodo’s with
skill and devotion, until with a final ascending push, Frodo arched his back and
froze, shuddering under him. With a muted cry, Sam ducked his forehead down onto
Frodo’s shoulder, and followed. Collapsing carefully to the side of Frodo,
again, as he always did, Sam lay curled together with Frodo, and waited for
their pulses to slow and their heartbeats to calm down, in a haze of peace and
serenity.
*****
Frodo realized that he must have dozed off when he felt Sam stir and carefully
extract himself from his embrace. Sleepily, he looked up and found the daylight
streaming through the window. Another early autumn day, with azure skies and
golden light. Sam was busy in the fields, this time of year, and by now he was
usually gone. But this morning, he gave a quick kiss to Frodo’s forehead and
whispered, “Stay here,” before he left, with only a robe draped about him
against the morning chill. Frodo closed his eyes for a moment, drowsily, and was
soon again fast asleep.
Sam’s kiss on his cheek, and a warm hand gently cupping the back of his head,
soothingly running through his curls, stirred him again. “Tea, Frodo,” he heard
Sam’s quiet amused murmur, and he blinked awake. Sam was seated at the edge of
their bed, and the homely scent of the pot came from the tray at the bedside.
Frodo smiled up at Sam sleepily, and then pushed himself up to a sitting
position under the bedclothes.
“Smells wonderful,” he yawned, as Sam poured him a cup, sweetening it just so.
“Thank you, dearest,” he cradled the cup in his hands and gratefully inhaled the
fragrant steam. Sam poured himself a cup as well, with decidedly less
sweetening, and shedding the robe, climbed back onto the bed, sitting
cross-legged next to Frodo.
“Now,” he pronounced evenly, giving Frodo a steady gaze. “It’s time to talk,
Frodo.”
Frodo lowered his eyes, sipping the tea without comment. But Sam waited
patiently, giving Frodo time to gather himself. “Gandalf said he’d be here by my
birthday,” he declared finally, in a subdued voice.
“Aye, that’d be tomorrow. That’s what I was afraid of,” Sam replied, calmly
enough, with only an imperceptible tightening of his hands around his cup.
“I still may need to leave by then,” Frodo looked up at him, apology in his
eyes.
“I know, me dear,” Sam sighed, looking down into his cup in turn. “”Maybe ‘tis
better this way, us goin‘ sudden-like.”
“I told you Bag End is in your name now,” Frodo continued, almost reluctantly,
after a moment’s pause. “If,” and here he swallowed, setting the cup back on the
tray, “we don’t come back,” he continued, looking back up at Sam, “it’ll be
Gamgee property then.”
Sam looked at him with obvious unease, but Frodo continued steadily on. “I
rather think Bilbo would prefer Gamgees to Sackville-Bagginses in Bag End, don’t
you agree?”
Sam had to nod his head reluctantly at that. “Won’t be makin’ the gaffer happy,”
he noted shortly.
“He’ll only know if we don’t return,” Frodo commented softly. “I don’t imagine
that would be what would upset him the most.”
Sam nodded again, grudgingly. Then the corner of his mouth almost unwillingly
quirked up. “Wouldn’t mind bein’ a fly on the wall when Miz Lobelia finds out,”
he commented, glancing over at Frodo with the glimmer of a smile playing about
his lips.
Frodo couldn’t resist a quick smile too, at that. “Matter of fact, there’s
no-one else in the Shire I can imagine standing up to her, other than your
gaffer. I suspect he’d more than be her match.” But the amusement quickly faded
from his eyes, and he plucked unconsciously at the blanket beside him. “There’s
something else I have to tell you, Sam,” he added, with obvious reluctance.
Sam also placed his cup on the tray, watching Frodo carefully. He said nothing,
but waited.
“I rented a small smial in Crickhollow,” Frodo said haltingly, staring down at
his hands, “I was going to leave from there, so no-one would notice my leaving.”
“While I would stay behind here,” Sam stated slowly, in disbelief. “Frodo, what
were you going to tell me? Is that how you would have left me?”
Frodo closed his eyes and nodded, but the trail of tears had already started
down his face. Quickly, he covered it with his hands, not daring to look at Sam.
“I didn’t think,” he whispered numbly, “I just didn’t think.”
There was silence from Sam as Frodo kept his face covered, desperately trying to
regain control of himself. Then he felt gentle hands pulling his own away from
his face, and Sam’s somber face was before him, the hint of tears in his eyes as
well, but his jaw set in a determined way. “What e’re you did, ‘twas done from
love, Frodo,” he murmured quietly, his eyes never leaving Frodo’s. “That much,
I’m sure of.”
“Oh, Sam,” Frodo gasped brokenly, reaching blindly for him, and feeling that
beloved embrace envelop him once again. “I don’t think I could ever have
actually done it, leaving you like that, I just don’t think I could have.”
“I know, me dear,” Sam’s voice was tender in his ear, and his hold was tight.
“Hush, now, me darlin‘, your Sam’d be knowin’ that.”
*****
Merry and Pippin walked along the dusty road from Hobbiton to Bag End. They had
spent the night in a wagon coming up from the Bucklands and had only arrived in
Hobbiton early that morning. Pippin was looking forward to second breakfast
preferably, elevenses if needs be, but he had noticed that Merry was rather
uncommunicative this fine morning. “Odd that we never heard from Frodo about his
birthday,” he gave Merry a sudden sideways glance, as they strode along the
dusty road in unconscious unison. “Especially being his fiftieth and all.”
“Hmmph,” Merry gave an unforthcoming grunt. His eyes were on the road ahead, but
Pippin could see full well that he was not seeing the motes of dust spiraling
down the rays of light, nor the occasional falling golden leaf from the oaks
that edged the road.
Pippin gave up initiating conversation as a lost job at that point and breathed
the scent of pine in deeply. There were not so many of those noble trees to the
south, in Buckland, or to the west, in Tuckborough, but remnants of the great
forests of the north came down as far as Hobbiton, and the pines were not
uncommon here. But then another memory suddenly surfaced. “Merry!” he turned to
his companion with a puzzled expression. “What do you suppose that driver was
going on about? That sounded like a Big Person, but it didn’t make any sense.”
From the look Merry gave him at that, it was obvious that Merry had been
considering the same subject.
“I know they occasionally see your father on business,” Pippin continued, with a
frown, “for Longbottom and such, but it didn’t sound as this one was here for
that sort of thing.”
Merry nodded shortly. “The farmer didn’t get that good of a look at him,” he
said musingly, “but that the name of Baggins came up has got me worried, I don’t
mind telling you.”
Pippin nodded emphatically. “Frodo’s the only Baggins I can think of in these
parts, and what would he have to be doing with Big People? Dwarves, perhaps,
certainly the odd wizard, but Big People? Well, I’m glad enough the farmer
didn’t recognize the name.”
Merry grunted in agreement, but then stopped short, as if suddenly making up his
mind. He motioned with his head to a fallen log that lay off the road on the
wooded side. “Come over here, Pip. There’s something else I need to tell you.”
Mystified, Pippin followed his cousin, hoisting himself up on the log next to
him.
“My father told me this before we left,” Pippin could see that Merry was utterly
serious about this. “I’ve been trying to puzzle it out all morning, but it’s
still not making much sense. One of his agents told him that Frodo has rented a
small smial on the corner of Buckland, down near Crickhollow.”
“Crickhollow?” Pippin knit his brow at that. “Whatever for? Why would he want
another place anyway? Bag End is certainly big enough for just him and Sam, and
there’s always room enough at Brandy Hall if he wants to be tramping about
Buckland. Your mum hasn’t bunged him out again, has she?” he asked, with a
sudden suspicion.
“No, no,” Merry impatiently shook his head, “she’s been positively mellow as of
late. It’s not that. But there is something else. The agent used to live in
Hobbiton, and knows Frodo, although I doubt if Frodo knows him. And he says that
Frodo signed the papers as Mr. Underhill. Almost asked him why, but thought
better of it. That’s why he let my dad know, since it is Buckland land. He
thought it a bit odd.”
Pippin stared at the older hobbit in bewilderment. “Do you think he’s in some
sort of trouble?” he asked.
Merry stared at the pine needles covering the dirt before them. “I don’t know,”
he said at last. “Using false names, Big People asking after him…”
“Not to mention not asking us to his birthday!” Pippin added with a laugh.
But Merry did not smile as he turned to Pippin. “That’s not the least of it,” he
stated quietly. “Something’s up, Pip. He may need our help.” Standing up
suddenly, he glanced over at Pippin, determination written on his face. “Not a
word to Frodo of any of this,” he stated, giving Pippin a firm look. “You know
how close cousin Frodo can be. Just follow my lead.”
Pippin nodded, for once, completely serious.
*****
They arrived at Bag End well after elevenses. Although the morning had been cool
enough to warrant a fire, there was no indication of smoke from the chimney, and
there was no sign of activity about the smial. With a frown, Merry strode up to
the round green door, and rapped firmly upon it. They waited, but there was no
answer from within, no sound of voices or footsteps approaching. Pippin gave the
door a rather prolonged pounding, but there was still no response.
“I don’t like the looks of this,” Merry muttered at last, and pushed the great
door open. They walked into the hall, and there seemed to be no indication of
anything out of the ordinary. Both Sam’s and Frodo’s walking cloaks were neatly
hung on pegs near the door, and Frodo’s walking stick was propped in its usual
corner. Both indicated that the inhabitants had not strayed far, so Merry and
Pippin continued further down the corridor to the study.
Here they were met with an unusual sight. There were clothes strewn about the
room, from all indications, both Sam’s and Frodo’s. Jackets were draped across
the settle at random, Frodo’s shirt had been flung over the desk, and Sam’s
appeared to have been abandoned in a corner, and both sets of trousers were to
be found near the unbanked ashes of a fire that had been allowed to burn itself
out. The hearth rug, also, was twisted up, and had been dragged close to the
doorway. And, oddly enough, there appeared to be fragments of broken china near
the hearth. Pippin studied the wreckage with wide eyes. “Burglars?” he finally
whispered, turning to Merry.
“Possibly,” Merry muttered, with narrowed eyes. “On the other hand…” and he
quickly left the room, striding down the hall, Pippin in tow.
There was no sound from the bedroom, and the round door had been left wide open,
so Merry cautiously peered inside. It was quite clear, in an instant, though,
that the room had not been left unoccupied. Both inhabitants of Bag End were in
bed, Sam on top of the bedclothes, quite bare, and Frodo probably so as well,
though not much of him was visible from under Sam. Both hobbits, well curled
together, were sound asleep despite the fact that it was nearly noon. But the
sound that Merry produced, quite without meaning to, awoke Sam, who turned
slowly to the door with a look that was initially drowsy, but rapidly became
rather hostile. He had never quite taken to Frodo’s cousins’ desultory habits of
knocking.
“Sorry, Sam,” Merry muttered apologetically. “We really did knock on the front
door, you know.”
There was a skeptical growl from Sam at that, and Frodo began to stretch and
stir beneath him.
“We’ll just have ourselves a bit of tea in the garden, if you don’t mind.” Merry
hurriedly began to back from the room. “No rush, really.”
Sam continued to give the empty doorway a glare, muttering under his breath
about “folks as ain’t got no manners“.
“Whatever are you talking about, Sam?” a still sleepy Frodo was sitting up next
to him, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “And why are we awake, anyway?”
“Oh, and happy birthday, Frodo!” Pippin’s head popped in and cheerfully added to
a bewildered Frodo, before it, as well as the rest of Pippin, was clearly yanked
back into the hallway. There was the sound of muttering as the sound of hobbit
feet retreated back up the hall towards the kitchen.
“Ah, well, guess I didn’t want to be spendin’ all day in bed, anyways,” Sam
gloomily lied, leaving the bed with reluctance.
*****
Merry and Pippin had spent enough time in the kitchen of Bag End that preparing
a quick pot of tea, and snatching up some odd bits to serve as an extremely late
breakfast, were rather simple tasks. Taking the food out to the kitchen garden,
with all due haste, they sat on the bench under the jasmine, and chewed in a
meditative manner.
Pippin tried to puzzle it out, but finally had to concede defeat. “What is going
on, Merry?” he asked plaintively, following the question by stuffing a rather
large crumpet into his mouth. “What do you think happened in the study?” he
continued, considerably more indistinctly.
“It’s clear enough where it ended up,” Merry responded rather testily, absently
stirring his tea.
“Well, yes, but,” Pippin responded, and was starting to add to that when Frodo
came through the kitchen door, followed by a still rather cranky Sam.
*****
By that evening, the mood had become noticeably more tranquil, and as the
hobbits sat down to a birthday eve feast that Sam had managed to contrive at
extremely short notice, all four were beginning to feel rather on the festive
side. Toasts were made, and the Winyard finest was flowing, Merry couldn’t help
noticing, at quite an extravagant rate. Finally Frodo rose from the table, and
announced, a trifle pompously, “My dearest hobbitessess..”
Trailing off with a frown, he shook his head, and tried again, encouraged on by
Merry and Pippin, and watched with a wide smile by Sam.
“My dear cousins,” he found a bit easier to manage, “and my very, very, dearest
Sam,” he added, his voice softening and his gaze upon a slightly flushed Sam
open and loving. “Somehow I’ve ended up being fifty years old. I’m really not
sure how, but what I do know is that the three of you have managed to turn a
rather sorry lad into the very happiest of hobbits. I could try to thank you,
but it would never be enough.”
At this point, Pippin, who had been staring at Frodo rather glassily, suddenly
gave a strangled sob, and laid his head on the table. “No, Pip, it’ll be all
right,” Merry laughed warmly, and drawing Pippin to his side, wrapped an arm
tightly around him, and handed the younger hobbit his handkerchief. Pippin
stopped at that, hastily wiping his face, and settled against Merry, looking
rather sheepish, but giving a hiccupping sigh from time to time.
“As for the both of you,” Frodo turned apologetically to the two visitors, “I
really didn’t expect to be seeing you on my birthday, so I don’t have anything…”
He stopped as Merry and Pippin together heartily denied expecting anything at
all, other than present company.
“But,” Frodo continued, more softly now, and then turned toward the cabinet
nearby and opened a drawer. “I did have something for you, Sam,” he presented,
almost hesitantly, a small paper-wrapped volume.
Sam took it from him, and stared at it for a moment. Then, visibly gathering
himself up, he gave Frodo a quick veiled glance, and unwrapped it. “The story of
Beren and Tinuviel,” he whispered, opening it up slowly. The pages were in
Frodo’s careful writing, and the pages were bordered in meticulous drawings of
vines and flowers, some familiar to Sam, and others not. Sam stared at it for a
moment, without a word, and then, with a sudden inarticulate cry, rose from the
table without a word, clutching the volume tightly to his breast, and hurriedly
left the room. Frodo was only a step behind him.
The other two hobbits were left at the table, stunned by this inexplicable
behavior on the part of their hosts. They remained speechless and motionless,
and quite suddenly sober again, until it was very clear that the other two would
not be returning. That was when Pippin finally turned to Merry, and with
distress obvious in his voice, murmured, “Merry, Sam was crying!”
“I saw,” Merry affirmed, his jaw unconsciously jutting out. “Something is
definitely up.” Shaking himself slightly, he glanced around and stood up. “Look
lively, Pip, give a hand. We’d best clear off this lot; I doubt we’ll be seeing
the pair of them again tonight.”
*****
Frodo stood hesitantly in the doorway as he watched Sam sit heavily on the side
of their bed, doubled over and hiding his face, obviously trying to choke back
his tears. Finally, with a visible effort, Sam straightened up and began to
fumble for his back pocket with one hand, the other still holding the small
leather book fast. “Here, Sam,” Frodo said softly at that, crossing the room and
offering Sam his own.
Sam accepted it without a word, and wiped his face. He then looked, with
reddened eyes, at Frodo, who quietly sat next to him on the bed. “You meant to
leave this behind for me, didn’t you,” he stated, in a tear-roughened voice.
“t’be findin’ when you were gone.”
Frodo glanced down at his hands in his lap and nodded sadly. “I only,” he began,
and then stopped and swallowed, keeping his voice under control with difficulty.
“I just wanted to leave you a promise, Sam,” he continued, in an uneven and
barely audible voice.
“I know, Frodo,” Sam quietly replied, staring now down at the volume in his
hands. “I took your meaning.”
“And I would have returned,” Frodo suddenly gave Sam a passionate glance, “no
matter how long it took.”
“Ah, Frodo-love,” Sam sighed at that, letting the book fall into his lap and
throwing his arms around Frodo, who gratefully clutched Sam close to him,
thankfully returning the embrace. Gently running a tender hand up the side of
Frodo’s face, up into those silky dark curls, he bent towards a willing Frodo
and met Frodo’s mouth with his own. Frodo answered with a moan, throwing his
arms even more tightly around Sam, and opening his mouth to Sam’s.
Slowly and reluctantly, they eventually parted, and Frodo drew Sam’s hand in his
and kissed it. “Don’t think that I’d not be wantin’ your gift, Frodo,” Sam said
softly at that, watching Frodo with a fond smile. “ ‘Tis the loveliest thing I
think I’ve ever seen, save only your face of a mornin’.”
Frodo gave a slight smile at that, and bent his head down, resting it on Sam’s
shoulder, nestling against him. “I should have waited to give it to you when we
were alone, Sam. I’m sorry. Too much Winyards, I suppose.”
Sam gave a slight laugh. “Oh, m’dear, too much for us all then.” He was silent
for a moment and then mentioned quietly, “And if it had taken years, Frodo, what
did you think you’d find, comin’ back to Bag End? You seem t’be thinkin’ as I’d
be missin’ out on a family.”
Frodo gave a rueful laugh at that. “Well, I suppose that if I did come back and
find you with a wife and a collection of little ones, that’d be a bit awkward
then, wouldn’t it.”
Sam made a dismissive sound at that, and wrapping his arms around Frodo, laid
him back on the bed. Leaning over him, he brushed the curls back from his face
and said softly, “First of all, that’d never be happenin’, noways. And secondly,
it wouldn’t matter, not at all, for you’d always be first in my heart, Frodo.
Always.”
Frodo closed his eyes at that, and brushing his face against Sam’s hand,
tenderly kissed his palm. Turning back up to Sam again, he opened his eyes, dark
blue in the candlelight, and bright with unshed tears. “My Sam,” he whispered,
flinging his arms around Sam’s neck, “my beloved.”
With a practiced move, Sam unseeingly swept an arm out, seeking the bedside
candle, and quickly pinching it out. And he cared for nothing else, for there
was Frodo in his embrace, and Frodo’s mouth on his, and Frodo’s arms and legs
were wrapped around him, and once again, that was all that really mattered.
*****
Merry and Pippin lay curled together in the guest room of Bag End, drowsily
satisfied. “Mmmm,” Pippin smiled in the dark, giving Merry a nibble right under
the ear. “This is good. No sneaking down the halls, and we can sleep in as long
as we like in the morning.”
Merry gave a sleepy chuckle. “Must make a note of visiting cousin Frodo more
often,” he agreed, tightening his grip around Pippin.
There was silence for a moment, and then, as Merry had been fully expecting,
came Pippin’s voice again. “Merry. I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh, of course you have,” he replied, with fond exasperation. “Out with it then,
Pip.”
“I think they’ve had a row,” came Pippin’s somewhat surprising conclusion.
“Really?” Merry’s eyes blinked open in the dark. Pippin did have uncommonly good
instincts about this sort of thing, but he really had his doubts about this.
“Remember how we found them? Something’s going on here, certainly, but I really
don’t think that’s it.”
“Hmm,” Pippin murmured reflectively. “I know it’s quite unlike them, but I can’t
help remembering the bits of broken china. How very unlike Sam to leave that
lying about.”
Merry considered this. “Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded reluctantly, “but
why?” He gave his head a shake at that, dismissing the matter for the moment.
“Tomorrow, Pip. Tomorrow you may worry Frodo until you shake it out of him. But
for tonight,” and at that, he tucked Pippin in a little closer. “Tonight, we
have a bed, and a room, to ourselves, no questions asked. Frodo and Sam will
have to fend for themselves.”
Pippin gave a satisfied chuckle at that, and drew his foot up Merry’s leg, and
the question of the inhabitants of Bag End was quickly forgotten.
*****
Sam awoke to find Frodo lying next to him, staring up at the plastered ceiling.
Rolling on his side to face Frodo, he stretched out a hand and gently touched
the side of his face. “Happy birthday, Frodo-love,” he whispered softly.
Frodo faced him with a smile. “Thank you, my dear,” he replied quietly.
Sam studied him for a few moments in silence, his hand still gentle against
Frodo’s cheek. “Do you think Gandalf will be comin’ today, love?” he asked,
watching Frodo with concern.
“I don’t know,” Frodo muttered, quickly wrapping his arms tightly around Sam,
and dipping his forehead down on Sam’s shoulder. “I just don’t know.”
Running a gentle hand though Frodo’s curls, Sam bent his head down and tenderly
kissed Frodo’s forehead. “Don’t you be frettin’ now, me dear,” he murmured
tenderly, “you’ve got your Sam with you now.” They lay quietly for a few minutes
more before Sam slowly asked, “And your cousins, Frodo. What will you be sayin’
to them, now?”
“I don’t know that, either,” Frodo replied unhappily.
“Ah, me dear,” Sam sighed, unconsciously running a warm hand down Frodo’s back.
“You’ll be thinking’ of something, you’re always that quick when needs be.”
Again there was a silence, as Frodo tucked his face into the side of Sam’s neck,
and tried his utmost to think of nothing at all, other than Sam’s heady feel and
smell of a morning.
Finally Sam mentioned, with obvious reluctance, “I’d best be gettin’ into town,
today, Frodo, if we must be ready to leave. There’s supplies we’d be wantin’.
And those other two are going’ t’be wantin’ their breakfast soon enough. I’d
rather they didn’t come lookin’ for us again.”
Frodo gave an unwilling smile at that, and slowly sat up next to Sam. “You’re
right, Sam, my dear,” he sighed. He glanced out the bedroom window, at the blue
sky, the morning haze already burnt off. Quickly, he got out of bed then, not
daring to glance at Sam’s tousled curls, or his strong bare arms, or his look of
concern.
*****
Ned Proudfoot spotted Sam in the marketplace. “Sam, hoy there, lad!” he called
out, as Sam completed his purchases. “Glad I am to be seein’ you,” he exclaimed,
as he threaded his way through the midday crowd to Sam. Sam looked up in
surprise at the older hobbit, but Ned motioned with his head, and Sam withdrew
obediently from the stalls. “The Green Dragon,” Ned grunted, as he neared Sam.
“I’ve summat t’tell you, lad.”
It wasn’t long before Sam and Ned were tucked into the back corner on the inn,
which was mostly still deserted this early on market day. “I’d been meanin’ to
come alookin’ for you, lad,” Ned began, taking a good deep taste of the Green
Dragon’s finest. “Ahh, but that’s good, that is,” he added, wiping the foam from
his mouth.
Sam sat with his drink untouched before him, with an uneasy feeling in his
stomach, and waited for Ned to continue.
Ned pushed his drink aside at that, and leaning his elbows on the table, looked
over at Sam in complete earnestness. “I’ve a friend, Ben Thistle, as farms a bit
to the south,” he began, in a quiet voice, “and he’d be havin’ the most unusual
visitor a night ago.”
Sam felt a sudden cold chill run through him at Ned’s tone, and unseeingly
clasped his hands tight around his mug.
“Tall he was, no hobbit, sure enough. One of those Big People, I’d be thinkin‘,
though neither Ben nor I’d ever seen one, truth to tell. It was dusk, and all in
black he was, too, and hard t’get a good look at. But it’us the voice as give
Ben the crawls, he’d be tellin’ me. ‘Baggins’, he said, ‘Baggins’. But Ben, he’d
remember how good Mr. Frodo was t’help out when his wife was that sick, and he
thought that it’d do no good t’be sendin’ this creature Mr. Frodo’s way. So he
says, ‘Baggins? Why, he left the Shire years ago,’ meanin’, of course, Mr. Bilbo
Baggins, and I hope t’tell you he didn’t mean no harm by that, no, not at all.”
Sam nodded his head dumbly, fear for Frodo beginning to irrationally grip him.
“Well now,“ Ned continued intently, “this creature gave, as Ben’d be puttin’ it,
a hiss, and I hope t’tell you as Ben said his blood ran pure cold at the sound
o’it. He turned tail, and was off into the night, but I’d want t’be telling’ you
that. Your Mr. Frodo needs t’be keeping’ a sharp eye out, that he does, for this
is a nasty ‘un, and no mistake.”
Sam gulped, his errands in town immediately forgotten. “I thank’ee most kindly,
Ned,” he laid a hand on Ned’s. “You’ve all’us been a good friend t’Frodo and me,
and I can’t tell you much we’d been thankin’ you for that.”
Ned shook his head depreciatingly at Sam’s words, and with a small smile, slowly
said, “Mr. Frodo has a good heart, Sam. As do you.” At that, he stood up and
drained the mug. “My best, Samwise,” he added, a little louder. “Thanks for the
drink, now, an’ you be givin’ your Da me best.”
*****
Sam found Frodo in the back kitchen garden upon his return, sipping a cup of
tea, but Frodo rose quickly to his feet when he saw Sam’s face. “What is it,
Sam?” he asked warily, placing his cup upon the bench, and laying a hand on
Sam’s arm.
“Merry and Pippin?” Sam asked in an urgent tone, looking about him.
“No sign of that pair yet,” Frodo responded with a wry smile, “and I’m certainly
not going in there to check on them.”
But Sam was not distracted, and quickly informed Frodo of what Ned had told him.
Frodo sank back down on the bench at that without a word, but his face was
suddenly pale. Sam sat close beside him, and unconsciously grasped his hand
tightly with both of his own. Sightlessly, Frodo stared down at the neatly
tended garden path before him, before abruptly looking back up to Sam. Sam knew
all the various shades of expression and emotion on this face he loved so well,
and knew at once that Frodo had come to a decision. “We must leave soon, Sam,”
he said softly, but firmly. “Even if Gandalf does not come. We only will draw
evil here if we do not go.”
He paused as Sam stared at him, still stunned, now that it had come at last down
to it. With a note of compassion in his voice, he added, “You must say goodbye
to your father now, Sam. You may not have another chance. And,” he continued,
quickly thinking ahead, “if we must leave before Gandalf, as it seems we must,
we should leave word with your father for Gandalf to follow us to Crickhollow.
But only Gandalf, mind. Should anyone else ask, we are simply on a walking
trip.”
Sam nodded dumbly, and then found the voice to ask, “Merry and Pippin?”
“Leave it to me,” Frodo knit his brows at that. “I’ll have to think of
something, won’t I.”
*****
Sam hurried down the hill to Number Three, his heart beating fast, and both fear
and excitement running through his veins. Desperately, he hoped to find his
father alone in the smial, and was relieved to see him in the back garden,
balancing himself on the hoe handle as he squatted down, pulling the weeds up
from the squash.
“Da,” he exclaimed instinctively, bending down on the ground next to him, “You
best be lettin’ me…” and then he broke off with a strangled exclamation,
realizing that that was an offer he could no longer give.
The gaffer quickly glanced at him, and slowly, painfully, rose to his feet, with
a tight clutch on Sam’s arm. “What is it, me lad,” he asked, studying Sam
through his bleary eyes with sudden intent, “What’d be the matter, Samwise?”
Sam blinked, and choked, and suddenly knew that it was not possible for him to
say a single word without breaking into great gulping sobs.
“Samwise,” he heard his father say, as he closed his eyes in pain, “Samwise,
lad, don’t y’be takin’ on so, dearie.” That was an endearment he not heard from
his father since he was a very small lad, and the embrace that he suddenly felt
was one that he had not felt since then, either. With a great sob, he flung his
arms about his father and held on tightly, only faintly aware that the strong
and sturdy body that had once been that of his father now felt as fragile and
easily breakable in his arms as that of a delicate fledgling, a dried blossom
ready to fly away in the breath of a breeze.
Silently, he fought his tears, and struggled to regain control, until he could
finally pull away, just slightly, and look his father in his eye. “Frodo an’I,”
he gasped, his chest heaving with the effort to get his words out. “We needs
must leave.” He continued on, conveying Frodo’s message, and then paused for a
moment. Something more, he felt, still needed to be said. “There’d be,” and here
he started slowly before plunging recklessly ahead, “a task we mu’take on,
summat evil, as can harm the Shire, that we needs be takin’ care of. Most like
we’ll be gone a long time, Da.”
His father studied him carefully, his arm still tight around Sam. “Some
foolishness o’Mr. Bilbo’s, I’ll warrant,” he said finally.
Sam’s eyes widened and he stared down at his father in confusion.
“Aye, I’d be knowin’ all about that ring o’his,” the gaffer said softly,
watching Sam closely. “You couldna be around Bag End all the time an’ not see a
thing or two. That Mr. Bilbo, now, he had a heart of gold, he did, but he was
always that curious, stickin’ his nose into matters as didn’t concern him, bless
‘im.”
Then, with a sudden resolve, the gaffer stood up straight, and pushed Sam back
to arm’s length. “You go with that Mr. Frodo of yours now, Samwise,” he studied
his face, continuing sternly. “You take right good care o’him, lad, for he’s a
rare one, he is.”
Sam ducked his head down, and, heedless of the tears that were now falling down
his cheek, gave his father a final embrace. “We’ll be comin’ home, don’t you
fret now, Da.”
“Don’t you be tellin’ the others, Sam,” his father whispered in his ear at that,
holding just as tightly to Sam in return, “but you’d allus been my favorite.
You’ve your mother’s kind sweet heart, bless her. You come home, Samwise.”
With no more words left to him, Sam gave his father’s wrinkled cheek a swift
kiss, and fled, without a look back.
******
“Beren and… And Tin something,” Merry mused, as he wandered into the guest room,
rubbing his wet curls with a towel, fresh from a mid-afternoon bath. “Do you
remember what it was, Pip? Seems to me I should remember that story, but it’s
left me. Sam certainly knew it though, no doubt about that.”
“Merry,” hissed Pippin, who had followed him down the hall, in some agitation,
“never mind about that right now.”
Merry turned around and lowered the towel, staring at Pippin in surprise.
“You’ll never guess what Frodo’s up to,” Pippin continued, in a clearly troubled
manner.
“I’d rather not,” Merry muttered. “Tell, Pip.”
“He’s cleaning out the study! Tidying it up! Straightening it out!”
Merry’s face distinctly registered his shock at this, and then the determined
frown that Pippin recognized as a sure predecessor to action. “Pip, I think it’s
past time to have a frank discussion with cousin Frodo.” Giving his still wet
curls a hasty last swipe, he quickly drew on his trousers and threw his shirt
over his shoulders, still buttoning it as he left the room, Pippin following
apprehensively behind him.
But even as they entered the hall, they discovered Sam ahead of them. He had
been on his way from the kitchen to the study as well, but strode ahead, never
once looking back at them. They came into the study then at his heels, and
stopped, unnoticed, in the doorway.
Frodo whirled around, and Merry could see that the desk next to him was indeed
neater and more bare than he had ever seen it before. Frodo appeared to be
sweeping most of the papers into a trunk next to the desk, with no care at all
as to their order, and the books that were normally stacked precariously high at
the back of the solid writing desk had already been put back up on the shelves
on the neighboring wall. Late afternoon sun shone through the windows, and the
swirl of dancing dust from this uncharacteristic cleaning was quite visible in
the golden beams.
But Frodo’s attention was fixed upon Sam alone, and at the sight of Sam’s face,
he quickly dropped the papers that had been in his hand and crossed over to Sam
in an instant, flinging his arms around him and, closing his eyes, held tightly
to him without a word. Even with his back to the other two, they could see how
Sam blindly reached out for Frodo and how closely he held him in return. Merry
and Pippin continued to stand there, both feeling somewhat as if they should
leave, but both knowing as well that there were matters here that required
explanation.
Finally, Frodo drew away from Sam, and with another careful look at his face,
drew him over to the chair near the cold ashes in the study hearth, and gently
sat him there. But they had no time to study Sam, for Frodo turned to them at
that, and quietly said, “Merry. Pippin. There’s something about which I need to
tell both of you.”
Pippin drew a breath to say something at this point, but Merry, not even
glancing at him, gave him a swift jab in the ribs, and Pippin quickly closed his
mouth. They sat together, upon the settle, and waited.
“Sam and I need to leave Bag End very soon,” Frodo crossed over to the open
window and gave an unconscious glance outside. “As a matter of fact, we’ll
probably be leaving tonight. I don’t have time to explain right now, but it
would be best if the both of you left as well.” Closing the trunk lid, even
though there were still a few piles of paper on the desk, he continued with a
distracted air. “I’ve just found out that apparently there are some Big People
looking for me, and, well, like I said, there’s no time now, but it would really
be best if they didn’t find us, or you for that matter, here.”
He crossed over to behind the chair in which Sam was sitting, and laid his hands
firmly on Sam’s shoulders, one of Sam’s hands stealing up to meet his. Sam’s
expression was carefully veiled, although both the others noticed that there
appeared to be evidence of tears in Sam’s eyes. “I doubt if they’d bother you,
if you are not here, but Sam and I need to leave quickly.”
It was at this point that Merry suddenly found his voice. “Frodo,” he started,
slowly, one of his hands laid warningly over Pippin’s leg next to his, and
Pippin remained silent. “We heard something very odd on the way here. It sounds
like you should know about this. On the way up here, our driver told us a
curious story about what appeared to be a Big Person asking a farmer in the
south of Buckland about a ‘Baggins‘. The farmer wasn’t familiar with the name,
and apparently there was something about the stranger that made him unwilling to
help. But it seems that this is not the first time you have been asked for.”
Sam’s control slipped at that, and the fear in his face was obvious. Frodo
appeared to be taken aback as well, and muttered softly, “They’ve come closer
then. It’s only a matter of time.”
With a sudden squaring of his shoulders, he made his decision. “We must leave as
soon as it’s dark,” he stated firmly. “It’s best you leave as well, but we may
not be the safest of traveling companions. We’ll be making for a smial that I’ve
rented in Crickhollow.”
Again Merry felt Pippin stir next to him, and again, he pressed a warning hand
firmly upon Pippin’s leg. Pippin remained silent.
“We’re staying with you, Frodo,” Merry stated levelly. “At least, until you’ve
had a chance to explain all of this.
Frodo stared at him in silence for a moment, and then gave a short nod. “Right.
Then, Merry, I’d appreciate it very much if you and Pip pack up about a week’s
worth of supplies, as well as your own things. Sam,” he added, his voice
softening, “come with me.”
Silently, Sam stood up and followed Frodo from the room, as the other two stared
at each other with concern and not a little fear.
*****
His hand in Sam’s, Frodo drew Sam out the kitchen door into the back garden, and
somehow they found themselves on the back hill behind Bag End. Then Sam was in
Frodo’s arms, and he could feel him trembling slightly. “It will be all right,
Sam” he whispered in Sam’s ear, as much to reassure himself as Sam. “Gandalf
will meet us down in Crickhollow and tell us what we should do.” He did not
voice his rising concern that Gandalf had not met them in Bag End, prior to
this.
Sam seemed to steady himself at that, and turned, an arm still tightly around
Frodo’s waist, and gazed down into the Bag End gardens. “I suppose we’ll not be
harvestin’ those new apples, as’ll be ripe soon,” he murmured wistfully. “And
those white roses I planted this spring never had time t’cover that garden gate,
neither”
“I’m sure your Da, and Tom and the others will watch out for the gardens for
you,” Frodo said sadly, knowing the pain that leaving Bag End must be causing
Sam.
“Aye, I know they’d try,” Sam admitted, his glance dropping down. “It’s just
that…” and his voice trailed off. Suddenly he looked up again, squarely into
Frodo‘s eyes. “But don’t you be thinkin’ that you should be leavin’ me behind,
again.” Blinking away the tears, he gave Frodo a stern look.
“I know, Sam dear,” Frodo quickly kissed him. “I won’t be trying that again,
don’t you worry.” Gazing back at the garden below again, the late afternoon
light already casting the long shadows of the bordering yew and elder across the
lawn, he sighed, longingly. “I was so happy here with you, Sam.” he whispered.
Swallowing hard, he looked back up at Sam. “I swear to you,” he added fervently,
his eyes dark in the dusk, and holding Sam‘s. “When this is all over, we’ll have
a home together again, Sam, just you and I. That I promise you.”
“ ‘Tis all that matters, Frodo-love,” Sam breathed, before covering Frodo’s
mouth with his own.
*****
The rest of the packing was hurriedly completed in silence. Frodo stood in the
half-emptied study, knowing in his heart that there was no more time. And at
last, with great reluctance, he picked up the small box that lay on the mantle
shelf, over the cold ashes of the study hearth, and reluctantly slipped it in
his pocket.
As he joined his three companions, he inadvertently left the round front door of
Bag End open, though, and thus it stood, when only a few hours later, tall dark
shapes might have been seen entering the smial, had there been anyone around to
watch.
But by then the four travelers were on their way south, quiet shadows in the
dark woods, and only the North Star shone over their heads.
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